Breaking Fast Local Style

This is a morning meal that us Singaporeans know very well. 

It is a meal that has in recent years transformed from a 'regular' 'normal' breakfast of the heartlands into one of national and cultural identity. 

Where once it was not sought after by tourists visiting our shores, today you can find them going around malls hunting for a TOASTBOX or a WANGZ or a YA KUN or just about any place that serves up kaya toast, soft boiled eggs and coffee or tea.

They're very conscientious about it too.

I see them looking over at the locals for the best way to eat the eggs.

I see them taking pictures with the toast dipped inside the eggs.

And I see them debating over iced milk coffee or iced lemon tea whilst waiting for their turn in the queue.

This breakfast has become something our little island can be proud of.

Should it not be when this is a meal that we can find in nearly every coffee shop, nearly every hawker center, and nearly every food court?

There might be places where you can find one dish or the other. 

But there is no coffee shop that does not serve a (varying quality) of kaya toast, French toast, toast with butter and sugar, toast with kaya no butter, soft boiled eggs and coffee or tea. 

There is no best one. 

You just have to find one that suits your palate. 

There are coffee shops whose eggs are more chewy than runny (I love those), or whose eggs can be so raw I have to ask the grump-faced uncle nicely if he can boil them a bit more again.

There are coffee shops whose bread is not very toasted and which comes to the table flat and limp and odd-shaped with just a scanty bit of butter and even lesser of the kaya spread. 

Then there are coffee shops whose (oh dear me) coffee is so watery I have to order kopi gao just so I can get through the day feeling like I did have my morning coffee. 

But no matter which coffee shop, hawker center or food court you go to, no matter what the standards of each place are, a breakfast like this never fails to deliver.

I've had this meal at a food court in Plaza By The Park before heading off for a three-hour exam paper. 

I've had this meal at a coffee shop in Bedok Central because I was there on an errand and didn't want to waste time looking around for other options.

I've had this meal at a few YA KUNs before stepping into the courtrooms of the State Court and the High Court.

And at one time, I even had this meal (nearly every morning) at the staff canteen of the then-Singapore Power Building before going off to my part-time job a twenty-minute walk down the road.

She's simple, yes, this combination of bread and eggs, but always, always, she has been, through the years, a warm, comforting, confident boost that gets me through the rest of the day.

Mala Xiang Guo

It surprises me just how much I have come to really love this dish.

For many of us it isn't a big deal, but for me, a person whom, at one time, could barely work her way through a plate of Mala Chicken 辣子鸡, and whom still considers very spicy food (never mind from where) a challenge, to love and even anticipate this dish, I'd say I've come pretty far. 

No doubt I don't have it very often. 

But neither do I shy away from any opportunity at all. 

This is a dish that, despite its rustic vibes, is surprisingly fun to eat.  

And which offers you plenty of choice. 

Where in other dishes you have to finish a whole large grilled fish, or where you are served a minimum number of lobsters in the plate, with Mala Xiang Guo 麻辣香鍋, you get to choose the kind of ingredients you want, you get to choose the number of portions you want, and you can decide for yourself just how much spice you want. 

This bowl here comes from a newly opened place just downstairs my house which The Parent had suggested we go for a late-night supper. 

I hadn't even known The Parent enjoyed Mala Xiang Guo 麻辣香鍋. :D

It didn't matter to either of us that we would have to take it either mildly spiced, or no spice at all.

We managed to settle down quickly- at that hour there were very few dine-in customers (but there were several takeaways)-and we ordered- let me see- a single portion of beef, a single portion of mushrooms, seaweed, noodles, Taiwanese sausage, and fried beancurd skin. 

The dish is stir-fried and it came all mixed together in a bowl with sauce and seasonings and very red-looking oils same like the kind in Water Boiled Fish 水煮鱼. 

At first I was afraid it might be too spicy and oily and greasy (the ingredients really looked like they were swimming away in a ladleful of oil) but- here's the beautiful part- it wasn't. 

Yes, I could taste the oils. 

Yes, I could feel the oils on my lips and my tongue. 

But the feeling didn't linger. 

In fact it went down quite easily with no greasy aftertaste at all. 

And because there was still a bit of sauce and seasoning and oils left in the bowl after we'd finished our ingredients, we sneaked in a couple of cherry tomatoes that I had brought and used them to wipe up whatever was left of the delicious, stimulating, salty, spicy oils. 

