The Lights of Yum Cha

I must be the only person I know who can go to a single place for two hours, take a bunch of pictures, and then, have them all come out looking like they were snapped at varying places, and varying times.

Don't ask me how it happened, but that afternoon I was at the same table on the same seat, under the same lights, in broad daylight, and then this happened.

Four different pictures looking like they were shot at different places, different lights, different times.

I shall have to be a bit more patient next time.

And since I have to be patient, I shall also have to mollify the dining companion a little bit more.

Because very often is it not the case that we are in fact very hungry by the time we come to the table for a dim sum buffet?

That's how we were that afternoon when we turned up at the newly renovated Yum Cha  place in Chinatown, because an early breakfast had we, and the buffet really began at the standard Yum Cha time of 3pm.

Fortunately service here is fast, experienced, and effective. A quick fire of the temperature gun and off we were directed to our table for two by the window. It is a very good thing that their staff are alert, too, because even though no one had realized that our order paper had accidentally dropped onto the floor whilst we were handing it over to the wait staff, their constant confirmation about our orders had all of us wondering why our orders were not in the system and oh dear, could we rewrite....

At that precise moment when we did the dramatic sigh and picked up the pencil, the eagle-eyed tea-pouring senior staff realized that the order paper was in fact under the table. :)

All good and fine, and we had a lovely meal that afternoon.

This time it was a conscious decision to have more of the steamed dim sum than the fried ones, so amongst all the dishes there were for us to choose from, we had two plates of silky cheong fun- one with prawn, one with char siew- a basket of fluffy char siew bao, two baskets of xiao long baos, one basket of mushroom bao (which is really a veggie bao that has been shaped and burnt to look like a shiitake mushroom) and maybe another one or two baskets of the steamed stuff that I suddenly cannot recall.

They're all favorites of mine, in particular the xiao long baos and the char siew baos. Both dishes are exceptionally heartwarming to me. With the bao, I break table etiquette and eat them with my hands. With xiao long baos, I  break etiquette too- nibble off a bit of the skin, slurp the soup carefully out from the bao, eat up the skin, then bump out the ball of meat onto the spoon.

Of course, we had the fried stuff too. Very difficult it is to come for dim sum buffets and not have at least one fried item, so besides the pot stickers, or as the menu describes, dumplings with meat and chives, we also had crispy yam puffs, and scallop rolls in filo dough.

The yam puffs are full, very full, of soft, creamy yam only slightly sweet. The scallop rolls, however, do take a bit of challenge if you're following table etiquette, what with all the delicate filo strips dropping down on the plate with every single bite. :) 

But, hey, scallops!

There was a basket of beancurd rolls, and there was a plate of egg tarts, three cute little ones which I had all to myself, and both of which I didn't take a picture, because by the time they arrived, I'd already put away the camera, deciding instead that it was time I should focus on the food. 

Where the Blue Buses Go

 

 

There are occasions in life where we find ourselves situated at places where we never thought we'd find ourselves to be.

These are places that we think have little (or nothing) to do with us. These are places that few of us will actively seek out. And even though it might have been that we'd been aware of it,  even though it might have been that we'd ventured past it, or that we'd known someone who knew of it, still, nothing beats the actual emotions that beset you when you realize you're actually there.

It is a long story as to how I found myself sitting at the one and only bus stop directly opposite this place- but short of dedicating an entirely new blog to the story- let's just say that the reasons were complicated, the situations were chaotic and that me being here was putting a closure to the results of all the chaos and the complications.

So it sounds like I'm going in circles, but I can assure you I'm not.
That's really how it is. 

I never thought that those flying flags would have anything to do with me. I never thought that I'd need to bother what those flying flags represented or what they were intended to be. And, I never thought that they would even mean anything to me.

But now they do.

A symbol of many things they are- structure, system, family, friends, closure, order, chaos, possibility, community, loss, new beginnings, regret, fear, tiredness, confusion, loneliness, shame, isolation, uncertainty, discomfort, embarrassment, judgment, anger, resilience, worry.

Have they been there for a long time? Maybe.

