And So I Watch You From Afar

Poster design:
Errol Tan of KittyWu Records.

It was only in 2011 that I took notice of Belfast pop-post-rock band And So I Watch You From Afar (ASIWYFA), when their first album 'Gangs' appeared on my playlists.

Thought I was imagining things when bits of Irish jig meters and rhythms popped up in the rock elements. Quite awesome. They're not as metal prog-rock heavy in that sense. Rather melodic. Lots of ever-changing time signatures between their songs.

The band was just so into the moment, into the music, and they were so good together live on stage. Had to wear ear plugs of course. One hour flew by too fast. Great sound. Loved the show. Exhilarating. Absolutely marvelous to catch up with loads of friends too. A shared love for a certain genre of music.

Grabbed a copy of their setlist. The way they abbreviated the songs is hilarious. Floored for about five seconds by 'BUMCHAMP' and 'SPA'. Then realized they respectively meant 'Beautiful Universe Master Champion', 'Search Party Animal'. I love love love 'Set Guitars to Kill'. Here's a vimeo of the song that won 'Best Live Video' at the Irish Music Awards 2009. How rad is it to also have opened for Them Crooked Vultures in a 2010 gig.

But what's the fascination with coconut water, dear lads? That nice? Really? Hehehe. Have an awesome rest-of-the-tour to Kuala Lumpur, Ho Chi Minh City, Bangkok, Manila (where they're opening for Caspian!!!), Hong Kong, Shanghai, Beijing and to Europe. They didn't play this song tonight, but I like it much- the super cheerful 'All Hail Bright Futures'. Aiiight!

February 2014 at Zouk, Singapore.

Just A Lobster

After flipping through the menu back and forth at Crystal Jade Golden Palace at Paragon, the girlfriend and I closed it and grinned.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" 

"Yup."

Heh. All right. Decision-making is always a fast process with this girlfriend. When the cheerful server came over to check on us, I placed the order for exactly what we were thinking of, but didn't say it aloud.

We were already in the mood for a meal that would be low on carbs and hopefully, oil. After staring at the menu, all we wanted was a piping hot bowl of peppery pig stomach soup, and lobster. Wheeeee. I do like a very good pig stomach soup with a truckload of pepper. Without pepper, this soup is impossible to sip. And the pieces of offal can't have any lingering weird smells. Don't get to have that often, probably about four times a year, which is fine. Then the girlfriend gleefully announced that her mother makes a mean version, but only on festive occasions because it takes so much effort to cook a pot of pig stomach soup. Tonight's version at the restaurant still hit a spot.

Asked for a small lobster. 1.2 kg. Fine. Two of us wouldn't be able to finish anything bigger. The lobster came beautifully seared. The server was more anxious than we were. She hovered around and urged us to eat it first so that it wouldn't turn cold. We dutifully ate. Then the remnants were taken to the kitchen and boil up the rest into a quick stock and noodles for us.

Friendship Rings

A totally on-the-spot decision. The girlfriend and I randomly walked by a jewelry shop, stared at its display cases and found eye candy in the form of sparkly rings. Best of all, they come discounted. WOOT. That really sealed the decision to purchase two rings. I bought one for her, and she gifted one to me.

Many girlfriends and I like buying our own jewelry. In the first place, we don't expect our romantic partners to buy us anything that we won't buy or can't afford. I've got a huge problem wearing jewelry given by dates, ex-boyfriends or whatever. Regardless of the price or deep significance back then, the pieces become meaningless the moment we split. As far as possible, I return all non-perishable gifts, especially jewelry. Those given by friends, in friendship, are fairly enduring. And those, remain mine to cherish even long after a friendship fades. When the man and I weren't married, but were simply committed long-term partners, it was a bit awkward to accept gifts of jewelry from his parents. I was like, why spend so much on presents, especially when I'd have to uhh do an inventory; should we separate, I'd like to return everything to the buyers. :P That inventory exists, by the way, and is kept current.

Dunno who said friendship rings ought to look similar or be adjoining pieces of jigsaw or whatever. It's precisely how humans are made differently that some become good friends who have widely differing tastes in everything. Of course this girlfriend and I decided on rather different ones for ourselves. Wheee. A pink sapphire in the shape of a heart for her, and a pear-shaped citrine for me.

Afternoon coffee with my gifter.

Telling It Like It Is

Didn't know how I could have missed this book. I blame THE PILE (of too many unread). 'Naked' by David Sedaris. The stories get a bit heavy here and there. There's humor, pain and most of all, honest. David Sedaris dug deep within himself to talk about...himself and his family. (Reviews here, here and here.)

