I've always liked Auld Lang Syne, even if I usually hear it belted out with too much gusto by drunk and tone-deaf people in the wee minutes into the New Year.
This is the beautiful old folk song given the right treatment:)
... for auld lang syne, my friends...
I love our quiet evenings at home, just the two of us. Sharing a simple dinner in our kitchen, just the two of us.Prawn udon with a generous side of vongole on a rainy night.
And just talk to each other, about our life together, the shared history and the days to come.
About the lousy people we know, the good friends we have, the annoying relatives we inherit.
Knowing that after all we have been through in our lives, we can see ourselves through whatever all the tomrrows might bring.
I made known to her that I took offense to her thoughtless remark about my picture; I still think I look particularly good in it which is no small feat these days.
True to form, she ignored my peeve. Also true to form, she sends me a Christmas greeting card on which she scribbled these inane words:
How are you? We will be in (home town) for Christmas and New Year. What are your travel plans for 2011? Please write. Love to (me) and (the man).
Say I hold a grudge. Say I am being petty. Say this is the season of goodwill to all mankind.
I don't care.
I tore up the card and dumped every piece and bit of it in the bin.
After doing all the Christmas food, there is something comforting about sitting down to a lunch of dim sum with friends.
Feeling their excitement as they flesh out plans of their new project in a new place. It is a hare-brained idea, and an oft-traveled road to frustration and heartbreaks. But it is futile to point out the flaws.
And so, keeping my own council, I let them happily paint their perfect picture for me.
I want to remember happy optimistic moments with friends in these last days of the year.
This has been a really beautiful holiday season for me.
So many things went right for so many special people. I was there when it happened - the initial look of disbelief, the gasp of delight dispelling the disbelief, the beginning of tearing in the eyes, then the happiness and wonderment carried in the laughter and crying, the little gift in hand.
I want many more people to have this experience - the joy in the giving and the receiving of a small something that means so much.
It is what this season is all about.
Have a good one, everyone of you.
So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young
Many people describe this integrated resort in many ways - glamorous, stunning, very h-u-g-e, very luxe, very class. A few mention the confusing long walks to get anywhere within the premises.
I have little to add to the noise. The crew and I were on a recce mission to find places to bring our visitors. This place got struck off the list. The place is too macam boh sistem for me.
I was immediately pissed off that there was no signage to say parking in Towers 1 & 2 are strictly valet park only. Self park is (snort) w-a-y across the other side of the street in Tower 3. I was in no mood to find Tower 3 and was told to leave key in car. Key in car was not moved till I-don't-know-when.
The view in Skypark is spectacular, to say the least.
The 150 metre 3 lane eternity pool is ridiculous. It just looks like a very long longkang.
Differently uniformed people jumping in front of me to stop me from entering sections blocked for private parties, grand openings, special events, whatever, is damned annoying, alright? There are many bars, clubs and restaurants at the Skypark, but not a single outdoor seated bar. We decided there is no need to bring the visitors here.
Getting out of the place is another mess. The taxi stand and valet counter are situated close to each other at the grand front entrance. There is a perpetual long queue at the taxi stand, and no designated spot to wait for private car return. I hated having to run after my car as the valet drove past me to the furthest end of the driveway.
I remembered I could not wait to get away from the place. I know I am not returning to the place of my own volition.
They are special friends. This is a special visit for them. The friends here want them to remember their first visit to Asia as truly special.
After a week of furious recce of highly reviewed restaurants helmed by Michelin-starred chefs with inflated egos, we settled for the only restaurant worthy of the label "fine dining experience".
A tastefully appointed private dining room at Peach Garden. On the 33rd floor of the bank building where we get a breathtaking view of city lights along the river.
An extremely capable banquet manager worked with us on a customised menu that highlighted the finest of Chinese cuisine. Each dish is given a light touch of exotic Asian garnish that tempted the palate to want to know more of our exotic flavours. Every course individually plated so beautifully that it is a feast for the eyes before it becomes food. Attentive servers who took care of our table efficiently with not so much as a whisper of intrusion on our total enjoyment of this magical place and occasion.
The carefully considered selection of fine wines is a perfect complement to the fine dining.
I dare say this will be an evening that we will remember fondly for a long, long time.
What should someone with spare money lying around do to ensure the money value isn't eroded by inflation over time?
Some suggest buying investment properties. But really, when the market plunges, real estate will not move.
Others suggest stocks and shares, foreign currencies and the like. These are more liquid and can be disposed of in small chunks, but share the same fate as real estate in a financial downturn - you dispose of these assets in small lots at a loss.
There is no such thing as investment diamonds and wines for the simple reason that there isn't an open market to trade in them.
I think the people who buy gold have it right. In times of plenty, the gold they own is jewelry. In times of lean, the gold jewelry is sold for its gold content, which unlike diamonds, have a fixed market price at any given time.
I don't wear much fine jewelry. And there is no point buying jewelry to hoard.
I think it is cool to buy gold bars and use them around the home. The smaller pieces make great paperweights; the chunkier ones are excellent door stops. Heh.
