"April is the cruelest month"

  T.S Eliot famously wrote that "April is the cruelest month" - as a young student, one is automatically taught to recognise the irony of it - for isn't April the beginning of spring, all that is good and beautiful? Representing hope or even I dare say the buds of love?

  But, I know now why April is the cruelest month. Just as, December is my cruelest month. It is when you are meant to be happy but cannot be - that happiness becomes cruelty.

  I have not written in a while, because I have always promised myself this - if I write, I must be honest. And, the month has been too quietly painful, that all I could do was tell myself "do not feel".

  And so, my birthday passed.

  There was no miracles. A flock of birds did not arrive at my windowsill and burst into song. The dead did not come back alive. I had known this since I was twenty - there is no miracle in growing older. You find your own beauty and claim them as your own miracles.

  Maybe the miracle lies in never ceasing to believe that life is worth living - even if that belief has to defy death itself.

  But, still some part of me, found that little bit of drive left to write, and so I shall share this with you, with the hope that slowly one finds a way to transfigure pain:

 

Photography Credits: Kelvin Koh (Lightedpixels) 

Just a while ago, at the ridiculously busy junction around work, where you have to cross two streets just to get to the other side of the road, I watched an old man and old lady cross the road. The old lady's back was hunched and she was leaning completely on her husband for support. The old man, supporting her, walked calmly in a straight line. They made their own slow rhythm across the road - neither heeding the crowd bypassing them or the blinkering green man.  

I laughed then, because they were so clearly ahead of us. Farther than we would ever be. If growing older was like that, then time please wait for me.

Bangkok (Day 10) - The Ride Home

"After being cleaned and oiled, and regulated, my watch slowed down to that degree that it ticked like a tolling bell. I began to be left by trains, I failed all appointments, I got to missing my dinner; my watch strung out three days' grace to four and let me go to protest; I gradually drifted back into yesterday, then day before, then into last week, and by and by the comprehension came upon me that all solitary and alone I was lingering along in week before last, and the world was out of sight."

- Mark Twain, My Watch: An Instructive Little Tale

     After the plane landed, I walked with my backpack and oversized carry on green plastic bag full of the knick knacks I could not fit into my suit case. I decided to head to the ladies before I was outnumbered by the baggage I had to physically carry.

   There were three cubicles. One for the handicapped, one was being repaired and the middle one had a children cubicle attached. I went into the middle one and for a moment I was bewildered by the technological advances in the washroom. It reminded me of how long ago, in Japan, I had problems figuring out how to make the toilet bowl do one specific thing: flush.

   A wave of nostalgic washed over me. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry that of all things, it was a toilet bowl that triggered yet again a strong longing to visit Japan. It was not only that I enjoyed being in Japan most of all, but now it was the one place I could not go. I had promised ZM that I would not visit Japan till we bore all our children. In a moment of weakness, ZM said we could fly to Tokyo because I was so sad. But, I couldn't in the end bring him to Japan when I saw how neurotic he was over the radiation.

  I didn't know how or when, but now the longing for Japan coalesced with the longing for my mother. Both places so out of reach - one spanning oceans and time, the other set adrift in the space of infinity.

  Oh, many people have given me an escape clause - tried to rationalise how going to Japan will be no more harmful than say (insert parallel universe Japan example). But, escaping was never the point - it was always about not escaping. About respecting people's inner fears about the great unknown and figuring out the best way to live, despite all the potential fallouts and harms along the way. It is not yet being a mother, but trying one's best to figure out how to love something or someone I could not yet comprehend.

   ZM and I always laughed that we were couples out of time - that we lived in two different time zones. I taking the earlier flight booked by my company, and he taking the later cheaper flight an hour behind. Silently, I walked past the duty free shops and headed to the arrival counter where nothing makes you feel more like a local than enjoying benefits that foreigners do not.

   I was back. Back from the ten days in Bangkok - the last place my family visited together, a place honestly I would not have probably gone back so soon if not for work. I saw you everywhere, as if we were a film, and it was still playing in a theatre quietly as the world moved on. I imagined you greeting me as I stepped out of the gates back to Singapore, or one of those family members tip-toeing at the glass ledge and scrutinising the people at the luggage belt.

   I read many stories while I was in Bangkok. One of them had an ending where the main character anticipated for a day when a scar stopped hurting anymore - it would just be a reminder of what it was, but it would no longer hurt. I thought grief would be like that, but it isn't. It is the lack of a scar that is my grief- the lack of anything to latch on or to grapple with. That lack of... anything.