Stress From the COVID-19 CORONA

There was an article I read in the local newspaper a few days ago about how some have been driven to breaking point by stress during the COVID-19 pandemic. 

The story in the article was, no doubt, a sad one. 

A lady found herself a widow because her husband decided a few days before his 50-something birthday that life was burdensome, meaningless and hopeless, and that there was no point in living it anymore. She has two children- both of whom are of university age and are in Singapore. She also has two elderly folk- one of whom suffers from dementia and the other whom has recently begun to hallucinate. 

The COVID-19 (or CORONA as I prefer to call it) shook up their lives to the very core. Her husband, before he died, had had a change of job. Her son, studying overseas prior to the pandemic, had had to abruptly forgo his lifestyle and come home. Her in-law, accustomed to the daily routine where her son would take her out, became hysterical when those excursions were (by law under the circuit-breaker rules) denied.

Perhaps it sounds callous, insensitive, even unsympathetic to speak of this story as a use-case now. 

But I must. 

I have to.

Because families like these are real.

Situations like these are also real.

I know of homes where a family of seven or eight live together in the space of a two-room flat. In homes like these, the children may have no laptops or computers, much less a computer table and a study area. In homes like these the parents (or parent or elder) may be overwhelmed taking care of the younger ones and either depend on the help of the older ones whom in turn are often trying very hard to discover themselves and lead their own lives. In homes like these too, the children have creative ways of occupying their hours and their days- usually- in the neighborhood outside the flat. 

There are homes where a family of four live with an elderly parent and a caregiver in the space of a three-room flat. Here they may have the liberty of more space- there may be a table allocated for the children to study and do their home-based learning- or there may be a table allocated for the working parent whilst the children take the dining table. Takes a little bit of shifting, but no big deal, nothing the family cannot handle. However, at where a routine has been firmly set, now the routine has been abruptly changed, and perhaps it is the elderly who finds himself or herself confused most of all. Interrupted by some virus they don't comprehend, it is perhaps the elderly who takes it the hardest. No more activities, no more going out, the center they go to daily is closed, the bus that comes to pick them up is not coming around, and now they are at home- kept in- by their children- and the government- against their will.  

And what about homes where the men batter their women, and where the women batter their children? 

The rules apply to one and to all. 

Whether you live in a landed property or a one-room flat, the rules are uniform across the board- and it don't care if you have a garden of your own to potter around, or if all you have is a public corridor (which you are for the moment, forbidden to linger) 

As much as we wish it were simple and straightforward for them to shrug their shoulders in helpless acceptance of the situation, cope, adjust and carry on, for them in these families, it might not be. 

Neither would it be so simple as convincing themselves (and their family members) that these rules are truly the best for themselves, for everyone, and that they- like others in the society- should just obediently adhere.  

These are people whose homes are less safe than the outside. 

These are people whose nuclear relationships are colder than the drifting winds of the night.

It isn't because they are weak-minded or immature or childish. 

It is simply that they don't happen to be in environments that are conducive for who they are, or whatever it is they are doing. 

Maybe I speak of the extreme. 

But not necessarily so. 

We all know of someone who knows someone who knows someone who hangs out at libraries and fast food restaurants and shopping malls and coffee shops and Starbucks all day because they dont' wish to return early home. 

We all know of someone who knows someone who knows someone who doesn't come from a comfortable, loving, supportive home. 

It isn't just gangster kids hanging out at the void deck or the shopping mall. 

It is also adults who decide to work overtime at the office or go out chill with clients and friends just so they don't have to go back so early home. 

So, as much as it is advisable to do safe distancing and stay at home and not go out and so on, for them, the enforcement might not be as happy and comfortable and fun and safe as it might be for their friends, and their peers.  

This is society.

This is our society.

It is for this reason that I was outright vocal about certain measures that were enforced during the early days of the CB.  

To begin with, I wasn't thinking about a week or a month or two months.

I was thinking long term. 

Four months, six months, a year. 

Because whilst we might be able to bite the bullet in a dire situation and run along with it for a specified period of time, what happens if- IF- the season gets extended and by then, we are drained, we are exhausted, we have run out of internal and external resources, and we just don't have the energy to cope and carry on? 

What then will we do?

How then will we cope?

Perhaps we think to ourselves that we should not overthink, and we would be strong enough to handle it when the time comes. 

