fear the Indifference

I read a book not too long ago.

It was a book of short stories written by a renowned author from China. He lived in the early twentieth century, and in the introduction, there were excerpts from an interview conducted with him.

He said that the worst thing that can happen to any thinker, writer, artist, thought leader, or anyone for that matter, is not whether one's opinions get overwhelming support, or overwhelming criticism, but complete indifference.

By that, it means a lost voice in the mire of voices. It means that whatever opinion that you have formulated, regardless expressed or not, is simply non-existent. It means that no one pays attention, no one reacts, no one gives a s***, no one cares. It's merely unseen, unheard, unfelt.

Never has it been more greatly felt than in today's world of technology. It is an age of information abundance. It is an age where nearly everyone can be granted a voice in one form or another and thereby be granted the ever-present element of choice and variety amidst all the offerings in our commercial world today.

It is easy to have an idea. It is easy to put thought to it and go around the groups and push through the social media channels or even go straight to the ground with physical surveys. In the sense, it is doable. Likewise it is doable- despite the competition- to get seed funding and incubator funding for the ideas and the processes and solutions that you have. 

But let's be candid here.

Nothing ever prepares you for the moment for debut. Imagine, you've been there preparing for months, years even. You've sat there looking at your material and interacted daily with your team and your investors. And you think you've got some good dope there. You think this dope is exactly what people outside your circle need. You think that this dope is gonna save the world's issues.

So you debut.

And..... NOTHING.

Complete silence. Astounding silence.

It's one of the worst situations to be in. It's like... you stepping out onto a stage for your very first show. Now, by then you've gone through hours and hours of practice and your routine is perfect and you've worked out the kinks and you believe that everything is perfect and that right out there seated in the auditorium are people who are going to enjoy your performance and give you the applause and present you flowers after that. But then you step out, and to your horror, the auditorium is empty!

Devoid of a soul. No one in the audience, no one even from the janitorial crew. So you turn around and go backstage and check with your poster people, your marketing people, your event managers, your agency, your makeup and costume people, even your venue sponsors and venue reps and they're all scratching their heads there. They're telling you that they've gone through the motions and all... but..

There's always a reason, isn't it, when situations happen this way. Perhaps something else was going on. Perhaps people were too busy or they had other necessities. But let's say that there were fifteen auditoriums and there were fourteen other performers all debuting at the same time as you and with all the posters and advertisements going on, yours had got lost in the midst. Either they had simply ignored yours, or if they did see it, they let it slip away from their minds. In other words, with all the excitement of what was going on around them, there was simply indifference towards your painstakingly prepared, painstakingly rehearsed performance.

This is not a situation that anthropomorphic branding wants to land you in. 
 

wynne: with wings

Because we don't create the what. That's your product, your job. We create the Who. And the Who we create isn't you. The Who that is you is someone you can create for yourself. We create the Who and we place it in a Where and have it be involved in a How and Why and When- a story arc in a place and a setting and where there's a mission and purpose. Because if your product is meant to solve something, our Who is also meant to solve the same thing with the distinctive method that your product is using.

He or She IS your product, your service. He or She personifies your solution. He or She represents the solution that your product or service provides. He or She becomes the one your market will recognize, follow, watch and emote which leads to a call to action.

Your product ceases to be something that people don't understand. Your product grows a heart- one that is a person just like themselves and whom they can identify with and who, like them, faces limitations and has strengths and weaknesses. But there's just one distinctive exception. He exists for a very specific problem. And he is a very specific solution.

It doesn't apply with the first glance. But what it does is to create an impact, a response, and where He or She becomes your spokesperson and has the potential to be anywhere and everywhere at the same time, reaching out to different peoples with different likes and dislikes and all kinds of interests because simply, He or She is designed to be a Person.

There will be emotive responses. There will be criticism. There will be support. Or there may be none. There may be time lapse before they support. Or there may be time lapse before they change their minds. But whether they decide now or later, what is pretty clear is that because of this guy or girl, there won't be a nonchalant, cant-care-less attitude that merely increases the risk of your product and service being swept to the gutter.

Prose versus Point: a WIP

I think I might have overdone it a little.

Looking at everything else that I've written thus far on this blog, I confess, it's become nearly unreadable and admittedly, incomprehensible.

It's embarrassing.... but I guess what's done already done and there's no other route about it but to go back to the drawing board, or the keyboard, in this case.

See, here's what happened:

I thought I would try writing the style that's advocated by social media. We all know that the advance of Tumblr and Twitter and Instagram has made our sentences crispier, shorter, wittier and neater. Instead of elaborate, descriptive vocabulary and longish grammatical sentence arrangements, we're all encouraged to use acronyms, letters, and keep everything we want to say to a maximum of 160 letters. Technology allows it. Technology embraces it. Where once I got a bunch of red lines alerting me to a fragmented sentence in MS Word, now they cease to exist. Where once short sentences were highlighted by the software, now they're accepted as proper forms of expression.