   This middle-aged lady asks each person at the taxi stand two questions. "How many people are you travelling with?" and "Chrysler or taxi?" I am bemused. I wonder if there are other countries in this world where you are asked if you would like a Chrysler or a taxi.

  She points me to number 13 and I roll my over-sized luggage over. We fit everything into the boot. The radio plays the kind of chinese songs that always makes my heart hurt. I tell him our address and fall back into the seat. As the roads and flowers roll by, I realised I am glad to be home. 

#2: that you

   Today, surprisingly, was a day better than most. And yet, more than most days, I felt adrift. I've learned acutely again and again that it is on the happiest days I miss you most.

 My favourite moment in Avengers was when Hulk (finally) transforms and he says his secret is that he was always angry. I felt I knew him in that moment.

  When I was younger, I could almost always cry on cue. It's not that I could cry when I wanted to, but I think I was always irresistibly moved by the world.

   Even now, when I am sad, it is not that I am saddened by something. The opposite is true - I have always been restraining not to be sad.

   But, this is my real secret, I am happy and sad because of you. Neither of the two can live apart.
   

one

     In one hour, my blog would turn one.

     I think I aged ten years in this one.

     Ever since I started work again, the choice is always to write or sleep.

     And even then, I haven't been sleeping a lot.

     Even if I keep very still, life is still passing by.

     No, time is still passing by.

     Life, well, life is but a medium for time. Sometimes it's so beautiful that I think my life has finally caught up with time, and then we fall out of sync again.

    You are going to have to chase me your whole life, Time says.

    Time is a lot like love. Both like you to chase them, when really they have always been inside.

    I imagine at the end of life. Time sidles up to you and finally tells you, I have always been here, child. But the chase, ah the chase, is to keep you alive. 

#1: poetic possibilities

    

     Earlier this week, I bought a set of magnetic words for my office cabinets. I thought it would be fun and useful, since I don't get to write as often as I would like anymore. 

    Whenever I can, I would clear up my table and take out the small metallic box. I would look at the words and imagine, just for a moment, of the poetic possibilities of life. 

  

    Limitations are part of life. This small metallic box only contain so many words - and yet, I have not lived through all their variations. It dawned on me how we often stop trying to live out the many beautiful facets of our lives because we already assume our constraints bind us - when perhaps they are merely the sieve to bring out what is pure and intense inside of us. 

   We are our own poems. 

Home & Decor: it's beautiful here

    About two weeks ago, Zm and I received our house keys! We have been so busy though that we have only visited the house 3 times since. We are quite excited and happy about the house - although it's still a far far road till we can move in. We've just sent in the first round of defects - luckily relatively minor ones! - and just started sourcing for furniture and contractors to do the hundred and one things it seems a house needs to become livable. 

    We had a relatively funny conversation the other day: 

    Me: I thought about it and I think wooden decking will be really nice for our balcony. 

    ZM: There's no budget for it! 

    Me: I'm sure we can squeeze it in somewhere...

    ZM: Have you forgotten about lighting? 

    Me: Oh right! Lighting. 

    ZM: Maybe we can do it progressively. 

    Me: Oh! Like we don't install lights in the third bedroom! Live by candle light. 

    ZM: (Pause) I was referring to the balcony. 

    Me: It's not like we will use the third bedroom haha. 

    ZM: We probably won't live in the house very long anyway. 

    Me: (Sad face)

    ZM: Are you going to promise me we will live there forever? 

    Me: I don't even know how we will be like in the next five years!

   

    The other thing Zm and I wrestle with is the decorating theme for the house. We have different aesthetic leanings - ZM prefers the place to be very spacious, bare and minimalist, while I lean towards colour and more clutter (see above). To be fair, ZM has given me free rein to the decorating of the house, but I would like to create an environment that we would both love. 

    If I could say what our theme would be clearly, I suppose it would be wood. Haha. Some mood boards: 

     

An hour later after the conversation above,  ZM walked me back to my office building as we were heading back for a night of work: 

   Me: You know... earning money is tough. We will probably live in our place forever. 

   ZM: Live in our place forever? 

   Me: Yes!

   ZM: (Smiles, then immediately gives me a look) You almost tricked me there. 

the wave is coming

 
       You are the kind of person who always gets carried away, Zm once said. He said it not in a negative way, nor in a positive way. In a matter of fact way. In the way of the man who is always holding the string to a kite that is roaming.

      I think I am the kind of person who becomes consumed by whatever she does. If I cannot give something my all, then there is nothing. He gives me that knowing look. He has strong arms, for he has much to carry.