Have they been there ever since time immemorial? Maybe

Sitting there at the bus stop on that hot, sunny afternoon, I looked at the walls and thought about their history and their purpose. Built in the 1930s thereabouts, here they have been for more than 70 years, serving a singular purpose, serving a singular goal. I thought about the  goal, I thought about the people who were in there, and the people who worked there, and then I thought about the people those in there had left behind.

We don't talk about it often but the pain isn't just of the one who is in there, but also of the one who is left behind.

The journey isn't easy.

It never is.

And the list, comprehensive as it is, is long, and can grow longer still.

Which is why I know that there are always new perspectives to be gleaned, and those perspectives- even as the years pass and the world changes- will probably not end.

By the way, from time to time, I found myself thinking of Croatia. Not Poland, not Czechoslovakia, not even Ukraine or Hungary. Just Croatia.

Don't ask me why.

the Food of One Farrer

It might have been the mood that I was in on the occasion that I went there, but this meal here at One Farrer (which y'all know I've been before) was one that I sincerely looked forward to.

 

Could it be that I wanted the pictures?

 

Maybe. :D

 

Or it might be that I just "felt" like having some really tasty foods that day.

 

Like always I took a variety- a bit of this, a bit of that- but this time I made sure I took a plate of salad.

 

That's significant, because very, very seldom is it that I have salad for dinner. Breakfast (at a buffet) maybe, but dinner? Hardly. If I do, it can only mean that the lettuce leaves are really, really fresh, the salad buffet has ingredients that I like (ooh, couscous!), or for one dish at least I want to #eatclean. :D

 

This evening it was because I felt like eating clean.

 

And also because there was very lovely rock melon on the fruit platters and I like lettuce with fruits. Yes, I'm an oddball in this sense that I fancy my salads with fruits, or other ingredients that aren't necessarily greens. It is like I can have a dollop of milky scrambled eggs with my lettuce, or, like this evening, I can have rock melons by the side, have my lettuce leaves topped with  dried cranberries, black olives and alfafa sprouts, then finish it all with a dash of yuzu. (I tend not to do Thousand Island unless I really, really want to)

 

There were the frequent favorites- oysters (more than one plate), salmon sashimi (my companion aimed for the belly), cooked food (I took some fried rice, lots of mushrooms, a bit of salted egg prawns...) and of course, the dessert.

 

They've changed the dessert menu here since the last couple of times we've eaten here. There's still the chocolate fountain (for Lunar New Year the fountain was strawberry), a pretty good selection of cakes, durian pengat, jellies, little slices of marble cakes, and ice cream from Udders with unusual flavors like Honey Chrysanthemum, Thai Milk Tea, and Coconut.

 

I think I prefer having the cakes and marshmellows dipped in melted smooth flowing liquid chocolate.

the (new) Barracks Hotel (Sentosa)

 

 

 

 

Along Artillery Avenue on the island of Sentosa stand several of these colonial structures that once formed part of a military fort. If you're familiar with Sentosa and its history, you may know that nearly the entire island consists of several military fortresses.

 

The most famous one- the only one that still remains open to the public for us to understand a bit of colonial military history- is Fort Siloso, located at one end of the island near Siloso Beach. 

 

Other forts that once used to be on this island- Serapong, Silingsing, Imbiah and Connaught- either no longer exist (I think) or are not open for public access. Imbiah does have a couple of OPs and bunkers hidden amongst the thick undergrowth of the forested trees, but they're closed to public and of course you're not advised to climb in. According to Google, parts of Serapong still exist, except that you'll have to climb a steep hill (whose entrance is marked No Entry) to get there, and those structures are just as unstable- if not more- as Imbiah's anyway.

 

These structures here most likely belonged to Imbiah or Connaught. Chances are they belonged to Imbiah given their nearness to the hill, but then again, I don't really know. What I do know is that they were artillery barracks of an outpost and were also used as a POW camp during WWII.

 

Seventy years have come and gone, and today, what used to be a cluster of abandoned, unused buildings has been granted conservation status, gazetted as National Heritage Buildings, and transformed into The Barracks Hotel by Far East.

 

I haven't had a staycay at The Barracks Hotel- not yet- but seeing its transformation and its present-day purpose, I'm glad.

 

Because I have wandered onto these grounds a couple of times in years past, and I can tell you what a pity it was to see these beautiful buildings shut and sealed with their staircases boarded up and their exteriors faded and peeling.

