What's going on in Thailand? The country of smiles has lost its charm, discarding the tourist-friendly visage in favor of a loud, uncouth hooligan demanding for change, change, change.
If you've not forgotten the protest of the Yellows a few months back, where protesters demanded the fake government to step down and "give the power back to the people". Although peaceful, the protests shut down the country and cost it billions of dollars in lost tourist dollars. Those stuck at the airport for days trying to get home will definitely think twice about coming back.
Now, Thaksin supports rally outside government buildings asking for the newly elected government to be dissolved. It seems that this new one is also corrupt, and they want to - you guessed it - "give the power back to the people". Well, that's a great reason for us to spend our holidays there - not seen a protest before? Go to Thailand!
And their king is sick - I guess both mentally and physically. This is too much trouble to take. Power to the people kinda won't apply if there are divided demands. In the past the King would step out and say something like "Shut up and give them a chance," but that's just another way to enslave their free will. Better to leave things as they are and see what the current government can do.
We've got a Sleeping Dragon too - in the military. There's nothing like peace enforced through the barrel of a gun (or better still, a tank), and the last time seemed to work pretty well. Change came about instantly, and the people seemed ok with it.
They're gone through so much overhauls in the last year that it's not funny anymore. Forget about development, the government would be lucky to last more than a year in Thailand. No wonder there's no news on the financial crisis affecting Thailand...
Red and Yellow in a game of Tug of War, and it's not even the beginning. After the political turmoil boils over, the nation looks towards facing the financial one - the real problem facing the world today.
Things that make my heart stop.
I know there's a lot of romantic options here, but currently, it's my credit card bill.
One swipe too many, Arthur Wong... I hope you like that new shirt feel.
One swipe too many, Arthur Wong... I hope you like that new shirt feel.
SPCA
I was looking through my old books and I found this entry I wrote about SPCA. If you've not been told, SPCA's a stray that I used to feed. We took her home after she was sick and for a while she's been living at my place. However due to complications, we had to put her down.
This is she.
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And this is my entry.
My First Cat
A final sweep with the mop, and I've erased all traces of her from the room. Dettol, a mop and two pails of water.
Her bed was empty - a thick towel lay on top of the cushion so she could keep warm after her last shower. The play pad I bought for her sat unused in the middle of the room.
I'm wrong. She's used it twice. Two little holes indicated where she's placed her scrawny paws. Two nostalgic, tear-jerking, heart-warming holes.
On the antique table, the white comforter now reigns, and Rory was quick to usurp the Shrew. The clothes line replaces the play pad, and the two find new home at the trash bin downstairs because god forbid the disease spread.
Her scent too was gone, and the seven were quick to ravage her makeshift home, sniffing the air searching for the grumpy feline matriarch.
Two weeks ago that same cat was lying on my bed. I remember telling Magdalene that I wanted to keep her food bowl, but I knew that I had to clear the room sooner or later. I dread returning home; everything's in the exact place I've left it - touched by the gratitude of a stray.
She found a home under the TV set, and when she emerged she would move encouragingly to the food bowl. She'd eat from it. She'd drink from it.
She also found time to rub my face with hers.
The one night she spent in my room, I told her with a smile, "Welcome home SPCA."
She took to lying with me on my bed the next day. Seven years, and this may be the only bed she's ever laid on.
No amount of tears will bring her back, and nothing can ever compare to the compassion she's shown me the last few hours. I can still her her cry out as she explored her new home.
Even now I sit silently in her room, wishing she would visit me and give one last meow.
I know she's in a better place. Her disease caught up to her frail old self and she was suffering. It must be great in Kitty Heaven and she'd better be happy if not they'll have to answer to me.
When we used to feed her downstairs I would call out to her and she would run towards us with the most grateful meow, tail held high. As I watched her eat I would scold myself for falling in love with a cat.
Now I meow at the same styrofoam box she would sleep in every night. She would never meow back again.
It was August 1, 2007. SPCA was put down at Mount Pleasant Animal Hospital at Sunset Way. I remember when I returned home and Magdalene opened the door. I've never cried so hard before, not for an animal, not for anything else. I stood at the door and cried my lungs out.
I'm still crying, and I don't think I can stop yet.
Here's to the Shrew who stole my heart. I love you. Thank you for all the fond memories.
Goodbye, my dear SPCA.
I still have her foodbowl in my room, sitting near the TV where she would like to lie. I brought her home despite my parents' violent rejection, and I never regretted it.
I guess I'm like this - once I fall in love I stay in love, and when that love leaves it takes a big part of me with it, and from time to time I look back at things I wrote - because I love to write things - and cry.
Dear SPCA, it's been too long. I'm sorry you had to leave the way you did. Know that I still love you, and if I think hard I still can feel your face against mine.
Meow.
This is she.
.jpg)
And this is my entry.
My First Cat
A final sweep with the mop, and I've erased all traces of her from the room. Dettol, a mop and two pails of water.
Her bed was empty - a thick towel lay on top of the cushion so she could keep warm after her last shower. The play pad I bought for her sat unused in the middle of the room.
I'm wrong. She's used it twice. Two little holes indicated where she's placed her scrawny paws. Two nostalgic, tear-jerking, heart-warming holes.
On the antique table, the white comforter now reigns, and Rory was quick to usurp the Shrew. The clothes line replaces the play pad, and the two find new home at the trash bin downstairs because god forbid the disease spread.
Her scent too was gone, and the seven were quick to ravage her makeshift home, sniffing the air searching for the grumpy feline matriarch.
Two weeks ago that same cat was lying on my bed. I remember telling Magdalene that I wanted to keep her food bowl, but I knew that I had to clear the room sooner or later. I dread returning home; everything's in the exact place I've left it - touched by the gratitude of a stray.
She found a home under the TV set, and when she emerged she would move encouragingly to the food bowl. She'd eat from it. She'd drink from it.
She also found time to rub my face with hers.
The one night she spent in my room, I told her with a smile, "Welcome home SPCA."
She took to lying with me on my bed the next day. Seven years, and this may be the only bed she's ever laid on.
No amount of tears will bring her back, and nothing can ever compare to the compassion she's shown me the last few hours. I can still her her cry out as she explored her new home.
Even now I sit silently in her room, wishing she would visit me and give one last meow.
I know she's in a better place. Her disease caught up to her frail old self and she was suffering. It must be great in Kitty Heaven and she'd better be happy if not they'll have to answer to me.
When we used to feed her downstairs I would call out to her and she would run towards us with the most grateful meow, tail held high. As I watched her eat I would scold myself for falling in love with a cat.
Now I meow at the same styrofoam box she would sleep in every night. She would never meow back again.
It was August 1, 2007. SPCA was put down at Mount Pleasant Animal Hospital at Sunset Way. I remember when I returned home and Magdalene opened the door. I've never cried so hard before, not for an animal, not for anything else. I stood at the door and cried my lungs out.
I'm still crying, and I don't think I can stop yet.
Here's to the Shrew who stole my heart. I love you. Thank you for all the fond memories.
Goodbye, my dear SPCA.
I still have her foodbowl in my room, sitting near the TV where she would like to lie. I brought her home despite my parents' violent rejection, and I never regretted it.
I guess I'm like this - once I fall in love I stay in love, and when that love leaves it takes a big part of me with it, and from time to time I look back at things I wrote - because I love to write things - and cry.
Dear SPCA, it's been too long. I'm sorry you had to leave the way you did. Know that I still love you, and if I think hard I still can feel your face against mine.
Meow.
Moderation is for pansies
I've know the meaning of the word. Perhaps it's likened to a tingle of fear - the kind you get when you think you're in too deep but know you can't get out of, not because you can't but more of "you won't".
And the adrenaline hits, sending the blood pulsing and your mind into overdrive; you start seeing things you normally won't see, and thinking things you would never have thought of. There is this awareness, and you're beginning to get addicted.