Call me old fashioned, but I like food that looks and tastes like it should. I don't appreciate marriage of respectable cuisines that produce an unrecognisable and indescribable hybrid.
The much talked-about signature dish of foie gras xiao long bao with truffle consomme hiding under a puff of celeraic foam is an insult to sensibilities. Foam belongs on coffee and beer.
The platter filled with unrelated nibble sized sweet somethings described as a "Symphony of Dessert" has several strings missing in the orchestra.
Fancy labels like "Asian cuisine with French influence" does not make the food more palatable.
Enough already with the overpriced lousy dinners and cheap drinks brought to your table by a nervous serving crew whose delivery made me think they flunked out of hospitality training.
It was time I took the eating crew back to basics.
Everyone had a delightful time tucking into a 10-course meal of real Chinese food prepared by real cooks who give a damn to what they are doing. 
Let the culinary snobs eat foam recommended by the media whores.
There was only a Cheena man in the "priority" line and five bank customers in the general line.
I got behind Cheena. After 15 minutes in the queue, it looked like he was nowhere near finished with his multi transactions and many questions. The teller tending to his long task list was starting to look and sound frazzled.
Then Cheena got on his mobile to speak to (I presume) Mrs Cheena. Then the teller had to explain everything again to voice on the phone.
Cheena turned to me to tell me, in Cheena-ese, that he would be a long while yet, and I should cut into the other line, which now had 10 people in it.
Oh, the nerve of the Cheena!
I said we don't do that in this country; he said he was well-intentioned to let me know he would take a long time; I said if he had any consideration he'd let me get in front of him for my easy 2 minute transaction; he turned away from me to carry on with his 100 Q&A with the teller.
I got behind the 10 people, waited my turn, and when I was done, he still wasn't near finished.
As I walked away from the line, I couldn't stop myself from telling him that I really resented his Cheena types who think nothing of bringing their uncivil practices along with them everywhere.
And we keep importing them by the planeload. Sigh.
(I am aware the bank should have stepped in to mollify the situation, but I was not in the mood to tackle the SOP of the bank.)
She is a very dear friend.
She and I have a long shared history through the years - first jobs, string of lousy boyfriends, early married life, living abroad, raising husband and children, coming back to Singapore.
Back then, she was a vivacious, fun, funny woman who was delightful to be around and to have around.
These days, she is a slave to husband, two teenage boys, siblings, their spouses and children.
She asked what I'd be doing New Year's Eve. I said I might be invited out, and asked about her plans. She said she's fishing for an invite from me. The sons have parties to go to; she and husband will be on chauffeur duty.
Sigh. She is looking for a place to park herself in between driving the sons all over town all night.
I told her I will be invited out.
She is a very dear friend, and many things I will gladly do for her. But I cannot let her trash my dinner party with my family and friends on New Year's Eve.
I love hearing about love affairs.
So I listened with rapt attentiveness and watched the warm glow cast across her face as she re-lived the high, the rush, the exquisite anticipation of their trysts.
Then, as can be expected of affairs, the lovers were caught out and the illicit relationship came to an abrupt and devastating end.
Her husband demanded a divorce. She was left with no financial support even for their two young children. Her lover returned to his wife hoping to repair their marriage
She managed to get her professional life back on track, and essentially raised the two children by herself. Along the way, she found love again.
And right when the new love proposed marriage, the old lover ended his marriage and came back looking to resume their once-ardent and desperate relationship.
She now has to choose between two very desirable men - the old flame who once filled the void of empty days and loveless nights and the new love who was there in the years when she struggled to put her life back together again.
I didn't know either men; I wouldn't know who I'd marry if I were her.
But choose she did, and I met the husband for the first time last week. I adore him, and I have never seen her happier.
Isn't this a cool love affair story????
Who did she marry? Make your guess before looking up the answer here.
was the month
- I reached my limit of tolerance with inconsiderate and abusive people I've known for a very long time.
- I was still hoping there could be some saving grace. I waited for an apology of sorts from them. None came.
- And so, with some reluctance but no regrets, I closed my heart and mind to them.
- I have moved away. I moved on.
Like the proverbial bad penny, they keep showing up.
The old boy of the dread couple from KL sent us an invitation to his 70th birthday in a stuffy country club in Penang, attire "as formally as you like." I suspect many of us are reluctant invitees who still remember vividly how painful his birthday party was the year before. So, as ungracious as it is, many of us declined the invitation. We should feel properly awful that he threw a party and no one came. But we couldn't bear to be tortured again so soon, you understand.
Then I get an email from the screwball woman back in the US telling me how "although we are so very far away, you are very near in my thoughts." She will be "coming to Singapore in February next year for a vacation and hope to be able to see each one of you while I am there." Sigh. I can still hope that she loses all our phone numbers...
You know how the saying goes that bad things come in three's?
I don't think I can deal with her, or her, or them.
I am sure there is no truth whatsoever to the silly saying. It is silly!
She married the new love; she decided she could not hurt this man who has been so good to her and for her all these years.
