Day Out at the Botanics

KM & Beanie All Smiles
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

So we finally checked out the Singapore Botanic Gardens which has a cafe (Cafe Les Amis at the Botanics) which serves food to both pet owners and their pets (says the cafe - but they serve mostly water to dogs).

Wonderful day out for both dog and SLR... and led to (among the collection) this one of both KM and B looking very posed for. I am absolutely delighted to say that this is one of my biggest successes in pet and people portraiture yet. Both of them look sharp, relaxed and happy looking at the camera.

This one is for enuwy... can't wait to get both our cameras aimed at these two highly photographic personalities.

Ten Things New

Looking back on everything, it seems everyone's been recounting (votes and memories) and recollecting (donations and sentimentalities) in the last few days of 2006. We hope we haven't wasted the year. We look forward to having things changed for us in the past. We desperately wish we haven't grown a year older for nothing.

Here's my "Ten Things New (in 2006)" list:

1. New Places: Munich, Germany; Palm Springs, California; St Andreas' Fault, Calif.; Tuscon, Arizona; Orlando, Florida; Brighton, UK; Reading, UK
2. New Faces: All the people from work, London, and friends of friends from around town
3. New Job: like we all know
4. New House: as we've all seen
5. New Pet: you know Beanie was a this-year thing. Last year for Christmas, 2005 nobody had any idea I was going to have such a wonderful lil' sweetheart join my life.
6. New Computer: My lovely Apple wannabe and a Toshiba M400
7. New Things: Teak furniture, 32" LCD tv, lots of unlisted homeware and kitchen appliances
8. New Music: My CD of the year: Cesaria Evora
9. New Presents: 60gb iPod; Canon EOS 55d
10. New Hobbies: Mastering cheesecakes, cooking at home, watching tv (believe me, this didn't use to be a hobby before!), being, in the words of a colleague, "like an eternal flame (they never go out!)"

Seasons Greetings are upon us...

It's the holiday season, that time of year
When moods are uplifted and all in good cheer
So with the high spirits, it's appropriate to say
Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year's Day!
And with those wishes I'm sure you've heard before
Are a thousand good blessings brought to the fore
And although we know they won't all come true
Here's a true hope that this year, they do!

Merry Christmas everybody!
or as they say in the US
Happy Holidays!!

Another Type of Piano Playing

I've rediscovered Tori in her land, now clad in seasons of mists and frost. Walking home at zero degrees, Tori's live Bells for Her ringing. Step. Start stop again. Her piano plays a different tune. I need to sit with her for a while, black and white under my fingers, delicately tracing the lyrics under my touch.

You have absolutely no idea how much I'm craving this. She plays like someone recollecting images of my long lost friend. You know how I've always said that music shapes my life. Music, and the things that surround me.

There's something to be spoken of this land where things ring true, people speak plainly, if not always welcome words, Gaiman wrote his stories and the earth itself has history. There's something to be said about the envy of friends when you're living their dreams.

I've rediscovered Tori in what has always been for me Tori and Neil land. In some way, I can't believe I'm living this now.

I miss the lil' muppet...

Muppet Owns the Table
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

Term of endearment from me (obviously inherited from Laura at some point in Berkeley) - muppet.

Was just browsing through my family photos from when I was a kid and came across these sweetheart photos of my niece, then probably around 9 months old.

And had that realisation that I completely missed the litlte muppet. I'm not gonna see her again for quite a while, and this time when I'm back in town she's not gonna be there... awwww....

I dream in music

The air is cool and reminds me of a dream I once had of one version of a perfect life. There is no all encompassing plot I think. I dream in sights, sounds and colours.

1. Nocturne softly playing in the background
2. Crystal clear glass
3. View of green grassy fields
4. Slender, tall trees with minimal leaves not completely lush
5. An apple tree
6. A glossy polished black grand digital piano
7. Coffee in a ceramic mug on a beige/khaki tile in the middle of a khaki themed kitchen
8. Loved one leaning in bathrobe, silent. Cup of coffee in hand, listening to the music
9. It is mid-morning, with 10am sunlight
10. The air is spring time cool, around 15 degrees celcius

There is emotion in the air, a mutual appreciation of loved ones and loved things. But other than the music, all is silence.

Did you think that if I got my Clavinova I'd be playing classical music?

For my next birthday...

Red Velvet Cupcake
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

For my next birthday, I want a single black candle on a Red Velvet cupcake from Hummingbird.

Probably cheapest birthday cake ever at £1.35. But we'll cut it up into many yummy pieces and share it.

My place is people ready!

Luscinia View Room II
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

I finally have a people-ready house, with the 2nd room and bathroom all done up and ready for people. In the words of one colleague of mine who recently moved down under, "Now all we need is friends..."

I'm not maintaining an online calendar for guest lists, but drop me a mail should you be in the area and I'll be happy to put you up.

Loves... the taste of butter, Recommends... Lurpak Spreadable Unsalted

How typical that the 101th post ever would be about food. As you probably already know, I have returned to yummy butter land (UK) and left yucky butter land behind (Australia).

I love butter. I wouldn't give it up for anything in the world, not low fat options, yogurt, cream cheese, margarine (god forbid!) or olive oil spreads. Butter is butter. It comes from the goodness of blessed cow and is made of creamy, warm, lovely, fatty goodness. Fat though it may be, it is au naturel just as Mother Nature intended. If you have to stuff yourself with something that makes you fat, why choose polyunsaturated vegetable oils saturated and solidified by petroleum fossil fuel extracts? You don't eat what you put into a car, so explain margarine.

One of the regular, affordable staples these days is Lurpak's Unsalted Spreadable butter. It is a blend of vegetable oils and real butter (yes, I admit, it has some oils, but not solidified with petroleum) and is a low fat, low sodium option for being unsalted. I only go so far. The creamy, savoury richness of real butter, coupled with just that touch of vegetable oil to make it spreadable far outweighs the thought that it is actually a healthy option.

Oh, and how does it compare to blocks of organic, home made Memnonite butter in Virginia? It cannot.

New Year Resolutions (in advance)

Incidentally, in case you didn't realise, this is the 100th post.

The year is ending. 2006 is coming and going, and is no less eventful than the previous year, and probably no less exciting than the next. I'm starting to tally up the books, sweep up the papers and look for the key to lock up the year.

And in setting targets and budgets and resolutions for next year, I have come across one that I think I'm putting on the page.

2007 Resolutions (Part 1):

1. Master cheese cake as I like it
2. When I'm done with that, master cheese cake as my best friends like it
3. Make kunefe - have made Turkish friends who may make that goal a little bit easier.
4. Go to Cornwall and Scotland at least once next year (this should not be difficult!)

Wedding Songs

Perhaps this comes appropriate, reading Fe's blog. I've been drafting this for a while now, and while not getting married any time soon, wanted to document the wedding song I'd always dreamt of as the perfect piece to accompany that obligatory wedding video showing boy and girl growing up so relatives and friends know more about the wedding couple.

I know my best friends aren't religious, and to some extent, I think that the frequently mentioned love triangle of God, Boy and Girl is quite often misused. But in these lyrics (and you should hear the melody, it's even more beautiful with music...) I find the role of God, Boy and Girl ideally expressed. If things should be this way, if this should be the ideal, then may every single boy and girl with God in their hearts as they walk down the aisle think if things this way.

My godbrother is getting married next year to the girl that he's been with since 17. He's my age, and it is freaky on one hand to think that people my age are flocking to the aisle and getting married in throngs, while I am nowhere near getting myself to the aisle. Partly I am also influenced by the French way of considering weddings a horrible waste of money without any real, tangible increase of commitment or love on the part of the couple.

But in another way, I am still dreaming of my white wedding to the one that I love, something that will be denied me for quite a while more, thanks to the complications of real life.


A Page is Turned - Bebo Norman

A page is turned by the wind to a boy in curly grin
With a world to conquer at the age of ten
But as history unfolds and the story book is told
He finds salvation, but not at the hands of man

And the God of second chance
Picked him up and He let him dance
Through a world that is not kind
And all this time, preparing him the one
To hold him up when he comes undone
Beneath the storm, beneath the sun
And now a man, here you stand
Your day has come

A page is turned in this world to reveal a little girl
With a heart that's bigger as it is unfurled
By the language in her soul that's teaching her to grow
With a careful cover of love that will not fail

And the God of second chance
Picked her up and He let her dance
Through a world that isn't kind
And all this time preparing her the one
To hold her up when she comes undone
Beneath the storm, beneath the sun
And grown up tall, here you are
Your day has come

Beneath the air of autumn, she took him by his hand
And warm within the ardour, she took his heart instead
And high upon the mountain, he asked her for her hand
Just for her hand

A page is turned in this life, he's making her his wife
And there is no secret to the source of this much life
When the grace that falls like rain is washing them again
Just a chance to somehow rise above this land

Where the God of second chance
Will pick them up and He'll let them dance
Through a world that is not kind
And all this time, they're sharing with the one
That holds them up when they come undone
Beneath the storm, beneath the sun
And once again, here you stand
And once again, here you stand
Your day has come

Born to Try

I know this is so completely pop, but somehow this song has been playing on repeat on my mp3 player. I want you to believe in me. And I know that you do, so thank you. Perhaps this is justifying things in that very Australian way.