The danger takes over, and you move into automatic.
And until one stage you simply sit there, watching yourself work, but still feeling the same anxiety that brought you here in the first place. Everything moves faster, and you stand still waiting for the moment to arrive.
Because there's always a time to let go, and when it comes you let go, no strings attached. Never get too personal, never think twice. The adrenaline got you this far but too much of a good thing is bad, and you'll know once it bites you hard.
Go in strong, come out quick - it's the same rules as putting your head down a lion's throat.
And the adrenaline hits, sending the blood pulsing and your mind into overdrive; you start seeing things you normally won't see, and thinking things you would never have thought of. There is this awareness, and you're beginning to get addicted.
The danger takes over, and you move into automatic.
And until one stage you simply sit there, watching yourself work, but still feeling the same anxiety that brought you here in the first place. Everything moves faster, and you stand still waiting for the moment to arrive.
Because there's always a time to let go, and when it comes you let go, no strings attached. Never get too personal, never think twice. The adrenaline got you this far but too much of a good thing is bad, and you'll know once it bites you hard.
Go in strong, come out quick - it's the same rules as putting your head down a lion's throat.
Tick Tick
I went out with Philip and his two sons today, and I found myself buying them A LOT of stuff.
Fast forward to the future, and it seems that I'll need a lot of savings... I've always pampered the girlfriend, but I know the wife and the kid will get a whole lot more love.
It almost sounds disgusting. I hope the kid turns out smart.
Fast forward to the future, and it seems that I'll need a lot of savings... I've always pampered the girlfriend, but I know the wife and the kid will get a whole lot more love.
It almost sounds disgusting. I hope the kid turns out smart.
Food's gone, oranges eaten, and it's back to work tomorrow.
This happens once a year, and I'm thankful to be able to have been gone it 26 times.
As I grow older (no one's called me Uncle yet thankfully) and I see the kids grow taller and speak more intelligent sentences (as long as they don't call me Uncle), I begin to wonder when it all will end; when the relatives won't come over and my mum and I won't have to cook, when the families won't bother visiting each other because it's too damn inconvenient, when the festivities involve more than receiving red packets and counting the money the next week so you can tell your friends how much you got.
It's all happening. You can see it changing slowly, and when the age of my parents pass and it's my turn to handle Chinese New Year with my family, I wonder how it'll be like.
I'm old school like that, and I kinda like it.
新年快乐 to all!
As I grow older (no one's called me Uncle yet thankfully) and I see the kids grow taller and speak more intelligent sentences (as long as they don't call me Uncle), I begin to wonder when it all will end; when the relatives won't come over and my mum and I won't have to cook, when the families won't bother visiting each other because it's too damn inconvenient, when the festivities involve more than receiving red packets and counting the money the next week so you can tell your friends how much you got.
It's all happening. You can see it changing slowly, and when the age of my parents pass and it's my turn to handle Chinese New Year with my family, I wonder how it'll be like.
I'm old school like that, and I kinda like it.
新年快乐 to all!
Gong Xi!
I've a strong connection to the Chinese customs and festivals. Maybe it's because when I was a kid my parents used to take me down to Chinatown every week.
To see the landscape change from old to new is really an amazing thing. Sure it makes you feel old, but if you stand in the middle of it all and simply let time pass you by you'll be thankful that you were able to see Chinatown for what it was, now, and hopefully will be.
So with that mind, I'd like to wish everyone Gong Xi Fa Cai! May the year of the Ox bring much fortune to you and your family!
I'm preparing for the Chinese New Year feast tomorrow and for the 2nd day of the New Year. It'll be a good gauge of how well I can manage cooking for a huge group.
God, I love the New Year!
To see the landscape change from old to new is really an amazing thing. Sure it makes you feel old, but if you stand in the middle of it all and simply let time pass you by you'll be thankful that you were able to see Chinatown for what it was, now, and hopefully will be.
So with that mind, I'd like to wish everyone Gong Xi Fa Cai! May the year of the Ox bring much fortune to you and your family!
I'm preparing for the Chinese New Year feast tomorrow and for the 2nd day of the New Year. It'll be a good gauge of how well I can manage cooking for a huge group.
God, I love the New Year!
Coo.
I've always wanted a daughter. Maybe it's the whole father and daughter thing.
Watching an episode of Friends and there were so many babies.
Wonder when I'll get to experience all the joys of fatherhood and a blissful family.
Bummer.
Watching an episode of Friends and there were so many babies.
Wonder when I'll get to experience all the joys of fatherhood and a blissful family.
Bummer.
Equilbrium
Friedrich Nietzsche's concept of the eternal recurrence brings Good and Evil into an overlapping equation, each feeding off and neutralizing the other in a meaningless cycle of tail-chasing. It all ties down to his theory of how God is dead and that without God life becomes meaningless.
In his absence we turn to an internal power struggle - to find worth and meaning in our existence. We become our own gods, or at least strive to be in every way, a Superman. But there is contradict in being our own gods; in our principal desire to love life and self as it was and is, we must also embrace the future Us, rendering helpless to eternal recurrence - a circumstantial consequence to our actions counteracted by an unknown force.
I call it karma.
There is a Darwinian law to this too, approached in the means of a survival enzyme; in the law of physics we see it in terminal velocity; in chemistry it's how alkaline will subdue acidic.
Simply put, the world will always average out - grass grows faster after a firestorm; the suddenly rich will find themselves staring at poverty in no time at all; a calm in weather bears fruit to a storm.
It is law, and I accept it. Not to treat it as an excuse to cry, but as a reason to be optimistic. What's interesting is in finding out the root of things and using that knowledge to ensure a longer period of glee, shortening the gloom.
Because we all know we've had our fair share of the gloom.
People I've burdened myself with know me to be quite the bore, turning to dark poetry appreciating the darkness and rain at every instance. I guess it's about time to turn this around huh?
An interest, a goal, and a plan - sounds like I'm going to have some fun.
In his absence we turn to an internal power struggle - to find worth and meaning in our existence. We become our own gods, or at least strive to be in every way, a Superman. But there is contradict in being our own gods; in our principal desire to love life and self as it was and is, we must also embrace the future Us, rendering helpless to eternal recurrence - a circumstantial consequence to our actions counteracted by an unknown force.
I call it karma.
There is a Darwinian law to this too, approached in the means of a survival enzyme; in the law of physics we see it in terminal velocity; in chemistry it's how alkaline will subdue acidic.
Simply put, the world will always average out - grass grows faster after a firestorm; the suddenly rich will find themselves staring at poverty in no time at all; a calm in weather bears fruit to a storm.
It is law, and I accept it. Not to treat it as an excuse to cry, but as a reason to be optimistic. What's interesting is in finding out the root of things and using that knowledge to ensure a longer period of glee, shortening the gloom.
Because we all know we've had our fair share of the gloom.
People I've burdened myself with know me to be quite the bore, turning to dark poetry appreciating the darkness and rain at every instance. I guess it's about time to turn this around huh?
An interest, a goal, and a plan - sounds like I'm going to have some fun.
Lullaby
Continued from Part 3
The violence had ended with more bloodshed, fresh red sacrifice smeared over the fading crimson we left on the wooden floors the night before. Shells seared the carpet and rugs; I took a comforting whiff - it always meant that the fight was over and we could slum back down to where we were and start regretting what we've done.
"Feels good huh? Taking them down," the man with the tattoo on his arm said.
He was the guy who set us up, paying his way through prison to bust our asses out. He would tell us to can it every time we asked him how he got us out so we stopped asking. There was a dangerous air about him, like he could snap anytime - not just at the guards sent to recapture us but more possibly at us. Men like him were dangerous, more suited to be behind bars.
Unfortunately, men like him don't think that way.
"Look at them fuck shits. They sent kids after us," he spat at the bodies.
