Wan for you, wan for me

Finally got around to swimming in the Tim Ho Wan feeding pool with all them other crazy queueing fishes. The char siew baos didn’t blow my mind or anything (even though the one plate per pax rationing did) but they were very interesting indeed, fulfilling my childhood fantasy of combining a bolo bun and a char siew bao.

Mum and I went crazy over their steamed egg cake (I think they should ration this instead of the char siew baos!) because good Hogwarts the more you eat the better it gets all you’re thinking is fluffyfluffysomagical and ohmygoshimsofullstahp but you cannot stop. Pure magic.

Apart from that, the shrimp dumplings were meh and so were the vermicelli rolls… just go attack the steamed egg cake and char siew baos. Oh and perhaps the spinach dumplings too. Maybe try to seat yourself to a large table too so that you can bribe its occupants to buy more char siew baos for you.

Singapore – where COE not only stands for ‘Car Ownership Equity’, but also ‘Charsiewbao Ownership Equity’. Well played Tim Ho Wan, well played.

House at Dempsey

Hanging out with our Thai friends before they drop off their daughter to be our in-house guest for the next two months (we’re planning a giant gyoza-making party + picnic for next week!) Lunch at Dempsey talking about guys who are much prettier than girls never goes wrong.

In other news (with truffle fries calling for attention in the background) I am in a very ironic situation. I have been reduced to finding out about my sister’s wellbeing in Cambodia through our Thai friends. Because instagram is more important than calling your family. (I lack the seeming prerequisite for being a human these days, i.e. that of an instagram account. Or whatever technological tools humans trade their humanity for to be more “human”. Oh the irony yet again)

Such is life

I swear by my oolong tea that there

I swear by my oolong tea that there is nothing better than snuggling up in bed with As Told by Ginger when having a fever.

Peace out

Or Piss out (drinking a lot of water here)

SYLVIA PLATH

Ennui

Tea leaves thwart those who court catastrophe,
designing futures where nothing will occur:
cross the gypsy’s palm and yawning she
will still predict no perils left to conquer.
Jeopardy is jejune now: naïve knight
finds ogres out-of-date and dragons unheard
of, while blasé princesses indict
tilts at terror as downright absurd.

The beast in Jamesian grove will never jump,
compelling hero’s dull career to crisis;
and when insouciant angels play God’s trump,
while bored arena crowds for once look eager,
hoping toward havoc, neither pleas nor prizes
shall coax from doom’s blank door lady or tiger.

Blanketed

Have I ever told any of you what a spoilsport my mother is?

It has always been this way; her being the wet blanket with her general reservations and ability to find fault and loopholes in every initially exciting event. I guess that comes with having to look after 3 monkeys at home for half of her life,  monkeys who have as much sense as dodos. (That’s why dodos went kaput: because they didn’t have a mum like ours)

That’s why my sister and I, despite very swiftly and deadly (or so I’d like to believe) turning off my mother’s alarm for this morning, still had a premonition that things would not go according to plan. And true enough, ma didn’t let us down!

Despite crawling out of bed at a (once again I’d like to believe) very swift and silent manner at 5 in the morning, and brushing our teeth at a volume as never heard before, she still woke up, disoriented and thinking that there was a thief in the house. I am glad my mother doesn’t sleep with a baton beside her. But we shooed her back to bed, telling her a partial truth, that we were in charge of breakfast today. Disoriented mum lumbered back to bed and we breathed a very silent sigh of relief, very carefully excavating the car keys which could be a Christmas ornament with all its extravagance being looped together with a thousand other keychains.

“Uncle 早!” So early? Richard the coffee wizard asks. “Yeah 今天帮妈妈买咖啡! 我们先去买菜再回来拿咖啡” (yeah we’re helping our mother to buy coffee today. Will pick up the coffee after getting some vegetables)

Vegetables at the wet market are so expensive nowadays! Almost more expensive than at the grocer’s, but I’m thinking that hey if it’s fresher then it’s better even if it ain’t cheaper. After picking up some mushrooms, peppers and tomatoes for the omelette,we picked up ma’s favourite coffee (and all of ours actually), speeding recklessly home.

“Wake up wake up!!! Why won’t you stir?!” Now we know what ma feels when she has to wake us up. It’s akin to trying to wake fossilised neandrethals up.
With the kettle on and the omelettes being beautifully flipped, toast getting nice and warm in the toaster,  everything was beautiful

With only cutleries and coasters on the dining table (no flowers, store-bought flowers are too ephemeral and ridiculous for our liking), the four of us settled down for breakfast; the last breakfast together for a long long time before sis and dad leave for Cambodia and Thailand respectively, and our house becomes a hostel for our Thai friends for the 2 months (soooo looking forward to figuring out a share-the-toilet schedule).