I know where we both want to go now. And I promise you that I'll get both of us there.

Delta Goodrem - Born to Try

Doing everything that I believe in
Going by the rules that I've been taught
More understanding of what's around me
And protected from the walls of love

All that you see is me
And all I truly believe

Is that I was born to try
I've learnt to love
Be understanding
And believe in life
But you've got to make choices
Be wrong or right
Sometimes you've gotta sacrifice the things you like
But I was born to try

No point in talking what should have been
And regretting the things that went on
Life's full of mistakes, destinies and fate
Remove the clouds to get the bigger picture

All that you see is me
And all I truly believe

Is that I was born to try
I've learnt to love
Be understanding
And believe in life
But you've got to make choices
Be wrong or right
Sometimes you've gotta sacrifice the things you like
But I was born to try

I was born to try.

Unique Pieces

Floral Pendant
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

In my previous life, I must have been a magpie of some sort. I like collecting things. Especially shiny, happy, silvery things.

I get very attached to the pieces of jewellery I buy. Each and every piece to me needs to have a story, it comes to me with history and gets entrusted to people that I care about, if not kept shiny and happy in a jewellery box at home. DWP (Devil Wears Prada) though that may be, there's a huge potential for these pieces to be like art for me - so the more unique, one of a kind and historical the better.

This piece I found while window shopping in Notting Hill. Lovely bit I fell in love with used to be a tiny remnant of a 19th century teaspoon that the maker didn't quite know what to do with until a while later. He gave up, and shaped it into a pendant, which suits this piece perfectly as a second life.

What I fell in love with on this one was the fact that you could hardly tell it used to be a spoon unless you had been there at the shop. Spoons seldom have that blank space in the middle, almost like a metal carving, and the same patterns on both sides.

It reminded me a little of Arwen's Evenstar. And so I felt it was appropriate that it's going to my very Arwen-looking friend for Christmas this year.

The Measure of All Things, A Master of None

A little known fact about me: my sole defining ambition in life (and surprise surprise, I do not have many), constructed since my youth aged 17.5 years, is to be deeply and passionately expert in two fields: mathematics and music.

This is something I think you only found out recently too, as you contemplated Christmas presents.

A friend of mine commented yesterday on IM that I am by far the most adventurous, ambitious and talented person he knew. I can readily admit to the first, but not to the second or the third. I like attempting the difficult or impossible (adventurous). I do not like being told I cannot (adventurous, potentially contrary). I refuse to believe I am not born to do certain things (ditto).

But ambitious? Besides the ambition listed above, I have only one other ambition. And that is to make a difference by showing people that things are possible. To be an inspiration to others simply by defying the laws and norms of Possible and Impossible. Perhaps this is the biggest, most ambitious thing of all.

But let's come back to the first ambition, and of music and mathematics. Let's talk about laws, and the ways of the world.

I was born into a family that believed that there is no mathematical gene in the family gene pool. This is a belief, a strongly cultivated one, and as a child I was encouraged into the arts, history, the humanities, literature. I can't draw to save my life or play Pictionary. But one thing I could do since the age of two was play a tune on my favourite electric toy piano. My first song (don't laugh please) was Chariots of Fire. My mother quickly recognized this and packed me off to music classes (de rigour of Singaporean parents) and I started Yamaha classes on the organ before I was tall enough to have my feet touch the pedals of the organ while keeping my hands firmly on the keyboard. I was about as tall as the organ itself, and needless to say, this turned out to be quite a disaster since it was evidently an important thing to be taller than the musical instrument that one is playing.

Enter the piano, attempted for 5 years between the ages of 7 and 11 before being painfully told that should I quit, I was never to start piano lessons again. I promptly gave it up in favour of French lessons, because the latter didn't require me to ever perform in front of my parents if I didn't want to, or practice daily in earshot of my neighbours.

Along the way, I was also introduced to the recorder, standard issue between the ages of 13 and 16 in all schools. I usually fared miserably at any formal lessons in music.

I was equally dismal in formal mathematics classes until I entered university, surprisingly surviving mathematics classes until then. The problem with mathematics was that it was similar to music in one unnecessary way: you needed to practice practice practice. Teachers, principals and parents gave up one by one by the mystery of the fact that I could only do a problem sum, play a tune by heart, string up a composition on the piano without a glitch only by accident, if I set my mind to it. But tell me to do something, tell me to solve a problem sum in a certain way, and almost certainly, my mind rebels and I am suddenly unable, physically unable to do it.

It was only until university when I realised that mathematics was more than the study of computation, a science that was only taught in schools. It was an art, the logic of understanding and expressing, in a clear and defined language, the underlying way and law of the world. It was my key to being the observer from the outside in, the path in which I could finally resolve the many puzzles of human behaviour and the natural world once and for all in my mind.

Music worked the same way for me. There are natural steps, notes which exist, notes which don't. Seven notes in solid white setting the structure for a melody, five in black to fill in the gaps. Tune it upward and gaps suddenly turn to structure, white to black. My favourite key, incidentally, is E minor.

Suddenly without these things, the world wouldn't exist for me. I realized that, similar to being born with perfect pitch, I had been subconsciously counting things, measuring things. The size of round pots fitting into shelves, the dimensions of luggage in an overhead carrier, the number of people in a crowded train, the time it takes to walk from home to the train station. The moment it becomes conscious, and I realise that I am counting, I lose the number. But these things float by me and surround me, day after day, like many lost dreams. There was a fact and a certainty, a certain measure of solidness in the fact that things were countable.

Why am I telling you these things? Because you, of many people, have always wondered what it was like to see what I see, and hear what I hear. This is my way of explaining to you that the things that we see, feel, react to, touch, hear, smell, and sense are exactly our world as we know it. This explains why when I buy things, I always buy in pairs or threes if I can help it. Why I believe that there are perfect numbers. Why I look at my watch, not to tell the time, but to be assured that it is still there. Without these things I am quite possibly, in my own beliefs, insane.

The world to me is a measure of all things. How many, how long, how high, how sharp. How do I love thee, let me count the ways. Elizabeth Barrett Browning had expressed it perfectly. But let me count the ways and the steps and the measures to more than Love. Let me count the measures to Life itself.

Broadband and Television

I was quite confident at first about my ability to live without "the essentials" of life. Namely, broadband internet and digital television. It's been three months now. Three whole months.

This week has been a week of accomplishment. Two days ago, I just got my digital television working (free). And now today, to my utter surprise, I have the rudimentary set up of broadband internet (thanks to the Company).

Fingers crossed that things all work out well as they should. It's amazing how the wonders of technology find their way to seep, slowly but insidiously into every day life.

Kudos to enuwy (and my greatest thanks!) for enlightening me on the state of television in the country.

Improving my sense of the world

The communion of Google, Wikipedia and a host of people from different lands, coupled with a sense of embarassment about knowing so little about these countries is improving my sense of the world.

At work, we discuss things like the idiosyncracy of having subsidiaries named Yugoslavia, completely out of the sync with the fact that politically, Yugoslavia doesn't exist anymore as a country. Just the other day, a person from the US thought Slovakia and the Czech Republic were one and the same, and removed that country from a list of subsidiaries we held up as being part of EMEA, the happy region I support now - Europe, Middle East and Africa. We humbly call it a region, nevermind that in terms of land area and population, it probably makes up more than half of the world.

I see a delicate and sometimes tenuous blend between business and world affairs. This is an aspect of life that I had never considered before, is it really strange these days to discuss business in Bosnia, Israel, Iran, Kuwait, Tunisia? When one thinks of these countries, the general notion is that these areas are too poor, too war-torn, too politically fraught with danger for it to be possible to have business as usual, and yet its humbling to realize that despite war, despite hardship, life goes on with a resolute determination for normalization. Azerbaijan and Kazakhstan are places drawing business for the company.

Nearly every day I'm meeting and working with people who in their curious little way are teaching me more about the world, and making me rather embarassed about my own little assumptions about how things are. It is not all war and fanfare in these places around the world. There are little pleasures. And there is business as usual.

Little pleasures at home

Sliced Bread
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

Sometimes filling your life with little but simple pleasures are the nicest things. I sliced this bread, and in front of the light by the kitchen window, it turned out so pretty I had to take a picture.

Simple Things

I guess having spent some 64 days here already in a new country, new climate and new environment, I owe some people some thoughts on how things are like.

What has changed? I've been thinking about that quite a bit recently, whether or not I have changed, whether anything has changed, whether the outside world influences the inside realm much or little.