 

There they had stood (defiantly) for decades in a sort of time suspension between the late 1800s to the 2000s, and yet under-used, under-utilized, and literally cast aside they were.

 

It puzzled me.

 

It wasn't as if Singapore didn't preserve and re-use buildings left behind by the British Armed Forces. 

 

Why then was this a different story? 

 

Did it have a history? Did it have an event not suitable to be remembered? Had people forgotten what these buildings once used to be? The barracks square where uniformed personnel (and maybe others) used to stand- was it not worth a second look? Were the entire grounds not worth conserving? Why would no one restore them to their former look (at least)? Why would no one bother to restore these buildings to a state where at least they held a bit of resemblance to what they used to be? 

 

It might have had a history- sure- but we are a small country and where is there on this island that has had no history in one way or another?

 

I used to wonder what was behind those walls.

 

I used to wonder if anyone would come and make this place suitable for further use.

 

And so it made me glad- very glad- when this hotel opened in early December last year, and thus granted me an opportunity to step onto its grounds, look at the trees, admire the pool, and take a bit of time to peruse its militant past.

The COVID-19 Isolation

Consider it a personal opinion of mine, but if there's one thing about this entire COVID situation that I feel hasn't been addressed very much (yet), it is the sense of Isolation that this virus brings.

 

Now, I don't mean (only) those who have been infected with the virus. They, of course, feel it more than anyone else- who wouldn't- when, after being confirmed of the virus in their systems, have had to deal with suited-up, stern-eyed masked medical personnel whisking them into designated isolation wards- and leaving them there.

 

The unspoken message is clear: YOU got the COVID-19. YOU are dangerous. So until you get this s*** out of your system, we're going to have see you as an (accidental) killer, therefore very sorry and all, but into Isolation (solitary confinement) you go, and please cooperate with us who are working hard to get this s*** out of you. Ah, in the meantime, here's a bunch of people who want to talk to you (and find out where you've been)

 

Having to be shut off from the world is no joke.

 

It isn't only the fact that physically you're feeling like s*** (fever, dry cough, sniffles and all), but it is also that you don't know what this thing is doing to your lungs, your organs and your body, you don't know how your family and loved ones are bearing up (do they have the virus or not) and with everyone's coping mechanisms being different, having two or more loved ones worrying about you, about themselves, and about the others in their lives, is definitely no pleasant situation at all.

 

Being a victim of the COVID-19 leaves the dominant feeling that you're shunned from the world, and that the world shuns you.

 

It is not a nice feeling.

 

However, as much as it is the victims of the virus who endure the Isolation and the Separation, let us also not forget their loved ones whom I think experience it more.

Let's look at it this way:

Your family member tells you he or she has got a bit of fever. It seems like a regular flu, but just to be safe, better get it checked out, so off you go together to the doctor downstairs (your usual GP) for the checkup, the MC and the medication. Now maybe on the way there, you start to wonder a little whether it is just a regular flu or not, but you tell yourself, no big deal, stay positive, everything will be fine.

Sadly it doesn't.

Something (the doctor says) doesn't feel right.

And so in a tornado of events- I don't really know how it plays out- in no matter of time you find your loved one being whisked away in an ambulance by personnel clad in protective suits from head to toe, you are told to go home and pack a bag, which you do- all alone, by yourself- and back in the house are the items your loved one has used, normally uses, or has yet to use- left, still in their places when all of you thought he or she was going to come home.

More than anything it is the shock that strikes you the moment you step through the door.

It doesn't matter how the dynamic of your relationship is with your loved one. It doesn't matter whether you have found the person's presence to be a blessing, an annoyance, or plain nonchalance.

If you have been living in the same house, or if you are familiar with the way the person organizes their life, I can tell you that it is at times like these that their living patterns linger around you.

