Bus to Hougang: 2022

Not going to lie, but these pictures of the bus ride I took from Geylang Serai to Hougang Bus Interchange were a little hard to see. 

It wasn't because they weren't well taken or that they weren't nice to look at, but simply because they were taken during a season that reminds me of a tragic time that came not too long after- resulting in a time I wish would end very soon. 

This bus ride had been on a Saturday afternoon. 

It was a trip that saw me go from Geylang to Hougang, take a letter out of the letter box, then make my way up to Yishun on an errand for Mr. Radioman. 

Actually, the pictures themselves are charming. 

Had early 2023 not taken place I probably would be able to appreciate them the same way I did back in 2022.

But life changes. 

It isn't the whole journey that makes me feel this way, however. 

I don't feel the rising bile when I see the blocks of flats at Ubi housing estate, the car showrooms that came after, even the entrance to Bartley Road East or the Kim Chuan Road area after. 

The feeling of bile comes somewhere around here at the blocks of Hougang Avenue 1, Hougang Avenue 3, and the turn between Hougang Avenue 2 and Upper Serangoon Road. 

Maybe because these blocks have been in my life most familiar with me.

It's a bit of a pity.

These pictures were beautiful. 

But the sight of them brings me a reminder of the life I have lived, the family that I have had, and the life I have to still live now. 

Actually the sight of those flats at Hougang Avenue 1 aren't that bad- they remind me of my childhood since my school was close by and I had friends on the school bus who lived in the blocks here. 

They also remind me of the time I walked here with Mr. Radioman in the wee hours and we went to the Prime supermarket and Molly's bakery and confectionery before making our way back.

These days however, I don't think of these pleasant times when I see these blocks.

I think of the (unpleasant) flat that still awaits me. 

You know, I wonder if it be possible for parts of my life to take themselves completely away.  

Or if there be parts of my life which, even in my memory, I do not wish to anymore see. 

I don't see why I should.

Those people whom used to live in Hougang and whom I care about have all gone. 

My grandmother who used to live in Hougang Avenue 3 has passed on. 

My aunt who used to live with her has since married to Australia. 

My aunt, who used to live on the opposite side of the stadium migrated, my cousins going along with her. 

Mr. Radioman is gone.

And my grandfather who used to live in the People's Garden estate behind this junction, has since passed on too. 

There's nobody left in Hougang whom I feel anything for. 

Perhaps this then is a cue. 

A reminder that it is time to close the gates on this estate (metaphorically), wish it a goodbye, walk away, and metaphorically never return. 

Bus from Yishun: 2022

So I was sorting through some of my pictures the other day and found, quite to my surprise, a bunch of pictures that I thought I had previously edited with Photoshop Express, but turns out, I did not. 

I have written about this bus journey before. 

But these pictures, as they are now, I have not.

So, here we are. 

To be honest I have no idea which part of the bus journey these pictures exactly are. 

I just know that I had been heading to SAFRA Yishun for an errand on behalf of Mr. Radioman and I had had come from the Geylang Serai side, gone to the letter box downstairs his house, taken his IC and his collection letter from the letter box, and taken 854 up to Yishun where the SAFRA was. 

The route, if I'm not wrong, probably ran along Yio Chu Kang Road and maybe part of Seletar Road, or somewhere that's close to the Lentor side heading towards the northern part of the country. 

What's a little odd is that I don't recognize a single landmark in this set of pictures.

I don't know what those blocks of flats are, where they belong to. 

I don't know where the intersections are, what those factory buildings belong to, even where they are. I completely have no idea. The only thing I have is an inkling, one that means makes me think the buildings were somewhere on the Upper Yio Chu Kang side corresponding to the area above Ang Mo Kio and before the Seletar reservoir.

Also, don't ask me about the condos, and the terrace houses. 

I have no idea what they are, their name, which street they are on, or which part of the journey they actually are on.

The only thing I cab be a little bit certain of is the expressway. 

That, very likely, is the Seletar Expressway. 

I don't think the CTE stretches this far up north. 

But I like the pictures.

They give ma quiet sense of nostalgia. 

Also a bit of regret, not on my part, but on Mr. Radioman's part. 

He had been excited to collect these vouchers. To him they represented his identity as a citizen, as someone who had served the country in the military as a combat medic way back in the 70s, and as someone whom the country- and the military- still remembered. 

I have no idea what he planned to use these vouchers on.

But he did buy some cough medicine from the Unity Pharmacy at Kangkar Mall. 

That was November- same month I collected these vouchers on his behalf. 

He held on to those vouchers all through December.

But by early January he was gone. 

