I Like This Chunk of Work

I didn't have to, but I found myself agreeing to cover a facilitator-associate's 'night shift' at three focus group sessions over three nights. She fell sick, but she had done all the prep work. She just needed someone competent to deliver it. It's an easy three nights, and it pays nicely.

It isn't a particularly crazy week of deadlines in my bread and butter freelance projects, so I decided to do it. I do need to keep the brains active, sharpen my edge and see if I can still match the market demands. I didn't agree to these 'night shifts' out of ego lah! But since the organizers/clients welcomed me to join in the group facilitation for these sessions, I really didn't mind. After all, nobody ever minded more (legitimate) income. This decision might also have been pushed by the fact that my annual medical insurance coverage increased (age bracket lah), and last week, I literally just paid a bomb in premiums.

As it is, my hours are pretty flexible, and since I'm willing to put in these hours at work, then I might as well do it if I have a window. How much I earn is directly proportionate to how hard I work. I earn enough to pay all my bills, spend on whatever I want to, and on Choya. Yes, I have to pay taxes. I'm comfortable. I'm thankful for that.

With this freelance gig that has sort of organically developed and trundled along for the past decade without me having to schmooze much, I'm very pleased. This means that the classic concept of retirement from a job doesn't apply to me. I probably can do this for another 6-8 years. It could be more, but we'll have to see what the market says.

As I near 50 years old, of course I wonder what this freelance gig would become, and how the projects might dry up. That's not my worry. One must diversify income streams. When I have no children's trust funds and medical insurance to consider; if I haven't done my Math and financial planning by this age, I'm not much of a competent human living in an urban city, am I? 

The worry is — I need to have a think if my sense of self is also shaped by my work identity. That is the thing. I'm not obligated to offices and the social circles of colleagues and the peripheral matters like that. Well, I've never really bothered about 'belonging' to any office. While I like the administrative and tech support that an office provides, I don't like anything else about it. Synergy, dynamism, buzz and all that, sure. But I do not like the politicking. However, I'm not immune to the saying 'work keeps one relevant to society'. 

One day, the projects will dry up. When that day comes, I don't know if I could swallow that realization graciously. I'd need to find something else (on top of my charity projects) to do on a regular basis to maintain the mental sharpness. Intellectual skills need to be constantly honed. 

Celebrated S at Kafe Utu

Between all our crazy work schedules, we managed to meet for a 6.30pm dinner. Celebrated S's birthday at Kafe Utu. We really like the food at this restaurant. It stands out among the usual boring menus in the city. We hope it survives for another year or so.

We ordered prudently too. Did three appetizers. Had the cauliflower with sunflower seeds, crispy beef tripe with chilli on the side, and lamb samosa with coriander raita. 

Had mains of red snapper fish stew, fresh squid marinated in chermoula in a curry, and my favorite goat curry. Then the table got greedy and added an Ethiopian chicken curry, which used a chicken leg and had a cute egg. All these mains come with a side of white rice and coconut rice. We should have skipped one bowl rice; it was too much for us. 

Dinner was fabulous, and the company even more so. It's harder to get together for dinner nowadays, so when a planned date works, it's wonderful. Didn't go crazy on drinks — we did two drinks each. I opted for bubbles, which was really light and easy; it went great with the spices. 

We split a token dessert — had to have a birthday candle atop; it was symbolic. Then we adjourned to the dessert cafe down the road because the husband wanted S and N to try the dunno-what durian mousse bowl. Then we were all home by 9pm. Shiok. 

Human Hearts Are Black

We are introduced to both narrators 88-year-old Maureen and Lilian (in her 50s) who live in a New Jersey town, and we see both their perspectives in a back and forth. This is Yiyun Li's 'Any Human Heart', published in The New Yorker on June 15, 2025.

Now, Lilian. This isn't a new character in Yiyun Li's stories. By now, I know that the author is rather fond of her, and seems to imbue Lilian with her own traits. In these stories, Lilian has lost her two sons Oscar and Jude. In this particular story when she met Maureen, she had just returned from a trip to Germany with her husband. They had taken this time to grieve and even spent their 26th wedding anniversary on this trip in Austria. Readers hear all about this Germany sojourn.