But- BUT- what if- IF- the time comes and  you're too fatigued and too stressed to figure out what to do? 

What if- IF- you no longer have the mental capacity to kick in new patterns and establish new behaviors?

What happens, then?

Emotionally, mentally, physically, everything escalates. 

Things that never used to bother you, bother you now. 

Things that you could once escape from, you cannot escape from now. 

You used to be able to place things aside and compartmentalize them. 

You can't do that now. 

Everything becomes a messy, entangled, matted lump. 

What's worse- you're in a confined space with others and all of you have no way out. You can't hide. You can't avoid. Desperation sets in. Fear sets in. Anger surfaces. Blaming begins. Fights start. 

And you *still* have no way out.

Perhaps i am kiasee.

But I didn't want to wait till desperation and anger hit before reacting. I didn't want to wait till then to plan, to measure, to cope, to be conscious and congruent and confident of my emotions. 

I wanted to start now. 

If it were the 'new normal' then let the normal begin its journey now. If I needed to apply it, no problem. If I didn't need to apply it, well, I'd just fall back to old patterns and old plans. 

That's what all my opinions- however irresponsible, however noisy, however childish, however dramatic-sounding, however (seemingly) immature- were for. 

It was never for just the two months. 

It was just in case the two months extended to two years.

I needed to know what to do.

We needed to know what to do.

Our society needed to know what to do.

It is five months now since the circuit breaker lockdown started. We're now in Phase 2. Can I say we have adjusted? 

Maybe, maybe not. 

But some policies have certainly been remodeled for the benefit of those who happen to have different environments as compared to their peers. 

School gates are open. School canteens are open. Laptops have been reformatted and loaned or donated to those who need it. High-end computers too have been loaned to students who work their programs on it. Shopping malls and supermarkets allow both Safeentry and IDs for admission, with NTUC even doing mobile van style for residents in selected housing estates. And whilst alcohol has a time limit until 2230, seniors can now go downstairs to the coffee shop (masked up) for their regular cup of kopi. 

There're still adjustments to be made, of course. 

Libraries restrict your time to 30 minutes. Starbucks and Coffee Bean put a sticker on the table and encourage you to not hang around too long with your drink. And slowly some of us are returning to the co-working spaces and offices.

We're not there yet. 

But I think we know a little of what we ought, and can, and should do.

This post here isn't to point fingers at any of us who have found ourselves confused, lost, irritated and annoyed. 

None of us are ever well prepared enough for crises, trauma, or change. 

We can only hope to make the process easier, better, happier, and even so, there will be reaction. There will be feelings of anger and despair and grief and loss. That's expected. That's fine. We can allow ourselves to embrace everything.

If we didn't realize back then we didn't need to get prepared and have found ourselves losing our s*** over the tremendous Change, let's not whack ourselves but accept that it (really) is a crisis with a capital C- and carry on from where we are step on step on step. 

You're surviving. 

I'm surviving. 

We all are. 

By the way, i am not (not) sympathetic. 

The mentioned case is a really sad one- i sincerely feel for the widow- I feel for all the new challenges that she now has to shoulder- and quietly i wonder if anyone could have stepped in for her late husband before he died.

The Serangoon River

There's something about Punggol and Lorong Halus that speaks to the  northeast soul inside of me. 

I can't really define what it is. 

It may be the quiet of the waters that flow from the river to the Johor Straits that we often call the open sea. 

It may be the once-swampy banks that lined both sides of the river. 

Or, it may be the chill of the Land that this area seems to bring.

For a long time I never got to come to this place. 

It just wasn't a place to come to.

Either that, or it never really crossed our minds to make a trip here.

Except for that one Sunday afternoon when The Parents decided to drive to the end of Upper Serangoon Road where the road used to meet the river and where the bumboat used to meander through the mangrove swamps towards the sea- I never came here at all.

But the place is different now. 

You've got parks, you've got boardwalks, you've got cafes, convenience stores, and even little prawning ponds. 

Better still, it has become possible to bike here. 

Which I do, from time to time, either beginning from East Coast Park, down Tanah Merah Coastal Road, through Changi Village (where I make a pit stop), up Loyang, through Pasir Ris, through Lorong Halus, and finally Punggol or from Still Road, up Eunos Link and Hougang Avenue 3, into Defu Avenue 1, up Hougang Avenue 7, into Upper Serangoon Road, onto the PCN and finally, up to Punggol. 