I still don't know who I would have chosen. What about you?
I feel good these past weeks. Literally, physically, mentally, I just feel the best I have felt in a very long time.
The aches and pains in my joints have been minimal; some days they are almost absent.
I can actually really dance again. Sadly I will never be able to do dances like Hawaiian hula that demand very deep knee bends and beautifully articulate hand movements. But hey, I can return to Middle Eastern dance which has always been my first love...
My hair has stopped falling out by the handful; in fact I managed to grow my hair long again. The natural curl in my hair is beautiful; so many people have been telling me they love the perm :)
I also just found that I can use eau de toilette! I used to get severe burns from contact with scent in any form.
I know these are small things in the bigger picture of LIFE. But they are the luxuries that make life that much more enjoyable. And I am happy to be acutely aware of them in my waking moments, so that I can be fully appreciative of these good times while I live them.
It is just so good to feel good again.
I don't hear from her in ages. Then she pops up in chat starting to ask how/what I am doing. I am not up to chatting or yakking. I said all is good at my end, and everything about me is updated in FB and blog, and logged out.
She left me a rambling message - something about my being many years younger and do not understand her feelings about things.
I replied reminding her I am all of two years younger. I am not thrilled either about being in my late 50s and if I don't understand her feelings about things, it's because she did not tell me what these things are.
Silence from her since.
In the quiet of silence, I wonder how I can stand to carry on with such so lacking in eruditeness, eloquence and elegance.
And in the quiet of silence, the answer came to me crisp and crystal clear - I cannot.
At first the couple looked like they are people to chum around with. Like us, they are not tethered to jobs, half grown kids or elderly ailing parents. Like us, they travel at leisure for leisure and explore novel dining experiences.
Then we find we like them less each time we see them:
They ask intrusive questions like "How long have you two been married?"
They ask intrusive questions like "So how long actually have you two been married?" every time we see them.
They ask intrusive questions of our friends like "How can your friend go build an inn in LiJiang?"
And keep doggedly asking the same questions each time we see them.
We and our friends do not have lives that cannot stand up to scrutiny, but we value discretion and privacy. We do not feel we need to disclose everything; we certainly do not need to answer questions that we consider uncomfortably interrogative in nature.
So we start to pull away from too much involvement with them. We pulled out of going with them on a road trip to Lisboa and exotic Spanish towns. I think we saved ourselves a lot of grief.
So our drop rate for suitable company is higher than our pick up rate. So our recruitment exercise to find travel and dining companions continue.
So what?
They are a dread couple from KL who blow into town too many times in the year.
The one is a poor excuse of a former BBC correspondence who never made a dint in his time. We are just tired of his braying insults at everything and everybody in Singapore (including us). The other is an insufferable shameless name dropper.
They always look us up to be wined and dined. We sometimes indulge them and end up wanting to kick ourselves for having been duped one more time. At other times, we make up excuses to not see them, like everyone else who have their wits about them.
We made the bad decision this time to take them out to dinner. Then the man's back went out on him and we called off the dinner.
An old schoolmate is in town with her husband whom we've not met. We had arranged for them to come over for dinner the day after we were to see the dread couple. Somehow, the schoolmate messed up the date so we decided we would go ahead and have her and husband over anyway, even if the man is in pain. We spent the better part of the day scrambling to get the home presentable, and put together a dinner of steaks with all the expected trimmings.
It turned out to be one of the best evenings we've had in a long while. We actually liked her husband!
By evening's end, we even agreed to visit and stay at their home in the country sometime soon.
After they left, we looked at each other and smiled. Sometimes, screw ups really work out better than the best laid plans.
I love a good screw up now and then. Heh
She was waiting for me to write her. Why? She wanted to know how we are doing, and how was our recent trip to Bordeaux and Biarritz. I am tired by now to tell her go read my blog.
So I dutifully wrote her, and attached three pictures: this, this and this.
The woman came back with: "That's an interesting pose, and a lovely letter."
That got my ire; I promptly wrote back:
CB, I take offence that my picture is only an interesting pose. Everyone raved about it, and about me. So there.
She's going to come back and ask me what the initials stand for...
She was a new arrival. She wanted to be plugged in to the social scene to have friends to go places and do fun stuff with. I didn't want to put in the effort because, well, she just wasn't my type (if that was a reason). I introduced her to my friend who I know can lead her into activities and groups. I wanted to get her out of my hair. What was I thinking?
This much I knew:
Husband resigned from his job to take up the posting here.
She resigned from her work to come here with him.
They put up their home for rent.
They gave their family car to their daughter.
They will be here for the next 8 years or more.
Two short months later, the picture perfect plan fell apart. The husband was no longer needed in his job. They have 2 weeks to pack up and pack out at their own expense. They get to stay at the rented apartment till the end of the month, and they would be on their own for the remaining 6 days.
Apparently there was no contract. The husband came out here on the say-so of a former colleague.
Alarm bells went off in my head. What kind of people in their/my age group would quit their established and senior job positions to take up a posting in a new-strange-foreign land with no contract?