It's an old one published in 1997, a collection of 17 essays detailing his years growing up in Raleigh, North Carolina. Like what the title suggested, the stories are starkly honest about his family life, a grandmother who no one cares about except his father, his sister's marriage and eventually his mother's death from cancer. But you should know that the final essay in the collection takes its title- 'Naked' and that talks about the author's visit to a nudist colony. An excerpt that's the last paragraph of the story when he left the colony and saw other clothed humans,

It was as though I'd received the true version of the X-ray specs I'd ordered as a child. The glasses were advertised in the back pages of comic books and promised the ability to see through clothing. I'd counted the days until they arrived and was clinically disappointed to discover that I'd been cheated. These were black plastic frames supporting cardboard lenses. The eyeballs were rendered to appear bloodshot, and the pupils were tiny peepholes backed by plain red acetate. The glasses, when worn, gave me the look of someone both enthused and exhausted by what he saw. They suggested the manic weariness inherent in their promise, capturing the moment when the sheen wears off and your newfound gift becomes something more closely resembling a burden.

The author's coming-out story as a homosexual male in 'I Like Guys' is poignant. Which coming-out story isn't? If you've a problem with reading about that or reading books written by gay authors, then that's your problem. David Sedaris was a teenager with growing pains. He went to summer camp in Greece and had wanted to find a girlfriend, then the guy who he had a crush- Jason, humiliated him with a note he stole from his bed that wrote 'I LIKE GUYS'.

...when our dormitory counselor arrived for inspection shouting, "What are you, a bunch of goddamned faggots who can't make your beds?" 

I giggled out loud at his stupidity. If anyone knew how to make a bed, it was a faggot. It was the others he needed to worry about. I saw Jason laughing, too, and soon we took to mocking this counselor, referring to each other first as "faggots" and then as "stinking faggots." We were "lazy faggots" and "sunburned faggots" before we eventually became "faggoty faggots." We couldn't protest the word, as that would have meant acknowledging the truth of it. The most we could do was embrace it as a joke. Embodying the term in all its clichéd glory, we minced and pranced about the room for each other's entertainment when the others weren't looking. 

I found myself easily outperforming my teachers, who had failed to capture the proper spirit of loopy bravado inherent in the role. Faggot, as a word, was always delivered in a harsh, unforgiving one befitting those weak or stupid enough to act upon their impulses. We used it as a joke, an accusation, and finally as a dare.

There was a hilarious description in 'The Drama Bug' when the author decided he liked Shakespeare's language enough to try to use it in regular conversation. OMG. We tried that in school too and it was the most annoying thing ever. And the first time he used it at home, it was just incredible.

"Perchance, fair lady, thou dost think me unduly vexed by the sorrowful state of thine quarters," I said to my mother as I ran the vacuum cleaner over the living-room carpet she was inherently too lazy to bother with. "These foul specks, the evidence of life itself, have sullied not only thine shag-tempered mat but also thine character. Be ye mad, woman? Were it a punishable crime to neglect thine dwellings, you, my feeble-spirited mistress, would hang from the tallest tree in penitence for your shameful ways. Be there not garments to launder and iron free of turbulence? See ye not the porcelain plates and hearty mugs waiting to be washed clean of evidence? Get thee to thine work, damnable lady, and quickly, before the products of thine very loins raise their collected fists in a spirit born both of rage and indignation, forcibly coaxing the last breath from the foul chamber of thine vain and upright throat. Go now, wastrel, and get to it!" 

My mother reacted as if I had whipped her with a short length of yarn. The intent was there, but the weapon was strange and inadequate. I could tell by the state of my room that she spent the next day searching my dresser for drugs.

These Lovely Tea Things

The gifts keep coming in all forms! Meals, coffees, bakes, drinks, handmade beauties, et cetera. The friends are making February a fantastic birthday month. Then, there're all the precious cards with handwritten messages that I'm keeping for as long as the paper doesn't disintegrate. I've moved across five cities and many apartments, and admittedly, many got lost and uh heartbreakingly thrown away. I last moved in 2007. So I've got quite a chunk of cards from then.

Two friends who don't know each other bought me gifts totally matching in color combination, and to a great extent, complementing each other's intention. A stylish tea towel from Sweden and a unique briny pack of sencha from Tokyo's superbly elegant Uogashi-Meicha (うおがし銘茶). Quite amazing. I've never been so tickled by random coincidences. Had to take them out together one afternoon to brew a cup of tea, and take a photo. The friends are getting very clever in the choosing of tea-related gifts for me. Only close friends are this brave to buy me tea paraphernalia. I keep my tea table simple and free of clutter. It's really difficult finding items that I like and will bother to use.

'When I wish upon a star', and by the grace of God, I'm duly blessed with the warmth of friendship. And often, fabulous teas. Thank you.

A mellow cup of Pre-Qingming 2013 Shifeng Long Jing.
(Lion's Peak Dragonwell; green tea.)

The National At Fort Canning

I kinda ignored the Hostess Club Weekender's first instalment at Fort Canning. The afternoon's bands don't interest me and I've watched the evening's bands twice. (Skipped Mogwai!!!) Didn't see the need to spend money on another ticket. But as luck would have it, there were many extra tickets floating around our group of friends, so I popped in later in the night to watch the finale- one of my all-time favorite bands- The National.

I saw them twice in 2011- in Buenos Aires, then Singapore. Tonight made the third. Still so damn magical. The National last played at Esplanade Concert Hall in 2011. The sound was great, along with awesome vibes. The open-air Fort Canning tonight didn't pale in comparison. If any, the band played even better. Tighter, perhaps with even more angst.