Jim spoke next, placing his large arms around the shoulders of the tattooed man.
"Well I hope they keep sending the young ones. It'll be an easy way out for us," Jim said, but I could sense remorse in his tone - an emotion long missing in the tattooed man's vocabulary.
I know Jim coz he was my cellmate. He took one look at me and told me I wouldn't last a week inside. He told me he thinks I got set up and got in to warm someone's toilet seat. He also said he's going to escape tomorrow night and I have to come along because I was fortunate enough to have been stuck with him.
So here we are.
I mentioned that we needed to move on to avoid detection.
"They're probably going to send in teenagers the next time, so we might actually end up dead."
"Fuck yeah, and your mum gave birth to a ball-less dip shit." The tattooed man was looking for a fight, his blood pumped from the last few minutes of carnage. He grinned at me, laughing at his joke.
I let him know how funny it was.
And as his fists rained down on my face, fresh blood gushing from the cuts on my face, I felt like I heard something - the melodies of my child's favorite music box.
Hit after hit after hit - the midnight song of a home I hope still stands.
-End of Part 4-
The violence had ended with more bloodshed, fresh red sacrifice smeared over the fading crimson we left on the wooden floors the night before. Shells seared the carpet and rugs; I took a comforting whiff - it always meant that the fight was over and we could slum back down to where we were and start regretting what we've done.
"Feels good huh? Taking them down," the man with the tattoo on his arm said.
He was the guy who set us up, paying his way through prison to bust our asses out. He would tell us to can it every time we asked him how he got us out so we stopped asking. There was a dangerous air about him, like he could snap anytime - not just at the guards sent to recapture us but more possibly at us. Men like him were dangerous, more suited to be behind bars.
Unfortunately, men like him don't think that way.
"Look at them fuck shits. They sent kids after us," he spat at the bodies.
Jim spoke next, placing his large arms around the shoulders of the tattooed man.
"Well I hope they keep sending the young ones. It'll be an easy way out for us," Jim said, but I could sense remorse in his tone - an emotion long missing in the tattooed man's vocabulary.
I know Jim coz he was my cellmate. He took one look at me and told me I wouldn't last a week inside. He told me he thinks I got set up and got in to warm someone's toilet seat. He also said he's going to escape tomorrow night and I have to come along because I was fortunate enough to have been stuck with him.
So here we are.
I mentioned that we needed to move on to avoid detection.
"They're probably going to send in teenagers the next time, so we might actually end up dead."
"Fuck yeah, and your mum gave birth to a ball-less dip shit." The tattooed man was looking for a fight, his blood pumped from the last few minutes of carnage. He grinned at me, laughing at his joke.
I let him know how funny it was.
And as his fists rained down on my face, fresh blood gushing from the cuts on my face, I felt like I heard something - the melodies of my child's favorite music box.
Hit after hit after hit - the midnight song of a home I hope still stands.
-End of Part 4-
At which point I just stopped living
Spring Cleaning came to a halt last week as a result of my unfortunate accident with the common cold, sore throat and the tummy ache, but it resumed this afternoon, and will commence throughout the span of the week leading up to Chinese New Year.
I found out that I was quite the kid back in Primary School. For starters, I was actually top of my class for most of my stay in Primary School, but dipped later in Secondary School because of over-fascination on sports, video games and of course - crushes.
Too bad none of that enthusiasm for life brought forward to the present, but since we're all nostalgic creatures, I present a side of me no one here would have seen.
I've clean forgotten them myself, actually.
Arthur Wong, Lego Champion.
I was in Primary School when I picked up the fascination for making something out of little plastic blocks. My bugged my parents for Lego sets every now and then, but because we're not too well-off and the plastic blocks actually cost a bomb (they still do), I would only have the said few to play around with.
Which was a good thing because that actually trained my imagination, letting me come up with all sorts of creative things I could build with the same old blocks.
My skill was put to the test when I was entered into a Lego competition which was held at the void deck of some HDB - it's the one next to the KFC, across from the Community Centre in Yishun.
Participants were seated in a round circle and they all had a HUGE stack of blocks in front of them. The contest was 30 minutes long, and we had free reign of what we could build. I was lucky because my table had kids who didn't do much, leaving me a lot of building blocks (haha).
I made this spaceship with a cockpit, four wings, and a weapons system consisting of red and white missiles and laser beams. The whole thing must have stood at least 15cm high and it was color-coded.
Kind spiffy for a Primary School kid huh?
Anyway, I won first prize and this plane here's my reward.
Eye Heart Science.
Pictured here are my Young Environmentalist and Young Botanist Badge. This was from my ECA when I was in Primary School, and I seriously think they were the easiest to get because I had a pretty packed schedule when I was back in school.
I was with the school badminton team, the school mini-tennis team, the school library, the school dance club, and of course the Science Club.
I now sit at home on most days figuring out what I can do with all that free time. Geez.
Anyway, I've been an avid lover of all things science (my physics teacher in Secondary School was exceptionally worth avid loving) since I could remember. Reading dinosaur books and watching television really helped cultivate that love for the weird.
So next time you see me, don't be surprised if I could tell a frog from a toad, the different types of rain clouds, how a tree reproduces, or explain condensation!
The Energy of Youth.
Woah! You mean he's not a loser?
Ok, here are the few achievements I've managed to gather in the sporting front. I found them at the back of my dusty closet so they must mean a lot to me.
Standing right in front is the Bronze for Inter-Class Table Tennis. I won this because I was a reserve and the rest of my classmates were pretty good at the game. Ask me out for a table tennis date any day and I'll show you why our team didn't get gold.
Next are Inter-Class Basketball Gold and Bronze. I'm pretty tall, and I think that's helped me somewhat in securing the titles. Pretty good shot too for all I can remember, so that might've done something about the color of the prizes too. Anyhoo I moved on from that to play for the school team during my Junior College periods.
They called me "Ah Zek", which is some dialect for Old Man. This is because I hated to run during the game. Notice there are no Track and Field cups there.
The last two are Short Putt and Mini-Tennis, both Silver. I can't throw a punch for nuts now (well, maybe at tofu) but back then I could harness all my would-be teenage angst and use that to toss a metal ball pretty damn far.
My tennis career, although short-lived, remains the most fun of my Primary School life. The coach was also my form teacher (here's to you Mr Teo Keng Koon!) and he picked me out during one of our PE lessons where he tried to teach us all how to use the racket to hit a ball instead of one another.
I remember being scolded a lot because I would use my wrist during swings (being my influence from badminton).
The trophy was for an Inter-Club tournament. I was beaten by the drop shot(s). While I had a lot of energy, patience wasn't really my virtue (I beg to differ now). The impatient get hasty, and the hasty gets careless.
But let it be knowm that I've never lost an Inter-School match. That was done pretty well by my teammates though.
Well there you have it - a summary of my firs few years on this world. God knows what happened in the middle to turn me into this mess.
For those who know and like me despite all I've done, thank you. One of the most important thing you can give to someone is acknowledgement, and I have truely felt that, whether it be because I came crying or you saw me needing some.
I found out that I was quite the kid back in Primary School. For starters, I was actually top of my class for most of my stay in Primary School, but dipped later in Secondary School because of over-fascination on sports, video games and of course - crushes.
Too bad none of that enthusiasm for life brought forward to the present, but since we're all nostalgic creatures, I present a side of me no one here would have seen.
I've clean forgotten them myself, actually.
Arthur Wong, Lego Champion.
I was in Primary School when I picked up the fascination for making something out of little plastic blocks. My bugged my parents for Lego sets every now and then, but because we're not too well-off and the plastic blocks actually cost a bomb (they still do), I would only have the said few to play around with.
Which was a good thing because that actually trained my imagination, letting me come up with all sorts of creative things I could build with the same old blocks.