The wet blanket ended up being wowed, and squealed (!) when the coffee was brought out. Mother obviously underestimates her offsprings’ skills to be resourceful. (I think ‘family’ should belong to the same semantic field as eggs, toast and coffee)

Ma still ended up cleaning the dishes despite the occasion despite our protests – that’s my mum for you. Steady, caring, protective (of dishes) and stoically loving.

It doesn’t matter what name you call your mother by – ma, mother, mudder, mummy, what that unites us to these women universally (besides our withered umbilical cords) is the love that they have shown for us at any one point of our lives. The love is not all tasty and pretty like the omelettes we had today, but love is love all the same, which is beautiful,  because it is imperfect. I won’t call my mother beautiful because a) that is what everyone calls their mum and b) my idea of beauty is ugly, but I will call her my mother and that is all. Mother stands for more than can be expressed, and that suits us just fine. Especially since overtly affectionate terms will definitely get snuffed out by the wet blanket of my mother’s love.

P.s Funky syntax construction today due to the lack of sleep + too much walking pre and post the 5k Nike run yesterday. The walk to locate the starting pen was ironically more exhausting than the run itself!

Apart from that, have a lovely Sunday ahead dear readers, and for the love of flowers, please don’t buy carnations. They’re too monstrous and ugh ok maybe it’s just my dislike for such cultivated horticulture.

Unrest derives largely from that which we don’t have the grace to accept isn’t for us. I can think of so many incidents in my own life in which I’ve struggled only because I couldn’t accept what was innately meant (and not meant) for me. Easier said than done, I know. But the things we leave behind are never as wonderful as those that we eventually find. The path is long and unknown but we continue because we know it’s also one of growth and experience. The most beautiful things arise from the least promising situations… light can only shine in the darkness, right? To have the grace to accept what isn’t meant for you is cultivated by finding hope, trust and faith that you will find greater things, bigger loves and better days. Knowing that when things least look like they’re going to change, that’s usually when they do.

It’s like there’s some extraneous force that can see beyond what you can and can guide you to better things. This is your God, parent and best friend. Finding trust in it is grace. The things you cannot change are the things you’d want to change if you had them. Doesn’t seem like it now, but trust me. The universe has the best understanding of what’s meant for us—especially when we don’t.

There’s a famous Christian parable that I feel applies well to this idea. Please note that I do not affiliate myself with Christianity, so I would like to use this just as text to be analyzed.

One night a man had a dream. he dreamed that he was walking along the beach with the Lord. Across the sky flashed scenes from his life. For each scene, he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand; one belonged to him, and the other to the Lord. When he looked back at the footprints, he noticed that many times there was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that it happened at the lowest and saddest times in his life.

This really bothered him and he questioned the Lord about it. “Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you, you’d walk with me all the way. But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life, there is only one set of footprints. I don’t understand why when I needed you most you would leave me.” The Lord replied, “During your times of trial and suffering, when you only see one set of footprints, was when I carried you.”

This, I believe, is human-projection of the idea that when it least seems the universe is on your side, it’s most guiding you and carrying you. It aligns with my overarching belief that the common themes throughout religion and spirituality in general are the things we should most note. That is how I’ve built my own spirituality and I think that even if you decide to practice one definitive religion, it’s still important to consider the ideas and principles of others.

I digress. The point is, this idea of a universe that knows more than we do and guides us when we most feel that we are alone is an idea that has been discussed and perpetuated for years. I hope that you consider this within the context of your own struggles. This too shall pass, my friends.

-Thought catalog

Readers of fiction are not deceived, but commit themselves to a temporary, experimental belief. What we call illusion is the knowing acceptance of an illusion effect. – Samuel Richardson

Stop imperialism, stop eating white food!

Have had a great weekend so far – had me time (shut it, grocery shopping can count as me time!) , friends time (met up for lunch at a quaint little cafe and for ice cream to celebrate Reuel’s pre-conscription), and family time (currently heading out for Turkish food to celebrate dad’s birthday)!

Even Bun Bun seems to be having fun with his new toy; attacking it that is.

Our shower head also broke so we are all currently squatting down on the floor using the pail, scooping out water in a manner most dignified I suppose. Very much a throwback to the 90s a.k.a when we were children and mum smothered us in shampoo and her soapy love simultaneously

They say that food heals and right now I believe it too, as much as I tell myself that I don’t want to.