These living patterns are what stick in your head as you run around the house (as calmly as you can so you don't leave anything out). And the questions- the QUESTIONS! Where is their toothbrush? Is this the one they use? Do you pack the toothbrush? Will they give the patient a new one? Where are the new ones? Are they allowed to bathe? Can they brush their teeth? What sort of clothes should he or she wear? Where are the clothes that are most suited for them to wear? Do you pack their favorite clothes? What will he or she need? Will there be toiletries? Do you pack the person's favorite shampoo? What exactly are you supposed to bring? What are you not permitted to? What will the person want? Do you bring a towel? What about books? What books do you bring? Are they allowed to read? Where's the charger? Where do they keep the phone charger? WIll there be wifi in the ward? Are they even allowed to use their phones? 

Suddenly the little things you never used to notice before become glaring as heck now.

And they become so meaningful.

It didn't use to matter that they only used this pair of chopsticks or liked to have their drink only in their favorite mug. Now all you want is for them to come home to use this damn pair of chopsticks and fill their favorite mug with their favorite drink.

It might have bothered you from time to time that you had to prepare their nightly Milo (when they could bloody well do it themselves). But now all you want is for them to come home so that they can ask you to prepare their nightly Milo and put it in their favorite mug.

It might have been that you used to grumble at them that you had to pick up their clothes from the floor. Now all you want is for them to come home and leave their clothes all over the floor.

Here's where the feelings of loneliness and isolation really begin.

Because whilst you're quickly packing the bag it strikes you that you're doing all this for someone whom you're truly separated from. It isn't a separation made by choice, it isn't a separation that has had preparation, but it is a separation forced by a virus that no one really has absolute control over.

Not only are you not allowed to be with your loved one, not only are you not allowed to directly know how he or she is doing (except through messages passed to and fro by the medical staff), you may even find yourself wondering to whom you can share this situation to without the fear of being turned away.

It is not a nice feeling.

Especially when told that you yourself too have to be (either) home quarantined, or given an LOA. 

Whichever it may be, your life is what gets disrupted for two entire weeks. No going to work, no running of errands,  no going to the supermarket, no going to school, no heading to the park, nothing.

Who can you trust to help you with the errands and the groceries?

Who can you trust to tapao food for you because you can't go out?

Who can you trust to help you with stuff that you need to do but now can't do?

Modern-day leprosy, that's what it feels like, to be in a situation as this.

It is not a nice feeling.

But it is there.

They are all there.

Shock, grief, fear, worry, guilt, uncertainty, bad thoughts, loneliness.

And so it is my quiet hope that during this season of crisis, we will cease behaving like a**holes and instead be friends with each other, doing what we can for each other.

If you are one of those who gives zero f**ks to this virus thing, don't lecture, don't tell people what to do, what not to do- that's not what they need- but do extend a ear to be a listener and a friend. What they need most is someone to blabber out this entire experience to. Don't downplay their fears. Don't turn away from them who feel lonely but have to go through this, especially if they are going through it alone.

Because this is humanity.

no Wheels on the Mezzanine

 

One thing about this place that Miss Brown will likely always remember is that, despite it being built in the 70s (which wasn't so far away), it was not wheelchair-friendly, and did not seem to have been designed ever to be.

 

Of course, it would not have mattered much to her on the other occasions when she was here- in those years she was physically very mobile, and she did not have to worry about steps or staircases or which Court was on which floor.

 

But this was a situation where her Representative said she had to turn up.

 

Even though her physical mobility had fallen way down the line (compared to before) and now could not get around for extended distances except when being pushed around on a wheelchair.

Where once it did not matter so much before, now the lifts at the Courts became very important.

How many times Miss Brown had to squeeze through the crowd of people standing there all waiting for the same lift, she didnt' know,  but there were probably at least five. The crowd always gave her priority- that she knew- and even though she didn't really express her thanks- her mind wasn't always there and everything was so distracting- she was glad for the favor.

After all everyone was there for a reason, and most of the reasons could not have been very pleasant.

One thing she never would understand, however, was how it was that she and her daughter never seemed to be able to take the same lift together. It wasn't that she deliberately waited or anything like that. It just seemed to be that way.

And she was a little puzzled.

Because if they had to be at the same place at the same time, and if it looked like they were on the same side, could they then not arrange to meet together and go in together like how at other occasions at other places they used to do?

But that wasn't happening this time.

She didn't know if it was her, or her daughter, but no matter how early or how late she got there, her daughter would already be sitting outside the wooden doors on the plastic chairs outside, looking more solemn than she had ever seen her before.