Quite honestly, it has come to only one point, really. I enjoy the simple things better now.

As much as you can think of London as being the hub of hustle, the city of cities and the base of busy'ness, and indeed it probably is, being one of the three largest financial hubs of the world, 30 minutes outside of London by train and it's a whole new world.

There are large expanses of green fields outside my window that, except for 2 days of frost so far in winter, remain green most of the year around. A slow, ambling river runs at one end of it, parallel to a path where joggers jog and dogs of all shapes and sizes run with their owners. A pair of French doors open out to this field from the second floor where I am, and sometimes in quieter moments when I wish to have silence for thought, I stand at those doors and find solitude and peace in peering out into this wide open field of green, content to be privately alone in my thoughts and solitude. When the weather gets warmer I will open these doors and go outside for walks.

On the other side of my apartment, trains chug by from day to night. The shuffle of the trains break the silence and comfort me in my loneliness when things get too quiet when I'm alone in the house. In the night, light reflected from car beams and street lamps stream into my window, interjected by a single candle flame from an aromatherapy lamp that does not flicker.

It's a lovely life. Very much one that begs the poem of "come live with me and be my love".

When I contrast this with what life was like in Singapore, I couldn't say that this is what I'd dreamed of. I'd initially come all the way here to escape the sniffles (yes, to a colder climate, no less, if you can believe that) and gain better health and potential longevity for a body that is burns up faster than it can build up.

What I got was peace of mind, a healthy 10 minute walk to the station and a free ride to work each morning on a green (low carbon emissions) bus, healthy MSG free food and fresh air that cures the sniffles (if I wear a coat and open the window), people who smile and say hi when they catch your eyes along the street, bus drivers who wait for you as you run towards the bus. This was probably more than I bargained for.

Is that a good change? Sometimes when I think about it, it is a change from recycled air-conditioning, fat and oily MSG laden hawker food, traffic pollution the congestion of throngs of humanity edging shoulders. In the simple things, the little things that make up life like wallpaper, yes it is a good change.

I miss the people from home the most. I miss friends and family. People I love, and people who love me. I miss a little white dog that cannot come here to run in the fields with me just yet very terribly.

What defines a home? What makes things perfect?

I would give up a lot to have a life here like this, surrounded by "pleasant wallpaper" because they are what I live and breathe on a superficial level each day. They are the basic foundations of a place you can call home. I challenge anyone who can live in a house with ugly purple painted walls all their lives and claim happiness. So this is important. The simple things are the ones that matter, and the ones that drive people like me to pay tax at 40% instead of 11%. At the end of the day, I have realized that the cost of living is like everything else, you pay for what you get.

But what I would die for - are the people who make that perfect house a home. It is cold here without the people I love and the people who love me. This perfect house has only made me realise the things make houses homes at the end of the day. Simple things. Like family. Like friends. Like Love.

In need of some good chicken soup loving

Chicken Vegetable Soup with Meatballs
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

While most of the food on my Flickr pages are good looking, photo quality stuff, thanks to eating out - this is the reality of what I eat at home when I'm sniffly and in need of some good cheering up and hot clear chicken broth.

So here it is, one of the heart-warming heartland favourites: chicken vegetable soup with meatballs, a variant of the yummy soup courtesy of enuwy who made some last week in London.

Ingredients:
500 ml chicken stock
200g minced pork
3 small carrots
1/4 brocolli floret
2 slices of ginger (for colds)
A handful of barley (good for winter soups apparently)

Method:
Bring chicken stock, ginger and barley to a boil. In the meantime, chop up carrots and brocolli and marinade minced pork with pepper and soy sauce.

Once the broth has come to a boil, add in carrots, bring to a boil and add brocolli. Lastly make meatballs out of the minced pork mixture and drop them into the fast boiling soup. Bring to an active boil and serve 5 minutes later.

This is so completely reassuring. There's really nothing which I've tried that is better for a cold than chicken soup with ginger slices. Whoever found that out must be some kind of genius because it is honestly, completely true.

if you don't have much of an appetite because you can't smell anything thanks to a blocked nose, but need enough nutrition to get you past your lousy, sniffly days, try this soup.

The World's Kitchen

This post has been sitting in my blog outbox for quite a while now so I thought I'd just post it. Enuwy solved the long held (how long has it been now? 5 years?) mystery of the Turkish dessert I ate once in a small Turkish dessert shop in Brunswick where all the signs and desserts all Turkish.

Some (probably) 3 years ago, I related the story to enuwy about how, in 2001, I wandered into this Turkish shop in Brunswick and tried a dessert that was a much loved favourite of all who was in this shop. It had just come out fresh from the oven, I had no idea what it was, all the women there were raving about it, but in Turkish, and I had no idea what to have. In the first place, I had wandered in not knowing it was a Turkish dessert shop.

Though it sounds like a dream, I kid you not that the nice people at the shop were so in love with that dessert that they gave me some to try for free. They were so adamant that I tried this just to find out what it was instead of buying the baklava and walking out of the shop. And the better I was for it.

From the first taste, it was obvious what they were raving about. To date, this remains the most amazing dessert I have ever eaten, combining everything I love about dessert (cheese, sugar, texture, chewiness... )and then some. Unfortunately, from that day on, while the tastes and textures remained firmly on my tongue, the alien name didn't stick quite as well.

So began the quest for the mysterious Turkish dessert. I got so far as to realize it was made up of kataifi, a sort of shredded soft filo pastry, but I didn't get to what the dessert's name actually was.

Trust enuwy to be the one to resolve this for me - and with no better blog post than the one she sent across. Reading through the entire post resolved more than just kunefe for me. It reminded me of what I remembered so fondly and missed so much about Alcuin Block A. I came across some photos the other day I snapped of food and smiles, both broad and generous, and it brought a smile to my face to know that I've had those memories of running clandestinely to the next block to snip rosemary for the roast chicken upstairs.

So thank you, enuwy. I had forgot to mention in person that the post reminded me of York but made a mental note to say that here. Oh, and that I know what I am going to get for a Christmas present (hint: Justin Quek).

Taking the Lead

Epiphany; a petty realisation; a simple truth; a little known fact; discovery. Call it what you will. I realised something interesting today about leadership.

Ever had that moment where you are walking one direction down the pavement, and headlong going in the opposite direction is someone else, a stranger, on a bicycle maybe, or walking swiftly.

A little dance ensues. You step to the left. Unknown that he's mirroring your move, the stranger (nearly 99% of the time) steps to the right. You are once more facing each other. You take a step in the opposite direction. He once again mirrors your move. This dance will go on until either both of you reach the point where you meet, face to face, close up, or one of you takes a step, deliberately, in the counter-intuitive direction. Which of you does that? You, or him?

At that moment, there is no deliberation, no intention, no malicious thought. You are not out to block his way and neither is he. In fact, probably there is some measure of altruism involved - you want to step aside so that he may pass, or he may think the same way. But if both parties follow without leading, a collision will ensue, for the benefit of neither party.

I think it is psychological to follow. It's also psychological not to want to move, walk or step against the grain, counter-intuitively. In the ten minutes walking home each day, I invariably encounter this situation often enough. Sometimes they are with bicycles, who move faster than I do. Sometimes with men at the door. Sometimes with a passer-by with nice heels. And always it is the same story, the same situation.

I had to discipline my mind to recognize a situation like this one and force myself to step in the opposite direction. Perhaps because I am naturally left-handed, this made it harder to do, I always stepped to the left (strangely enough, the other person always stepped to the right, I don't ask if he is left or right-handed). Instead of doing what I've always done, I deliberately, sometimes slowly (a split second can last a very long time) step to the right. The other person sees my move, noticed I had chosen, swooshes past me and thanks me with a smile or a nod.

This is leadership. It is avoiding the impasses caused by the reaction of the human herd. It is psychological and personal discipline, it is the control of instinct. And ultimately, it is choice. If you can choose and will yourself to act as you choose, and see past what society is telling you, what apparent human logic determines, beyond what your body drives you to choose - you will have led, and not followed.

Mysterious Well... mysterious, well...

Something about Dario's comment really fascinated me, striking me as a bit of a cross between a chain mail, spam and a well intentioned message from a friend.

So I've published it when moderating my comments, simply because it piqued my interest.

Do I think that I have a problem with Life? Am I disturbed, dissatisfied and do I generally not sleep well at night?

Not (at all,) really.

But would I be enough of a cat to let my curiosity take me by the nose?

Most (of the time) definitely.

Happy Guy Fawkes Day!

Remember, remember the fifth of November…

There are fireworks all around, pretty much every single night since Halloween started. Tesco sells fireworks to individuals above 18, and I reckon these guys don't go far to set them off since I can see fireworks from my window, coming from the nearby fields and recreation grounds.

They're beautiful. I asked about why there were so many fireworks recently, I didn't think it was a Halloween thing, and was reminded that it was the season to commemorate Guy Fawkes, who attempted to blow up the parliament building on the 5th of November, 1875 in an effort to remove the Protestant government and re-establish a Catholic parliament and end the oppression of Catholics in England.