Matt Berninger still wore his three-piece suit that quickly became just shirt and pants in the fierce humidity. He chugged loads of wine and was horrendously drunk. Thought he went off-key and missed out some lines towards the end. Oh well. This round, instead of walking over the concert hall's seats, he walked out to the audience on the green, up to the sound booth, and all around. Hurhurhur. Loved the Dessner twins on sizzling guitars, and Bryan Devendorf on drums. Scott Devendorf couldn't come as he just became a new father.

It was a really good show, except the last few songs and the encore were similar to whatever gigs played years ago and recently in other cities. Something about consistency, maybe. At least this round, they put in 'Graceless' that came out in December 2012. Otherwise, the end was full of 'About Today', 'Fake Empire', 'Mr November', 'Terrible Love', 'Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks'. It's like they really like to end on that nostalgic note.

The final song. "All the very best of us / String ourselves up for love"

Loading Up On Grains

The man's taken a keen interest in replacing the usual brown and basmati rice we eat with other grains. We've always stocked, quinoa, amaranth, farro and kamut at home. Of late, he's taken to using larger quantities of the various grains as base for hearty salads and dishes with bits of pasta. He whips them up for dinner at home, or to store in the fridge as whatever-meal the next day.

We love love love Cold Storage at Great World City, and occasionally Meidi-ya. Between the supermarkets and Tekka (wet) Market, we can easily find almost all the grains we want. Otherwise, we'll just order online. Getting groceries has never been easier in this day and age. I was that child with terrible allergies. They never allowed me to touch margarine even. No candy, no processed food, no sweets, nothing. That was a good 30-something years ago. My grandparents didn't want to feed me sad bland food, and always ensured that I had a steady supply of groceries from overseas where there was an abundance of gluten-free or farm-fresh items. Whenever someone in the family headed out and returned, there would always be a few packs of something in the suitcases for me.

I'm certainly most happy about it. While I can control what I eat at lunch, it's not so easy to do that for dinners. Dinners are a more social affair, and the people I eat with often, are big on sharing yummy food. We've tried so hard to order conservatively, seeing that all our metabolic rates are ahemmm... decreasing, but still kinda failing in that aspect. The man does enjoy cooking. He makes easy one-dish meals, and since he's on a grain-frenzy, for these two months, whenever we can eat at home for dinner, we'll do so.

Kamut, fusilli and zucchini.
Good served piping hot or for the next day, cold.

I Forgot To Take The Artwork

At the end of the art class, Corsage and I sat in at Bubbles' little presentation of her artwork of the day. Circles was the theme- artists who drew circles, i.e Giotto di Bondone, Wassily Kandinsky, and among others, a rather odd choice of Damien Hirst. But Hirst is celebrated also for his spin and spot paintings. Well, I don't like his spot paintings. They're as giddy as Yayoi Kusama's dots.

Most art studios now structure programmes that really occupy the children's minds and made fun work out of crafting/drawing/painting. Bubbles is currently in a programme suitable for her age group where the teachers took them through the theme of the day along various stations of craft and materials. Each student was left to choose their preferred colors and designs, then guided to place them however they deem fit on the art paper. On the art paper, they could paint the background in whichever colors, then had to design four squares to fill up the space. All very cool.

Had tea at the cafe downstairs. Leaned it against the wine shelf thinking it would stay dry and safe, and easy to retrieve when we went home. Bubbles and I were busy chatting about cheese and scones. Mmm. Hours later, at 11pm, with dread, I realized, I didn't take the artwork. It was left at the cafe. Dunno why I was so distracted! I LEFT BUBBLES' PRECIOUS CREATION AT A CAFE.

Had to wait a whole night to call the cafe in the morning. It was nail-biting, and turned out disappointing. Apparently no one saw or found anything. The art studio neither. Well, the art studio's name was on it. Hopefully it might find its way back to the art studio for Corsage to pick up next week. Or perhaps someone picked it up because he/she liked it as much as I do.

I hope Bubbles isn't horribly upset over the lost artwork and decided that she hated Aunty Imp for forgetting about it. Although Corsage said Bubbles doesn't quite miss the artwork, but I feel so bad. I loved art classes so much that all finished pieces were hoarded a long while before selecting which to throw away. I'd go ballistic if a piece was entrusted to someone and she lost it. Haizzz. Dunno how I can make it up to the little girl. Such a doofus! Aunty Imp IS SUPER FAIL.

I like Bubbles' color palette in this one square.

Many Pieces of Tongue

I think years of practice have yielded a satisfying recipe for the man's version of braised beef/ox-tongue. Let it sit in brine, then boil it up on the stove and leave it in the oven for another 3.5 hours for that not-mushy-but-bit-of-bit-tender texture. The many occasions of cooking tongues have also ingrained the recipes into me. Don't know if the man noted it down somewhere. It's like, oh, making ox-tongue? Okay, here's the rectangular box for the brine, then buy a bunch of colourful vegetables to boil, etc, and ta-dahhh. Doh.