The first route is long- Daffy my bike knows- but oh, what a view you get when you find yourself on the Halus Bridge overlooking waters like these.

This isn't a view to be found anywhere, except maybe at Sarimbun or Kranji or Tuas or Pulau Ubin. 

And it isn't merely about the view, but the fact that these waters- untouched, unadulterated as they are- are a stoic reminder of what our country (before all the development) once used to be. 

It's important- this reminder- because- some of us never knew. 

We didn't know that there was a Serangoon Island, a Punggol Timor Island or a Punggol Barat Island. Back then, our maps didn't show. 

We didn't know if anyone lived on the islands, on the river, or on the banks of the river. 

All we knew was that the northeast monsoon rains of November and December were always chilly and cold. 

All we knew was that after the rains there would be this distinct kampung smell that drifted from the Punggol side into the windows of our home.

I can never disconnect the vibes of Christmas with the chill of nice, cold rains outside my highrise windows. 

I can never forget the deepset, penetrative, permeating silence that this neighborhood in the dark hours of night seemed to bring. 

She still wields a sense of mystery, this place, but more than that, she is a place of anticipation, of nostalgia and of hope. 

Because whatever was once lost can be found again. 

And whatever was once taken away can be restored again. 

foods from the Phone

These pictures you see here were taken on days when I thought my meals were going to be routine and regular, but which turned out to be spectacularly new after all. 

See, I don't have a habit of planning my meals. 

So whilst I do know (roughly) what it is I have to eat (thank you diet) I don't know where  it is I'll eat it at. And since the menu is flexible, so even though I might have thought about going for Thai but because I'm at a place where there's very good Turkish that comes recommended, I might embargo the Thai and head for the Turkish instead. 

It's all very spontaneous, very on-the-go. 

There was this particular day where I was in Suntec City and because my route to the convention center took me past this Thai place, I had a lunch of noodles in seafood tom yum soup. 

Then there was this day when my companion thought we might go to Chinatown but then the bus passed by the Kampong Glam area and so down we hopped and headed to a Turkish restaurant which we'd never before tried.

There are hits and misses, of course- we loved the green curry beef and the fish maw soup at this place in Tampines, but the tom yum seafood noodle at Suntec could have had more seafood in a thicker broth.

Spontaneity grants us more hits, fortunately, even if we don't really remember the name of what it was we ate at the Turkish place but only know that we had a lot of bread, a lot of cheese, and a lot of olive oil. 

In my phone I have the dine-out pictures. 

But I also have the dine-in ones. 

These are of meals which we prepped in our kitchen, particularly during the months of the circuit-breaker where there was no dining out and you either had your meals delivered, you did a takeaway, or you cooked them by yourself. 

They're memorable, each one of them, and secretly I sometimes wish we had more time to prep these meals the same way again. 

We don't do this so much anymore. 

Breakfast these days is more slap-dash and go, but during those months, we had more time. 

So there was a day where we had a geriatric-style breakfast of soft-boiled eggs with oatmeal and honey on the side. 

There was a day where we had a South Asian breakfast with pan-fried naan, a single fried egg and coffee topped with cinnamon. 

And there was a day where there was a bowl of smoothie that blended avocado, blueberries, oats, honey, coconut water and banana. 

Lunches and dinners were no less simplified. Ingredients we didn't usually have, we now had. Things we didn't usually make from scratch, we now made. 

Like the homemade rosti which we peeled and shredded the potatoes ourselves and then ate with pan-fried boneless chicken thigh served with a dollop of Greek yogurt on the side. 

Like the green curry fried rice which the Chef made from leftover green curry, a beaten egg and overnight rice, which we then enhanced with pieces of fresh beef stir-fried. 

And, of course, the homemade broccoli soup that saw us simmering the vegetable over the stove for a good twenty minutes before melting in a chunk of cheese, adding in a portion of fresh milk, plus a bit of turmeric and sea salt into a base of organic vegetable broth that came from Cold Storage. 

Election Fervor

Politics is something that I usually prefer to reserve comment on. 

It isn't because I have no opinion. 

It isn't because I am committed to one leadership and therefore disfavor the others. 

And it isn't because my choice (or none) has no effect or influence upon me. 