Miss Brown didn't like it one bit at all.

Because her daughter never glanced over at her side.

No matter how hard she kept her gaze continuously fixed on her daughter- she stared and stared and stared so hard the girl must have felt her mother's longing gaze- the girl never once looked across at her.

What would she have done for a look, a single look, a single bit of acknowledgement!

But that didn't happen.

Not one time.

It was as if mother and daughter were playing a game of cat and mouse with each other and the mouse always managed to outwit the cat to make its escape.

And then one day when she turned up at the Courts, Miss Brown was told that she didn't need to get to the upper floors at all.

It wasn't because she didn't need to make an appearance.

It was because the room she was supposed to appear in was on the mezzanine floor where there was no lift access, no one was available to help her up there, and so she was granted special permission to be excused from the appearance this time. All she needed to do was to wait on the ground floor.

Miss Brown sat on her wheelchair and fixated her eyes on the staircase leading to the mezzanine floor.

The outcome of the session she didn't care so much- she knew that black-suited young man- her Representative- would later come down and explain it to her, or her caregiver. Whatever would be would then be, whatever she needed to do she would then do.

But right now she wanted to concentrate on the people who would later be coming down the steps.

Maybe she would get to spot her, maybe she would come down the steps right in front of her eyes, and Miss Brown was sure, very sure, that with her aged, elderly mother sitting on a wheelchair right in front of her eyes, no way, ABSOLUTELY no way, would her daughter miss the sight of her.

A New Year Lunch

 

 

Lunch for the Lunar New Year season of this year turned out to be an explosion of colors on the dining table.

 

And no reason it should not be, for it was a meal we all helped to plan, and it was a meal we all helped to prepare.

 

We do this every year.

 

Planning begins early, and once we have the menu worked out, One Parent goes around to all the supermarkets nearby (for the best deals!), One Parent brings out the disposable platters (can save on washing up la) and by the time the food comes back, the water is boiling, the stew is in the pot, and we have the utensils, the drinks, the sauces, plus everything  else that we need out on the table.

 

Plating is a Family affair, done with careful;y instructed guidance from The Parents. ;)

 

We tend to have something new each year.

 

One year it was the enoki mushrooms.

 

Another year it was the prawn broth.

 

This year we had the added item of century eggs on the menu- The Parent got a box of four from this particular supermarket and which after some deliberation we decided to have it cold aka restaurant-type, cold-dish style- minus the ginger.

 

The Parents didn't have a problem.

 

Neither did I.

 

Except that I was the only one who tried the eggs with dollops of mayonnaise and smears of ketchup, whilst The Parents had them plain on its own, taste all right what, why you put so much...

Of course, the good thing is that I can now tell you that neither of those gweilo sauces worked- not even the mayonnaise- and eventually I resorted to sesame oil, which, tadaaaa, turned out to be the best of all. 

Never will go wrong with sesame oil when it comes to Chinese food, like I always say! :)

Yes, we had fun.

 

We always do.

 

Sure, we don't do the home-based hotpots much like how we used to do, and whilst there are times when I miss the plates of prawns, tau pok, sweet corn, and fish pieces, I'm thankful for these platters on the table holding all the foods that we love.  

 

What is a homecooked meal without sincerity and warmth?

 

What is a special meal without the anticipation of something familiar? It is the knowledge that you're coming back to a dish you know oh-so-well that keeps you coming again, and again, and again.

 

For us, there's never a year without the red and yellow cherry tomatoes.

 

There's never a year without the bright green lettuce leaves.

 

There's never a year without the dark brown shitake mushrooms, the pale brown button mushrooms, the enoki mushrooms, the beige-looking fried fishballs, the chicken pieces, the yellow siew mais.

 

And there's never a year  thus far that we've gone without the juice and the peach-laden fruit cocktail for dessert.

the K-House Revisit

 

We used to be here.

 

Sure, it has been over a decade since we were in this zone but the fact doesn't change that, yes, this was our old address and that we used to be here.

 

No fancy neighhorhood it was when we shifted to this place.

 

No fancy neighborhood it still is. ;)

 

But better it is now than it used to be.