Over the protracted holiday season, the man's been churning out slices and boxes of ox-tongue from the kitchen non-stop. For 4 months since last November, there was always an ox-tongue sitting in the fridge being brined. The family is ridiculously in love with ox tongue. We don't have that many friends who love it! It's a piece of offal so high in fat (75%!) and resulting cholesterol level that we've no guts to make and serve it more than twice a year. The man cooked the last piece for February before he flew off on another work trip. The sliced tongue sat in the freezer for two days. That would make easier to remove oils and fats anyway. The friends just picked it up. Didn't care what they do with it. The easiest is to make a sandwich. They could rustle up a stew or a soup, then drop the already-tender slices into the pot. Prepped food does make good presents. :)

Ox/beef tongues in Singapore are so pricey compared to overseas, say London's at about £15 for a slightly more than 1.2kg plain tongue; approximately £11 per kg. Ours cost about S$53 - S$65, depending on where we buy it from, and its weight. I know how astronomical the prices of imports of food are, especially when we cook at home and don't stinge on ingredients. Still.

Of Bears, Blue and Berries

Translated from German by John Brownjohn and with all its puns about bears, blue and berries, Walter Moers' 1999 fantasy novel 'The 13½  Lives of Captain Bluebear' is only the first in a series of five books revolving around the fictional continent of Zamonia.

I keep seeing it float around but never bothered to pick it up for a read. Now, decided I should read a book about blue bears. Started it over coffee and finished it over two short flights. The biggest issue about translated texts, many puns are unintentionally lost, anagrams, made-up names and expressions put across in this awkward way that doesn't carry as much oomph. It is fantasy afterall.

Okay, I highly doubt I want to read this book to any child. I'd probably summarize the stories in my head and revise them into a shorter passage as bedtime reading. The vision, the worlds and the happenings in the stories fire up the imagination beautifully. Nope, this isn't exactly a book for kids. You'll have to re-work in the re-telling. The book is printed in different fonts and illustrated at points, pretty much like a children's book, except this is not in color and therefore not that fun.

So Bluebear is a bear with blue fur and 27 lives, thrice more than a cat's. Written in first person narrative, we follow him through 13½ lives, properly divided into 13 stories. It begins with him as a baby floating in a walnut in the north Zamonian sea. He would meet Minipirates, Hobgoblins, Babbling Billows, weird dinosaurs, carnivorous plants, magic mushrooms, cyclops, giants, dwarves, trolls, Fredda the ugly Alpine Imp, Spider Witches, et cetera. Atlantis the lost city came up too. Love all the names. I wonder how they would figure in German.

I like all them stories. Sinking into the world is going to be difficult if one doesn't put aside logic and preferably finish the book in one sitting to avoid re-reading paragraphs. There're like a thousand characters and a zillion things going on. Just float in a whimsical world where nothing makes sense to the human mind. Ironically, the book was conceived of a brilliant human mind.

An excerpt from a story I like. Couldn't help grinning. Yes, one of life's most important lessons. Trust the right people, or trust no one. Life 6. Chapter 6 'My Life in the Gloomberg Mountains' where Professor Nightingale, a Noctournomath (with an average IQ of 4000 and in the night, it rises) with seven brains taught Bluebear all about the universe. Classes at Nocturnal Academy are held in a dark complex of caves in the Gloomberg Mountains. Bluebear is somehow intentionally led lost in the deep caves and by a mean Troglotroll, an evil, sneaky and most reviled creature in Zamonia.

I could see a change take place in the Troglotroll as he walked on ahead. Having at first shuffled morosely along in front of me, he progressively straightened up. His gait became light and springy, almost balletic. 

'Ak-ak-ak!' he chuckled. 'It's incredible! The nearer we get to the exit, the better I feel. 

I'm in great form. I feel... how can I put it?' 

'Good?' 

'Good! That's just the word for it. I feel good!' 

'That's the reward for your good deed,' I explained, 'a clear conscience. It really perks you up.' 

'I think I'm going to change my entire way of life,' the Troglotroll cried eagerly. 'I could do so much good. I could come with you - leave the Gloomberg Mountains, go to some impoverished country and help the needy, perform a good deed every day, ak-ak-ak!' 

'That's a very laudable intention,' I told him encouragingly. 'Once you know how the system works, you just can't stop. It's like an addiction.' I was feeling rather proud of myself, I can't deny. It's nice to be able to help someone, especially in such a practical way. 

'Absolutely! I can hardly wait to perform my next good deed. I'd never have thought myself capable of such a thing!'

华艺节 :: 奇幻留声机 :: 絲竹空

Part of Esplanade's Huayi Festival also includes a show by instrumental jazz fusion band from Taiwan- 絲竹空 (Sizhukong). The girlfriends initiated the outing, and I went along. Not this huge fan of jazz. But occasionally, I really don't mind listening to it. Better than twee-pop. No vocals - fantastic. The girlfriends bought me this ticket as a birthday treat. Yay.

