Homeward Bound

I'm going home. Spontaneously. On the spur of the moment. Unplanned. I'm like Clint Eastwood in the Bridges of Madison County, where the lonely Iowa housewife falls in lust with this ageing stranger with a strong sense of adventure.

[scene]

Robert: Well, from Italy to Iowa - that's a story!

(Francesca smiles) Whereabouts in Italy?

Francesca: Small town on the eastern side no one's ever heard of called Bari.

Robert: Oh yeah, Bari. I've been there.

Francesca: (surprised) No, really?

Robert: Oh, yeah. Actually, I had an assignment in Greece and I had to go through Bari to get the boat at Brindisi. But it looked so pretty I got off and stayed for a few days. Breathtaking country.

Francesca is overcome by the idea of such freedom.

Francesca: You just... got off the train because it looked pretty?

[end scene]

Hahaha! As if I had the 'idea of such freedom' to overcome any women! This did require some thought processes and self deliberation, but I am going home on pretty short notice, so I am going to give myself the credit of pseudo-spontaneity!

And yes, I did discuss it with K, and she sweetly said yes - we're putting absence making the heart grow fonder to the proverbial test!

So get ready, Malaysia, because aku pulang ni!

Random Memories: Seven Years Old



I remember the white school shoes that we always had to wear to school as children. I have no idea why white was the preferred colour, given that a day's worth of walking, playing marbles, running around as pretend cops and robbers, kicking the soccer ball, kicking your friends, and walking back in the muddy rain from school were bound to stain the shoes pretty quicksmart!

I remember how we were meant to wash our shoes weekly as well - of which the instructions were:

1) Remove your shoe laces
2) Scrub your shoes with soap until all the dirt is removed
3) Wash the shoe laces
4) Leave shoes to dry
5) Apply shoe whitener (Kiwi TM shoe whiteners) to the entire shoe, avoiding the soles of the shoe. Repeat with the other shoe.
6) Leave shoes to dry again
7) Reapply clean shoe laces to shoe

Sounds tedious, right?

But considering the rewards of a clean pair of white shoes, it actually was tedious. Haha!

That's why we would often jump straight to steps 5 and 6, ignoring steps 1-4 and modifying step 7. We would apply thick layers of whitener to the shoes, hoping that it would sufficiently win over the dirt by sheer thickness of whitener layers, and freely coat our shoelaces in the process as well.

Most times this tactic worked well, except that our shoelaces would harden, making them difficult to remove. When enough remorse has built up over the years, and we make it our New Year's Resolution to follow steps 1 through 7, suddenly we realise that the shoelaces were now an integral part of the shoes.

Any extra force to try and prove otherwise would often result in your shoelaces snapping, releasing years of dirt and powdered shoe whitener into your face. The shoelace, having performed its final act of vengeance from years of abuse, lets out a sigh and dies in your hand.

Which is why the smarter ones among us chose Velcro.

==============

This reminds me of this singsong poem we used to chant in selecting members for cops and robbers and other teambuilding exercises in primary school. Everyone would stand around in a circle with one foot into the circle, and then one boy will start counting, separating the teams:

Whose shoe is a dir-ty shoe, Please go out and wash your dir-ty shoe! You, cop!
Whose shoe is a dir-ty shoe, Please go out and wash your dir-ty shoe! You, robber!

Can anyone else remember any other chants for selecting team members? I seem to remember that there was a Cantonese one as well.

I do remember that there was one more, for the shoe-treading game of Pepsi Cola, where everyone stood in a circle, then took three large steps back, and then the nonsensical singsong chant would begin to determine who would start first:

Pepsi Cola
Ice Cream Soda
Curi bola
Coca Cola!

(or something to that effect. We were part of the 7 year old's Dead Poets' Society, as you can tell.)

The objective was to jump on your friends' white school shoes. You could jump towards someone offensively, or you could jump away from them defensively.

At the end of the day, your newly washed Pallas Jazz shoes would have changed race, making you go home to wonder which evil kid thought up this stupid game in the first place, neccesitating further cleaning with steps 5 and 6.