My skill was put to the test when I was entered into a Lego competition which was held at the void deck of some HDB - it's the one next to the KFC, across from the Community Centre in Yishun.
Participants were seated in a round circle and they all had a HUGE stack of blocks in front of them. The contest was 30 minutes long, and we had free reign of what we could build. I was lucky because my table had kids who didn't do much, leaving me a lot of building blocks (haha).
I made this spaceship with a cockpit, four wings, and a weapons system consisting of red and white missiles and laser beams. The whole thing must have stood at least 15cm high and it was color-coded.
Kind spiffy for a Primary School kid huh?
Anyway, I won first prize and this plane here's my reward.
Eye Heart Science.
Pictured here are my Young Environmentalist and Young Botanist Badge. This was from my ECA when I was in Primary School, and I seriously think they were the easiest to get because I had a pretty packed schedule when I was back in school.
I was with the school badminton team, the school mini-tennis team, the school library, the school dance club, and of course the Science Club.
I now sit at home on most days figuring out what I can do with all that free time. Geez.
Anyway, I've been an avid lover of all things science (my physics teacher in Secondary School was exceptionally worth avid loving) since I could remember. Reading dinosaur books and watching television really helped cultivate that love for the weird.
So next time you see me, don't be surprised if I could tell a frog from a toad, the different types of rain clouds, how a tree reproduces, or explain condensation!
The Energy of Youth.
Woah! You mean he's not a loser?
Ok, here are the few achievements I've managed to gather in the sporting front. I found them at the back of my dusty closet so they must mean a lot to me.
Standing right in front is the Bronze for Inter-Class Table Tennis. I won this because I was a reserve and the rest of my classmates were pretty good at the game. Ask me out for a table tennis date any day and I'll show you why our team didn't get gold.
Next are Inter-Class Basketball Gold and Bronze. I'm pretty tall, and I think that's helped me somewhat in securing the titles. Pretty good shot too for all I can remember, so that might've done something about the color of the prizes too. Anyhoo I moved on from that to play for the school team during my Junior College periods.
They called me "Ah Zek", which is some dialect for Old Man. This is because I hated to run during the game. Notice there are no Track and Field cups there.
The last two are Short Putt and Mini-Tennis, both Silver. I can't throw a punch for nuts now (well, maybe at tofu) but back then I could harness all my would-be teenage angst and use that to toss a metal ball pretty damn far.
My tennis career, although short-lived, remains the most fun of my Primary School life. The coach was also my form teacher (here's to you Mr Teo Keng Koon!) and he picked me out during one of our PE lessons where he tried to teach us all how to use the racket to hit a ball instead of one another.
I remember being scolded a lot because I would use my wrist during swings (being my influence from badminton).
The trophy was for an Inter-Club tournament. I was beaten by the drop shot(s). While I had a lot of energy, patience wasn't really my virtue (I beg to differ now). The impatient get hasty, and the hasty gets careless.
But let it be knowm that I've never lost an Inter-School match. That was done pretty well by my teammates though.
Well there you have it - a summary of my firs few years on this world. God knows what happened in the middle to turn me into this mess.
For those who know and like me despite all I've done, thank you. One of the most important thing you can give to someone is acknowledgement, and I have truely felt that, whether it be because I came crying or you saw me needing some.
Tonight's Dinner
Agli Olio ala Seafood Broccoli.
Leftover green from the fridge was thrown into my regular pasta to make a health dinner. The pasta ended up a little too herby for my liking though...
But hell the seafood was nice!
Leftover green from the fridge was thrown into my regular pasta to make a health dinner. The pasta ended up a little too herby for my liking though...
But hell the seafood was nice!
Gimme a good sauce recipe
Ok, so it takes me longer to get the steak thing down... I'll keep trying, so keep a lookout.
Sauce was damn bad today; gonna find a better recipe (I took it from the bottle this time - A1 sauce: used in 9 of ten steakhouses in America).
Apparently only 1 in ten steakhouses in the US serve good steak. Don't know what I did wrong but will go experiment with sauces till I find a good one.
Anyhoo, here's a look at what I made today.
Sauce was damn bad today; gonna find a better recipe (I took it from the bottle this time - A1 sauce: used in 9 of ten steakhouses in America).
Apparently only 1 in ten steakhouses in the US serve good steak. Don't know what I did wrong but will go experiment with sauces till I find a good one.
Anyhoo, here's a look at what I made today.
Echoes of a life less known
So many faces I see everyday,
All different yet all the same,
Telling me their life's regrets
In moments where our moments met.
"My wife took flight!"
A man would scream
In passing thoughts
That once were dreams.
"An instant win!"
The poor man bellows;
"No longer will you sin,"
A hangman's gallows.
In fortune find our last regrets -
A silken moment we won't forget;
The single raindrop in the sands
Of barren hopes in barren lands.
A remnant whisper in our heads,
"Take to wing, forever's set!"
But in the corner of our hearts,
Simple lives all torn apart.
Stricken hopefuls line the street
Far beyond horizon's depth
To take their turns away from bleak;
To live the life I wish I had.
And in wanting fall to prey
To moment's moments of a sad life's buffet;
Now left in tatters wondering so
Aside from hopefuls soon to feel as cold.
Now listen to my last regret
Before I join the solemn queue -
Never wish your dreams be set
Lest you end up fallen, stumbled, black, and blue.
All different yet all the same,
Telling me their life's regrets
In moments where our moments met.
"My wife took flight!"
A man would scream
In passing thoughts
That once were dreams.
"An instant win!"
The poor man bellows;
"No longer will you sin,"
A hangman's gallows.
In fortune find our last regrets -
A silken moment we won't forget;
The single raindrop in the sands
Of barren hopes in barren lands.
A remnant whisper in our heads,
"Take to wing, forever's set!"
But in the corner of our hearts,
Simple lives all torn apart.
Stricken hopefuls line the street
Far beyond horizon's depth
To take their turns away from bleak;
To live the life I wish I had.
And in wanting fall to prey
To moment's moments of a sad life's buffet;
Now left in tatters wondering so
Aside from hopefuls soon to feel as cold.
Now listen to my last regret
Before I join the solemn queue -
Never wish your dreams be set
Lest you end up fallen, stumbled, black, and blue.
The Turn
Continued from Part 2
I opened the door to the outside, light shining through the cracks in the wooden frame. The cold air from the previous night warmed with the rising sun, taking the twilight dew to the large clouds above my head.
Flowers rose from the ashes of the violence, springing upwards defiantly towards the sky. I placed my bare feet on the bed of green, digging my toes into the moist soil. I breathe, standing amazed at the resilience of nature - never faltering despite our stupid ways.
That's when it happened.
A firm hand cupped over my mouth before I had the chance to curse everything to a frozen hell. The crystal sky of my dream rippled into reality, metamorphosing into the twisted witch of our dire situation; I replace my hopes and dreams with a desperation to survive.
That desperation has in turn fueled my devotion to a dream - I wanted to go home where everything awaits that's been taken from me, and to see that through I have become the monster I had been running away from all my life.
Bodies of orphans and soldiers lie beneath our feet. A cruel simile to the midnight carnival of fire, brimstone and blood. We had done wrong, and they were here to play the judiciary role of undertaker.
"You move and they'll find us."
"What the hell are you doing? It's over and you know it."
"We can take them."
"No. We deserve this; it's time we paid for our sins."
A cold hard stare ended the unspoken conversation. Hands found their way to the automatics lying carelessly on the floor, readying for the rush of adrenaline that comes with squeezing the trigger.
"We can still escape."
There was no more talking. The same men I followed out of the prison threw themselves into the fray, catching our pursuers by surprise.
We are but animals living on the edge of instinct and gut feel. However we try we still end up where we started - wanting to play god so we can change the rules. It's a huge cynical roller coaster ride and we're at the big dip; life unravels before us in the blink of an eye, seemingly spontaneous yet following the single metal track, unyielding to the forces that grinds against it.