I knew nothing about their music or their three albums. I'm familiar with Peng Yuwen (彭郁雯), but not the rest. As usual, had to furiously google about them so as not to appear totally dumb at the concert. I was curious about their classical instruments and how they would interpret their brand of fusion jazz through these old-new sounds.

They played mostly original compositions and a couple of covers. 12 songs over 1.5 hours. I like that. Original melodies add so much dimension to the band's identity and growth. The composition and arrangements were impressive. Enjoyed《市集》'Marketplace', a piece that brought to life the bustling sounds of Taiwan's famed night markets. I like strolling through them to feel the vibes and observe the humans more than any excitement about its food. Also, the three movements of 'Waterfront, Bleak Bird, Bathing in the Stream' 《水畔、寒鴉、嬉水》, which was inspired by an old Chaozhou traditional guzheng tune. Chen Chih Ling (陳芷翎) was simply mesmerising on her chosen instruments of ruan (阮) and liu qin (柳琴).

The Chinese flutes took the lead in many of the songs. Huang Chih Ping (黃治評) was a virtuoso on his chosen instruments of the dizi (笛子) and the xiao (簫). Bassist Yeh Chun Lin (葉俊麟) apparently majored in the cello at college, but he was completely at home with the electric bass. Rather awesome. The one song that had some sort of vocals was the Hakka song, not the famous folk song of 'To Rain' 《天公落水》, but something fun to do with Old Ho selling a goose. It went something like, “老何堵著老羅，老何賣籮買鵝，老羅賣鵝買籮，鵝換籮，籮換鵝”, and the instruments just played out the tones of the dialect. Pretty humorous, although I didn't understand  a word of the spoken dialect.

Ooh! On the same night that the SSO (Joshua Tan conducts; Shane Thio on piano and Ng Pei-Sian on cello) did their Pops concert covering Joe Hisaishi, 《絲竹空》 also covered a piece by the celebrated composer. They covered- 'Merry-Go-Round of Life' (theme from Howl's Moving Castle). I like! What a lovely interpretation. The main melody was taken by the erhu. That has never been my favorite instrument. But that night, Alex Wu (吳政君) totally rocked it. It was such an enjoyable concert. Brilliant musicians. Peng Yuwen's magic and flair showed through with all the arrangements Sizhukong made of the various covers, and many originals. Was riveted. So glad I saw them!

Pangdemonium's 'Fat Pig'

I think the whole lot of us (at least my circle of friends) bought Pangdemonium's season tickets for 2014. 

The company's first show of the year is Neil Lebute's 'Fat Pig'. Everyone was texting and emailing to ask who's going on which day, because the company generously offered to seat season-ticket holders together if we made a request for that. The logistics of picking up the tickets at the venue on the day our show were fuss-free. Whewww. 

Anyway, the storyline of 'Fat Pig' is one of those I veer away from. Yes, there's that serious discussion on body weight and the perception of society, pressure, etc. But it's also a romance-based story. Never watched any other productions of the play. The only reason why I watched this one, would be in support of Pangdemonium's cast and see how they interpret the script. There must be original Singapore plays written by local residents, but it's also integral to the scene to see how we interpret foreign plays. To me, it's not mutually exclusive. There has to be a wide enough platform to grow our theatre scene, keep our actors employed and audiences interested.

Suffice to say, because of its genre, I didn't care about the plot in Pangdemonium's version of the play. It didn't deviate from the original. I was simply watching the actors. New faces. Yay. I dunno how the company finds all these actors and trusts them with a production. The casting is excellent. I was drawn into the world on-stage. There were tons of humor, realities, bits of mean-ness and most of all, human stupidity. As much as I don't enjoy the story, I enjoyed the acting and the overall show. Nifty set design and scene shifts. It was good. 'Fat Pig' just opened and runs till 2 March. Go watch!

Pull The Bolt!

While I don't have problems sleeping for hours (my record is 17 hours with one pee break), I'm a very light sleeper when travelling, either alone or with a companion. No difference. Usually, I sleep in sportswear, clothes that look decent so that I could simply jump out and run out of the room. The friends are pretty used to seeing me wear a soft zipped jacket to bed. You could call me a tad paranoid.

Despite that, I do sleep all right outside of the home, just that the body is more attuned to unfamiliar sounds. Don't feel particularly tired in the day either. I travel too much to know how essential sleep is. It probably means that instead of longer NREM sleep-hours, during travel days, that's diminished. It's like when travelling, a five-hour sleep cycle is the norm instead of seven hours.

I don't often remember dreams. But last night, the dreams were so vivid that I was almost certain they were trying to tell me something. Jolted out of deep sleep, I didn't want to open my eyes. What if there's a ghost in the corner?! The brain refused to let me go to sleep. Had to get out of bed. The subconscious was reminding me that I had forgotten to latch the safety chain and double-bolt the not-sturdy front door of the hut. And I do mean hut. Zinc roof and all. By any other definition, this is nowhere near even a motel. You might wonder why I should bother to lock any doors or windows.