This part of English history fascinates me. It reeks of conspiracy and rebellion, of oppression of a people I can identify with (obviously) and is deep rooted in politics. In case you didn't know, I'm deeply, deeply fascinated with politics and philosophy. In fact, politics, philosophy and economics are my three main, grown-up interests, it's a wonder I didn't succumb to taking the PPE course while at York. It was probably the first thing that got me and enuwy really talking, and although I am not that keen in following modern day politics (more paparazzi and marketing than politics, IMHO), I am still fascinated with politics as it occurs in life, not merely in government.

I believe Politics is ultimately about a struggle, but it is in that struggle that we find energy, meaning and power. One of the things that fascinated you about me was how much I was willing to "play the game" and how well I played it at the age that I am. Do you think this is a prerequisite to survive in the company that I work in? In any company, for that matter? I think this is a subtle flirtation, a teasing of the senses? It keeps me on my toes, makes me sharp, and keeps me alive and driven to go to work with a zeal and energy each day. If not for this, life and work would be so boring. And it's not just work. In anything that requires a relationship, from the one between man and woman, to the one between friends and family, there is politics. It is the language and method by which we all derive our relationships and attempt to connect with one another. Sometimes we fight. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we flirt. But always, always, we are engaging in a considered dance, flitting from place to place, from thought to thought. And as the dance defines the dancers, so this engagement defines us and changes us.

In this definition, I wonder about how it is like to be a Catholic in England. Modern day Anglicans share much of the same traditions and beliefs as do the Catholics. Notable exceptions of course are that Anglicans do not subscribe to the power of the papacy, and condone divorce and abortion. Are these such crucial differences that they warrant a time when Catholics were nearly persecuted and oppressed in England? Of course, this had political roots. The queen was not Catholic, and was politically opposed to the Catholic claim to the throne. To this day, the heir to the throne of England is not allowed to take a Catholic spouse in marriage. When I read about Guy Fawkes in the Tower of London tour, I was surprised to learn how much I didn't know. Before I left, Fr Frans blessed me with the exhortation to go forth to England and always be proud of being a Catholic. Does that change the person that I am? Does that make me prouder to be what I have always been?

I cannot help but wonder why people still celebrate Guy Fawkes day. It is a reminder, as you said, of liberation and a time for peace, of a time when people fought for what they believed, and lived for it, and died for it. It was a time when people cared enough about an idea to act, react, and do.

That ended up as what I think about when I see fireworks from my window every night. At the end of the day, Politics is only a reminder of how things should be. If you feel strongly enough for something, do something about it. If you love something enough, show the world that you care. If you believe in something, live and breathe your dreams and your beliefs.

The Modern Day Ah Por

Q: What is scarier than a fast talking auntie who whizzes around your house making a mess neater in 50 seconds?

A: A fast talking, smooth sailing, mathematically inclined, six sigma methodology using ah por (granny).

Today I've just been promoted from "auntie" (which I've always been) to "ah por" which is a rank higher in the pigeon pecking order of housewifey'ness. Ranking from zero which is dumb blonde in 9" heels and french manicured long nails to ten which is Peranakan grandmother with a fifteen generation pure Peranakan bloodline. Ah por is about 8.

OK, I'm exaggerating a bit here obviously. But I must say that I'm quite pleased with my findings of household tips that I've gotten lately simply by being home a lot and tending house. (One thing I astound myself with - I love tending house. It's fascinating enough to be a full time job, if only I could wield a knife safely most of the time.)

Household Tip #1: Distinguishing freezer food in order of freshness (aka how to tell if your frozen chicken is dead, truly truly dead)

Being the only one in the house, I frequently need to buy food in larger quantities (because they don't sell them cheap in petite sizes) and then break them up into personally edible portions when I get back home. To this effect, I am armed with a handful of plastic freezer bags (courtesy of SKP in Singapore) and handy knot tying skills. I bag them up, put them in the freezer, and once the food all freezes over, the bag of mince I just bought looks exactly the same as the bag of mince I bought two weeks ago. The next time I reach into the fridge, I end up picking the newer bag of mince first. Sound familiar?

There are plenty of solutions out there trying to tackle this problem, most of them generally needing a pen or marker so that you can indicate which bag was bought when. I've tried doing this before when I was sharing a household with 5 other girls. The result was, a) the freezer got smudged with marker ink in various odd colours at the end of the day, b) the bags got smudged with ink, leaving the dates illegible, c) try reaching into a crammed freezer with icy fingers turning over bags looking for a handwritten date.

Enter my latest discovery, Ikea food saver clips in various colours. These handy bags of 20x small clips and 10x longer clips retail for something like SGD$3.90 in Ikea. Ikea recommends them for half eaten bags of crisps, as toothpaste holders (some brilliant person took one, clipped a toothpaste tube at the base and slide them along the tube as they go along to make full use of every inch of toothpaste in the tube), to clip half empty pasta bags, bags, bags and more bags. The multi colours in the bag is touted more as a decorative feature than anything.

But here's the thing. To my Six Sigma trained mind, colours mean only one thing. Colour coding. So if you have something like two bags of these clips at home, here's what you do.

Step 1: Use these clips to seal your freezer bags full of food, instead of knotting them.
Step 2: Select one colour of the day - say, Yellow, and for everything you pack that day, use only yellow clips (its not too hard to find enough of one colour, Ikea clips are pretty consistent in the bags - they've got red, cyan, purple and yellow)
Step 3: All the yellow bags therefore make up "one batch" of food that you've purchased that day. What I like to do is note down what date yellow stands for on the fridge door or something like that. The next time I buy food, it'll be Purple, followed by Cyan… or whichever the next cooler colour is.

That makes sure you always know which foods you should be taking out of the freezer to use first before they all die. And because the colour code's already on the fridge, if you're sharing a household with seven other people, it helps to make sure that everyone knows which colour means what, just by checking the fridge door. It also makes it very easy to yell at a significant-other-with-the-IQ-of-a-neanderthal-concentrating-on-football from across the room, "Take the bag that has the yellow clip on it!!" instead of "Take the bag that has 16 September written on it!" (findings have shown that neanderthals are not very good at reading but do respond to colours as they represent different teams on the field.

Household Tip #2: Freezing Chicken Stock is a stupid thing to do in an ice-cube tray.

My ice cub trays are all broken, so today I went out to get new ones, in the hope that I could use them to freeze chicken stock in easy to use ice cubes. Of course, this is an old wives household tip that has been documented in recipe books and are everywhere on the internet. If there's a household time saver that any housewife would tell you, freezing chicken stock in ice cubes for later use is definitely going to be one of them.

Not.

I tried doing this and I swear - whoever's ever said it saves time obviously has not tried it before. Freezing chicken stock into ice cubes is an incredibly tedious waste of time. First of all you can't freeze very much chicken stock on one ice cube tray, so you end up needing very many ice cube trays to get a single bowl of soup. Second, you are left with a whole mess of oily ice cube trays to wash, and if anyone has ever tried washing them, and trying to reach into every single tiny little square to make sure it's grease free… it will drive anyone bananas.

So this is the first and the last time I am ever doing this. I'm happy I tried it at least once to debunk the tip, but the hassle of getting my hands dirty like that again is just not worth it.

So are there alternatives to using an ice-cube tray?

One helpful suggestion was to use a freezer bag. But this left you fighting to peel a frozen freezer bag off a fast melting, oily block of chicken stock. So, off with that. The tricky thing about chicken stock is not only the loading of the chicken stock but the de-frosting of the frozen brew that is the rub.

These days I re-use mineral water bottles (very clean, very plastic, very handy) or coke bottles to store my chicken stock. They freeze well, and all you need to do is to defrost them like meat, take them out and let the liquid melt in the bottle before opening to pour into the pot. I get these bottles free from my office (after I drink the water) and they're relatively disposable after that (or you can then recycle them with the local community). You'll probably need a funnel or some very good liquid pouring skills but the bottle mouth isn't that tiny.

Alternatively, I try to get my hands on re-used honey or pasta sauce jars, but those I tend to reserve for sauces and thicker liquids. They also do tend to have too much residual flavour on the glass.

Household Tip #3: Never throw away an empty glass jar without thinking about the 10 different ways you could re-use them.

I feel a pang of guilt throwing away or recycling glass jars from honey, jams and pasta sauces without trying my utmost to re-use them in some way. The thing is, I paid good money for it (if you thought you were just buying the pasta sauce, think again. Packaging and marketing costs are built into the product you purchase, baby…) and I'm not going to let a perfectly good and useful container go to waste like that. You see, plastic is one thing I can give up, because they're usually low quality, wrap around your food, warp if you squeeze too hard type materials. Same goes for paper, which is prone to spills, ink smudges and marketing peeling off the walls. But glass? Glass is a sculpted, durable, heat resistant, hard-wearing thing. (Same goes for metal, but they rust).