And so down the quest for short sentences and witty lines I went. Emotive words, thought words, whatever description that came into my mind all translated into my fingers and the screen. One-liners, two-liners, they all went down. I thought it would be easier for the writer, and the reader. I thought it was more... honest, more relevant. I thought that by doing so, I would be keeping up with the current trend of writing where my readers would be granted an insight into the thought-flow of fluid succession presented the way it was.

Until I realized that I too was not understanding what the frig I'd written.. and if I could confuse even myself, what more my poor readers?

So there goes the (poorly-attempted) wit and in comes the lengthier descriptions. After all... it's not as if I can't write in prose!

sweet, Sweet ❤ ❤ ❤

ivory roses

❤ wildflowers ❤

leaves are beautiful

cocooned lovingly

a dramatic moment

a pose for the camera

i am a budding lily and i am my own

petals of ivory white

whiteness. purity. strength. delicacy. fragrance.

Ask me what florals represent me and I can honestly tell you that there're quite a few. In other words, I'm sometimes either one, or the other, or both, or all together. It really depends...

 

I could be a peony or a wisteria. I could be a rose or a baby's breath. I could even be a wildflower! But I like being a lavender all calming and soothing and sleepy and gentle and fragrant and comforting. Or a gerbera sunny and cheerful and lively and vibrant and fun. Or a stargazer lily strong and delicate and bright and unique. :)

advent children: Cloud and Tifa

I was supposed to go sleep but for some reason, this night I was wide awake. It had been a long day. Lots of discussions, lots of analysis, lots of brainstorming, lots of thinking, and I suppose an overly-activated brain left me insomniac.

So I sat there in the living room and in the silence of the wee morning hours, I tapped away.

And watched, and watched, and watched.

One video after another. First a trailer, then a fan-made video, then this, then that..

Eighteen years have passed since this first appeared and since I first sighted the poster at a LAN shop and  seeing this now, I'm stoked still, to be this close to the expressive eyes and physique of Cloud and to the digitally created, physically-rebonded hair of Tifa.

coffee From vietnam

i love the filter

I'll be straight out about it.

The best thing about this coffee is the price. For SGD $2.50 this is one of the most attractive prices around for a filtered cup of coffee. It's more expensive than the kopi or the kopi-o or the kopi-gao we get in our coffee shops, but you're paying for the experience- and the tools that make up the experience.

I had mine at this Vietnamese cafe along Joo Chiat Road. There're plenty of Vietnamese cafes here and where I am, they've given me a spoonful of hot water in a little glass cup along with the apparatus that reminds me of some sort of chemical experiment. Beneath the lid is a filter and beneath the filter is the cup where my drink's dropping into.

It's quite mesmerizing, honestly, even therapeutic, just sitting quietly and watching the coffee seep through the mesh and a couple of minutes later, you get your cup of full-bodied, rich coffee.

I asked the lady what the hot water was for. She told me I could use it in case the coffee was too strong. I didn't dilute mine.

But I asked for condensed milk instead. :)

claypot full of Curry

coconut coconut

You may have noticed this restaurant. You may have not.
You may have wondered what they serve. You may have not.

This is a restaurant that's in fact not quite difficult to miss when you're traveling along this road. It sits along the road leading to Tiong Bahru and it's in this club-house type of building that's right after Block 9 of the Singapore General Hospital.

 

I'd passed by here a couple of times before but I didn't have the chance to step in until a year or so ago. That was the time when we trotted downhill from the main hospital building after visiting hours were over. That was the time when we were hungry and tired after having spent nearly the whole day in the ward. That was the time when we were feeling lost and helpless and uncertain and unsure.

It wasn't the happiest of times. Happier we are now, I'm glad to say. :) 

We ordered the same claypot curry dish that we had the last time we came. Not because we particularly wanted to reminisce, but because the curry is really, really good. See, there're curries that are dry. There're curries that are like sauces. And there're curries that are rich like broths.

This is one of those.

It comes to you fresh off the fire, still bubbling and simmering in its pot. At once you're struck with an aroma that wafts towards you, and if you weren't hungry before, you're feeling the pangs now, and though you're not really sure whether it is the spices or the coconut that's creating the aroma, you simply dig in.

In between the spoonfuls of rice and tender slices of beef, I got a multitude of sensations that jumbled themselves up together. I had the sensation that tickled the tip and back of my tongue, I had the rounded palate of flavors that smoothly rolled around and then finally, this distinct warmth that settled herself snugly over me.

Evocative memories started flooding in.

I remembered the events of a year ago. I remembered how it had been for us then. I remembered myself sitting on an armchair in the visitors' area, with papers upon my lap, writing furiously away, hoping to block out the fear and uncertainty. I remembered the daily trips to another hospital as a companion for her therapy. I remembered all the words of encouragement and the adjustments made for her benefit. I remembered the resistance to the adjustments.

It came back, much of it.

But even now, as I chewed on the beef and slurped down the curry broth, even as I dug around the pot for any meat escapees, and ladled out the carrots and the cabbage to munch them down, I realized just how far on the recovery journey we'd come.