We're a small country; a small city-state less than 50 kilometers east to west, less than 25 kilometers north to south, with a local population that stands at about 4 million. 

How possible, then, is it that anyone who lives here and dwells here can be not affected by the Policies, Bills and Laws set down by any political party that hold a seat in the Government? 

Of course not. 

We all get affected. 

It doesn't matter who you are or what you do. It doesn't matter whether you favor one Party or have a favorite Candidate or think this person should be doing this whilst that person should not be doing that. 

The same Policies and Rules when passed will have an effect on you. 

Does it then make a difference whether or not this candidate or that candidate is an ideal politician? 

Yes, and No. 

Yes, because personality, attitude, background, education and career matter. 

No, because background, education and career- whilst important- are not necessarily a defining criteria of what makes a good politician. 

You can have a reputable family background (old family name), a stellar range of letters behind your name, and a successful career with lots and lots of accolades, but if you are arrogant and hypocritical and if you suck at your presenting attitude (I say 'presenting') with the people whom will be putting their trust in you, I'm sorry, you fail. 

In the same way, of course, if you are extremely personable and pleasant and identify well with the man or woman who will be putting their trust in you, yet cannot hold your own on the international stage, cannot communicate well in the language of trade, nor be able to assess the effects of your policies on a larger nationwide scale, you also fail. 

Yeah, it is a tough call. 

No one said being a politician was easy. 

In fact, so hard a call it is that there are very, very few (or none) who have managed to balance both together effectively and harmoniously. More often than not, a politician is either one or the other. If liked by the people, he or she will be disliked by his or her peers on the international stage. If liked by those on the global stage (especially the analytical kind) then chances are, he or she will be disliked by those (who voted him or her in) at home. 

I'd love if a political candidate is groomed to play both roles effectively, but it probably takes too much effort (and anyway no one has time) so let's just say it to be an impossible calling, and that we people of the world shall never have a politician who can balance well both sides. 

Given that, however, what it does mean is that a candidate or incumbent can be either a policy maker or a personable character. 

Maybe it is a naive, childish perspective. 

Maybe it is too basic for what is the Deep Think of International Politics and Political Systems. 

But I am no intellectual. 

And I don't care to sound like one. 

To me every system has her pros and cons, every leadership has its strengths and weaknesses. There can be no perfect system, just like there can be no perfect leadership. 

All we can make do with is to find the best balance of leadership quality, adapt the best policies that suit the situation of the present moment, and carry on. 

Again, maybe it sounds like I have no opinion and that I am once again sitting on the fence. 

But you see, I am used to being on (or near) the fence. 

It is impossible to not know- and see- firsthand how the Incumbents and the Oppositions are when you grow up in a Zone that has been, and continues to be, hotly contested by both sides every five (more or less) years. 

We are the Zone that has had the experience of having to stay up late way past midnight on Polling Day because we were the last constituency to be announced. 

We are the Zone that has had the name on our estate dustbins changed at least three times because our boundaries got redrawn and our Town Councils got changed.

Other constituencies may have had the luxury of being Walked Over (just bring out the potato chips and the beer) but we are the Zone that pays close attention to whatever changes there might be once Election season starts- because in Politics anything and everything can happen, and you never know what will, or will not happen. 

Did anyone anticipate the (now famous) 10,000 strong crowd at the rally held at a field close to the junction here? 

Did anyone anticipate that the results of the vote count from that rally would send a few good Ministers out of their current portfolios and into new ones?

Or that years later people would still remember the pickup truck with its loudhailer megaphone on its rounds in the estates blasting its manifesto statements to the high-rise residents in Teochew?

Some things change. 

Some things don't. 

Maybe impressions and memories really do linger.

At the end of the day, does it matter whether the vote count swings this side or the other? 

Yes. 

Because it affects how our homes will be for the next five years. It affects how our estates will be for the next five years. And maybe in the little things like the flowers downstairs our house, the sheltered walkways, the bus stops, the overall maintenance of the estate, yes, it does matter. 

What is of real significance, though, isn't the ixora at the foot of the overhead bridge near our house, or even the wheelchair ramp at the front of the block. 

What matters is that, should we (for one reason or another) have a need to go see our MP to "write a letter" on our behalf to the relevant departments and authorities, who it is that listens to us and represents us will be what gives us that glimmer of hope that life can go on, that things can be resolved, and that a solution to life's daily s*** always exists somewhere.