And glass doesn't keep aroma or flavour in them. If you ever thought that you'll never wash away the stink of a used pasta sauce jar, think again. The residual smell actually comes from the rubber (which would probably be stained orange) of the cap, not actually the jar itself. Throw the cap away, and it becomes a hundred other things, ranging from pen stand to coffee mug.

Here are ten things I'd use glass jars for instead of throwing them away:
1. Utensil holder. Especially good for jars where you're forced to throw the lid away (see above). These hold forks, spoons, knives, chopsticks, toothbrushes, pens, paintbrushes…
2. Measuring jars. Notice how most of your merchandise tend to get sold in pre-set measures? 250ml, 500ml, 750ml… Well, the jar already holds that much, you might as well use it as a measure the next time you want 250ml, no more, no less.
3. Coffee mug. Some honey jars come with handles, I've been lucky enough to find a few that served me very well as a coffee mug when I ran out and broke the rest.
4. Sauce holder for left over or home made sauces. I keep old sauce bottles so that when I need it, I use it to hold sauces that I make at home. They keep the sauces better than any plastic container I have at home.
5. Pickling jars. My brother used to do this at home. He'd grill red, yellow and green peppers in the oven, slice them up, and put them in a jar with herbs like rosemary, whole peppercorn… or whatever you like, and pickle them in olive oil (don't use the expensive type, you're just wasting your money). After storing them in the fridge for about a week or longer, they make great dips with bread.
6. Storage containers for small piecey items. These range from couscous to detergent to hair clips.
7. Small jam jars are good for melting down beewax and making your own pots of lip balm. I know this sounds all quite frivolous, but if you're not into making your own lip balm, they're also very good for storing travel sized moisturizers and creams. Oh, and because they're air tight, they hardly ever leak, and are strong enough not to break in the luggage too.
8. Larger sauce jars are great as a pot to grow your own sprouts. I am seriously not kidding about this. You can grow your own organic bean sprouts and alfalfa sprouts in your kitchen, and they taste much better (and cost less) than anything you can get from a supermarket. All you need to do is pop a small handful of them in a jar, top with water just enough to cover the seeds, cover with a muslin cloth tightened with a rubber band, tip them upside down to drain the water out every week and in two weeks or so they are ready to eat.
9. Tumbler for tea. I got this from walking down the streets of China (no city in particular, seems nearly every city in China does this) where men take their tea with them and sip from an old jar which has glass walls thick enough to keep the tea warm. When you've got no thermos flasks handy, this is equally good!
10. Salad dressing mixer. This is one of the best uses of sauce jars I've seen because it is so neat. In the jar, mix your salad dressing with all the messy oils and sauces. Close with the lid and shake to mix. Open the jar and pour to serve. This also stores quantities of home made salad dressing that I didn't get to finish. I simply pop the lid back on and throw it into the fridge to be used another day.

Household Tip #4: Choices, choices.

This is really based off a Six Sigma methodology, I kid you not. I'm amazed every day by the clever but kindergarten ideas that management consultants come up with.

How to make a good choice and not regret your decision tomorrow? Note: this does not apply to choices of significant others/husbands/boyfriends/wives/girlfriends/partners/pets/friends (or you would be a very sad person if you use this methodology). To some extent, it unfortunately does not apply frequently to clothes/bags/shoes/accessories either.

Step 1: On a piece of paper, list down all the qualities you look out for in the choice. Be free thinking when it comes to listing down all the things that would make you happy, or everything your dream choice should have.
Step 2: Weigh them on a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 being you wrote it on a whim because it's cute and 10 being that you cannot live without it.
Step 3: For each of the choices that you are deciding between, rate them on a scale of 1 to 10 for every quality that they possess on the list you wrote in Step 1, with 1 being it barely fits the bill to 10 being it is that quality personified.
Step 4: Multiply weight of the quality with the ranking of how much of each quality each of your choices have. Sum them all up to get a score. Pick the one with the highest score.

If you've ever used this to make your decisions on supermarket shopping or in buying a house, or choosing a pet, let me know. I know I started shuffling my priorities around when I saw a house that I just wanted to get.

An Inconvenient Truth

It would be strange (and maybe even funny) if I say that a documentary nearly brought tears to my eyes, and it wasn't even a documentary about war, or death or disease, but about a seemingly innocuous issue called global warming - but truth is, at the end of "An Inconvenient Truth", I realised that this was a documentary that was really good - factual, relevant and compelling. And yes, it nearly brought tears to my eyes.

This documentary directed by David Guggenheim tracks the battle to raise political will for global warming led by Al Gore. Much of the footage are on presentations done by Al Gore on global warming, a presentation he had probably done a thousand times in various cities around the world. It also tracks the other side to the issue of global warming, what Al Gore has done in politics on this issue, how he's come about this cause in his background, and his tribulations and frustrations with getting America, the #1 contributor to global warming in the world, and also one of the two advanced countries in the world who have not ratified the Kyoto convention. The other is Australia.

It's so hard, and increasingly so the older I get, for something that I watch or read or see on TV change my mind about something radically. I suppose to begin with I've got a hard cynical shell on. But An Inconvenient Truth has done just that for me. It took the issue of global warming from the realms of hippie and Greenpeace to relevant, every day life for me. As someone who's moved countries and continents for health reasons, it made me think of the day when everywhere may end up like the place I left behind. It became for me a real issue to think about some of my favourite cities in the world lost underwater - San Francisco, New York, the Netherlands… and my home country, Singapore, a mere island definitely one of the first to go.

So yes, it has become personal. I will walk or ride a bicycle. I'll turn the lights and heater on when I'm not using it. I'll recycle as much as possible. I'll take the low emissions free shuttle to work. I'll use energy saving appliances, light bulbs and plant more trees and green plants.

Although thinking about it, it wasn't even just that. What brought tears to my eyes was how this reminds me of who I am inside and what I feel for. It reminds me of Berkeley, and it reminds me of what the ring on my finger tries to remind me every day - that the purpose of my life is to make a difference. It is to know about, think about, and act about the things that matter to more than just the one person that I am. It is this distinguishing factor, and this one thing alone that makes me different and unique among the others who are different. It is what enuwy and Adam and Farzam see in their friends, and what Jeff saw when he met me on a plane and hired me as his employee, something whose impact I still feel to this very day.

Yet it feels like this is something that I've forgotten of late. And I am sorry for that.

At the end of the day, what makes me who I am is being an activist. Changing people's minds about what commonly held beliefs are. Thinking out of the box. Making a difference. This is what I took with me from Berkeley and what I promised myself to take for life.

Maybe I'm naïve, and take things at face value, but after this documentary, I am glad that I'm taking a free low-emissions shuttle to work. I don't think I'm going to get a car. I'm going to take trains, buses and other mass transit methods. J- likes to tell others how much I love public transport methods when I travel, here's why. This should be habit for me. We think, we choose and we act.

The other thing I've learnt from the documentary is how Al Gore thinks and acts and presents. I've finally come to the realization that what makes American presentations compelling and powerful is the ability to emotionize things. It takes facts and makes them relevant, personal, and emotionally compelling. This is a talent that exists in each and all of us, it is a trick of art - in drama, in literature, in modern day presentations. It's funny how there was a classmate of mine in a Peace and Conflict Studies class once described me as eloquent. Is this simply the catch of eloquence? Allowing people to bridge their thoughts on issues by making it easy to relate to issues in a personal way? What stirs people to move, to think, to see something differently and to act on their thoughts?

I definitely see this quality in Jeff, Breezy in some way, and in Al Gore in a big way. And I've realized that this is one secret thing that make people successful. It's right there, before my fingers - one only has to reach out and grasp it.

About a Virgin

Airlines... what were you thinking about?

I vaguely remember reading this on someone's blog (probably enuwy's) on how cute and frankly quite funny the animations of Virgin Atlantic's safety video is. And it really is.

I'm on Virgin Atlantic on my way to the US (first time trans-atlantic on Virgin) and I must say that the service has been fantastic! If you're into well designed interfaces and good looking cutlery, overnight kits and in-flight entertainment, you will love Virgin Atlantic's service. Everything here (with the exception of the service crew) looks designer!

It's no wonder that this is a partner of Singapore Airlines, which chooses great partners to code-share with in perpetuating the good service. I have to rave about what's different.