In this area on a residential street, on a bench next to a gas station, Maureen sits for most mornings, and observe the going-ons. She had noticed Lilian even before the younger woman noticed her. On one of those mornings, Lilian and Maureen met, and struck up a conversation that included a lunch at Maureen's. But it was no friendship for sure. 

Those who knew her story knew nothing about her beyond a few facts. That was why she was neither surprised nor annoyed when the old woman who called herself Maureen said she knew who Lilian was.

Lilian had noticed Maureen before, this woman who dressed more properly than the roadside bench required, in a Chanel suit on some days or, on other days, in a beautifully draped dress, an Hermès scarf adorning her frail neck. Because she always wore dark glasses and because her face was expressionless, Lilian did not feel an obligation to greet her. On one occasion, she wondered if the woman was blind and if a caretaker would come and retrieve her after a few hours of fresh air. But Lilian’s curiosity had been fleeting. She had not expected to be studied by Maureen.

Over weeks or even months, Maureen figured out that Lilian goes for a therapy session in a building nearby every Monday. Maureen finally spoke to Lilian one Monday, and invited her to lunch on the next Monday. Maureen rarely hosts guests at home now. Even her nieces and nephews don't seem to want to answer her 'summons' to meet. She seemed to have randomly inserted herself into Lilian's life for that hour. 

Over the course of lunch, we learnt about how Maureen goes on a path of revenge against her ex-husband Fred (who died 11 years ago) and his then new wife Hailey who lost their child in an accident, by sending flowers. It's definitely passive-aggressive in the most poison-pen way ever. 

“When I sent the flowers, I wanted them to know that they were not the only people thinking about their child on his birthday. They could view my gift as a gesture of sympathy or of ill intention, but you see, if they held it against me for sending flowers, part of them would always have doubts. Perhaps I was behaving magnanimously, and perhaps they were too deranged by their grief to be fair. An act of kindness and an act of cruelty, who could tell the difference?”

That lunch wasn't the start of any friendship. It was a summon to a conversation that wasn't necessary. It sounded like Maureen downloading onto Lilian and telling her things that Lilian didn't need or want to know. 

It was not the first time Maureen had summoned someone to have lunch with her. She never considered it an invitation, because an invitation, like love, like advice, like good will, could be declined. During her brief meeting with Lilian a week earlier, Maureen had said, “I see you’re not in the mood for conversation. Why don’t I arrange a simple luncheon for the two of us next Monday? You can come to my apartment right after your therapy. No, don’t try to come up with an excuse. I don’t think you’ll regret coming, and I promise we won’t be entering into a friendship with regular tête-à-têtes, if that’s your fear.”

The secret to getting what one wanted was to be demanding, in a clear manner, and to preëmpt reasons for refusing. Maureen was not surprised—but she was gratified—that Lilian had agreed. Once upon a time, few people would have said no to a summons from Maureen Miller, but these days it was better not to test her powers often. Her nephews and nieces, for instance, always seemed to have full schedules now. How busy could they be in their mediocre lives?

This lunch and conversation was a total invasion of privacy, really. Lilian should have said no, but I have no idea what her mental state was when she agreed. Of course there would be no friendship at all. In fact, I doubt Lilian would want to be associated with Maureen in any way. And the latter would think Lilian as weak because she didn't want to grieve in a similar fashion. Lilian isn't weak. She just doesn't agree with Maureen's path or methods. 

In an interview with the same journal, the author is asked if she intended Maureen to be truly cruel. 

At the lunch, Maureen is going to take the pain Lilian feels and use it for her own ends. She has a story that she wants to tell, and Lilian is her chosen audience. There’s an almost audacious cruelty to this. Does Maureen know she’s being cruel? Is that part of the pleasure she’ll derive from this encounter? Or is it simply that she wants the right listener?

Audacious cruelty—it’s precisely that. I might have shivered inwardly when I was writing the lunch scene: Maureen is set to cause pain and perturbation to Lilian, and Lilian is bound to be dumbfounded, a result designed by Maureen. Does she know she’s being cruel? I think so, but I suppose she doesn’t mind it, and she sees it as life’s necessity that she’s teaching Lilian a lesson. People who inflict pain and commit atrocities are good at justifying their behavior.