The watch read 3.10 AM precisely. Haizzz. Not much time left before the 6 AM wake-up call. Reluctantly, I crawled out of bed to lock that door. Already, the sounds of metal and whatnots contracting within the building were amplified by the silence of the surroundings. There were sounds of insects, birds, leaves rustling and waves. Strange sounds that will keep sleep away from a paranoid urban dweller.

华艺节 :: 如夢之夢

Bravely bought tickets to watch the 'sit until pigu-pain' eight-hour 'A Dream Like A Dream' 《如夢之夢》. Yes, eight hours. A play lasting eight hours. Only because it's Stan Lai's (賴聲川) production, and a little bit for Tim Yip's costumes. And a last look at the Esplanade Theatre before it closes for renovation this May till October.

When the friends mooted the idea in December, I almost fainted at the prospect of sitting through an eight-hour play. You gotta be kidding me. Those seats at Esplanade Theatre aren't the most spacious. But they bought tickets for me anyway. And they merrily flew into Singapore to watch it. All of us went to the pilates studio or the pool to stretch it out before and after the show. Most people were dressed really comfortably. This might be worse than boarding a flight because the seats couldn't be reclined. I brought a water bottle. The friends brought neck pillows and hug-cushions. Hurhurhur.

Conducted entirely in Mandarin, many friends had to pay an additional $15 for headphones for the audio interpretation in English. No surtitles. Haizzz. But the not-instantaneous interpretation was done well. Of course we fell asleep at some parts. I dozed off thrice. :P Started at 1.30pm. There were two intermissions and we were all super happy for the dinner break (we ate standing up) before returning for the second half, then staggering out of the theatre close to midnight. One couldn't have survived this play without watching it with the friends. I wouldn't be able to watch this play in silence on my own.

I've heard so much about the play since it was premiered in 2000. Finally saw the gorgeous set for myself. The story revolves around so many humans that I got a bit lost along the way and had to re-read the programme. Of a young idealistic doctor who lost four out of five patients on her first day of work, of an old woman who had lived in a chateau by the lake, of a waitress and a terminally ill man, of the past and the present, dreams within dreams; 12 scenes that took us over a period of 70 years from Taipei to Shanghai to Paris and Normandy, then back to Taipei. I didn't care for the music or the songs. I appreciated the stories and the dramatic flair. Amazing concept. They were much better acted out and scripted than any Taiwanese soap tv series I know.

I'm 36!

Thanks for this print on the gift, A!

So it is. I woke up sober and fresh on my birthday. Not the least bit hungover, and absolutely pleased to have spent the full birthday week (and more next week!!) spent catching up with precious friends and everyone (in town and over Skype) who mean something to me, and importantly, whom I'm often in touch with outside of social media.

Am I unaware of the irony of my birth day versus the estranged relationship I have with my mother? Nope. I've carried it all my life. Each time someone says Happy Birthday, I stifle a grimace. That phrase means more beyond the words. I don't know if I should be happy being born into this world when I didn't ask to be born. There're some matters that cannot be reconciled and no one has the right to interfere. So be it.

Are there milestones to be met as one inexorably moves into the exciting 40s? Dunno. Don't care. I live life on my terms and am gladly bearing the consequences of those choices. What does being an adult mean? Honestly, I don't give a damn. I simply concentrate on being a halfway-decent human being who can finally stop stepping on toes out of sheer inconsideration and obstinacy, to a certain extent.

Perhaps I've finally grown up, in spite of all the crosses carried and penances bore. :P

I'm 36. Hurrah.

Breakfast at Y's

While discussing a date with Y, I more or less shamelessly invited myself to her home for breakfast. Hurhurhur. I requested for cereals or something simple, to eat whatever Y and lil'Missy usually have. I was greeted by a full breakfast table- freshly squeezed juice, fruits and fantastic cheery yellow scrambled eggs. Wow. What a treat! Also, no lunch needed thereafter.

Knowing that I've got no love for sweets or cakes, Y didn't bake me any. What she did, was to coax her oven to produce divine-soft herb bread rolls. They were fantastic! Didn't just eat them at her dining table. She packed more for me to take home. Of course I accepted with much glee. HURRAH. What a lovely morning.

Heated up the bread rolls the next day for brunch. Toasted them. Crust crisp and insides still soft. And the whole family went nuts over them, and ate everything. There was none left to freeze. I was going to hoard those rolls but no lor...I was left with ONE ROLL. Boo. Luckily I ate two at Y's. I'm going to persuade Y to bake and sell me a gigantic batch next round. Best with semi-salted beurre d'Isigny or a sprinkling of pink salt flakes.

First Time Wearing This Purple

The bff bought me this gorgeous piece from PurpleCloud. She's such a darling. The stitching and design are excellent. The minimalistic lace appliqué was done in a non-garish finish. However, I was a little hesitant. The problem with clothing Shantung silk or Thai silk- they tend to look formal and a tad stiff. Don't know when I'll wear it. Even at formal events, I'm not really formally dressed. I hate full-length gowns. Not interested in extended discussions about clothing and fashion. I didn't even bother to buy/make/borrow a wedding gown, you think I'm going to dress up for parties that require 'formal' or 'black-tie'?