And when we face the bottom of the fall, we know it'll only some time before the next high. It travels quickly along level ground, losing its speed but yet we anticipate our climb up slowly, our expectations escalating to the climax of circumstance.
So we stand, looking down at the metal tracks; wishing for wings, fighting for dreams, and ignoring the cries of our sanity.
There isn't much recoil this time; a monster has no need for hesitation.
-End of Part 3-
I opened the door to the outside, light shining through the cracks in the wooden frame. The cold air from the previous night warmed with the rising sun, taking the twilight dew to the large clouds above my head.
Flowers rose from the ashes of the violence, springing upwards defiantly towards the sky. I placed my bare feet on the bed of green, digging my toes into the moist soil. I breathe, standing amazed at the resilience of nature - never faltering despite our stupid ways.
That's when it happened.
A firm hand cupped over my mouth before I had the chance to curse everything to a frozen hell. The crystal sky of my dream rippled into reality, metamorphosing into the twisted witch of our dire situation; I replace my hopes and dreams with a desperation to survive.
That desperation has in turn fueled my devotion to a dream - I wanted to go home where everything awaits that's been taken from me, and to see that through I have become the monster I had been running away from all my life.
Bodies of orphans and soldiers lie beneath our feet. A cruel simile to the midnight carnival of fire, brimstone and blood. We had done wrong, and they were here to play the judiciary role of undertaker.
"You move and they'll find us."
"What the hell are you doing? It's over and you know it."
"We can take them."
"No. We deserve this; it's time we paid for our sins."
A cold hard stare ended the unspoken conversation. Hands found their way to the automatics lying carelessly on the floor, readying for the rush of adrenaline that comes with squeezing the trigger.
"We can still escape."
There was no more talking. The same men I followed out of the prison threw themselves into the fray, catching our pursuers by surprise.
We are but animals living on the edge of instinct and gut feel. However we try we still end up where we started - wanting to play god so we can change the rules. It's a huge cynical roller coaster ride and we're at the big dip; life unravels before us in the blink of an eye, seemingly spontaneous yet following the single metal track, unyielding to the forces that grinds against it.
And when we face the bottom of the fall, we know it'll only some time before the next high. It travels quickly along level ground, losing its speed but yet we anticipate our climb up slowly, our expectations escalating to the climax of circumstance.
So we stand, looking down at the metal tracks; wishing for wings, fighting for dreams, and ignoring the cries of our sanity.
There isn't much recoil this time; a monster has no need for hesitation.
-End of Part 3-
Where I wanna be
I don't fancy travel, but if I ever do I'd like to settle for a place away from places, with an environment drastically different yet comfortably suitable for my peace of mind. I'm quite a character, and all my friends say I'm fussy, but I think I could get used to this place I found on Dark Roasted Blend.
Welcome to Tristan da Cunh.
Photo Credit - Rob Crossan
Situated at a staggering 2,430KM away from the nearest landmass - Africa and South America - one would have to brave the rough seas to set foot on the most remote place in the world.
Now I know you're thinking about how you could probably see dinosaurs or time warps on the island, but I'm happy to tell you there are actually people living there!
Photo Credit - Peter Balwin & Sue Scott
Home to about 270 inhabitants, Tristan da Cunh's commerce is largely made out of fishing. The sub-tropical climate offers pristine conditions for the islands native wildlife and its inhabitants giving visitors (if any) a nice shift from the stresses of modern life.
Photo Credit - Roland Svensson
While you're there, be sure to have a taste of their speciality Rock Lobster Tails - touted to be the best in the world!
Photo Credit - Roland Svensson
And who else to show you around town but the friendly neighborhood fisherman? Since its beginnings, Tristan da Cunh has developed into a fine little town boasting its own convenience store, radio station, cafe, video shop, and swimming pool!
However, be warned that being in the middle of the ocean does have its disadvantages - horrible storms with winds as fast as 190km/h tear through the town at regular intervals, often throwing lifestock into the vast blue beyonds and rendering complete neighborhoods infunctional.
Despite all that, Tristan da Cunh is still a pleasant place to go. Transport is available via the RMS St. Helena, the only mail ship in the world, once a year from South Africa. Check out their website for ship schedule.
Welcome to Tristan da Cunh.
Photo Credit - Rob Crossan
Situated at a staggering 2,430KM away from the nearest landmass - Africa and South America - one would have to brave the rough seas to set foot on the most remote place in the world.
Now I know you're thinking about how you could probably see dinosaurs or time warps on the island, but I'm happy to tell you there are actually people living there!
Photo Credit - Peter Balwin & Sue Scott
Home to about 270 inhabitants, Tristan da Cunh's commerce is largely made out of fishing. The sub-tropical climate offers pristine conditions for the islands native wildlife and its inhabitants giving visitors (if any) a nice shift from the stresses of modern life.
Photo Credit - Roland Svensson
While you're there, be sure to have a taste of their speciality Rock Lobster Tails - touted to be the best in the world!
Photo Credit - Roland Svensson
And who else to show you around town but the friendly neighborhood fisherman? Since its beginnings, Tristan da Cunh has developed into a fine little town boasting its own convenience store, radio station, cafe, video shop, and swimming pool!
However, be warned that being in the middle of the ocean does have its disadvantages - horrible storms with winds as fast as 190km/h tear through the town at regular intervals, often throwing lifestock into the vast blue beyonds and rendering complete neighborhoods infunctional.
Despite all that, Tristan da Cunh is still a pleasant place to go. Transport is available via the RMS St. Helena, the only mail ship in the world, once a year from South Africa. Check out their website for ship schedule.
I smiled today
In the company of 6 lovely ladies, I start to miss the old work place. They were the ones who made it all worthwhile, and I must admit I wouldn't have stayed as long as I did if it weren't for them.
We talked, bitched, laughed and complained - just like old times.
Tracy's given birth, and Ethen's doing fine in Malaysia; Fiona and Yoke Ling's still doing the things they do best, and in the pink of health; Sharon's working in the CBD and says she takes too long to go to work (it'll help if she didn't live in a mansion in the middle of nowhere); Josephine I might not know too well, but it was fun laughing about stuff we have in common; Claire's forever the trooper, and I have only high hopes for the little sparkplug.
I'm close to tears as they showered concern on me like they always do - asking me questions about life (Fiona noticed I've put on a few pounds), and how everything is at the new workplace. I hear stories about the old workplace, and we laugh about how stupid some people can be. I tell them stories about my new workplace - how I had the chance to work with a contractor they didn't quite fancy. I asked about Tracy and how she's coping with the baby, about work and life and school and everything else.
Time past really fast, and we were all due home. Claire and Tracy had to go back to work at Parkway Parade to get a poster done up, so the rest of us left for home. Sharon and Josephine went to the train, and I walked with Fiona and Yoke Ling to the bus stop, deliberately taking the scenic route so I could enjoy the conversation a little longer.
These are the people who make life worth living, for when you're down in the dumps, they'll be the ones who'd willingly pick you up.
Thank you for being in my life. I can't wait till our next meeting.
We talked, bitched, laughed and complained - just like old times.
Tracy's given birth, and Ethen's doing fine in Malaysia; Fiona and Yoke Ling's still doing the things they do best, and in the pink of health; Sharon's working in the CBD and says she takes too long to go to work (it'll help if she didn't live in a mansion in the middle of nowhere); Josephine I might not know too well, but it was fun laughing about stuff we have in common; Claire's forever the trooper, and I have only high hopes for the little sparkplug.
I'm close to tears as they showered concern on me like they always do - asking me questions about life (Fiona noticed I've put on a few pounds), and how everything is at the new workplace. I hear stories about the old workplace, and we laugh about how stupid some people can be. I tell them stories about my new workplace - how I had the chance to work with a contractor they didn't quite fancy. I asked about Tracy and how she's coping with the baby, about work and life and school and everything else.