Mifenmian @ Aljunied Lane

Mifenmian, or Economic Bee Hoon, is probably one of the simplest dishes to be had on this island. 

Like Economic Rice, it is the kind of dish that every working-class person knows. 

And because each stall is different, and unique on its own, one can't really tell just what is what, and which is which, until you actually patronize the stall and eat the food there.

Good mifenmian has become increasingly difficult to find in the last couple of years. It is either that the noodles have not enough taste, too little salt, or if not, they go the opposite direction with too much salt, too much oil, and an overwhelming amount of soy sauce dunked in when they fry the noodle. 

So, rare and unique it is when you find a stall that serves up good, dry, well-fried bee hoon, smooth kuay teow fried in a nice, warm brown, and ingredients that are cut neither too big nor too small.

We were at a coffee shop somewhere close to Upper Aljunied Lane this particular evening, my friend and I. 

Now, what makes this place interesting is that, whilst I had heard of this place, and visited this place a couple of times ever since childhood, I had never not once eaten at the coffee shop here, nor gone to the row of shops at the main road. 

I don't know if Mr. Radioman ever did.

I had no inkling what, or how the public housing estate close to Jalan Mulia and Jalan Gembira looked liked. 

Until today.

And I was surprised. 

What's the relevance, you might ask. 

Actually, not so much now. 

But still, it made for a significant feeling, sitting here at the coffee shop of Upper Aljunied Lane on 3rd of March, eating a meal that was not only affordable, not only tasty, but also, familiar with me since I were young.

Those who know me will know I am a fan of kuay teow. 

No less, of course, Mr. Radioman, who used to buy mifenmian for the family from the coffee shop downstairs, and who knows I will actually make a small grumble when my packet of noodles reveals strands of mian mixed together with the kuay teow. 

Eating this plate of kuay teow with fish filet and a piece of otah had me wondering what he would say had he known I were here in his former neighborhood, at the blocks close to his former zone.

But, hey, I wasn't emo. 

Not at all. 

On the contrary, I was glad, thankful, for this plate. 

It was quietly comforting, assuring, as if telling me that life had been all right for Mr. Radioman, and it would be all right for me now.

The kuay teow was smooth, tasty, not overwhelming in oil. Also, easy to eat, the noodles picked up easily by my chopsticks. I liked the flavor, the taste, the way the noodles slid around my mouth and wrapped my tongue with its dark soy taste.

And accompanying it, were the crunch of the well-fried fish filet, coupled together with the spice of the soft, mushy, bright colored otah. 

The Change of Kovan

Ok, so this is going to be a bit of a personal post.

Yet, at the same time, it's not going to be as personal as some think it might be.

It is no secret that I used to live in Hougang. 

And because school five days a week was on the other side of Hougang near the Hougang Avenue 1, Lorong Ah Soo side, there was always a commute, plus a stopover, at the bus interchange between home, and school. 

It wasn't just weekdays that I came to the interchange.

Weekends too we came, at those times when we wanted to head downtown, and the only buses heading down Upper Serangoon Road to town area were all berthed here. 

I know this interchange well. 

One side of the interchange had all the feeder bus services going around Hougang Town. The other side had the buses all heading to other parts of the island, some going towards Tampines, some going to Chinatown, Orchard, Jurong East even. Hanging from the ceiling was this huge clock- which I do not have very happy memories of- and in the middle of the whole interchange was a kiosk where sweets, snacks, buns, and drinks were sold. 

This is a place where not only do I remember where the berth of Bus 111 was, not only do I remember buying sweets and snacks and later SMASH music magazines from the kiosk, I also remember bumping into my grandparents who had come to the nearby shopping center for errands and groceries and were taking the same bus as I were, back home. 

But life changes. 

Things move.

And what used to be a lively hub of the Hougang Bus Interchange along Upper Serangoon Road is now vacant, quiet, and empty. 

When it was that the bus interchange moved lock, stock, barrel down the road to where it is now in present day, I can't recall, but it might have been around 1998, 1999, near the time when the NEL started, and even though both interchanges were always running concurrently, to this day no one really knows why this bus interchange had to move. 

I've not had much of an opportunity, nor reason, to come this side of Hougang, or Kovan, as it is now known, very much in the intervening years. 

But the other day I did. 

And, let's just say, I was very surprised.

I can't say whether it was a surprise of the good kind, or the not-so-good kind, because even though much of the place looked same as how I remembered it, the vibe seemed different.

Was it just me or were it the retail mix of shops that made it so?

Was it just me or had I- after spending so much time elsewhere- become unfamiliar and desensitized to the space that I once used to frequent?