Sometimes the shoes were so dirty that you had actually to go through steps 1 through 7. But not before your shoelace snapped in your face.

And then, you want to find the kid who came up with this ridiculous game. So that you could hold his little wriggling body down and take turns to step on his stupid white school shoes.

Road Trip Victoria: Sunny Ridge Farms

One of the many stops along the Brighton drive. You could see the city in the distance.

Pr had a friend visiting from Edinburgh, Scotland, so we decided on a semi-spontaneous trip down to the beautiful Mornington Peninsula. Final destination: Sunny Ridge Strawberry Farms.

We drove down St Kilda road and along the scenic Brighton bayside drive, stopping on the way for pictures. What I really wanted to take were those brightly coloured boathouse shacks that adorned the beach ($50000 - 60000 for a shack, I've been told!) but unfortunately they were just too far away for my non-telescopic-so-I-can't-take-pictures-of-the-moon camera phone to handle. Ah well, we'll save it for another trip, then!

It was a lovely day for a drive, with the most pleasant of company, and the overhead sun finally braving itself to peek through the morning rainclouds. It took us a bit over an hour to reach our destination, and our first stop was a restaurant for lunch.

La Petanque is the area's best kept secret, a quaint little restaurant which one would easily have missed if they weren't looking for it. They had a beautiful little garden of roses outside, forming a guard-of-honour as you approached the homely wooden structure that is the restaurant.


La Petanque, with its welcoming wooden exterior and wonderful entrees: Duck something's-which-name-is-too-fancy-for-me-to-pronounce, scallop something's-which-name-is-too-fancy-for-me-to-pronounce, and soupe du jour (soup of the day) - a cold soup, which-name-is-too-fancy-for-me-to-pronounce

The first thing we got served were just simple bread rolls, some olives in balsamic vinegar and a plate of olive oil. We were so hungry that the warm bread rolls were more than welcome into our tummies, and we were hungry for more! The entrees were pretty good - we each had some thing which was way too cultured for my tummy, but it was a lesson readily learnt!


(Top left, clockwise) The roast duck breast, the Nicoise salad, the amazing strawberry minestrone soup, and the heavenly honey glazed pork belly.

And then on to the mains - two of them ordered the roast duck breast (that, I can pronounce), I had the Nicoise (pronounced nee sua, apparently. Pretentious French people, spelling one thing and then saying another!) salad which was some yummy tuna sitting on top of a (wow) salad.

The winner of the day in terms of main dishes had to be the honey glazed pork belly. It was like siew yok, but more like the Audrey-Hepburn-in-Breakfast-at-Tiffany's siew yok, if you know what I mean. I am ashamed to say that I have never tasted pork cooked so well in all my twentysomething years (what?! I'm not telling you my age!) as a Chinese person.

Only one of us had desserts, as we were going to Sunny Ridge afterwards anyways. It was a strawberry minestrone (pronounced mini stroni, apparently. Pretentious Italian people, spelling one thing and then saying another!) soup thing, and oh, my, goodness, it was beautiful. It was like drinking the Champagne of Slurpees.

After walking out of La Petanque dazed from the experience, we somehow stumbled into Sunny Ridge nearby, finally.


(Background) Sunny Ridge Strawberry Farms (Inset, top) Scones with strawberry jam (Inset, bottom) Chocolate dipping sauce with, you guessed it, strawberries and icing sugar.

Sunny Ridge is famed for its strawberries, and is open to customers for only a busy three-to-four-month period when the strawberries are in season. Here you can buy all sorts of strawberry produce - strawberry liqueur, strawberry jams, strawberry dipping sauce, strawberry chutneys, strawberry ice creams - rumours are they're planning to build a condominium made entirely out of strawberries.

You can also sit down in their wonderful cafe and have an assortment of desserts. Pu settled on the fresh strawberries with chocolate dipping sauce.

I, sick of the sight of all things strawberry, settled on some scones (pronounced scons, apparently. Pretentious English people, spelling one thing in their own language and then saying another!) with strawberry jam (er...). It was good strawberry jam, in my defence! And the cream that came with it was right out of Enid Blyton story books!