       On one Sunday, there was so much to do but I didn't want to get out of bed. I laid on the bed, curved in a c as if I was a sea shell. Zm turned from his computer, took off his earphones and settled next to me. I opened one hand, and he put his hand in. Two people curved on a bed, holding hands, waiting for the inevitable.

five years

  (I posted the entry below on Facebook on 10th October 2013 to mark the fifth anniversary of my relationship with ZM. It was meant to be a little surprise for ZM, with a little public flavour, since we have never been very public with our relationship when it first started. In a way, we have been through so much, and I just wanted to express how much he meant to me, in my own way.)

In my whole life, I always feared, most of all no longer being able to say "no".

Even as I wanted to marry you, I feared not being able to leave you. 

I feared the strength of my desire to be with you would weaken with our vows - where can desire roam in the place duty stays? 

I asked you, needled you, wanting to show that you had nothing to stand on - these promises of forever - what do they really bind? Our feet?

"What happens if I leave you?"

"I would be alone."

"Impossible."

"Any other relationship would be a diluted, sanitised version of this. I've put everything I've had into this - there's nothing left. If this does not work, nothing will work."

"This is it," He said, "This is it for me."

And, that, was why I married Him.

I have learned...

    ... that you don't grow farther from grief. You just see it from a different place. But it is still inside of you, and raw like cracked eggs. 

  ... that my husband calculates every activity we do to estimate whether it will cause me pain or tiredness. 

  ... that most of us are unhappy because we refuse to admit that we are not happy.

  ... that the hardest people to reject are those that are working for our best interests. 

  And that, even if you refuse each passing day, the sun still rises. 

what keeps me awake at night

We will never be younger. 

HAN

HAN 
331 North Bridge Road
#01-04 Odeon Towers
Opens Mon-Sat (12-3 pm Lunch; 6-11 pm Dinner)
Call for reservations: 6336 2466
Japanese (Osaka cuisine)
$150 per pax
Heavenly service and food
**Two stars for Kushikatsu

   
     ZM and I actually ate at HAN in early August, but I delayed writing this entry because the restaurant experience was so heavenly I did not know how to do justice to it - I still don't!

   All I can do is tell you that this is my first two star entry and I created a Japanese label tag because I can no longer hide my clear preference for Japanese cuisine.

 

     It all started because I was longing to go to Japan, but I couldn't since I had agreed not to travel to Japan until I had given birth to our children (see how stern ZM is?). So, ZM and I agreed that we will slowly try the best of Japanese Cuisine that Singapore has to offer.

    The first stop is HAN.

      HAN is different from the ordinary japanese restaurant. It serves authentic Naniwa - old Osaka cuisine with hints of Korean and Chinese elements. It specialises in Kushikatsu - skewered treats that are dipped in batter and breadcrumbs and then deep-fried in oil. It is one of Osaka's  proud traditional dishes.

    I'm more of a sashimi type person in terms of Japanese Cuisine. I dislike tempura. Really dislike it. While, my mum loved tempura and disliked sashimi. It was with that in mind that I picked HAN. I don't know if it was a little (or a whole lot) of wishful thinking but I thought in some way we could both share this fried food experience.

   And, wow.

   It was one of those moments where you realised maybe you dislike fried japanese food - only because you never tried real fried japanese food before.

 

     ZM and I chose the Kushikatsu 10 sticks Omakase Course for dinner. They first served us a platter of seasonal appetizers. It was an almost saintly experience. The purity of the food cleanses your tongue and palate. 

   Pardon my fat thumb. I was probably too excited and I didn't even noticed it after I took the photograph. After the appetizers, they set up the sauces and the vegetables for the main course. I found all the vegetables heavenly (I cannot stop using this adjective). 

    

    You will inform them of your dietary preferences before it starts. They skewer everything - prawn, mackerel, squid, chicken, pork, tomato, foie gras, etc in all kinds of perfect combinations. It is a symphony of fried delicacy and I am kind of weeping that I am not eating this as I write. 

    

      After about 10-12 skewers, the symphony is complete. The chef who cooks in front of you, if you sit at the Kushikatsu counter, will ask if that is enough. And you will smile and kind of just give a fat cat contented sigh. 

   They will change your tea to a tea for dessert and serve dessert. Our choice was their special sesame ice-cream filled into wafer biscuits that was made by the kitchen as well. 

    

And at the end of it all, trapped halfway between bliss (of what it was) and sadness (that it has become was), you will know that you can never eat normal Japanese fried food again - without your brain calling you a fool and your heart running away and betraying you. 

Even you, I've ruined you.

 So, forget my words, one by one, forget about each skewer, the ascending taste, the crisp and light texture, the surprise in each ingredient, forget them all. 