The woman was hysterical, hurt and angry. The husband acted like he was defeated and lost. My friend was very sympathetic and I was feeling like a heel for not feeling anything remotely resembling sympathy.
When the dust settled, this was what I knew:
They leave on scheduled date.
They stay at a friend's home for 5 days and check into the Marina Sands on the last 2 days.
He has a job back with the company he left, but at a more junior level.
She will look for a job.
They rent a room from a friend till the tenants finish their lease early next year.
Another friend will lend the husband a pick-up truck so he has transport to get to work.
She wants him to put out feelers and let it be known they want to get back here.
I held my breath till departure day. I haven't heard anything from her. I can safely assume she and husband have left.
I let out a sigh of relief. I hope she loses all our phone numbers. I hope I have seen the last of her.
I will still be open to helping people I've just met. But I will most certainly give them the third degree. And I won't palm them off so quickly to someone else.
Newly minted Singapore citizens. They are many.
Most are not noteworthy. Some warrant a moment of consideration. Others are downright an affront to ethical sensibilities.
Then there are these.
was the month
- I had so many things on my mind that I completely forgot I had tickets for Tango Fire.
- I want to blame the screwball woman who tells me her husband has been let go from his work, and they have to move back to their home country at their own expense. I don't understand how they could have packed up and come here for the husband to take up a job with no contract. She is very upset, I am very suspicious which makes me feel crummy and sorry I ever met her, and getting another friend involved.
- I think of how, elsewhere where I once lived, the weather would have turned decidedly chilly, marking the end of the sunny months.
- I don't feel Halloween here even though there were many Halloween parties over the weekend. I remember elsewhere, when Greta the 7-foot tall witch I made, stood outside my front door. I loved "treating" the little ghosts and goblins who braved walking past Greta to ring my door bell. I detested the big evil looking ghouls who came treat or tricking.
- I feel somewhat sad that another year will soon end.
The night is for the bellydancers.
They are students and teachers from Claribel's Raks Sharki Studio.
They are seasoned performers, on-going students and newbies; they danced their best for their fellow dancers, friends and family.
I have said it before, and I say it again - there is something honest and sincere about the dancers who perform on this platform.
And there is a lot to be said about the principal/owner of the dance studio who continues to provide this opportunity for the dancers and their fans.
We had planned a Chili Crab night with the friends but it was a long time coming because of busy work/travel/social schedules. Finally, it was D-Day.
It was such a biggie with the guys. A whole week before the date, the man went every day to the crab vendor to check on the supply of fresh crabs. The man's BFF said if there were no crabs at this one location on the day, they will both source from another vendor across the island.
Thankfully, picking up the crabs did not pose a problem. In fact, the crabman helped us select the crabs.
Then the furious cooking among the friends. The final spread - freshly rolled Vietnamese spring roll (not featured in picture), sambal prawns, fried bee hoon, chili crabs. We actually had to struggle to put away some of the cakes came dessert time.
We had a grand time putting the dinner together. But, oh the work!
I think we will let the Chili Crab restaurants do the cooking the next time Crab fever hits.
A cousin and an uncle lost their pet dogs after a brief period of age-related illness. Understandably, the two men are devastated and in inconsolable mourning.
I wish I could do or say something to make the grief more bearable. I wish they could be more like me and talk about their loss. But no, they are grief stricken, and family members insist that no mention be made of the dogs.
While I respect their wishes, I still think it is too bad that the men and their families take this approach.
My ace dog passed away many years ago. I still tear up when I talk about her. I had dogs after her, and I loved every one of them dearly and cared for them as much. They in turn gave me many happy years of doggy fun and love. But my ace dog is the only one who can walk on water, you see.
The grieving is normal and inevitable. But there are so many good memories to cherish. So, grieve in whatever form it takes, and take however long is necessary.
Just do not shut off the mind and heart to another mutt who is waiting to share his doggy life with you. When you are ready to love again.
There are many reasons women are attracted to bellydance: the sensuous body movements, the intoxicating music, the middle-eastern environment.
I think it's a lot more basic than that. I think we just love the bellydance costume and all the accessories :)
It all starts with the hip scarf. It is the single item that separates the belly dancer from all other dancers no matter what exercise gear she wears to practice.
So when I noticed the only woman in practice class without a hip scarf, I lent her mine. And I watched with amazement how she kept looking herself in the mirror as she went through the paces, loving how the coins on the hip scarf went dingly-dangly jingly-jangly as she moved.
I don't know why she hasn't gotten herself a hip scarf by now. Maybe it's the money. Maybe she feels she's too old to be wearing something so showy. Whatever.
At the end of practice, I told her to please keep the scarf. She protested. Then she offered to buy it off me.
No, I insisted. I told her I wanted her to have it. That it would make me very happy to see her keep it and enjoy dance with it.
She finally accepted the offer. With the slightest of a shy smile, she said a soft "Thank you". Then she caressed the hip scarf one more time before carefully folding it and tucking it into her bag.