You know that depressing silence you have on the way back from trips? Yeah, we had a bit of that, but interrupted the solemnity to visit Linton's wonderful home and garden shop, for all your home and gardening needs: -


Oh so pretty... the Linton Garden and Homes shop. Notice the little sculptures made of bronze below: echidnas, herons and friendly spitting iguanas.

Pr actually ended up buying a Venus flytrap. It was quite cute, actually. Cute and deadly. Reminds me of a lot of my sister.

All in all, a pretty fun, fulfilling day of sightseeing and gastronomical delights, and recommended to all those who want to do something a little different here in Victoria.

Last Weekend

It was a weekend of too much indulgence, if you ask me!

Saturday

Slogging over the carpets in an attempt to steam clean it ourselves. Results = clean carpet with 3 years of dirt removed. Also, musty smelling carpet which has yet to dry properly.

Lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant.

The most amazing durian milkshake hidden away in a corner off the Commonwealth Bank on Victoria Street, Richmond.

Swedish meatballs at IKEA.

Bowling at Highpoint. I haven't bowled in forever, and I still have not lost my touch! Caressing the ball, assuming the position of the serious bowler, and then taking the measured steps to release the ball with the grace of a ballet dancer... into the gutter. Badminton's more my sport (I'm bad at that too).

Celebratory frozen Coke for me and H for winning the bowling competition (soh yan yau soh fook - a Chinese way of saying I accidentally had a good bowling game)

Off to H's house for a game of MarioKart and mahjong. (Mum, I promise that there was no gambling involved. However, there may have been clothes involved. Hahahaha!)

Sunday

Meeting up with long lost friends returning from the break at church.

Going to lunch at Tartine in Armadale. Quaint little gourmet food shop. My stomach was confused by all the yummy tasting healthy food that we had. For a second time, I am almost converted to a life of vegetarianism. And amazing desserts! Vegetarians must make up for the good karma they earn as a result of not harming animals by eating sinful desserts instead.

K whipping up the homeliest of homecooked dinners with such startling simplicity. I have much to learn to match her domestic goddess status, but I must say I made a pretty mean steamed rice myself.

*releases belt to allow his belly to flop out* Homer Simpson, you've got nothing on me!

Mamma Mia In Movies

I brought her to watch our first movie. It was Notting Hill, and it starred the boyish Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts, whose smile could generate solar power. She sat next to me in the dark cinema, and glared intently at the screen, as she did not have many opportunities to go to the movies.

Halfway through the film, Hugh Grant somehow got stuck attempting to scale a gate of a park with Julia, and the cinema laughed. Except for her. I turned my head and her eyes were shut behind her glasses, the brightness of the screen flickering as it illuminated her face.

I complained about it later, and she was sheepish, saying that the cinema was very dark and the seats were really comfortable.

Another chance a few months later, and it was Julia Roberts again - she was on a roll that year - this time as the acerbic single-mother-turned-lawyer Erin Brockovich.

Don't worry! she reassured me as I hastened to remind her of our previous trip to the movies. Mummy do tai chi nowadays, very alert. Sure can stay awake one!

Five minutes into the movie, and there is a rare funny moment. Everyone around the cinema laughs along with me; everyone, that is, except for the seat next to me. I turned, and am too amused at the sight of her being fast asleep again to be upset.

I smile in defeat and turn to enjoy the rest of the movie.

Happy birthday Mummy!

Mr. Eastwood

Changeling/Gran Torino

Dear Mr. Eastwood sir,

You are 79 years old this year, sir. Many men your age would have gladly sat down and waited for death to come and take them, or are pottering around a golf course trying to while away their golden years.

You, on the other hand, dear sir, have the audacity to make two amazing films and then release them around the same time as if it were the simplest thing to do. And you have the balls to act and look cool in one of them as well.

I'm afraid this whole directing amazing movies in your twilight years thing is unacceptable, and puts us all younger men to shame. When we look at what you're doing with your time and abilities and compare it to the good that we do, frankly, we might as well kill ourselves.

