Our Votes Count

I finally made up my mind yesterday on how I would vote today. And it was strange, that moment when my mind was made up; I felt strangely calm yet excited about the day to come. For the first time in my life, it struck me that my vote was important, that I, with that singular vote, was bearing the weight and future of our country on my shoulders. Through the powers of new media, I know many other Singaporeans feel the same.

There have been many developments through this GE that we can be truly proud of. The willingness of so many average citizens to stand forth as alternatives to the incumbents, for example. Youths like Gerald Giam and Nicole Seah have effectively closed off certain doors for themselves in future through their participation, and I honestly applaud and appreciate their bravery. The casting off of so many old fears and inhibitions that used to dominate voters’ psyches in past GEs being another; I see so, so many attending opposition rallies and fearlessly shouting their support, earnestly sharing thoughts and information, videos and pictures on FB and YouTube. But I am most proud of, and touched by, our collective realization that the elections must transcend the bread and butter issues of yore and that we have the responsibility and power to shape our country’s future through our vote.

We all want to be heard, we want our vote to count, and above all we reject a farcical democracy where a country is run like a listed corporation with no heart and little regard for the people’s wishes and needs. I’ve said it long before, what’s good for the country is not necessarily good for its people. And yet, what is a country without its people? Why can we not do more for those whom we’ve left behind in our race ahead?

We are at a critical juncture. We already know we aren’t an apathetic people, and we’ve reached a stage of actualization where we know just how important our votes are. To complete the process, we need also to accept and respect that in a true democracy everyone has a right to vote for the things they need and want, from a First World Parliament to economic progress and prosperity to good governance, or even estate and housing upgrading. Should the majority will of the people not be our ideal, then we just have to forge on ahead to make ourselves heard in other ways instead of becoming a divisive society full of infighting and acrimony.

To paraphrase a friend and colleague, we are Singapore, long before we are blue or red or peach or whatever other colours there are. I love my country and I have never been prouder to be Singaporean.

Goldie Oldies

I have some very strong and fond memories from my childhood.

One is of eating burnt porridge, prepared by Dad when Mum went on an all-girls trip with some aunts to Malaysia. I don’t think I was even five when that happened, but I doubt I will ever forget the taste of burnt porridge and until now I still wonder how Dad managed to burn a dish that is 75% water.

Another vivid memory is of Dad’s gadget collection, the gems among which were his cameras, Walkmans and a really vintage-looking orange-brown dry box. He used only Nikons and Sonys then and was a true-blue early technology adopter, unlike his daughter, who until last year’s acquisition of an iPhone had hitherto been happily subsisting on a steady diet of FOC phones. Before the iPhone, I’ve owned three mp3 players and they were all presents from the husband, then-boyfriend. And until now, I still don’t like spending money on gadgets; if not for my old iMac toppling over to the floor and cracking its screen beyond repair, I wouldn’t have gotten the MB Pro.

In any case, while reminiscing over a recent family dinner, the parents recalled that the dry box was still sitting around in the storeroom and could possibly still work for my Canon. We then went on to rootle around the storeroom for it and guess what, we actually did find the dry box! Not only that, Dad’s old Nikons and a Sony Walkman were in the dry box too. Free from any hint of dust and mould, I might add.

As I’ve kind of inherited Dad’s interest in taking pictures, this discovery was a really happy one. I pored over every inch of the old cameras, marvelling at the workmanship and impeccable finishings that modern models try hard to mimic. Only bummer is that the SLR model is missing its len. But I’m really stoked that I don’t need to purchase a dry cabinet anymore for my Canon; I will just store it in my old-new vintage dry box and purchase some new sachets of dessicants. Yayee!

The Little Ones

Work’s been intense and draining recently, so I haven’t found much energy to log on. Or basically do anything much at all.
But even as I write this, I think about little C and her long-suffering mother Cynthia, and I reprimand myself inwardly for being so weak and whingey.

Work is nothing, work is not draining.
I should count myself blessed to have a steady job to go to every day, one that I enjoy and that feeds and clothes me.
Work is sheer chicken shit compared to the kind of despair a parent feels when a child is diagnosed with a terminal illness; the kind of bottomless despair that’s more than tough enough for a couple to go through with each other for support, let alone for a single mother.