Time past really fast, and we were all due home. Claire and Tracy had to go back to work at Parkway Parade to get a poster done up, so the rest of us left for home. Sharon and Josephine went to the train, and I walked with Fiona and Yoke Ling to the bus stop, deliberately taking the scenic route so I could enjoy the conversation a little longer.
These are the people who make life worth living, for when you're down in the dumps, they'll be the ones who'd willingly pick you up.
Thank you for being in my life. I can't wait till our next meeting.
The courage to meow
I left work today and took the path I've always took home, down the dimly lit corridor past the overrated waterfall and taking a left into the car park before winding my way down to the pedestrian crossing.
There was a lady having trouble with her car - she didn't seem to know how to move it it seems - and there was a gentleman there helping her by blasting his horn really loud as encouragement. The people were looking and I walked on by； the bus was gonna come and I'd hate to watch it slowly accelerate coz I know I won't be bothered to run after it.
So I take the crossing and to my left a lonely figure stood, its grey tail whipping the cool evening air, its pointy ears swiveling around listening to the first sign of threat, its small green eyes pacing about trying to spot something to eat. In front of me stood a tiny ball of fur.
There is no room for stray animals in a healthcare institution, and at the bottom of my heart I knew that the kitten's days here are numbered. I guess they'll call the SPCA and have it arrested for being alive at the wrong place, and that the SPCA will probably sterilize it and then release it somewhere else because it can't possibly go back here. I also know that it probably won't live long coz it won't have time to learn how to hunt for food coz it'll be taken under the knife and it'll take a few weeks to recover and in that time she can't eat or learn how to stay alive.
I've given her a gender, great.
So there she stood, totally ignoring my presence. In the brief moment I stood looking at her, she never even noticed I was there. Her eyes were shifting about, probably looking for food; I've never met a kitten that's not hungry.
Impulse told me to bring her home and take care of her. I had all the necessary things - litter bin, food and water tray, a good space, the need for companionship - but that would mean I had to cross my parents. While my mum would eventually relent, my dad would probably kill the cat when I go off to work.
We are cruel things, humans. Such wonderful, life-changing things we can do but so seldom do we make the effort. It would be nice to be nice, but more often than not we choose our convenience over the nice thing.
The insurance salesman in the street coming up to you with a survey; the uncle selling tissues in the hawker centre; the leaflet person standing in the middle of a crowded walkway; the old lady in the public transport; the woman loaded with shopping bags who's approaching a door; the school kid shaking his donation tin; the foreigner looking hopelessly at his crumpled map; the sales assistant who's trying to do their job; the waiter who needs to serve hundreds of different people a day... We are cruel things, even when it comes to treating our kind.
And when the chance arises to save an animal, I am stuck in the middle of the street as I make my way home. I didn't call out to her; I didn't want to set up a connection because I am powerless to help. I am selfish and I can't bear to give her hope.
I am ashamed.
There was a lady having trouble with her car - she didn't seem to know how to move it it seems - and there was a gentleman there helping her by blasting his horn really loud as encouragement. The people were looking and I walked on by； the bus was gonna come and I'd hate to watch it slowly accelerate coz I know I won't be bothered to run after it.
So I take the crossing and to my left a lonely figure stood, its grey tail whipping the cool evening air, its pointy ears swiveling around listening to the first sign of threat, its small green eyes pacing about trying to spot something to eat. In front of me stood a tiny ball of fur.
There is no room for stray animals in a healthcare institution, and at the bottom of my heart I knew that the kitten's days here are numbered. I guess they'll call the SPCA and have it arrested for being alive at the wrong place, and that the SPCA will probably sterilize it and then release it somewhere else because it can't possibly go back here. I also know that it probably won't live long coz it won't have time to learn how to hunt for food coz it'll be taken under the knife and it'll take a few weeks to recover and in that time she can't eat or learn how to stay alive.
I've given her a gender, great.
So there she stood, totally ignoring my presence. In the brief moment I stood looking at her, she never even noticed I was there. Her eyes were shifting about, probably looking for food; I've never met a kitten that's not hungry.
Impulse told me to bring her home and take care of her. I had all the necessary things - litter bin, food and water tray, a good space, the need for companionship - but that would mean I had to cross my parents. While my mum would eventually relent, my dad would probably kill the cat when I go off to work.
We are cruel things, humans. Such wonderful, life-changing things we can do but so seldom do we make the effort. It would be nice to be nice, but more often than not we choose our convenience over the nice thing.
The insurance salesman in the street coming up to you with a survey; the uncle selling tissues in the hawker centre; the leaflet person standing in the middle of a crowded walkway; the old lady in the public transport; the woman loaded with shopping bags who's approaching a door; the school kid shaking his donation tin; the foreigner looking hopelessly at his crumpled map; the sales assistant who's trying to do their job; the waiter who needs to serve hundreds of different people a day... We are cruel things, even when it comes to treating our kind.
And when the chance arises to save an animal, I am stuck in the middle of the street as I make my way home. I didn't call out to her; I didn't want to set up a connection because I am powerless to help. I am selfish and I can't bear to give her hope.
I am ashamed.
From the Kitchen of Mama Wong - Part 5
Steamed Sea Bass with Mushrooms and Pork
I'm a big fan of fish, but sea bass isn't one of my favs. It isn't one of the tastiest fish, but eat it the with mushrooms, pork and salted vegs and you'll end up loving it.
Ingredients -
Sea Bass (1 whole)
Pork Belly (三辰肉; 1 strip about 5-6cm long)
Salted Vegetables (1-2 leaves)
Dried Mushrooms (5-6; I like to those from Japan coz they've the best fragrance)
Ginger (3-4 slices)
Coriander (1 batch)
Spring Onions (1 batch)
Light Soy Sauce
Corn Flour
Pepper
Oyster Sauce
Pre-Cooked Oil
All set? Let's get cooking.
Always Be Preparing
I hope you've never had to try to eat dried mushrooms without soaking them properly first. My first experience with them was pretty bad - I wanted to add them to instant noodles and decided that they will pretty tun soft after I throw them in hot water for about 5 minutes.
I've since discovered that you need at least 2 hours of soaking before the mushrooms can be used, so do that; no need for warm water. When the mushrooms are all soft, take off their stems and slice them up.
Next up in the ginger. Scratch off the skin and then slice them up FINELY. My mum does a really good job of it (she doesn't hide that fact too); the ginger's gotta be really fine for it to work... like hair.
After the ginger comes the pork (seriously it doesn't matter which comes first really... you gotta do em all in the end). Wash and clean the excess fats off the belly strip and then slice them FINELY. They should look like little slimy maggots in your bowl after you set em aside. Makes for better 口感.
The salted vegetables should also be cut finely, but you need em to crunch down well so ease up on the fine-as-hair requirement on the ginger.
Spring onions are like the ginger. Keep the stalks (the thick lower half near the roots) for the fish.
Coriander's sparingly cut into 2cm segments, ready to be sprinkled onto the finished product along with the spring onions.
Last but not least (I must say this is my least favorite part of the dish), the fish. Descale it (the monger usually does a kindergarten kid's job of it) and clean out its guts.
Side Story: Selecting a good sea bass
When you're going to the market to choose fish, always look out for certain traits. Just remember that they all used to be alive, so by keeping out for signs of decay, you'll be pretty safe.
The Chinese call sea bass 金目鱸, literally translated into Golden-Eyed Fish. So you're gonna want to choose one with bright silver eyes. Its flesh should also have a certain bounce to it.
Once all that's done, take a break by firing up the wok in preparation for steaming.
Let Em Soak
The next step would be to marinate the meat and the mushrooms. Let's do the mushrooms first.