I have to admit I feel darn good seeing how much she loved the hip scarf. I hope she keeps dancing for a long, long time...
I was in France two times - in September a year ago, and again in September that just was.
I remember the beautiful old-world architecture, the strikingly beautiful countryside, the great wining and dining experience. Most of all, I remember the wonderfully hospitable friends and friends of friends who went out of their way to show us the place they call home.
I also remember the surly and resentful treatment I got from the very people whose job it is to provide help and service.
Like the tight-lipped monsieur or madam working the information booths who would not want to give me information;
Like the airline that cancelled my flight for no known reason and their ground crew would offer no alternative transport to my next destination;
Like the VAT refund counter at CDG where there is a perpetual long queue,
and after all documentation are grudgingly vetted and stamped, the angry monsieur/madam points sharply at the mail drop across from them where I am to mail my precious documents,
and I walk up to the mail box measuring all of 30cmX20cmX15cm (12inX8inX6in) and ram my one envelope into the overfilled receptacle, daring it to burst and dump its contents unceremoniously on the floor in protest.
Francophiles try to convince me that the French are not really rude.
They tell me that the French people are reluctant to speak English because they don't think they speak it well enough.
That I must never approach a French person and ask, "Can you speak English please." Instead, I am to say with a sing-song lilt, "Bonjour, mademoiselle/monsieur", followed by "parlez-vous Anglais, s'il vous plait". Did that. Did no good.
That the French are more reserved, and do not respond to strangers with a smile, unlike, say. the gregarious Americans.
The Francophiles miss my point. I am not complaining about the private French citizen. I am griping about people whose job it is to provide information and/or service. I am saying it is almost a matter of national pride and duty for that country to be not nice to visitors.
Then other friends tell me it is all worse in England/Italy/Germany. I readily and easily take their word for it. I am just not interested to rank them ...
Biarritz on the Basque coast in South Western France was once a small whaling sea town. It became more renowned when Empress Eugenie (wife of Napoleon III) fell in love with the place and built her summer palace La Ville Eugenie (the present day Hotel Du Palais) on the beach.
Today, Biarritz is a popular tourist destination with much to offer: Basque culture and cuisine, beaches, golf, hiking trail, shopping etc.
What I remember most is how strikingly beautiful the place is - a battered coast that meets gentle hills and valleys. White buildings with timber trims painted brown, green, burgundy or navy hug the hill paths, while the majestic peaks of the Pyrenees lie beyond.
It doesn't matter if you are young or oldThe river Gironde runs through the Bordeaux wine region, dividing it into two distinct wine producing zones.
The Right Bank is hilly; the chateaux/vineyards are small (between 5 to 10 hectares), and the owner-operator lovingly tends his vineyard like his garden. The composition of the soil is clay-limestone-sand, and the grape of choice is Merlot. The wine comes across delightfully "fruity".
The Left Bank is flat, the chateaux are imposing massive architectural marvels of turrets and spires, the vineyards are 50-80 hectares or more and the owners are big, moneyed families or business. The composition of the soil is largely gravel, and the grape of choice is Cabernet-Sauvignon. The wine is distinctly berry-flavoured.
If one remembers nothing else about the Left Bank, one remembers the Big 5 of the most prestigious names in wine Chateaux: Latour, Lafite-Rothschild, Mouton-Rothschild, Margaux and Haut Brion.
And I was there. Wow...
Saint-Emilion's fame is due to its wines but also to its historical and cultural inheritance. The walled hilltop village of St. Emilion itself, which has survived almost untouched from the Middle Ages was classified "World Patrimony" in 1999 by the UNESCO.
Ironically, given that St. Emilion can trace its wine-producing heritage all the way back to the Romans and the second century A.D., this village is also on the cutting edge of the push for a more modern style of Bordeaux wine, and the appellation is home to some of the most technically inspired wines in all of Bordeaux.
Eating is always a priority for any visitor to France - always an experience to re-live and re-hash long after one has left the country.
French food is diverse, and what sets French cuisine apart from other great cuisines is the culture of cooking with what is available locally.
I still remember the food experience from last year. Lyon boasts the most tantalising of sausages; the Rhone valley is famous for its fruit and young vegetables; the world's most exquisite desserts come from Provence and Cote d'Azur.
This time, in Bordeaux and the Basque country of Biarritz, I am in the land of seafood and heavy farm-based foods like pate, terrines, foie gras, confits, magrets.
There is a lot of walking in travel. This is especially true of travel in the Old World, where one can expect to walk on miles of cobblestone pavements on hilly terrain.
I cannot bring myself to wear sports shoes for my romps in an urban setting. I would suffer aches in the heel, foot, leg, back, neck before I would commit such a fashion faux pas.
There are many shoes in the market that boast comfort wear. There must be as many varied opinions about what is considered comfortable. I have paid enough in terms of blisters, crushed toes, referred aches and pains, and money to learn which big name shoes do not live up to their advertisement.
Then, on this recent trip, I walked into Mephisto on 19 Rue Voltaire, 33000 Bordeaux.