Today we no longer stood at a loss, wondering which direction we had to take. Today we could tell ourselves that as unconventional as our decision had been, it had been a right one. Because today, it would mark 9 months since she could take a bus and go around and buy juice and milk and take care of her needs unassisted. And today, she could enjoy foods that previously she had stubbornly declined.

Suddenly it struck me. This very dish had been more than  just a simple, everyday dish. It had actually been a comfort, a boost. Because back then, it had been a reminder that there was life beyond illness- and that even as we numbly ate our very late dinner here, we had surreptitiously been sent a life-is-beyond-illness message from people no less than the good doctors from the Singapore Medical Council.  

And because in that moment I'd realized that this was what I wanted for her. That it was possible for enjoyment and great-tasting meals to co-exist with diet and health, I forgot about the worries, I forgot about the uncertainties that lay ahead, I forgot how tired I was.

I simply carried on.

126 One Two Six

I'm one of those peeps that prefers to spend her nocturnal hours holed up in the safety and comfort of her room. Seldom; very, very seldom do I venture beyond my door to see what the city offers during her wee hours, and so when late one night I was feeling peckish and didn't want fast food, someone suggested going to 126 for dim sum.

I thought he meant the address.

After all, It IS located at 126 Sims Avenue, but the name itself is in fact a play on words, numerals and what the restaurant really is, because if you're hungry late at night, finding this restaurant after having passed Lavender and the Kallang River and the Merdeka Bridge, will be how the numerals 126 describe so aptly in Cantonese- "I've 'found food!'

126 creates an impression on you the very moment you step in. Many places tend to have wide entrances and lots of space. Not this place. The entrance is narrow, so narrow that you have to squeeze your way past a cashier counter on the left, huge steamers on the right and wait staff in between who're waiting to take out the steamed dishes. And then you're greeted- not with a polite welcome so typical of Chinese restaurants- but plastic flaps that you push through to get to where the tables are.

Here they treat you as if you just came here for a meal a couple of hours ago. Basically, you're so familiar that they don't even bother to greet you. Instead, you're immediately directed to whichever table is available. If you've got a party of five, well, you've got to wait. If you're a party of two, well, there's a table right there at the back, so go on ahead. And in their hands they're balancing a tray or three plates whilst they direct you with a jerk of their head or a dramatic gesture.

This is not a place to be isolated. Neither is this a place for huge tote bags, gym bags or backpacks. If someone is seated outside, and there's an empty table inside, to that empty table you go, even if it means squishing past more diners, tip-toeing your way in and asking to be excused for your impertinence.

This is a place for random conversations about the food with strangers, because more often than not, even after you've placed your orders, you'll find yourself ogling at the food that they've ordered. Which, of course, leads to a discussion about the merits of one dish over the other and whether you should add to the order, or wait till the next time.

As rapidly as we were seated, as rapidly we placed our orders, and as rapidly our drinks came. I got the barley and winter melon. It came in a round plastic takeaway container (that's how they serve drinks here) with lots and lots of little pieces of winter melon cutely hidden amongst crushed pieces of ice. I had great fun digging around for them.

The cheong fun (腸粉) came- all thick and floury and chewy with ingredients popping up delicately in the middle of all the rolls and a most surprising sauce. Thick, salty and sweet, making the cheong fun differently flavored from any others that I've tried.

 

cheong fun and its sauce



char siew paus

The char siew paus followed up next. 

We'd made a deliberate order on this one, because no first time visit to a dim sum place is complete without trying out its paus. You could call the order an ordinary one, but they're not done the same style that you find sold in the coffee shop steamers. Here they were soft and fluffy and light and airy at the same time, and they were the sort that you could easily eat with chopsticks. No need to worry about the char siew dropping all over. :)

We also had the oysters and scallops.

I didn't get a picture, but trust me, they're really good. The fried oysters were huge and fresh and juicy. And the scallops were just as good. Tender, soft with the distinct texture and taste one gets with scallops, made all the more lovely by the fact that scallops aren't a frequent staple on most dim sum menus.

That's pretty much what we ordered this time. (I prefer my suppers light, filling and fun.) But we'll order more when we come again.

Come here again, we will, because here it isn't just the food that charms you. It isn't just the fact that you're out having a late night dim sum supper that creates the novelty.

It's the whole atmosphere.

See, one could go anywhere to have dim sum. That's not uncommon.

But to have a place in Singapore that exudes the energy, decor and experience of quaint yum cha places in Hong Kong, now, that's new to me. You can literally see the whole place as it would be in Hong Kong. You can feel the energy amongst the staff as they meander busily amongst the packed tables, multi-tasking along the way. You can see it in the lights, the exclusive room at the back with its own sliding doors. You can feel it with your fellow diners who are packed in such close proximity to you.

I thought about Tsimshatsui. Really, I did. I thought about how amazing it was that I could feel the atmosphere and energy of Hong Kong in my surroundings, in my food, in the staff, in the presence of my fellow diners, as if I were eating in Kowloon at 0023 hours with Mandarin, Cantonese and Singlish spoken by my side.

That's what 126 does to you. And no wonder too, because right above my head was a plaque of black wood, and on this plaque of black wood were the carved Chinese characters of "Kowloon" painted in gold.