Take Changeling for example. It starred the classically beautiful Ms. Jolie and brought us back to the late 1920s, a whole lifetime ago where women did not share the equality they have today, and where corrupt cops could do whatever they wanted to. You showed us how one woman's persistence, integrity and hope could shine in a time of darkness and pure evil. It was a very visceral film, dear sir, and I am ashamed to admit that I felt very involved as an audience member.

And then just when I thought it couldn't get better, you came up with Gran Torino, starring yourself. I have never loved a gruff old bitter war veteran more than I have loved you in that role, dear sir. And yes, you are still the embodiment of machoism regardless of your advanced years. I wouldn't like to meet you in a dark alley, good sir. You might blow my head off and then sleep like a baby.

And then you show off towards the end of the movie, playing this beautiful song which you composed, your old voice trailing off, and I would be really sad if it were the last time I heard you singing. How dare you play with my emotions like that.

All I'm trying to say is, Mr. Eastwood, you are one amazing son-of-a-bitch, and you're a prick for making us young gooks look like pansies in comparison. Please keep doing what it is that you're doing, and let us savour the best of you while we still have the pleasure of your company.

Your supportive, totally unjealous fan,
hK.

She's Not That Into You

It is a Shanghainese restaurant, along one of Melbourne city's many small hidden alleyways. It is Sunday evening, but the place is obviously popular, packed with patrons forced to share tables with absolute strangers.

The prices are cheap but so is the lighting and the ambience of the place. Tea and soya sauce were all self-service but most patrons didn't mind. No one's here for the service, anyway. They're here for 15 dumplings at $6.50.

He is sitting across from her uneasily.

You could see that he doesn't go on too many dates, and has tried to dress his best for this occasion. His Chinese eyes are hidden behind rimless glasses. He is wearing a slightly garish light indigo long-sleeved shirt, buttoned at the wrists, with a black T-shirt underneath, over his thin frame. A steel necklace dangles out of place with the whole backdrop.

She is sitting across from him aloof.

It could have been a blind date. A set up. Come on, give this guy a try! He's a friend of mine, you might like him! Maybe she had her doubts confirmed when she first saw him.

Chinese.
Probably doesn't speak good English.
What's up with that shirt? Oh my God, did his Mum dress him?

And then the night probably just got worse when he brought her to the restaurant for dinner.

What the hell?! I dressed up for this?
Oh great, he's either a poor student or a real tightass.

She is not happy to be there, and she made sure he knew it. The silence and disinterest emanating from her has built an impenetrable wall of ice between them.

Their food arrives after a few minutes of awkward silence.

He tries to chip away at the wall of ice.

"So, how's your food so far, do you like this restaurant?" His English comes through well despite the traces of his heavy Chinese accent.

A grammatically-correct wrong first question. He has buried himself further.

She shrugs with adolescent disdain.

"So-so only for you lah is it? That's okay," he smiles weakly, trying to recover.

The silence between them is as obvious as the noise around them, friends and lovers sharing meals over chatter and laughter; a stark contrast.

"So do you cook?"

"Yeah," she says, never lifting her eyes. Her chopsticks play a quick game of catch with the elusive dumplings on the plate.

He looks at her and tries to catch the smallest of openings - a faint smile perhaps, or a glimmer of interest.

The Frost Queen offers him no mercy. His eyes don't even lift to meet hers anymore.

The routine then becomes predictable. Three minutes of silence. Then he sums up enough courage and tries a weak question from his limited repertoire.

"What's your favourite colour?"
"Do you like what you do?"
"Do you like music?"

She is intent on destroying whatever little assumptions he had about this, and her arsenal is plenty.

The monosyllabic answer.
The bored sigh.
The folded arms.
Looking at her watch.
Checking herself in the mirror.
The semi-closed eyes concentrating on her tongue searching its way through her left cheek and teeth, her lips curled into a frown.

They finish their meal in silence, and she delivers the final blow. Let's get out of here, she commands, already half standing from her chair before he can react. He lets out a defeated chuckle and reaches for his wallet to pay for the pleasure of being emasculated tonight.



Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.
- Charlie Brown

A Visit To The Farmer's Market

Hello!

Today was a bright sunny day. But there was a lot of smoke in the air. Smoke which made me cough. From all the burning trees.

K brought me to the Farmer's Market today. I was excited because it was my first time in the market. It was a farm, too, also.

There, we got to see my favorite animals like:

chooks...


Afro chickens.

horsies...


Horsing around.

and my favourite moo-moos...

We got to moooo-ve it!

There were many and lots of people at the market.

There were many and lots of things you could buy at the market:

Vegetables...



Olives...



Fresh flowers...



And fresh yummy bacon and eggs for breakfast!



We bought some onions. And then some tomatoes. And then some topa..poto...potatoes. They were all expensive. K said because they were organic. What is organic? Does organic mean it tastes better?

Our bag was heavy so we carried it together. Secretly, I let K do most of the work. Ha ha hee!

We then went for brekkie together. At here:



Many and a lot of people had the same idea:



We ended up buying this egg and bacon pizza for breakfast:



This is K. See how she is smiling. This is because she has not yet eaten the pizza.



She stopped smiling after trying the pizza.

It was a very good day today. Sorry to all the chickens for eating their children. Oh, and sorry to the pigs too, also.

Wicked!

The Wicked shall prosper :(from top left, anti-clockwise) The sign that greets you on the way out; the green daiquiri sold in the theatre, cleverly named the Ozmopolitan; the beautifully designed set)

Last Christmas, my brother was away in Malaysia, but he had left some Christmas gifts around the house for me to open. The first was a pack of Magic (tm) cards, a new craze which he has rediscovered, and which our household plays regularly nowadays. But in the Christmas card that accompanied the gift, he actually wrote down that there was a second gift - and I rushed to find hidden underneath a beret.

It was...

... another Christmas card!

And in this Christmas card, there were another two Magic (tm) cards, an evil looking black witch, and a white witch. It actually took some time before the brilliance of my brother dawned upon me, and realised that this was an invitation to watch Wicked - the musical!

We finally ended up going last Friday (the 13th, funnily enough) and it was a really good experience! The mood was set from the moment we entered the Regent theatre - the drinks fridges were lighted with green fluorescent lights, and they had a special cocktail being sold - the Ozmopolitan - a brilliantly named green daquiri. You could buy lots of merchandise as well - shirts, jumpers, a witch hat and even the emerald green glasses as well!

The show itself was a clever retelling of the story of the Wicked Witch of Oz, and how she came to be. Wicked is described as a modern classic by many, following in the footsteps of Phantom, Les Miserables and Miss Saigon. It certainly has lived up to that title by having a long run around the world, and has been in Melbourne for close to eight months now.

The set was immaculate, with the mechanisms masterfully crafted - everything from a dragon to the Wizard of Oz's imposing mechanical head on a chair. The storyline was naturally interesting as everyone was seeing an old classic through new (emerald) glasses.

The actors really gave their best, but the most impressive performer was easily Amanda Harrison as the lead role, playing Elphaba Tropp, the Wicked Witch of the West. She was a green witch you had to fall in love with, and her voice was just perfect for the role!

The songs were not overly memorable, though, but a standout one is definitely this one:

The inspirational "Defying Gravity". Unfortunately I couldn't get a good clip with Amanda Harrison in it.

This song really stuck with me, and the music behind it is indescribably uplifting!

All in all, it was a really good musical, and apt to be deemed a modern classic, although my brother was right also in pointing out that the story moved too quickly and didn't allow the audience enough time to soak in the emotions.

But for three hours of a escapism and fun, follow the Yellow Brick Road down to the Regent for a Wicked night out!
=============
(K Low - Sorry I couldn't reply your last comment... I can't access it somehow as my icon doesn't turn into a clickable hand when I put it over the comments link! But Poor Boy is definitely worth a watch, and let me know how Grace turns out!)

Poor Boy

The beautiful new MTC. There are actually words punctuated along the wall (click to enlarge photo).