That day, I walked into a world that knows shoes from overpriced over-rated foot wrappers. That day, my life is transformed. That day, my love for shoes was re-kindled.
That day, I stopped dreading long treks on hilly pavements of cobblestone.
was the month
I was in France again, exactly a full year later
- with the same traveling companions,
- but this time in Bordeaux-Biarritz
- and this time, the weather was all blue skies with brilliant sunshine and cool gentle breeze.
I could live here for a while, even if I don't speak their language and they won't speak mine.
I am sorting out my wardrobe for two weeks in South-West France. I expect beautiful weather in the beautiful Bordeaux and Biarritz country side.I sat down to play a full game (and half) of mahjong over the weekend. It was the first time I played in about 10 years.
I love the game. But I am particular about how the game is played, and with whom I sit down with.
I do not like players who are:
- overly noisy (slam cards, yell and yelp when the winning tile shows up).
- overly whiny when experiencing a losing streak.
- not happy whether winning or losing.
- try too hard to build a strong hand.
- impatient if anybody needed to take a second to consider a move.
You get my drift.
I am very "zen" in my game style, if I am at a table with fairly good skills. I let the cards just come (or not). I particularly enjoy a good game at a table with superior game-masters.
For many years, I had the privilege to play with some of the most gracious and elegant mahjong players; they were impeccable in their game etiquette. I like to think that some of their behaviour rubbed off on me.
So, for the first time in a long time, I played the game again with new found friends and I found I liked their style.
They said they enjoyed having me, and I was happy to hear that.
When they asked if they could get me again when they needed a fourth, I said "Yes!"
When they asked if they could get me again when they needed a third, I said "No!"
Like I said, I love this game too much to have to play it in any slap-dash fashion. Heh,..
The girlfriend mentioned the notion of open-relationships - something the guys were bantering about.
It has been a very long time since I bothered to explore concepts of alternative love-styles.
I am a product of the 70s counter-culture in fashion, thought and being. The era - for all its beauty and failings - defined the person I am today. Certainly I've lived the "free love"
lifestyle of the time. It felt good and right to toss out the hypocritical societal constraints that governed society in the 50s and early 60s, and have the freedom to love - anyone, anytime, anywhere. A lot of us crashed and burned in that experiment in sexual revolution. But with hindsight, I still defend the movement for its innocence and honesty.
I find today's notion of an "open relationship" too cold, calculated and contrived. The parties talk through and agree on clear-cut set rules of sexual conduct with other parties.
I view open relationship as granting permission to be promiscuous. No where in this arrangement does love, even at the most superficial and lusty level, come into play.
I say if you want to sleep around, just go ahead. Saying no is not going to stop anybody anyway.
My closing thoughts on open relationships? Can it, dudes. You are trying to sell a bill of goods. Cheating is a nobler option, and it certainly is a lot simpler.
I first made bao's when I lived in California in the 80s. At the time, there were no decent bao's to be had in the desert town I lived in. My only option was to drive 2 hours to dim sum restaurants in Los Angeles.
The industry-packed bao's available in Chinese supermarkets were, in a word, disgusting. What passed for char siew bao filling was just this bit of sweet red goo.
I have big choice of bao's here, so I don't have any real push factor to make my own.
Except that the comfort food called char siew bao which I remembered from my childhood has been through some evolutionary process. The bao's have become too "refined", if you will. I crave the more "robust" version I remembered sinking my teeth into; the bao back then had more "character" in taste and texture.
So, one day recently, when I had leftover char siew, I made my own bao's.
There is something deeply satisfying about biting into an old fashioned unpretentious char siew bao and taste every nuance of char siew wrapped in a basic steamed bun.
It was an evening of much food, drink, and celebration; three young men in the family had birthdays within a week of each other.
Understandably, the conversation was mostly "young" - decisions about school courses, early days at work, strategy on how to get ahead in life. It was refreshing to hear them chart the course of their future with unabashed enthusiasm and confidence.
Sometime in the evening, the conversation turned to a topic that must be so much more significant and mysterious at this stage in their lives. The guys asked of each other and the girls: "What do Singapore girls want in a guy?"
The guys (typical) then went ahead to list what they knew the girls wanted:
- Someone who will be there for them.
- Money has to rank somewhere up there.
- A hunk, a brain, and something or everything in between.
- etc
I have to admit I never wasted time in my brave young days pondering what I wanted in a guy, or what a guy wanted in a girl. I was with whoever fitted my needs best at the time.
I never asked for or needed promises of forever and ever and a day. Those were just words. Relationships are a lot more straightforward than people allow them to be.
The girl wants the same things as the guy. And the relationship that works is one where those requirements are met.
I 'll drink to that gem of an insight. And you guys should too.
They did not get their way about redesigning and upgrading the lobby and grounds of the condo. So they vent their unhappiness by pelting the condo residents' committee and on-site manager with complaints and more complaints:
- How dare the drainage pipes burst after we've had heavy rain for several days.