Take the mushroom slices and throw in corn flour (about a teaspoon), oyster sauce (2 teaspoons but you might like it saltier), ginger slices, pepper (a dash), and the pre-cooked oil (about a table spoon). Mix and set aside.
For the pork, you'll need light soy sauce (about 1 cap full), corn flour (1 teaspoon) and pepper (a bigger dash than the mushrooms; let's call it TWO dashes). Mix and set aside.
Into The Fire
Lay the spring onion stalks on a ceramic plate and place the fish on top. Sprinkle pre-cooked oil over the bass and then decorate the plate with the mushrooms, pork and salted vegetables. If you like your fish salty, you might wanna stuff a few salted vegs into the belly.
Put the fish to steam for about 10 minutes under high heat and when it's done, sprinkle on the spring onions and coriander before serving.
My Escape
I've learnt that I will turn to the kitchen and my recipes whenever I'm feeling down and lousy. There are very few places that I hold dear, and among those are secrets that linger on the brink of dissipation, so in the end you'll most likely find me cooking in the kitchen rather than crying in my room.
It's a good place where I absolutely feel good - not bothered by the state of things and not having to face the depression that's becoming of me lately. Situational as it is, my kitchen gives me a sense of comfort few others can provide.
Night is hardest to face, as we all know, and as I see friends finding love and moving on to the next phase of their lives, I reflect on myself and try to find possibilities. In all aspects I'm a boring guy. I like the simple things that most others will find too... simple. A walk down a crowded street, a day in the home cooking or cleaning, or simply sitting down at a quiet place and looking at the sky - it's hard to find excitement in that.
And while I mull over how miserable my future would hold, I turn instinctively to my kitchen among other things. It's been there for me always, and I find myself able to get lost in preparing a dish. I would practice my cutting, or try my hand at making sauce, or throw out what''s in the freezer to see what I can make.
It's a strange thing to find in a guy, yes... but I'm no ordinary guy. I'm me, and you'll find me smiling the most in my kitchen.
So if you have the chance, come visit and see how entertaining I can be in my element. You'll certainly not see my like this outside my domain.
It's late, and I don't think I can cook with the flu diluting my tastebuds, so I'll handle my current depression by introducing another one of my recipes. The stuff I know how to make may be limited for now, but I aim to make a new dish every week so watch out for it.
Let me cook for you, please. I promise you won't be disappointed.
It's a good place where I absolutely feel good - not bothered by the state of things and not having to face the depression that's becoming of me lately. Situational as it is, my kitchen gives me a sense of comfort few others can provide.
Night is hardest to face, as we all know, and as I see friends finding love and moving on to the next phase of their lives, I reflect on myself and try to find possibilities. In all aspects I'm a boring guy. I like the simple things that most others will find too... simple. A walk down a crowded street, a day in the home cooking or cleaning, or simply sitting down at a quiet place and looking at the sky - it's hard to find excitement in that.
And while I mull over how miserable my future would hold, I turn instinctively to my kitchen among other things. It's been there for me always, and I find myself able to get lost in preparing a dish. I would practice my cutting, or try my hand at making sauce, or throw out what''s in the freezer to see what I can make.
It's a strange thing to find in a guy, yes... but I'm no ordinary guy. I'm me, and you'll find me smiling the most in my kitchen.
So if you have the chance, come visit and see how entertaining I can be in my element. You'll certainly not see my like this outside my domain.
It's late, and I don't think I can cook with the flu diluting my tastebuds, so I'll handle my current depression by introducing another one of my recipes. The stuff I know how to make may be limited for now, but I aim to make a new dish every week so watch out for it.
Let me cook for you, please. I promise you won't be disappointed.
In the spur of things
The world works on impulse, and look how it's turned out.
I used to live on impulse, and am still in all honesty. While my resolutions tell me otherwise, I am often victim of my own spontaneity. I take things to meaning too fast, and they have often come back to bite me in the ass.
While that translates to good waste of time, I often come up with the excuse of gaining experience. But do we actually learn from all our mistakes? I've been in this cycle throughout the earlier half of my life, and I don't really see anything that's been of benefit to me.
Well, I had a nice little conversation with an old friend just now. I have much to thank for her kindness and patience, for I have done my share of damage on the state of things.
This sentence among others stood out - "it's coming no matter what." So I guess I'll just have to be me.
Here's to sunshine, for dropping in when things started to turn dark.
I used to live on impulse, and am still in all honesty. While my resolutions tell me otherwise, I am often victim of my own spontaneity. I take things to meaning too fast, and they have often come back to bite me in the ass.
While that translates to good waste of time, I often come up with the excuse of gaining experience. But do we actually learn from all our mistakes? I've been in this cycle throughout the earlier half of my life, and I don't really see anything that's been of benefit to me.
Well, I had a nice little conversation with an old friend just now. I have much to thank for her kindness and patience, for I have done my share of damage on the state of things.
This sentence among others stood out - "it's coming no matter what." So I guess I'll just have to be me.
Here's to sunshine, for dropping in when things started to turn dark.
Priceless
This taken from YouTube. It's sad that he'll be remembered this way, but I'm not in touch with American politics so I can't really judge.
From the Kitchen of Mama Wong - Part 4
Pork Chops in Ketchup
Feeling kinda low right now, so I've decided to bring this dish to the table in a bid to cheer myself up. This is the first dish Mama Wong taught me, and it's kinda the longest dish to prepare. Trust me, it'll be worth it when you're done.
Ingredients -
4 - 8 Pork Slices (五花)
Potatoes (4-5 depending on how much you love em)
Onions (2 whole)
Garlic (2 cloves)
Tomatoes (2 whole, quartered)
Ketchup (about a half bottle)
Oyster Sauce (like 2 tablespoons I think)
Light Soy Sauce (1 cap full)
Pepper (a pinch)
Sugar (to taste, but definately less than the pepper)
All set? Here we go. It's gonna be a three-stop process.
Dunkin Pork Chops
Wash the pork and slice em into thin slices about 5mm thick. Alternatively you can ask the butcher to slice em up for you. Next thing to do would be to tenderize the pork by smashing them up. Now's a good time to release all your frustration and anger onto the pieces of meat coz you want them as tender as possible. One and two and pound and four!
When you're done beating the crap out of the pork, raid your cupboards for oyster sauce, pepper, a single egg (we're only going to use the white), and a little soy sauce. Mix em up with the pork and throw it into the fridge for an hour.
We'll get started on the potatoes now.
I like Em Soft and Salted
Wash and peel the potatoes. Sharpen that knife and prepare to wedge em. You'll probably get 3-4 wedges per half. Once you've gotten the wedges done, fire up the wok.
Well, a deep fryer would do as well, but I like em soft so that they'll mix well with the sauce later. No point getting them all fluffy and crunchy just so you can soak them later.
Bring the oil to a boil (skip this chapter if you're using a deep fryer. I promise not to make fun of you), and then plop in the wedges under a medium heat. Be sure to dry them before they enter the oil if you want to prevent splatter (hah, guess I should've told you that earlier huh). In about 5 minutes you can flip em over. Once they all done you should be able to catch the distinctive smell - that's the smell of potatoes turning into wedges.
Once they're all done, we move on to the pork. Get your protective gear if you're afraid of oil splatter. And this one's for those using fryers - chicken.
If You Can't Stand The Heat
Take the pork out and have a whiff - they've been basking in the marinate for a good hour and should be smelling divine. Keep the image of the finished delicacy in your head coz you're gonna need an initiative to get the next step done.
For people with deep fryers, you're getting away from this one. Time to face the (oily) music.
Fire up the oil once more and throw in the pork. I'm gonna give an oil warning here - a lot of splattering will happen, especially if you're using frozen pork.
Cook the porkers till one side is done and then flip for the other half. Once all's done, set aside and we'll move on to the sauce. We'll talk about cleaning the floor later.