Still. I decided to take 'Orchid'. Grey lavender Thai silk with lace appliqué. A unicorn trinket hung whimsically at the left slit. I was sold. At the end of the day when I was done with all the purchasing and the bill was tallied, the bff stated that she would buy 'Orchid' for me. xxxooo. Since it's a gift from bff, I'll make an occasion and wear it out, without her. She's on vacation on a ridiculously picturesque island, so she doesn't get to see this in person just yet. Heh.

Noooo, I didn't put on them Doc Marts. This one is spectacularly dainty. Had to wear heels to toddle around rather precariously. Couldn't even get out of the car in one big stride. Had to swivel both legs around and out in one swift move. Otherwise, the seams will probably spilt, and I would end up in an unglamorous heap on the kerb or something.

#OOTD
Cheongsam: PurpleCloud
Clutch: Chanel
Shoes: Kurt Geiger

All That Glorious Food

Peranakan achar. Homemade.
There's sambal belachan too. Totally hoarding the precious bottles of gifts.

The lunar festive season also means a truckload of homemade meals firmly fixed into the schedule for the month. YAY! Tasted a plethora of fantastic signature dishes from each Chinese dialect group, and also Vietnamese. Totally blessed. Although I'm feeling a little overwhelmed. Not by the amount of food, but by the sheer effort expended in putting these dishes on the table. The love, has been incredible.

I love buah keluak. And also nasi rawon. But not with ayam or babi. Needless to say, this season, I get to eat a ton of the bitter-black insides of the cooked fruit/nut of the keluak (or kepayang) tree. The effort and difficulty in producing any dish involving buah keluak means it can't be a dish produced weekly at home. Quarterly is a realistic expectation. And unfortunately, the best Peranakan dishes aren't found in restaurants. They're found in the kitchens of my aunts, the MIL and her extended family.

Grew up with damn good sambal belachan and sambal belado made almost on a daily basis, alongside chagayu, fresh fish, as well as the entire spectrum of Peranakan food with sauces and stock made from ground up. I was a kid. So while I was safe from the knives and chopping, I had to fan charcoal stoves, and the batu lesung was my daily buddy for every friggin seed, nut, green, pepper and whatever-chilli. So I know truly, what goes on behind the beautiful plates of glorious food on the dining table. When I learnt that the man's mom is Peranakan, I almost died. If she expects me to cook, she's going to hate me. I can only pound out good sambal belachan and dips. Thank goodness it didn't turn that way. *giant grin* Well, I don't like cooking and I can't identify vegetables, plants and flowers for shits. But it doesn't mean I'm a total idiot in the kitchen. The man has been insidiously making me cook.

Okay. It's time.

It's time I learn how to make two dishes (one vegetarian and the other with seafood) with buah keluak. Learn how to make a damn good rempah.

Yes, you heard that right.

THIS. Black gold.

Wearing Local

You know me and my aversion towards bright colors, messy prints, florals and whatever. My clothes are boring. Dresses are worn occasionally, and while interesting, I'm not particularly bothered about them. I live in tees and jeans most of the time. Clothes are bought if there's a purpose, and it has to be a stronger reason than liking the design. So I guess that's why I've an aversion towards themed parties or fancy-dress things. I don't like being told to adhere to a dress code at whatever occasion. I'd rather not attend.

Since this is the season for cheongsams, I don't mind wearing them, only if they're belong in the category of solemn colors and staid prints. Plain. No beads, sequins, frills or lace. Minimal. Skimming but not tight. Predictably boring would be the description. Shantung silk or Thai silk is fine. But in a dark monotone preferably. Not experimental like that. Importantly, it feels really weird wearing something I'm not quite hot about.

Not like I care so much about fashion. In conversation, often the topics of fashion make me zone out. Not too keen on a discussion about the finer points of anything. But there's a concerted effort to wear items proudly made by Singapore designers. Plenty of good stuff floating out there. Great designs, good quality, decent price points. (Okay, not so sure about the 'made' portion since costs are prohibitive here and it's prudent to outsource. Heh.) 

This Lunar New Year, without even planning for it, I ended up with a full wardrobe that could last all 15 days. These items aren't bought with the Lunar New Year in mind. They've been steadily bought over the year(s), but many pieces haven't been worn more than twice or strutted out often. Didn't even think about what to wear on the first three days of the Lunar New Year. Simply threw open the wardrobe and pulled out a cheongsam. For many years, I've worn sports wear. It's just too hot to be in anything else. Should people ask, super happy to announce that I'm wearing Singapore labels presented by talented local designers.

#OOTD
Cheongsam: PurpleCloud
Clutch: Klove
One of the bangles: Edge of Ember
One bracelet: Bellee Beadz

For Art's Sake

Smiled at Benjamin Chee's illustrations in his private little book 'Dreams To Dream- A love lettter to my daughters'. Love the idea behind this book. It's a gift to the man, and I happily picked it up to flip through and decided it's going into a permanent slot on the bookshelves.