Top ten impress-me points on Virgin Airlines:
Overnight kits come in a colourful bag, featuring a larger-than-most drawstring bag, normal sized toothbrush, pop cap toothpaste, ear plugs and eye mask.
Cute labels on items, ranging from "Pardon?" on the ear plugs, to "v.smelly" on the perfumes range in the in-flight shopping magazine.
Great range of in-flight entertainment. For all you SQ sceptics out there, there are more movies on-demand on the plane than featured on Krisworld. If that doesn't convince you, check out the music range. Not surprising for a company that makes its money by being the largest entertainment/music provider in the world.
But you can't buy taste. The choice of in-flight entertainment is obviously thought through. I watched A Scanner Darkly, an animated adaptation of Philip K. Dick's dark sci fi novel which features Keanu Reeves in animated form. I've not even heard of this movie (so quite cutting-edge although I am probably also behind in movies so far.) Top recommendations include An Inconvenient Truth, a must-watch documentary on Al Gore fighting for global warming. It is utterly compelling, and I'm impressed that this was touted as a must-watch and not some boring short. The Devil Wears Prada is also one of the new shows on board.
The in-flight entertainment magazine, heck even the descriptions of products sold and the in-flight safety information is entertainingly written and fun to read. Apparently, the descriptions of products offered in the in-flight shop is written by well trained monkeys.
Well designed, on-demand, aesthetically pleasing in-flight entertainment system. If you're one of those SQ fanatics addicted to the on-demand, in-flight entertainment systems with dozens of movies, Virgin Atlantic is not going to be any less. In fact, there are less ads (I saw only one) in the beginning of each movie, which is always nice. Also, the on-demand system is obviously using the same Panasonic back-end system (thanks S- for the information, I wouldn't otherwise have known!) as Krisworld since the background font when you stop/start is exactly the same.
The food is frankly, quite nice for plane food. Dessert was a luxury sample of chocolate pudding which was heartrendingly good. (Allergic to chocolate - made my heart race, but I took a bite and it was simply yummy.)
The in-flight entertainment system also has intranet surfing allowing you to surf the net within the in-flight system and text messaging where you can send SMS to ground mobile phones (at some fee, of course).
And although I wasn't in the right class, there is a full sized standing room bar in business class, going with the latest trend of having all aisle-only seats along the side of the plane, with a drinks bar where the galley is supposed to be on traditional planes.
And my personal favourite: toilets feature tampons (a first on airlines!) instead of penguin pads for sanitary protection. For the information of all the guys who do not appreciate this, this is a mark of sophistication and luxury - I kid you not. Old women who define tax and GST laws define tampons as luxury goods in Australia but sanitary napkins as necessities.

So the next time you're thinking of a flight from the UK, I recommend Virgin as a whole, over other competitors like British Airways or Qantas. It's probably on par with Singapore Airlines or Emirates, but may well cost a lil' bit less. And it definitely offers you great value for your dosh.

A Life Less Beautiful

It's official - weeks surviving in an empty house without music: 0.714. Or, put more simply, 5 days out of a week of 7. After a week of tapping my feet and twiddling my thumbs in silence (not having a sound system and craving the iPod), I've finally given in and… put a cd into the office laptop, turned music up to loud and hit play.

The life has filled the air.

The CD which has the dubious honour of being the first to be played is a CD that I've been looking for in a very, very long time - the very best of Cesaria Evora. I'm not sure if I can honestly say this woman is little known - she's very good and very famous in the right circles, but I've not been able to find her CDs anywhere in Singapore. I've finally picked it up in the International section in a funky, alternative music store in Virginia.

And this is indeed, the very best.

I've first heard of Evora in 1997, but had trouble finding more than one or two of her songs. The ones that I have heard were indeed very good, and (happy me!) featured in this very best of album. But it's astounding, you seldom find a CD where every single song is good and yet, here it is.

I've also had the happy joy of listening to her live (pure heaven!) while in Berkeley - a place that I can honestly say I've fulfilled nearly a lifetime's worth of starry night dreams - a Terry Pratchett book signing, a Neil Gaiman reading + book signing, a Radiohead and Cesaria Evora concert (yes, very different I know), plenty of salsa dancing, club hopping, cocktail drinking, snazzy interview-going and happy memories of good friends I can sing with.

There is honestly only the dream of going to a Tori Amos concert left to fulfil then I can die happy.

While drunk on the intoxication of this music, let me digress back to what I'd initially wanted to say about this subject. Ah yes, A Life Less Beautiful.

You know, you got me thinking about the stuff that surrounds me. About the things I'm living for, about the things I value, and about the things I spend my time and energy on. As any wandering, wondering intellectual would already know, they aren't always the same thing.

To tell the truth, things haven't always been easy here. And expectedly so. I'm living in a country with an incredibly backward public sector, a bureaucratic service sector, a health care system in the Dark Ages (thank god for the weather I'm falling sick much less often), and frequently famously frosty citizens. This is not Singapore, and the difference is stark. There isn't the 24 hour roti prata store, late night teh tariks and kopi tiams where you can take away food. In many ways, this almost seems the life less beautiful, less perfect, far less convenience.

But what you said made me wonder - do I really value convenience that much? Sure, I curse and swear when BT makes me wait nearly 3 hours on the phone to get a phone line (and to think I'm paying them money for crying out loud!) but after all's said and done, I have a house that I love (yes the house is beautiful - I've actually started a "House Book", journal of things to do around the house), to my surprise, I find that I have an unknown (to myself and to others) talent for my work, and frequently get asked for advice as a guru, I have food that needs cooking but with ingredients that won't kill me. The weather has dropped to a min of -3 degrees celcius at nights, but its dry enough for my sensitive sinuses not to lose too much mucus about it. Interestingly enough too, I'm also making friends (albeit being in early stages of conversation).

After all that, with Cesaria Evora playing in the background, dancing slow salsa in an empty house on a dark wood floor - what's there about life right now that is not beautiful? I only wish you were here.

Last Saturday, in a conversation with an old university friend and his girlfriend, the topic came up about Singaporeans and how they always complain wherever they go. There is, says the girl, a chronic dissatisfaction with the way things are that exists in the heart of all Singaporeans. They find fault and pick on things, however perfect they may be, they are restless, wandering souls at heart. Perhaps it is the migrant in us all that came from our fathers and our forefathers, who had left their homelands precisely because of that same dissatisfaction, that same restless spirit that drives people away from where comfortable hearths rest. Would it be truly fair to ask the question of Singaporeans whether we are "stayers" or "quitters" when we come from generations upon generations of "quitters"? If anything, this dissatisfaction with life is not merely inherent to our nation, it is our birthright.

I wondered about myself. You clearly didn't seem to be dissatisfied with anything. In fact, if anything, you had such a spirit, such joie de vivre in the way things were that I picked up some of it, and looked upon the selfsame nation I grew up in with a childlike and foreign eye. You made me love something I perhaps wouldn't come to love on my own. Was I truly restless, dissatisfied, needing to uproot myself and settle somewhere in a greener pasture? Was this an anywhere-but-here idea?

The truth is, I can't think of a good reason why I'd like to come here to live, except for the fact that it is something new, something like a long held dream (weather aside - some cynical days I think that an excuse, I could have gone to Australia). It is the envy of everyone back home, but what is there to envy? In the end, all I am doing is risking everything, in search of nothing in particular.

There is a story about a girl from a small town in Brazil, whose dreams and heart were too big for her little town. She wanted to travel and go to Europe, make a lot of money, have plenty of exotic experiences, and return a homecoming queen to buy a farm, marry a man she loved, have many kids and live happily every after. She ended up a prostitute, selling her life and soul for money which cannot buy back the hours she had lost. She was searching for love, and ended up with sex. Yet it is a love story. (Read Eleven Minutes.)

I believe that everyone searches for something. In all my previous experiences, I've never stopped feeling like I've stopped searching for something, and found something. I don't know what this is that I am looking for, but I've always never stopped moving, never stopped searching for this thing, risking everything and potentially gaining nothing. There have been plenty of theories on what we may possibly be looking for, peace, God, ourselves, true love, the mysterious other half that completes us utterly.

I truly do not know what it is that I am looking for. But I do know that for a very brief year of my life, the last year in fact, I have felt, for the very first time, like I've stopped searching for something. There were only three occasions I remember, all less than the span of a day each, where I had felt as though this mysterious search, this inexplicable dissatisfaction was back, knocking on my door, begging me to keep going, telling me that my search wasn't over. Three days.

I must apologize to you that it is inertia that brought me here, not momentum. I had stopped moving, yet this was the final move, as though the forces that had been set in motion before I stopped were jerking me back into the past, to the journey I had found myself travelling before, even though now I have stopped. It feels to me as though the pendulum, once set in motion, is now swinging backwards. From now on, all my travels will be to take me back to what I had lost, not what I had failed to find. And I do know, I do know the difference - I'm no longer searching for something, I'm waiting now. What is infinite (a search) is now finite (a wait). And I know it's just a matter of time, standing still where I am, before you will find your way here again.

Edgar Allan Poe studied in UVA!

Edgar Allan Poe Memorial
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

Obviously I must have been very ulu about this famous poet and author because I obviously didn't know that he studied in UVA.

Its hardly as depressing a place as suitable for Poe but like my sister in law said, it's just Poe.

Speaking of UVA, I'm also reminded of Yuteki whose parents were here and who had named his brother after the place. I'd wanted to take a University of Virginia photo for him but wasn't sure if he was reading this blog.