- How dare the CCTV not be in good working order.
- How can children be allowed to play boisterously around the swimming pool.
- How can the security guards not stop their two maids from running away.
- How dare a pool side party be allowed to carry on beyond 10pm.
They point out (for the umpteenth time) that their complaints have fallen on deaf ears. They now write to the condo management that unless concrete steps are taken to remedy all the ills of this place, they will have no choice but to seek legal advice on how they may ensure they are adequately protected living here. (Ooooh...we are so scared).
There are some valid issues in their litany of complaints. And the condo manager does address problems that are brought to his attention. It is silly to threaten with legal action when there is simply no basis for it.
And I wonder, for the umpteenth time - why did they move in here? and why will they not consider moving to some place where the environment is more acceptable to them?
was the month 
- feelings that were laid to rest, but were never abandoned, awakened. Feelings that are tied to gender studies, feminist politics and activism. Feelings and beliefs that I always hold close to my heart.
- these feelings were awakened from reading the Larsson books. I re-examine the lot of womenfolk in a world that operates by secular and religious laws made by men and despair at the hopelessness of gender inequity.
- I am further haunted by the reality of how unprotected a life partner is at the worst hour of her life.
- I am acutely aware of the change of seasons even if I live them vicariously. As summer fades into fall, I want to enjoy the little time that is left before the dread winter season takes over with its attendant garish holiday season.
Singaporeans have a real problem with giving definitive answers.
Example:
Me, asking a sales rep who has no customer to sell anything to: Would you know where the nearest mail drop is?
Sales Rep, index finger and thumb rubbing shiny chin, looking thoughtful before telling me after careful consideration: I am not really sure.
Which makes me want to push the point - go ahead, young man, make a wild stab and tell me where you think it might just be, possibly. Go left, right, cross the road in front, behind?
It's just so hard for him to say he doesn't know? I had to point out to him that he does not know rather than he's not really sure, before moving on to another shop to ask another blur Singaporean.
There was a time when I was heavily involved with programmes that helped newly arrived foreign families to settle in. It was a personally satisfying and rewarding thing to do, and I remember how happy I'd be when I hear from the wives months/years later how much the initial contact had helped them.
I don't have much to do with newly arrived foreign families in recent years. Certainly not in any formal capacity. The last one I put in touch with her community was a couple of years ago and I did it because she is from one of the lesser represented groups here.
I recently met a woman from this under-represented group. I hesitated about getting involved because setting up the initial contact takes effort and time. Then there is the early hand-holding her through the different social/cultural events till she is comfortable with the group.
But I never forgot the kindness of strangers who came forward to help me integrate into my new environment. Although it is much easier now to get in touch with newcomers groups via the internet, making that first contact can be still daunting for some people.
So, I decided to step in again. I introduced the newly arrived to a few of her country folks over coffee. The women were thrilled to meet each other and before long, they were exchanging phone numbers and email contact with promises to include the new girl at their next get together.
The new arrival will do fine living here. Her compatriots will do everything to make her adjustment easier.
There are no strangers here;
Only friends you haven't yet met.
Mostly, I have a good measure of control over my social life. Mostly, I can decide who I see, when, where and why.
Then there are the rare occasions when I know I will totally detest the company but am somewhat obliged to humour the host and tolerate her choice of friends.
So I mentally prepared for the inevitably l-o-n-g evening when I will be trapped with her under the same roof, in the same room, at the same table, dangerously within spitting distance of each other.
I was surprisingly unruffled as I listened to her boast and brag about various aspects of her life:
- she has blackberry, iphone, huge telco bills, all paid for by her employer.
- her two near grown sons are in Australia. One working as a tax something, the other finishing uni.
- she looks to "activate" her Australian PR sometime in the next 5 years because Australia is ultimately the place to retire in.
- her near grown adopted daughter (still living at home) she describes as stupid and promiscuous. Her sons agree with her assessment and gleefully joins her in tormenting the girl with vicious name calling.
- her partying weekends in Singapore which starts with drinks and karaoke on Friday night, and ends at 7 am on Saturday at a dive that has open mike. Sleeps through Saturday and starts over Saturday night. Leaves for Bangkok sometime on Sunday to be there to start the workweek.
- her life chock-a-block with travel and holidays with friends, friends, friends!
I did ask early in the evening where's the husband. She played like she never heard me, and started on her tales of her life according to her.
Sigh. Alright. I was only curious about what happened, not concerned or saddened. I certainly wasn't interested in everything else she spilled out that evening.
And, at the end of the evening, we said our goodbyes, and went our separate ways.
Afterwards, I realised how strange that I felt nothing upon seeing her again. Really, truly, nothing. Followed by a fleeting vague sense of feeling sorry I could feel nothing for her. Then - nothing again.
This is not a deep psychological study. But it's a sober, grown-up film. It has action, but not the hyperkinetic activity that passes for action in too many American movies. It has sex, but not eroticism. Its male lead is brave and capable, but not macho. Its female lead is sexy in the abstract, perhaps, but not seductive or alluring. This is a movie about characters who have more important things to do than be characters in an action thriller. Old people.