 

Industrial estates are never considered fancy until they are made up to be. #Blk71

 

And I know this well because we faced a deluge of questions from literally everybody when we made the (unusual) decision to shift the facility from the outskirts of town to this place in Bukit Merah.

 

People didn't understand why a "creative" company as ours would forgo a hipster shophouse space in a heritage 'hood aplomb with like-minded creatives, drinking spots, coffee houses and restaurants for a raw, rough, clanky, 'old', aesthetically unpleasant space as this in the Singapore heartland.

 

Of course, they didn't understand our industry either.

 

We are not an industry whose personnel carry around sexy laptops to work at Starbucks or coffee cafes. Most of our crew don't even use sexy laptops at work because they're just not built for the kind of heavy duty work that we do. I know- I still have a unit or two from those days and trust me, those toys are not lightweight ones that you can throw into a canvas tote bag. And we had at least twenty-five, if not thirty, of them.

 

We are also not an industry that prides itself on the image of parquet floors, shutter windows and heritage tales. There is no way you can have a parquet floor when you're planning for motion capture, when you're looking to hang blue and green cloths all over the walls of the space and when you're aiming to have performance actors in suits and balls (they used balls then) thump and scramble all around.

 

This industry we are in works on a canvas.

 

A raw, rough, empty, plain as s*** canvas.

 

It was like that then.

 

It is still like this now.

 

That being said, revisiting the old office address brought to my face a bit of a pensive smile.

 

For after all, this was the place where the company shifted business directions and made pivots at a pace like it had never done before. If before this the company rented a tiny little unit in a shopping centre for the sole sake of educational purposes and administrative purposes, here the company moved in for the sole sake of adding production purposes to its cap- and which the company did.

 

It was here that the studio was launched.

 

It was here that the studio took shape.

 

And it was here that part of the studio decided to take a break.

 

Much has changed both professionally and personally for her staff in the intervening years since the company was here, but like timelessness in these parts, some things remain the same.

 

The corridors remain the same.

 

The doors remain the same.

 

The lifts remain the same.

 

Even the toilets also remain the same. (To this day the female toilet has no shower unit, but hey ho, it is in the male's! #genderbias)

 

On the ground floor, the spot of the vending machine also remains the same. Same vending machine still stands near the lifts, readily supplied with bottled and canned drinks from the drinks supplier who conveniently has their office and warehouse unit upstairs.

 

I took the cargo lift up- for the sake of memories- and for the sake of wanting more space.

 

I stood outside the doors of the unit that we used to rent (it is available for rent, wow).

 

I (rudely) hung outside the locked doors of the toy supplier company who has since shifted to an adjoining unit, but whom used to be our next door neighbor and whose elderly staff I once gave plates of food from the buffet spread because we had too much.

 

Standing outside the doors of our old unit, I thought of the days that we were here. It isn't so much the work that sticks in the mind (plenty of documentation for that) but it is the subliminal elements of office culture that I fondly remember.

 

Like the sound of KTM trains in the morning chugging away on tracks situated not more than 50 meters away.

 

Like the salad bowls I kept in the office chill fridge and which I occasionally had for lunch when I didn't feel like heading opposite to the ABC Market or down the road to Anchorpoint or even to IKEA.

 

Like the afternoon meetings we had with the colleagues in the big open space.

 

Like the KFC delivery dinners we had on those evenings when we were in the office and didn't feel like going anywhere. (No GRAB or Foodpanda then)

 

Not all memories are pleasant, of course.

 

I haven't forgotten the minor skirmishes that took place, I haven't forgotten the startling situations that took place amongst Management,  and neither have I forgotten how it was when we fired off underperforming (expat) staff who, for some reason, held an MBA from a middling university but decided they were overqualified for the role despite them not being able to find a job in Singapore elsewhere.

 

But in life we choose what we wish to retain, and so it was that as I sat on the concrete steps of the open air staircase at the back (where everyone goes to smoke, by the way),  staring at the former railway tracks now turned Green Corridor, I realized how far it was the company had come, how long (really!) it had taken for the company to come to this stage, and I wondered privately to myself where the company was going to go from here. 

Strolling Sights: the circle of Commonwealth

 

There was a time in my life when I spent most of my waking hours in housing board estates. Mornings I woke up in one, took a long bus ride to another, and then evenings when office hours were over, took a long bus ride all the way back to the first one. In between the working hours there were occasions when I had to go to another housing board estate because there were people to speak with, papers to submit, and things to do.