Stars are Out - Observatory Night

Tonight (Friday night) is observatory night, so we all huddled up to the McCormick Observatory to observe something that hopefully looked like a Hubble (telescope).

Now I've had the good fortune to have seen some many splendid astronomical things in my lifetime. I've witnessed:

• A total eclipse of the sun
• A total eclipse of the moon
• Mars when it was closest to Earth (once in some ridiculously high number of years)
• A meteor shower
• The full Orion's Belt with the nebula near Orion's trousers
• Many shooting stars (too many and too quickly to have made any wishes that would come true)
• The Southern Cross
• The full set of stars in my own star sign (try that one, I swear it's not that easy)

So this one was - I thought - going to be nothing too special but one more to add to my collection. But it was amazing.

What I saw through the telescope was not visible through the naked eye. It was a cluster of stars 25,000 light years away. The cluster swirled around the middle, with sprinkles of stars around the edges in a very clear, swirling spiral. At its heart was what appeared to be one very very bright star but which we knew were actually a collection of stars so close together they looked like one.

But what was really fascinating was the observatory. I don't think I'd ever been in a full observatory before, facing a telescope that is more than 120 years old (inaugurated on Thomas Jefferson's birthday on April 13th, 18-something). The telescope shifted slightly in the domed room as the day passed (a fact which totally fascinated me) and in conversation with the astronomers there, I've finally learnt how they measure distances from the earth (firstly as how the units of light years are calculated, and second, how they essentially do an equivalent of taking a very very long measuring tape between earth and the star in mention).

It was a good trip. And brought to mind one Hamlet phrase that I shall shamelessly quote here:

Doubt that the stars are fire,
doubt that the earth doth move
...
But never doubt I love (thee).

Not that I am declaring any endless affection here but what I'd really like to know is... how the heck would Shakespeare know what he's talking about?

Newly Discovered Frost Poem

Robert Shilling at the University of Virginia recently discovered a poem by Robert Frost that was never before published. The poem, entitled "War Thoughts at Home" was scribbled on the cover pages of a copy of "North Boston", a copy of which was purchased from the Frederick G. Melcher collections in 2005.

I attended today a symposium on the newly discovered poem, which was about, as the name may suggest, thoughts on an erstwhile war while being in home country. It's quite obviously one of the private scribbles of Robert Frost, and probably not something he had ever intended to be published, but is still quite a poignant poem on war - one that strikes remarkedly close to home. There would have been many critics, many literature professors and doctors and people with permanent head damage who would have dissertated on this to death, so I shall not do this. I would instead write about my impressions on the poem when I first read it - because it made me think, as many things often do, of you.

Here is the poem-

War Thoughts at Home

On the back side of the house
Where it wears no paint to the weather
And so shows most its age,
Suddenly blue jays rage
And flash in blue feather.

It is late in an afternoon
More grey with snow to fall
Than white with fallen snow
When it is blue jay and crow
Or no bird at all.

So someone heeds from within
This flurry of bird war,
And rising from her chair
A little bent over with care
Not to scatter on the floor

The sewing in her lap
Comes to the window to see.
At sight of her dim face
The birds all cease for a space
And cling close in a tree.

And one says to the rest
"We must just watch our chance
And escape one by one-
Though the fight is no more done
Than the war is in France."

Than the war is in France!
She thinks of a winter camp
Where soldiers for France are made.
She draws down the window shade
And it glows with an early lamp.

On that old side of the house
The uneven sheds stretch back
Shed behind shed in train
Like cars that long have lain
Dead on a side track.

January 1918

Reproduced here with special thanks to the Virginia Quarterly Review who has published this Frost poem, as well as the Estate of Robert Lee Frost and Peter Gilbert etc. etc.

It didn't strike me half as deeply when I read it as when I heard it being read out loud. It's typical Frost, of course, very much in his style (yes, not a fake) so resonant of roads less taken and snow.

From the onset though, although this is only alluded to, I keep thinking of war - as child's play. But more than war, there was that sense of all the people with a purpose in their minds, however small or large, a goal that drives them away from their homes, away from people they love and from the people who love them. This poem is about those left at home during the war elsewhere, it is on (as the Boston Globe says) about the soldiers who have, more than families and loved ones, friends who love them dearly. This poem is about the life that seems to stop and stretch into infinity, in an afternoon, when a loved one goes away for an interminable length of time.

I am one such person, as you well know. I cannot hope to promise that this road taken would not end up, like cars that long have lain/dead on a side track. I cannot hope to promise that this is not one such side track.

When I look at this poem, although many say the line "dead on a side track" alludes to the death of a friend in the trenches in the war in France during 1918, and the war being a "side track" in the friend's life - I cannot help but think that there is also a certain death and stillness in the life at home. It is as though death in the war cannot go on without war thoughts on death, and death itself at home. The final stanza has images of things half used, being left behind and abandoned, as if waiting for re-use that is not to come. It is the life of the woman (it hints at her being old, as she is bent with care) also stopping dead in its tracks. It shows the stillness of waiting for someone from far far away.

With this I somehow think that "War Thoughts at Home" was appropriately named - not just for thinking about the war, which if you think about it happens quite briefly in the poem, but thoughts on another war on the home front. It is the anger directed at shutting out the blue jays which, trivial though it might be, are fighting their own small, petty wars, and the hope and defiance in lighting an early lamp despite there being light. It is the anger of disuse and misuse - and the gentle, silent acceptance that, like the blue jay and the crow, it is a part of life itself that war comes to us, and gently leave.

The Petit Manseng

I know this post is food related, but I think as time goes by and I fail to have enough to update two blogs, I'm going to move all the Food Magnet blog posts over to this one. Yes, in case you really didn't know, I do maintain the Food Magnet blog as well (albeit maintaining being an over-statement).

I found a really nice new grape varietal in Virginia called the Petit Manseng. It's usually grown in limited areas in the southwestern area of France, particularly in the Jurancon region and came to Virginia perhaps only recently since it's a very little known type of grape. In fact, it's so little known that the vintner at Veritas, a vineyard that just started to produce this wine, mistakenly mentioned that the grape is called the Jurancon Moelleux, when in fact, it is not the grape, but the region where the grape (the Petit Manseng) is grown.

The Petit Manseng is a curiously amazing wine. It's a very fruity, a nearly Riesling like white that bursts in a floral fragrance on the nose, with a finish that is nearly mead-like or peachy.

It certainly made me curious enough to want to log on and find out more about the wine when I could. Think I'll be looking out for this wine more - if the reviews are going right, it's only upward from here for the Petit Manseng in Virginia.

Small white pretty flowers

Wildflowers in the Grass
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

This one is for enuwy. It kind of reminds me of the photos that she would take.

Picture of the Day from Virginia

Old Fashion Gasoline Station
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

Day 5 of my trip in Charlottesville, Virginia. This is from an old gas top up wayhouse in Crozet, Virginia.

I thought it was so interesting how they still pin up the prices using old metal tags and had gas pumps that still clicked when they topped up the gas in the car.

Anyway, this one is for you - you who love the clouds in my photos.

A Change in the Seasons

You just told me that this blog's style, sound, flavour, what have you, has changed from how it was a year ago. Is that any surprise? Change is as frequent and as normal as the changes in the seasons. I can see it from my window where I sit now, as the leaves turn from spring green to warm, toasty brown.

So many things have changed. I now drink coffee black, but with sugar, and bath myself in Dove instead of Shokubutsu. You've changed so many things, reminding me how one cannot observe a scientific thing without changing it. Your very presence moves me.

I wonder if you are ever amazed by how things are. J'assume les raisons qui nous poussent de changer tout, mais espérez que j'ai tort. Perhaps there are no reasons. Perhaps there is only one reason - the same reason that made me falsely and foolishly delude myself into trusting that you read French, without reason and without logic.

Monter sur [insert number] elephant...

This is for Thessaly...

Monter sur un elephant

Monter sur un elephant
C'est haut, c'est haut!
Monter sur un elephant
C'est haut, c'est effrayant!

Monter sur deux elephants...
C'est haut, c'est haut!

And if you like you can count to mille...

For the benefit of the non-French reading crowd among you - it means,

To climb on one elephant,
It's high, it's high!
To climb on one elephant,
It's high, it's terrifying!

It's a French counting song that I learnt in school to teach numbers to little children. Alf and Thess have recently gotten hooked to the song and want to learn it.

Oh, what's even more fun is that I taught poulet to the little one and she learnt it in one go!

T = 17 months

Reaching for the Apple
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

Thessaly has reached the fun stage in her life - when she's beginning to start expressing herself (definitely expressive even without language), think for herself and start making choices.

She's surprised me so many times, from suddenly chirping, "Elmo!" to telling me with both hands that she wants to watch Sesame Street. I love it that she's gotten a sense of humour (something she's obviously born with) and has begun to crack some really mischievous jokes deliberately.