The largest change was of the space where the car park once used to be. 

This was the car park where, if coming from Upper Serangoon Road, we'd cross Tampines Road, and up the slope of the car park directly to the hawker center. 

Few years ago it was still there.

But now it's gone, replaced by construction works for public housing flats, and whilst I could see how this helps alleviate future home owners and maybe makes this part of Kovan a place to live, work, study and play, somehow the presence of those flats makes the place feel different. 

Especially the hawker center, which has become a little less airy and sunny than how I remember it, in particular the side where used to be my favorite chye tow kuay stall (and which is there no more)

It isn't just the hawker center and the car park that has changed.

The shopping center too has evolved so much that I'm not sure what to make of it.

On one hand I know I ought to see it with 2025 eyes.

Yet at the same time, I can't seem to erase memories of the department store that once used to exist there.

I guess I still remember it as a time of Kimisawa and Oriental.

And I still remember how it used to be when Delifrance, Pizza Hut and A&W were on the ground floor, with the peach tarts at Delifrance on display, the waffles and fried chicken wings and root beer floats at A&W, the KFC at the back, and the pizza buffet at Pizza Hut where you could have salad and soup and pizza and lasagna free flow for $7.

There're a good number of cafes and eateries and restaurants at the shopping mall today- not that they're gone- great for families and teens, plus snack booths but a lot more pop up space has been rented out both downstairs and upstairs, and I had a bit of a time trying to figure out what was where. 

Perhaps it might be great for someone who has given oneself the space and time to shop and look around. 

Perhaps too it might be great for someone who is exploring the area and wanting a quick grocery run. 

But I wasn't so much in the mood that day, and so headed out of the area (deciding to miss the McDonalds outlet entirely), passing by what was once a bowling alley, crossed over to the road where opposite once used to be the Wing Tai Garment Factory, and from Hougang Avenue 3, took a bus home. 

Nissin, Myojo & Maggi

So I had to clear out some space in one of my phones, and because I am the sort who has to have her music in as many gadgets as possible, decided it wiser to transfer out a couple of seldom-used picture albums instead of her favorite playlists. 

So here we are. 

Amongst all the albums that I transferred to the laptop that afternoon there was one of Food. 

I tend to give odd names for my picture albums.

And even though I don't know just how far back this YUMS album dates back to, the earliest pictures start from 10 years ago, and so, yeah, let's just say it began from there. 

Year on year there are many stories that can be told of all the food that I've eaten (and maybe I'll get to it one day) but for the moment, for the sake of this article, I'll just stick to a series of a single food, and just this series alone. 

So amongst all the pictures in YUMS, there was one food that popped up quite constantly, and frequently. 

Instant Noodles.

I hadn't thought that there were more than two, or three pictures.

But there are. 

There's one that dates back to 2016 where I had, on a late evening, cooked a packet of Myojo noodles over the stove, thrown in my all-time favorite ingredients of sotong cuttlefish balls, and finished up the whole bowl whilst sitting on the floor in the hall at the dark wood coffee table.

Then there's another one- this one two years later- using the same bowl, still with my favorite sotong balls, plus the addition of two hot dogs and cherry tomatoes this time. 

The next batch of pictures jump straight to 2020.

Chances are I didn't take pictures of those that I ate in 2019.

Seeing the pictures of these noodles hold a different meaning to me altogether. 

How it is I have three- the most out of all these years- I don't know, but I think they're all ramen, and if they're ramen, for sure they're all going to be Hokkaido Miso from the Nissin brand. 

To be honest, seeing these pictures right now makes me emotional. 

Not only were the noodles themselves gifted to me by Mr. Radioman, all them ingredients in the pot had also been bought by him.

He was the one who went to buy the sotong cuttlefish balls.

He was the one who got the hot dogs and the siew mais and the lettuce you see in these last few pictures.

And he was also the one who got the meatballs and the cherry tomatoes. 

Sometimes I wonder if I should be brave enough and continue buying them sotong balls and siew mais from the NTUC downstairs.

But I haven't found the courage to.

I don't want to relive the times when we bought the noodles together at the supermarket, tore the packet open, and split the packets into three and two. 

I also don't want to relive the times when I stood over the gas stove watching the noodles and my sotong balls boil in the pot before bringing them out to the hall to eat, or the room where I ate there at my long bench-like table. 

Which is why the only picture I have of instant noodles in 2023 is a bowl of Nissin dry UFO noodles on the bed linen of a hotel room near Little India. 

I'd chosen the carbonara. 

I've never returned to the siew mais nor the sotong balls nor the cherry tomatoes. 