If living in a housing board estate establishes the pattern of your life and creates memories, working in one draws you closer to the 'hood itself whilst introducing you to  the lives of those whose patterns are established there.

I can't say I got to know many of the residents in the 'hood.

In fact I think I got to know the 'hood more than I got to know the residents, which is why I can say that I know where the famous mifenmian stall is (you see the stall through the banisters and the chairs because two aunties were sitting at the coffee shop and boy, the curious stares), I know of its delish fried chicken wings, I'm glad that the teh tarik stall hasn't shifted from his spot at the corner of the new hawker centre, and that I wish we'd asked the uncle from the old ice kachang stall where he was shifting his stall to.

It may not be a big deal, you might say- there are ice kachang stalls everywhere- but those of us familiar with the old hawker centre (very 70s design, I tell you, with open air central courtyard and all) will remember the old uncle who sold refreshing pineapple drinks for fifty cents a cup (in the 2000s) and who served his very affordable ice kachang with ladlefuls of gula melaka.

A couple of stalls in the old hawker centre command my memory. There was the porridge stall at one corner. One of its offerings was very fish porridge- the kind where the slices are really fresh and which they throw into the hot bowl of congee to simmer until cooked. Let's just say I had it only a few times because, well, bones. There was the chap cai png stall somewhere in the middle- lots of vegetables at very affordable prices. Then there was the kuay chap stall on the other side which I didn't eat from because whilst I'm okay with the kuay and the soup, the chap (pig tails?!) part of the dish scares the heck out of me and I don't like to offend the uncle.

The shops  near the hawker centre are more or less still the same. You have the family clinic (for the MCs), you have the liquor store (for the biscuits and the packet drinks), the electronics store (for batteries) and the provision shop- which I think is the only shop from that time that has undergone renovations to place more shelves.

There are the coffee shops, one of which is Two Chefs- famous for its spare ribs (or is it chicken?) that they prepare with lots and lots of milk powder, and the other which only opens in the late afternoon and is well known for its ordinary mifenmian kuay teow but not-so-ordinary fried chicken wings. By the way, I wanted a packet the day I dropped in, but the stall was closed.... *sniffles*

It is impossible to think of this crescent (or circle) without thinking of the church. Indeed, whilst the shops and the hawker centre might be the most frequent hangout for everyone living in the surrounding blocks, it is this church- with her distinctive steepled roof- that centres the 'hood. She's been here many years, more than 50, I should think, and no surprise it would be, I'd believe, that nearly everyone in the 'hood will know someone who will know someone who will know someone who participated in something on its grounds.   

It is also impossible to think of this 'hood without thinking of the school. The school is another icon in the place, especially if you're coming from the Queenstown side, for many a child has studied there, graduated from there, and will, I'm sure, have fond memories of their time there. The structure is still there, thank goodness, and is today a museum by the Education Ministry.

I'd come to this 'hood for no specific reason.  

Nostalgia, maybe; that might have been one reason for my presence on this particular afternoon, but strangely enough, the years that I'd spent here didn't come to mind. I didn't find myself thinking (much) of the office space (which still exists, by the way) or the colleagues I used to have, or even of the children whom I unfortunately had to say goodbye to.

What came to mind, instead, were the lessons I'd subliminally picked up here, including techniques which I quietly observed but never used. I remembered the varied experiences I'd had both large and small, and I recollected the perspectives of those years which honestly I should have seen, but didn't- because stubborn me thought that I should be disciplined in the career goals I yearned to pursue. 

Those goals, by the way, didn't come to pass.
 
Other plans came into play.

Better plans.

Plans that anchored me on a belief that I'd actually had for years but never realized, plans that evolved through the decade and brought me to where I am today, plans where at this stage of life I'm pretty sure I don't wish them to be diverted anymore.

I guess this is where timelessness holds its charms.

Because even though not all of them may be relevant for the present day, new revelations there always will be, and re-interpretations there certainly shall be.

By the way, if there's one thing you must know about this 'hood, it is that when it rains, it really, really, really RAINS. :D