21 sketches completed mostly in black and white of ballerinas in various classic poses. Mostly done with  "Staedtler Mars Lumograph pencils on Canson 90/95 gsm drawing pad" and digitized into this collection. Let's not talk about the technicalities of the art or the poses, shall we? That's a separate discussion which requires more than one blog post.

In the introduction, Benjamin stated that he "used to love to draw, just for the sheer joy of expressing himself [myself] and letting his [my] imagination go." But a meeting with one of his oldest friends and reminiscing over lost youth made him realize that he hadn't drawn for a long time. "Most of my adult friends, it is fair to say, probably have never realized that I can draw." Benjamin Chee dedicated this book of ballet sketches to his daughters who love to dance. That's really sweet. I suppose he hopes his daughters would dream too, and live out some of the beauty of fearless imagination. If you'd like a copy, it should still be available on Amazon.

Isn't it? What is that we used to do as precocious talented children that we don't do now? Lost youth, indeed. The man and I have always tried to hang on to our dreams that way. Not futile. Simply making the best of our situation, perhaps without the accoloades, but just being good at what we do love and to pursue it as far as we can in our limited capacity.

The man enjoyed the sketches, although in rather different manner from the way I do. One sketch that made me giggle. The six o'clock. Ahhh. That elusive six o'clock. I could do it for years. Daily practice. Not now though. It's dwindled to something like a 4.50 or 7.10. Oof.

年初三 :: 沏茶 :: 马年福禄寿，新年快乐合家欢

The girlfriend's dad suddenly brought out a huge box of tea and said it was for me. Dangggg. It came in one of those Chinese packaging that didn't indicate a hoot of which factory it came from, except that it's a Tie Guan Yin (Iron Goddess, 铁观音). Most unhelpful for newbies. By virtue of it being a Tie Guan Yin, it would be an oolong from Anxi County, Fujian Province. But I wouldn't know if it's a 'greener' type or heavily roasted till a packet is opened.

While I knew that the quality would be decent, I wouldn't know how good till a pack is opened and brewed. The dad likes teas too. It's rare opportunity to be able to meet him when he's in town. Since he was in the mood to linger and chat today, I wanted to brew a cup of tea for him, and at the same time, taste this batch of tea. The friends had no tea paraphernalia at home. Whatever traditional Chinese teapots or teacups they had, weren't 'seasoned' enough to be used. No sweat. I'd use whatever's on hand. If one couldn't brew tea because there aren't 'proper' vessels, that's damn sad. Fundamental principles yo. Those don't change.

Most people own glass, porcelain and fine china items, or at least an English teapot or two. Merrily raided the friends' crockery cabinet for appropriate brewing vessels. The water and the boiler wouldn't be ideal, but I'd make do. I can moderate it by using the usual English bone china teapots.

Found a Wedgewood lidded sugar bowl. Perfect. That would do fine to steep the tea leaves. I'd simply use it as a gaibei (盖杯) . The pour wouldn't be elegant, but no one's grading this. It fitted the purpose. Took the milk jug too, as the holder for the tea before serving it in tiny clear glass espresso cups. Happiness.

Gingerly opened a new pack of tea. Smelt promising. Half the table is sensitive to caffeine. I wouldn't want to do even 3 steeps of this. Without the 'proper' tea vessels, it's almost impossible to attempt 5 steeps. I would do two, and try to produce two starkly different flavors, and hope that the aroma and fragrance would still be able to be discerned.

It was comforting when I realized that the tea was indeed of a good quality. Whewww. It was a hot day and this lightly roasted Tie Guan Yin (清香铁观音) from the spring of 2013 was most soothing the throat, if your body is so inclined to the notions of 'heatiness' and 'cooling'. The table enjoyed the clean fragrance that's typically associated with Tie Guan Yin. And they declared that the first steep tasted different from the second. Great.

年初二 :: 马年福瑞长相伴，龙马精神得意笑

The first day of the Chinese Lunar New Year is filled with obligations to (some) traditions and humans. I can't handle hours and hours of schmoozing with humans I share no common experiences with. Often, I would either need a very stiff drink by 5pm, or be in bed before 11pm, unwilling to utter any more words, utterly drained by sheer pain from the minimal polite conversation required.

I've always looked forward to the second day of the Lunar New Year because the man and I control the schedule. We've worked out a total of four families to visit for the now. It used to be three, but in the recent years, it became four, falling into a comfortable routine that begins at 10.30am and ends by 6.30pm, leaving the evening free for us to wind down quietly. :) These are people we know and kinda grew up with. During tough times, they've quietly offered wise words, supportive shoulders and hugs. These are friends (and their parents) whom we see and chat with often through the course of the year.

Today, we've been well fed and watered by the friends and their parents. They plied us with stomach-filling soup, noodles and porridge. Homemade goodness. Plenty of alcohol, much laughter and love floating around. Immensely appreciative of the hospitality and warmth. AND THE ANG POWS. Luckily we brought gifts. At this grand old age, we still received ang pows. Zzzzz.