Forget them my friend, for it is only in a dream that you taste perfection. 

made with love

     L made seafood grumbo for brunch. She actually started cooking it the night before. I can't quite describe the fullness of the taste - the warmth and depth of feeling it conveys. 

       In this world where everything is almost instantly gratified, it is not often that we recognise the value inherent in the time we spent. Why wait an hour when you can get it in a minute? Because you can taste the hour. Because, the only thing worth giving in life is time. 

      Coincidentally, I spent a few hours the night before to prepare a card for L and a small birthday gift for Cr. 

    

     Not all relationships have clear starts and ends. But, for Cr and I, it all started with her question, "Do you read?"

    I cut out the old school library cards you used to annotate in the library books and picked up books she shared with me, I shared with her, and books I hope she will read in future.

 

And if anyone had said this was the price I would have agreed to pay it. 

the envy on a train

the envy on a train

the casual way
the young girl
leaned on her mother
for support.

a small illness

    I apologise for the lack of updates but I've been ill. I've finally seen the doctor today, who in medical speak said, "Your throat really needs antibiotics".

   Although I really wished I didn't fall ill, because so many days just flew by in hoarseness and drowsiness - I think this bout of illness has led me to realise that my first instinct now is empathy. I think a lot more about other people's pain when I experience my own pain.

   Knowing the pain my mother went through, I could never see my pain as ceaseless or overflowing or even dominating. So many other people have to live through a life dominated or crippled by pain. Pain that appears without meaning... it is always so important to be kind.

   And, many have been kind to me. Coming up to me with cough syrup and queries of concern - as I internally worry that I'm infecting the environment.

   In some ways, it is not surprising that I fell sick, because I alway seem to fall sick within the first month of being back in a new place. Kind of like a baptism of the immune system, I guess.

   I remember telling Ru, sometimes I wonder if I feel too much for my work. Even when it's all done, I can't stop thinking if I could have done better. I wonder if I had helped the person in any way at all. Or even, I wonder if it's the system that needs to be better.

    It sounds like a receipe for sickness, I told Ru ruefully.

    It sounds like a receipe for humanity, She said.

   And that is just what the doctor ordered. 

happy fifty seven

Happy birthday, boy child man father. 

At the start of our meal, the Captain said, "I just got to ask - are your twins?" 

Dad laughed, "Can you guess who is older?" 

At the end of our meal, the waiter who served us said, "I just got to ask - are your twins?"

Dad laughed, "Can you guess who is older?" 

The next day, Dad used Mum's handphone and messaged us:

Darling Girls, 

Thank you for celebrating Pa's birthday. 

Glad u all enjoyed it.

Stay healthy n watch your diet n take digestive pill to assist digestion.

Love u all.

itinerant

itinerant 

adjective 

travelling from place to place, especially covering a circuit 

    After we parted, I walked off for a while before I realised that I had left my handphone in ZM's pocket. So, I turned around, crossed the road, to chase after ZM. 

  

      And, after I crossed the road, I saw ZM running out of the shopping mall entrance. 

      We laughed. 

   When I'm with you, it feels like a Sunday, he said. 

      It feels like all roads stop here. 

Koh Grill & Sushi Bar - The Place to Eat Maki in Singapore

Koh Grill & Sushi Bar
#04-21 Wisma Atria Shopping Centre
Reservations: Call 91803805 (or use Chope)
Daily: 11.30 am to 10 pm (closes later on Fri & Sat)
Our meal (4 pax): $40 plus per pax
Average - $20-33 per pax
Japanese
Pretty bad service except the Maki is Heavenly
1* The Place to Eat Maki

     P was going to give us a treat with her first paycheck and she chose Koh Grill & Sushi Bar. It was the national day weekend and it looked as if the place was giving away free sushi from the likes of the queue. P told the waitress she made a reservation and the waitress scowled back, there is no reservation. P coolly showed the email confirming her reservation and the waitress paused for a moment then said, wait a moment. 

 A minute later, we were shown to an empty table. 

  The waitress stoically informed us that all sushi and sashimi orders will take half an hour to be served, then she went off to another busy table. 

   This is the japanese restaurant equivalent of the hawker store that sells such good food that it is going to be as nasty to you as it is humanely possible. Ok, I exaggerate. A little. 

  But, the maki really is heavenly and all the food was good: 

  

Not bad slightly sweet sake. 

Chicken Karage - I ordered it as it is one of my Mum's favourites. 

Puffer fish! This is actually really good.

And finally, the main highlights: 

      There was only one thing to be said at the end of the meal：

 娘，妹长大了！