Orange, and Warm, and Poured All Over
With a lot less oil this time, fire up the trusty wok for one last time. Throw in the onions and garlic and toss em around till you're fragrant. Oh, the garlic before the onions, sorry.
Next we add in the ketchup - half of the bottle. Mix in about half a cup of water to your desired viscosity. Cook to a boil and add in the sugar. Do a little taste test to make sure it's good (you can add in more water, more sugar, or more ketchup), and then throw in the pork.
Mix well, and then throw in the potatoes.
Mix weller, and then serve.
Tada! Now all you have to worry about is the oily floor and the filthy kitchen top.
Drip
Continued from Part 1
The air was cold; snow falling from the heavens like tears down upon our sins. A mighty gust takes from us the silence as we huddle up close to keep from being frozen. All around the holy city lies in ruins - a result of our folly.
It had been three days since everything happened. I was pushed into action, taking down what we thought were soldiers who were sent to take us back. Seven days before that happened we were prisoners sentenced to death for the assassination of the president - pawns sacrificed for the idealism of extremists playing a deadly game of chess where only one piece will eventually remain.
The president's death drove the city into madness, letting us see who were really are. The army mobilized all the soldiers who didn't revolt in an attempt to recapture status quo. They were up against the rebellion who now had the support of more than half of the military who had joined their cause in the promise of a better tomorrow.
I couldn't understand the thoughts going through in my head when the first bullet tore through the air and cracked the wall behind me, or when the next barrage took the life of my cellmate. It was all messed up like the state of things.
He told me he was going to get home to his children and explain to his family how he was set up; we all had our stories, but none of them believed us. They were angry and wanted someone to blame. Anyone who could be hung to make the whole world feel better, even if we were innocent - taken off the strings of petty crime we were sentenced for and thrown into the big slammer for killing the president.
But it happened, and here we are.
And in the falling snow, a single plywood sign stood erect along the cement walkway facing the picket fence. The grass were trodden upon by invaders, the door damaged as gun-wielding bodies threw it open. Inside the house sat the three.
We were quiet in our conquered pill box among bodies of the soldiers sent to recapture us. We had this place to hide for the time being, and there was food at the back to last a week. Once we make it out of the city we'll tell the world what really happened.
No one said a word or dared to move. The blood had dried on the old wooden floor. And on the brick walls. And on the leather sofa. And on the faces of the children lying motionless. All around us were sounds of explosions and gunfire, but here we can only hear the howling wind.
Welcome to the Sunshine Home for the Less Fortunate - just one of the many places we will attack on our way to freedom.
-End of Part 2-
The air was cold; snow falling from the heavens like tears down upon our sins. A mighty gust takes from us the silence as we huddle up close to keep from being frozen. All around the holy city lies in ruins - a result of our folly.
It had been three days since everything happened. I was pushed into action, taking down what we thought were soldiers who were sent to take us back. Seven days before that happened we were prisoners sentenced to death for the assassination of the president - pawns sacrificed for the idealism of extremists playing a deadly game of chess where only one piece will eventually remain.
The president's death drove the city into madness, letting us see who were really are. The army mobilized all the soldiers who didn't revolt in an attempt to recapture status quo. They were up against the rebellion who now had the support of more than half of the military who had joined their cause in the promise of a better tomorrow.
I couldn't understand the thoughts going through in my head when the first bullet tore through the air and cracked the wall behind me, or when the next barrage took the life of my cellmate. It was all messed up like the state of things.
He told me he was going to get home to his children and explain to his family how he was set up; we all had our stories, but none of them believed us. They were angry and wanted someone to blame. Anyone who could be hung to make the whole world feel better, even if we were innocent - taken off the strings of petty crime we were sentenced for and thrown into the big slammer for killing the president.
But it happened, and here we are.
And in the falling snow, a single plywood sign stood erect along the cement walkway facing the picket fence. The grass were trodden upon by invaders, the door damaged as gun-wielding bodies threw it open. Inside the house sat the three.
We were quiet in our conquered pill box among bodies of the soldiers sent to recapture us. We had this place to hide for the time being, and there was food at the back to last a week. Once we make it out of the city we'll tell the world what really happened.
No one said a word or dared to move. The blood had dried on the old wooden floor. And on the brick walls. And on the leather sofa. And on the faces of the children lying motionless. All around us were sounds of explosions and gunfire, but here we can only hear the howling wind.
Welcome to the Sunshine Home for the Less Fortunate - just one of the many places we will attack on our way to freedom.
-End of Part 2-
Day out and the dinner after.
It's a pictorial spread today - I'm looking to get a proper camera so they don't look like they're taken out of a camera phone (they are).
That's my mum!
Dude's selling money.
The message of the day: "新年快乐!"
People joining in the festivities.
Decorating your home with fake flowes?
Go to Bugis!
For the fortunate, be glad.
For the doubtful, be safe.
Our first stop.
People rub his belly and he smiles at them back.
Something evil this way comes.
We bought $70 worth of this.
And $40 worth of this.
My sister came over for dinner!
Lousy Pix 1 - Steamed Sea Bass
Lousy Pix 2 - Pork Ribs in Bean Paste
Lousy Pix 3 - Stir Fried Kai Lan with Scallops
Lousy Pix 4 - Stir Fried 豆苗
Lousy Pix 5 - Steamed Chicken
This is my rendition of Red Cliff Two.
"I'll cut you!"
That's my mum!
Dude's selling money.
The message of the day: "新年快乐!"
People joining in the festivities.
Decorating your home with fake flowes?
Go to Bugis!
For the fortunate, be glad.
For the doubtful, be safe.
Our first stop.
People rub his belly and he smiles at them back.
Something evil this way comes.
We bought $70 worth of this.
And $40 worth of this.
My sister came over for dinner!
Lousy Pix 1 - Steamed Sea Bass
Lousy Pix 2 - Pork Ribs in Bean Paste
Lousy Pix 3 - Stir Fried Kai Lan with Scallops
Lousy Pix 4 - Stir Fried 豆苗
Lousy Pix 5 - Steamed Chicken
This is my rendition of Red Cliff Two.
"I'll cut you!"
Throwing out the past
In the midst of spring cleaning it suddenly hit me - I'm supposed to be sad and lonely and crying all the time... at least that's how I'd expected myself to react.
But I've been fine since the breakup, doing things I've always wanted to do and spending time with the family and friends whom I've seldom met during my three years with the girlfriend.
And here I am with a whole lot of stuff that reminds me of the past - things that I thought I'd never get to putting behind me. And it's not just about girls and relationships too! All sorts of junk that you'd probably find in some flea market somewhere if someone got their hands on them.
I'll take this as a spirit walk thing - to put what's been pulling me back behind me and toss them out. There are lessons to learn and new dreams to pursue, and while some may still linger on my to-do list (I intend to do something about them in the immediate future), I'll put myself up for construction.
Tenders now open to all who want to make a difference. Join me in welcoming the new year as a time of change and inspiration.
All talk? Only time will tell.
The future - almost there, but we're nowhere near it.
But I've been fine since the breakup, doing things I've always wanted to do and spending time with the family and friends whom I've seldom met during my three years with the girlfriend.
And here I am with a whole lot of stuff that reminds me of the past - things that I thought I'd never get to putting behind me. And it's not just about girls and relationships too! All sorts of junk that you'd probably find in some flea market somewhere if someone got their hands on them.
I'll take this as a spirit walk thing - to put what's been pulling me back behind me and toss them out. There are lessons to learn and new dreams to pursue, and while some may still linger on my to-do list (I intend to do something about them in the immediate future), I'll put myself up for construction.
Tenders now open to all who want to make a difference. Join me in welcoming the new year as a time of change and inspiration.
All talk? Only time will tell.
The future - almost there, but we're nowhere near it.