They can be a font of wisdom, the road map to life's precious secrets.
Or they can be a pain in the proverbial.
There is this nice small neighbourhood shopping mall. There is a bench facing the exit door to the multi-storey car park and a nearby elevator. A resting area for weary shoppers and bored husbands.
Three old people plonk their fossilized asses on this bench to pass the day, every day. Never mind that they deprive weary shoppers and bored husbands of a rest area. What is unacceptable is that they find the fully air-conditioned mall too cold for their comfort, and have taken to wedging the exit door open so they get a mix of cold and warm air!
One day, I decided that this wasteful practice shall cease. That day, I walked past the fossils and closed the door. One old codger immediately and huffily got up, walked past me, and wedged the door open again. I said as politely as I could manage that the door should not be left open because airconditioned air is being sucked out. He waved his arthritic gnarled fingers in my face and angrily said the door should be left open because old people have problem opening the door with their hands full of grocery. I said he could get up and open the door when old people with groceries needed to walk out that door. He berated me about talking to him with no respect. (Hey, I only suggested he should open the door for hapless old people.)
I have filed a complaint with the management office of the building about these cranky old people and the open door. The somebody-in-charge mumbled something about looking into it.
I have been back in that building many times since. The fossils are still parked in their favourite seat in the house, staring blankly in front of them, as the cold air rushes out the open door.
Old people. Mostly they are a pain in the proverbial.
The pair of them. They live in KL. They blow into town every 2 months to sort out various matters - banking, business, medical - and leave in 24 to 48 hours.
They would look us up and insist on seeing us for lunch or dinner. Mostly we would accommodate them.
The pair of them. One a Malaysian Chinese man, an anglophile, a pitiable throwback to the days when anything British was admirable. The other. an Englishman who fancies himself to be the paragon of everything admirably British, a pathetic hangover from the colonial days.
The pair of them, always impressing upon everybody every chance they get that they are pillars of their social, business and church communities. The pair of them, shamelessly name dropping all the time, perpetually bending our ears with the most laborious and boring of gossip and rumour about the rich and infamous.
For years, we put up with the pair of them. We rationalize away their inexplicable and unpleasant behaviour by convincing ourselves that they just had a rough day, or they were in a quirky mood.
But painful experiences accumulate, and eventually exact a heavy toll.
The pair of them. They blew into town last weekend. They wanted dinner. We suggested they eat at our place, because we thought it'd be a mess to try going anywhere on the night of National Day.
The pair of them. They neighed, brayed, snorted and scoffed at any- and every-thing. They do this all the time, but this time, for many reasons, deep resentment awoke in us.
We did the best we could to end the evening graciously. We called them a cab. We said our goodnight's and goodbye's. We put them into the cab. We stood around long enough to see the tail-lights of the cab disappear into the night.
We looked at each other.
The pair of them. We decided that's the last time we would see them. We can do things like that. Something the pair of them seemed to have forgotten.
It was a small birthday dinner for the man at home with a handful of people who "grew up" with him. These days we are looking at "growing old" together.
Anyway.
Because it was very low-key, there was none of the rah rah hoopla paraphernalia of a birthday dinner.
Because some courses were cooked the day before, I totally forgot about the side of potatoes. (Thankfully the meal was saved by serving up home made bread to take the place of carbs).
Because the man wanted apple crumble pie instead of cake there was no cake decoration or candle to remind me of the occasion.
And so when the woman guest pointedly announced that she and husband had to be leaving soon (i.e. could we finish the evening quickly by trotting out the dessert pronto) I totally forgot what all the other lovely people were there for besides dinner.
It was only this morning that I realized there was no mention of the man's birthday at the dinner table last night.
It was still a lovely birthday dinner with good friends.
And there will be a few more get-togethers with the others who couldn't join us last night.
We will have our chance to make the proper Happy Birthday noises yet :)
My collection of accoutrement from different dance forms keep growing.
I have hip scarves, veils, zills, saidi canes, petal skirts, harem pants for bellydance.
I have pau skirts, leis, flower crowns and wristlets for Hawaiian hula.
I have top hat, waist coat, tails, bow ties and cane for Broadway jazz.
I have boas, masks, headress, showgirl costumes, vinyl suits etc etc.
Of course I saw it all coming when I took up folk dance, but I put off the inevitable for as long as I could. I really really have a mind-block about this prop. But the day of reckoning has arrived.
I now add - to my already huge collection of dance accoutrement - the Chinese silk fan! *cringe*
p.s. does it make it any better if I tell you my fan is "watermelon" with the green rind, red meat and black seeds? *double cringe*
As perverse as it may sound, I do appreciate the skill and intelligence that go into crafting a good con job. I admire a superb con job where artful deceit is used to draw in the mark by appealing to his/her sense of vanity, avarice, self importance...
But this?? In ungrammatical English no less? Oh puhleeze! This is so stupid I dare say the Nigerians and Lottery Sweepstakes give a better spiel:
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