I feel Cynthia’s pain in her emails, where she never fails to express how thankful she is for the help that we, and countless other people, have given her.
I hear it in her tear-filled voice when she calls to check on or change her tickets, because that usually means starting a new round of treatment for C, or taking a leap of faith to chance a change of environment like when they decided to return home to SIN.
I can almost see the waves of pain leap off her blog entries, when she describes waking up each and every day in the past two years to a depressing routine of running around various hospital wards and departments, watching blood being taken from and poison being poured into her daughter’s tiny frame. And yet, she has to stay strong and press on, never knowing when they will see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

I don’t know who has it worse.
C, whose young body has been pummelled and punished mercilessly in these two years, who should be running around playgrounds carefree as a bird like other kids her age?
Or Cynthia, who has willingly put her life on hold infinitely all in the hopes of a miraculous recovery for C and who has to bear all of her little girl’s agonies on top of her own?
And does it even matter?

Cynthia’s despair cuts right to my heart even though I’ve never even met her in person before.
When I write to her, I never quite know how to end off; do the likes of “Cheers, and all the best” or “Please take care, we wish you all the best” sound lame or do they sound lame?
Every time I get off the phone with her, tears form in my eyes and I need a moment or two to compose myself.

But they don’t need sympathy, or tears. They need us to do our best for them, so that little C has one more fighting chance against those damned tumours.

And so that’s what I try to do.

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”
This Easter, as we celebrate His resurrection, I hope and pray that God will somehow shower joy and a blessing, in some form or other, on all sick children and their families. Let there be hope and laughter in their lives still, that they will have love in abundance, because love truly can help to conquer all. Amen.

Remembering LDR

This recent NYT.com Modern Love column reminded me of those agonising 2.5 years of LDR I endured with the then-fiance, so I thought I’d share it here. We got a reprieve this year with his (now-husband) decision to postpone PhD studies to next year, but I’m already starting to steel myself for another 2 or 3 years of being apart. Never been the strongest of girls when it comes to emotions, besides I tend to dwell on and worry about the negative aspects of things. Fingers crossed that it does get easier! In the meantime, we shall continue to stay very happy and maybe husband can think about buying me a shiba inu to keep me company if and when he does leave.

To all for whom LDR is reality, take heart and stay positive =)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Navigating in a Long-Distance Affair
By Michael Parker
Published 17 March 2011

THAT there were 1,200 miles and several states between us meant constant motion: planes, taxis, buses, trams. And a lot of sitting around waiting — in airports, for cabs, for one of us to pick up the other.

Over time, the states between us grew emotional as well as physical: not only Tennessee and Arkansas but also anxiety, longing and anger at cancellations or delays and irritation at those who haunt airport gates all over America yelling into their cellphones (“We’re here!” or “I had Quiznos for lunch!”) Or worse, detailing the specifics of their vocation, which, sadly, is never sex therapist.

In His Ways, and In His Time

It’s funny how this hit home for me recently.

As some of you will know, I went through a fairly major health scare recently that turned out luckily to be quite manageable. Flip side is, after all the horrible blood tests and ultrasound and consultations, I incurred close to two grand in medical fees and am looking at an ongoing, pricey, daily medication regime for the next year or two at least. At more than 10 bucks a pill, we ain’t looking at chump change here. And then, just a week after my doc gave the all-clear (sort of), it was time to jet off to Hong Kong where I spent even more money eating. I would not include shopping here as I really didn’t spend that much, and in my defence, I now believe I bought those Chanel earrings to celebrate still being alive and healthy. In any case, when the credit card bills arrived in the mail, I almost regurgitated my pill in shock. When the figures still didn’t change, I resigned myself to paying up.

And then, a minor miracle happened. A few days after I paid off the first bill, I checked my bank balance and discovered that I had a few hundred dollars more than I thought I did. As it turns out, two or three of my stocks had just paid out their declared dividends, and it couldn’t have come at a more opportune time. Then yesterday, I cleared the second major bill, almost wiping out my bank balance in the process. And again, today, I checked my account and realised that I was over a hundred bucks richer; yet another stock had just paid out its dividend today.

Yes, I know a few hundred bucks in dividends isn’t a lot. But a few hundred bucks every quarter or half-yearly can add up to a significant sum over time. And for me, the significance of it all is what matters. It’s as if He’s telling me that He’s with me in His own way when I needed help; I got as good and clean a bill of health as I could have hoped for under the circumstances, and when I was in financial need, He gave me some good ol’ moolah from unexpected sources and illustrated for me again the benefits and importance of saving and growing one’s money. God really works in His own ways and His own time.