It was the only fish caught that day...

The Fish I Caught
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

As probably anyone would know, saying that I know how to fish would be akin to saying that a chicken knew how to fly. ie. both are vague attempts at simulating the movements required to perform the action, without really knowing what went into really doing it.

But there it was. I made my first cast - very much aided by dad who said, "You hold the line here like this, and toss the line in with a flicking movement of the wrist..." And so I mimicked the action as best I could and the line went in. Quite a distance. "And then we wait." said the dad. That's the boring bit.

Sceptical brother in the background going "I don't think there's any fish around there."

And so I reeled the line in thinking there wasn't much point anyway and wanted to try again (the fun is in the casting I have to tell you).

The line came in quite a ways actually, but there was a tugging on the line like a weight (I thought seaweed) at the end of it. And then the rod started to twitch. "You know what?" said dad, "I think she may have actually gotten a fish."

"What?! Like on the first try?"

I pulled a bit faster. My reeling wasn't really in a rush anyway - I felt sorry for any poor fish that may have inadvertently gotten stuck at the end of my line. The sinker broke the surface and with it, was a shiny, flipping bluegill at the end of the line.

I was afraid of the flapping, flailing fish the whole time. But somehow managed to keep it at arm's length enough to take a picture.

That was my first (and probably only time) fishing.

As you can see, I'm not into fishing (under-statement of the year). But it must have been beginner's luck - as it was the only fish caught that day.

The Vernal Wood picture from my childhood

Fall and Forests

This season, cinnamon, hollies and Halloween are all the rage for Fall (aka Autumn to some peeps in the Northern Hemisphere). Bath and Body Works is cashing in on the theme of warmth, mulling spices, and pumpkins. Pumpkins are big and the smell of spices and apples are everywhere.

It's lovely. Fall is my favourite season in the year, and being immersed in it in a way that I've not been before, I completely know why.

My mum had a photo album when I was ten. On the cover was a photo print of forests during fall, with the verse (and I don't know why I remember this always - its one of those trivial things that stay in your long-term memory and wastes space there...) "One impulse from a vernal wood will teach you more of man/Of moral ages and of good than all the sages can". It was probably one of those photo albums that were made in Japan, but funny when I saw the forest today - that was what I was thinking.

The forest on the photo album looks like a picture in the next blog post I'm putting up - but this holly plant taught me something. It told me, "Grow despite, not because. And it is also saying to me, "Sometimes growing different to the background isn't a bad thing, it is in standing out that one finds oneself beautiful."

Leaving soon on too many jet planes

One of the side effects of travelling (too much) is that one soon fatigues of it. You asked me today if I was excited to be going off (last day of work and first of a vacation week hurrah!) and in a way I am. But I'm not looking forward to the 12 hours + 2.5 hours + 3.5 hours + 1.5 hours on a plane ahead of me. I don't think I've ever taken so many flights in sequence before, just to get to where I'm going.

Of course, I could have taken the direct route and simply flown LHR-CHO straight away, but obviously I had to bump into a business transatlantic, and obviously I had to take what seemed the cheaper (I doubt it now) option.

Yes, I am definitely your silly goose alright - I'm living up to my name.

I am not even counting the time I'm going to be spending on the flight. All I know is, more than 24 hours later after I take off + time zone differences, the frequent flyer miles had better be worth it. Every time I walk into a place that gives me Krisflyer Gold privileges, I tell myself that it was all worthwhile.

I want to honestly say what I'm looking forward to - because over IM, I didn't have an answer for you.

I am looking forward to walking towards my niece and seeing a broad, wide grin on her face. I'm looking forward to seeing her spring forward with a freshness of step one only sees in the very very young. I'm thinking that if only we had kids, they'd be so darn cute (looks like Isaac). I'm now laughing at the sceptical look on your face and your "no kids" policy.

And of course you'll say that our lovely white fluffy baby is totally worth it and enough trouble as it is. Which of course she is. I'm half thinking of borrowing her to snuggle against in bed - she'd be lovely in this cold weather.

A New Home!!

Luscinia View 002
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

Finally, after much ado and running around, I've finally laid hands on my new house!!

Half of today was spent running around to Wokingham, then to the new place to do mundane but important things like sign the lease, get the keys released (and into my grubby hands...) check into the apartment, make sure the inventory listings are correct and everything is in good working order yada yada yada.

It's not easy, this moving out and moving into a new place thing. But I'm so excited!

This marks many "first's" for me,

1. First home of mine where I'm actually paying the rent with my hard-earned money and entirely able to invite my parents (imagine that!) to my home
2. First time furniture which I chose, and I paid for is going to be moved in,
3. First time I'm setting up my very own nest (all on my own - and you're like yeah yeah, *yawn* been there done that)
4. First time I've had a dishwasher, electric stove, food processor under the sink and a garbage compactor installed in my house (I'm going to have so much fun playing with these new toys...)
5. First time I'm living right next to a big 24 hour Tesco

Each time I see the house, it just looks better and better. I can't wait to move in! Actually, the funny thing is that I'm hardly going to even get much time to spend with my new house, but the year is still young (heheh). (tongue in cheek) But now I kind of know how a man with his new bride feels like (can't wait to move in).

You will probably be laughing but I had really never realized just how Cancerian I am until now. Cancerians are domestic and house-proud, but up until now, I've never had a house of my own to feel proud of.

This is a key part of me growing up. The first, and perhaps only, step that I will actually proudly take in a long ladder of self-domestication, viz.

1. Buying a house (Singaporean equivalent: registering for a HDB flat)
2. Moving in with a mate
3. Getting married
4. Having kids
5. Putting kids through college
6. Growing old
7. Having grandkids
8. Growing even more old
9. Starting to count down to the final days
10. and so on and so forth...

"15, there's still time for you, time to buy and time to choose - 15,
there's never a wish better than this... when you've only got 100 years to
live." - (100 years, 5 for fighting)

f.r.e.s.h.

Just in case anyone wondered what f.r.e.s.h. actually meant, it stands for:

• Food
• Recipes
• Enjoyment (of food)
• Supermarkets reviews and
• Household tips

Which are basically everything that I'm putting up here before I forget them myself.

In love with London, infatuated with Paris

In Love with London
Originally uploaded by metaphoric.

Quite honestly, Paris is quite a skanky city, all things considered. The streets are filled with grub, not quite clean, the city has well dressed people but dirty metro stations.

Yet all things considered, there's something distinctly sexual in the energy of the city. It features fast driving, slick talking cab drivers alongside ambling couples who stop to steal a kiss on a bridge as fast cars drive by.

I wouldn't say Paris is romantic, however, unlike how it is often portrayed. Try Prague for that one. Romance somehow is too clean a notion to be associated with Paris. But sexy - oui oui. And nothing summarizes that picture quite so well as this poster, plastered all over the Metro stations in Paris.

It's been a while, hasn't it?

I just realised that it has really been quite a while since my last blog post. And with good reason. There's plenty to blog about, but I just haven't quite found the time to write anything about it.

Without being too dry about mundane topics, here's basically what had happened in the last two months or so that has elapsed in my life.

I've...

1. Changed jobs in the same company.
2. Relocated to a different postal code, different district... in fact, different country and different continent.
3. Been in 3 different countries in the course of a week.
4. Attempted getting new bank accounts, rented apartments and a whole new life in the course of 3 weeks.
5. Dealt with a totally different keyboard configuration.
6. Changed the layout of my blog (its neater this way)

So yes, I've been busy. Understandably.

It's probably going to be easier to keep track of my life (where I've been and where I am going) through my Flickr page than through here - in the end. Since most of the time these days I'll end up travelling with little else than a trusty camera.

I'll try to keep up.

It's funny how far the extent one would be willing to go in pursuit of an old dream. I say old, because it wasn't even a current one, and it started with a strange and probably silly now in hindsight promise to move vaguely towards the land of the Oranje. Whatever happened to that, mij engel?

So many times I find myself on a distant shore, sings Sarah Brightman in my ears. Too many acquisitions along the way. Digital SLR, 60gb iPod, rented apartment to call my own, a one-way ticket to the EU. Too many broken promises, too many meaningless dreams, too much effort in pursuit of a "running away".

But I am still propelled along, like the backward cars of a headlong train, towards a future that I can only grasp as a good idea in the corners of my mind.

The Power of Three

I just had to log this random post. For some strange reason, in thinking about baby girl names, I've always invariably, mysteriously ended up in trios of names starting with the same alphabet. Perhaps this has something to do with the Fates and Furies, or just that there aren't generally more than 3 female baby names starting with the same alphabet that I like.

For example, a few of my favourites are: (starting from eldest to youngest) -

• Ruth, Rachel and Rebecca
• Katelyn, Kirsten and Kimberley
• Valerie, Vivienne and Veronique
• Catherine, Christine and Clara

I love naming kids. I just hate having them.