They just didn't feel right anymore. 

And even though I have the Little Blue Pot steamer where I can actually cook my noodles underneath whilst steaming my sotong balls and siew mais on top, I've not done. 

Maybe it is that I've put my money to other foods. 

Maybe it is that I've decided to have other stuff- like bread and cornflakes- for quick meals- instead of making a bowl of noodles using ingredients that I know I'll take a long time to finish. 

I'm getting somewhat emotional right now.

This particular season has been hard. 

Perhaps I didn't think seeing pictures of instant noodles would be a trigger, but it is. 

Because now I don't use a stove pot anymore. 

I don't have any of these ingredients sitting in the freezer anymore.

And I don't even put the Nissin seasoning very much anymore. 

I didn't take a picture of the noodles I had couple of weeks ago. 

But here's one from last year. 

I think I was trying to cheer myself up over my lonesome meal. 

Kind of sums up how I prefer my noodles these days. 

No seasoning, just a lot of butter, many dashes of sesame oil, and generous sprinkles of mixed herbs- my preferred mode of vegetable for my noodles dry. 

Maybe one day I'll get back to the siew mais or the sotong balls. 

A noodle dish can do with some protein after all. 

The NTWU Kopi

Don't laugh, but this plain-looking, non-descript cup of coffee is one of the coffees that I actually miss whenever I'm not in town.

It comes not from a well-known coffee cafe (that, in this context, often serves up pastries and brunch) 

Neither does it come from a place with one of them good baristas who know their coffee beans and coffee types inside and out. 

But it is satisfying, it packs a good solid punch, and is remarkably affordable. 

I was first introduced to this coffee couple of years ago by Mr. Radioman who brought me to the NTWU canteen of the 'hood's bus interchange after a night of hanging out. 

"The coffee here good," he told me, "Solid one." 

Back then I had been a little more skeptical. 

After all not every coffee shop serves up the best coffee. 

But then the shutters of the canteen went up, from the bench we heard the clinking of tea spoons inside the mugs as the lady began stirring up the day's first order, and Mr. Radioman went in to order. 

In a few minutes he was back.

Up till today I still remember that sight of Mr. Radioman coming back to the table with two glass cups of kopis in his hand. 

I'll also always remember the taste. 

See, with this coffee, it isn't merely the sweet from the condensed milk that strikes you. 

It is also the roundedness, the richness, and the thickness of the coffee that hits hard.

I loved the way the coffee first wrapped her flavor around my tongue, sliding oh-so-smoothly down my throat, and then, finally, enveloping my senses with her comforting, revitalizing warmth.  

It's been more than two years since with Mr. Radioman I dipped a stick of youtiao dough fritters into a cup of kopi. 

It's also been more than two years since with Mr. Radioman we shared a plate of fried noodles along with our cups of kopi. 

Perhaps it is that which makes me glad that the taste of this kopi hasnt changed. 

I'm still not (emotionally) able to get back to the canteen of Hougang Bus Interchange for the same glass cup, but thankfully there're other canteens at other bus interchanges that I can go to whenever I need, and want. 

Like the other day when I happened to alight at Serangoon Bus Interchange, and because it had been a somewhat long day- like most days this season seems to be- I needed a coffee.

Desperately. 

In the NEX shopping mall there was McDonalds and MOS Burger and even the food court at the end of the same floor but then I passed by the NTWU canteen whilst walking in, I had cash on hand, and so into the functional, hole-in-a-wall canteen I went. 

The lady did the coffee for me in a quick jiffy, and let me tell you, words cannot describe just how much comfort the very first sip gave me. 

Would it be exaggerated if I say I felt suddenly alive?

Would it be too much of a overkill if I said I felt instantly revitalized? 

Because that's how it was. 

So good, rich and thick it was. 

Honestly, I'm glad for the consistency. 

It's like I don't have to think whether or not this place's kopi be good today or otherwise.

I don't have to worry that the standard of today's kopi fall below what I need and want. 

I don't even need to worry too much about price. 

I've not understood very much what exactly the presence of the unions are (sometimes) in the system of this country- it gets complicated- but if there's one thing I know, it is that the Workers' Union doesn't screw around with the needs and the tastes of bus drivers all around the country whether it be the meals, the snacks, the drinks, the cakes, or the coffees. 

What they want, they get. 

At their price. 

Not the same for us, of course, it's higher, but because they get what they want, because the canteen is open to everyone and anyone (just so long as we give them their right of space) we citizens, we bus passengers, get to have the same blessed standards too. 

Comfort Food of Instant Noodles

Not too long ago I found this picture in my phone.