It’s been a sobering month in more ways than one, but I’ve had my share of lovely moments to tide me through the lows and things should get better from now. There’s so much to look forward to this year – a long-awaited trip to Italy with the husband and, most anticipated of all, our little nook in the pits of Punggol. I know some people sneer at the idea of living in Punggol, and honestly if people were judged on their cool factor by where they lived and worked, I would be a complete rube; but who cares, we’ll be together and that’s way beyond cool.

So, thank you God, for keeping faith with me even though I’m a lousy believer on so many levels. Amen.

Lamb Raisin

Anyone fancies ‘lamb raisin’ on a cone?

This was from a few years back, when I went to Tokyo with two colleagues. We were at an ice-cream stall looking through flavours happily and then, err, what the hell does ‘lamb raisin’ taste like?! Then we figured out the owner must have meant rum and raisin. Boring….

Mad for Dimsum

Only in dimsum-mad Hong Kong will you get a line, no make that five, of dimsum-inspired crockery. From the quirky bowels of Goods of Desire no less, the people responsible for those iconic tote bags I used to see in Anthropology, emblazoned with vintage-y images of high-rise flats in the Yaumatei district. Or just about everywhere else in Hong Kong. Aside from the char siew bao range, there were also chee cheong fun, siew mai and two other dimsum staples that I cannot remember. I don’t think they will be an aesthetically appealing addition to my future kitchen, but I must admit the images trigger a primal hunger and craving in me for dimsum.

Cute though they were, I much preferred stuffing my face with the real thang. Dimsum for me is the quintessential Chinese comfort food, and form is as important as function and taste. Siew mai and har kau taken out of those round wooden steamers just wouldn’t taste the same or inspire the same kind of satiety. I also don’t need abalone or crab roe atop my siew mai, just give me a perfectly juicy and well-seasoned nugget of pork and prawn any time! Steaming hot and strong Chinese tea is a most basic pairing with dimsum, the astringency helping to cut through the grease and purported health properties providing some semblance of having had a healthy meal. And egg tarts, warm wobbly custard enveloped by flaky buttery pastry, are in my opinion the perfect way to end any dimsum meal.

Big though I am on tradition, I have been wowed by some winsome new-fangled creations too. The Michelin-starred Tim Ho Wan had a delightfully scrumptious char siew bo lo bao, boasting a filling of honeyed porky treasure, and Dragon King at World Trade Centre boasted lovely leaf-shaped sheng jian bao and cute golden deep-fried gourd-shaped pastries filled with mango and coconut cream. I definitely look forward to paying a fourth visit to the S.A.R. very soon, in search of more dimsum bastions with pre-emptive workouts under my belt!

Wardrobe Matters

Not in this colour, but a refreshing green. A steal as far as Eley Kishimotos go, at just 20% of the original price, thanks to Trove’s mega sale!

And on to my current obsession…

Aside from bands and earrings for the wedding, I haven’t spent money on jewelry in yonks. And I really mean years and years. Then, I saw these lovelies in the Chanel boutique in Hong Kong’s Pacific Place last week when B was checking out another pair of earrings and instantly lusted inwardly, itching to snap them up. But I reined in my impulses and decided to hold off the purchase, figuring that I might blow a fair bit of money in the next two or three days. As we came to the end of our trip though, I had hardly bought anything and therefore decided to buy them at the airport. And buy them I did, after a hilarious bit of drama and exhilarating chase involving a trolley and countless travellators.

I know there are a massive number of counterfeits and knock-offs out on the market, but there is something precious and irresistible about the real article. And of course, the evergreen allure of the Mademoiselle herself, a visionary and trend-setter even after her passing, permeates the brand. I figure I’d start small then move my way up to the pièce de résistance – the Classic Flap bag that I’m seriously considering purchasing. Then again, there have been so many poor quality limitations that I occasionally have my doubts about buying one, but every time I run my hands over the silky lambskin or finger the reassuringly cool and solid gold hardware, my zest is renewed.

Well, a girl can dream, can’t she? Food may nourish the soul but my sartorial gland needs feeding too, especially after a nightmarish three weeks!

Protected: Not Just Lip Service

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

RGBY – HKG style

Four days of non-stop eating and shopping with my best girls – it’s been a long time since I embarked on a trip with zero sight-seeing. Luckily, I didn’t bust out the ol’ wallet too much. Not much pictures to share aside from photos of food, mostly crappy anyway, and some random souvenirs. We did however set out to create a nerdy take on one of Hong Kong’s iconic features: the colourful tiled walls of its MTR stations. On hindsight I wish we had made funny faces at the camera, but given how with every snap there was literally a train-load of passengers gawking at us as if we were fools, we did the best we could. Just how neat is this RGBY collage?!