It is a good one.

It is the kind of picture I look at whenever I want to feel warm and fuzzy and comfortable and cozy. 

It is also the kind of picture that, thankfully or not so thankfully, I don't seem to have very much anymore. 

Gone are the days where I could have instant noodles up to three times a week. 

Gone too are the days when I didn't have any freedom with the kind of seasoning I wanted and had to eat whatever was decided for me. 

Instant noodles have always been a part of my life. 

And as so there're memories both good and not so good associated with it. 

I wish I could say that instant noodles have always, consistently been a food that brought me comfort, but life's not always so, yes? 

Especially when there are times when I wish the noodles were not seen as a flippant choice of meal when choices there could have been much better. 

Thankfully some of my pleasantest memories have occurred in recent years, like this bowl of Myojo Seafood that I cooked, and ate, either around Christmas, or was it my birthday, at home, because I wanted to have something special to me, something exclusively mine. 

Funny thing about this bowl of noodles, however, is that I didn't feel like using the pot even though on hindsight I really should have.

I have, after all, a pot that's designed especially for such a purpose, to just put water in, put the noodles in, close the lid and let it cook. 

But for some reason, whenever I want to cook these noodles I'm too bum to even take out the pot and just pour hot water straight into the bowl. 

Really, I shouldn't do that. 

What I should do is to get a packet of noodles whose seasoning I really like, like Nissin's Tonkotsu ramen, or Myojo's Seafood, or Koka's Laksa (if they still be around), cook my noodles inside this Little Blue Pot, and steam a tray of siew mais on the top both at the same time. 

Yes, that's what I should do. 

It would, otherwise, be no different from the time when these noodles were seen as nothing more than a means to an end, when choice of seasoning didn't matter (you took the ikan bilis cube and nothing else) and it became a go-to meal when you wanted to excessively save money. 

I will not forget the time when two people stood for 45 minutes in a supermarket and tried to make up their minds about Noodle Flavor 1 or 2 for what was a 10sen difference (SGD$0.05), and after that, whilst not having the means to prepare the noodles well, had it done in a half-cooked style that made the noodles neither warm and appetizing, nor the hot dog pleasant on the tongue. 

Especially since there were other just as good food alternatives nearby. 

There are very few instances where the memory of noodles gets particularly bad. 

The half-cooked attempt is one of them. 

But there's still another one. 

I didn't have a problem with the noodles of this one. 

I had a problem with the other ingredients. 

Chicken feet are not, and never have been my thing, and I don't care if they be fried, stewed, steamed or boiled. 

Watching a relative fish out noodles from a rice cooker (up in the Blue Mountains) with all them chicken feet swimming about in the soup below is to me a memory as unnerving as the day I first saw it all those years ago. 

There was a chicken foot in my bowl.

I couldn't eat it. 

I'm not sure if I enjoyed those noodles very much either, tasteless as they were.  

I'm not the kind to eat noodles without any sort of flavor.

And even it be those days when I'm not into the seasoning, there's always the magic of butter, sesame oil and mixed herbs that sufficient flavor which doesn't overwhelm. 

Birthday & Christmas @ HH

You know, I really wasn't intending to write about these two celebrations here at HH. 

Not because I didn't think the occasions worth a celebration, but because it is not a genuine celebration when someone tells you that you have to 'follow instructions' and 'be a good worker' to the perfected letter, and should you fail, you 'don't love' the person and therefore 'i won't celebrate for you either'. 

It has been a heavy, and exhausting price to get these pictures.

And really, I don't quite know what and how to make of them. 

I can't say they aren't valuable. 

Yet neither can I say that they're treasured. 

Perhaps they are just what they are- a piece of documentation for my birthday and Christmas for 2024- and nothing more. 

With that being said, that's not all there is, however.

This place doesn't belong solely to just one. 

No, it's more than that, and this place, this table, this celebration, and everything that is still on here down to the table cover and placemats, used to be known to Mr. Radioman. 

To disdain these pictures and treat them like trash made me feel like I would be disdaining his former presence, his present memory. 

He did, after all, for my birthday, use to be tasked to get one of those round chiffon marble cakes from the neighborhood bakery downstairs. 

And he did bring out the cake knife and all, and then we'd share this chiffon marble cake together when we met up a week or so after. 

Same it was for Christmas.

He'd be the one buying the tub of ice cream and the fruit cocktail. 

I'd be the one getting special cookies for everybody. 

There's no ice cream now (thank God) but there's still the fruit cocktail and the soft drinks, and instead of cookies, I got butter cake, and pannetone.