Poor Boy - Image taken from the Melbourne Theatre Company. That is Guy Pearce looking a little like Chris Martin from Coldplay.

Carrying on the theme this year of new experiences, I went to the Melbourne Theatre Company for the first time ever to watch a play. The building itself was fairly new, and Poor Boy was meant to showcase the new theatre. Although plays can be a hit and miss sometimes, I am glad to report that Poor Boy was actually quite a hit.

Written by Matt Cameron and Tim Finn, this was a multilayered examination of two families in various states of dysfunction, both families' path crossing with a supernatural occurence when one family's dead son inhabits the body of the other family's seven year old boy.

Guy Pearce (of Memento fame) performed really well and had an outstanding singing voice (who would've thought it!) but the rest of the cast really carried the show as well. It was a really symbolic and detailed scrutiny of the sins of favoritism within the family, children filling in the void of absent parents, the desperate search for approval and belonging within the family, and the resolution of grief over the loss of a loved one.

The music suited the play's atmosphere, with a live six piece band providing the mood, but this song was distinctly good from the play:



All in all, it was a really good experience, and recommended to anyone in search of a mirror reflecting our lives.

(Day seats at $ 16 dollars - 8 seats per day if you get to MTC at nine a.m. Worth waking up for!)

The World Reacts

The devastation continues as firefighters attempt to contain blazes in regional country Victoria

This weekend saw the worst bushfires that Victoria had ever seen. 173 people are dead at the time of reading, and the death toll is expected to rise in the next few days or so.

Pictures are littered across the local dailies and indeed, around the world, which show immense devastation - rows upon rows of trees charred to embers, cars burnt down to their white corpses, family members and loved ones lost, businesses and homes ravaged to the ground. Many people died fighting to defend their homes.

What is staggering is that some of these fires were deliberately lit. This is pure evil, and there's no other way to describe it. One struggles to fathom the minds of these arsonists, these mass murderers as Kevin Rudd so aptly described them, and I pray that they will be brought to justice swiftly.

Temperatures of 45 degrees and strong winds are but symptoms, too, of a world that is lashing out against the abuse it has had to suffer all these years in the hands of man claiming progress. While we burn in hellfire, elsewhere around the world floodwaters have begun to immerse certain parts of the world.

These next few days will be remembered in the hearts and minds of all Victorians, grieving a national tragedy of so many lives lost; both to senseless acts of malice, and to the unbridled rage of Mother Nature scorned.

Our thoughts and prayers remain with all those who have lost lives, loved ones and whose stories will never be the same again.

Bright Sunshiny Day

Day 2

Today, I:

said farewell to a friend
had the corn fritters at MART station
earned myself a new bookshelf
walked with her along the river
had a really good homemade dinner
loved orange poppyseed cake in thin slices

Random Memories: Every Recess Period Since I Was Nine



I was never given money as a child to go to school with until I was nine. Throughout the ages of seven and eight, I would always be given a tupperware of peanut-butter-and-(insert mystery ingredient here) sandwiches to take to school, whose bread would harden by the time I took it out of the tupperware.

Still I was easily pleased as a child, and never knew any better. I think that it was only when I was nine that my friends told me about this place called the school canteen.

What is wrong with you? Did you need a seeing-eye dog as a child? I hear you ask. How could you not know that there was a school canteen there! you protest.

Well, in my defence, I loved my seeing-eye dog and I will not have you speak about him like that! *runs off crying into the distance* Hahaha!

The canteen was almost unnoticeable if you didn't know where it was. We actually shared our canteen with the high school next door, and the entrance from our end was located right at the perimeter of our primary school.

==========

We would walk past these foreboding metallic gates, then make our way down a roughly hewn flight of uneven concrete steps shaded by the zinc roof that continued as far as the steps did.

Our school was located on a small hill, with the canteen located halfway down the slope, sticking out of the hill precariously (which genius architect came up with this one?) This would explain the angled descent, and down below us was the bustling Petaling Street and Puduraya bus station.

There were railings to the side which we could grab on to and prevented us from falling to our deaths as we rushed down the stairs to the canteen whenever the recess bell rang. (Imagine falling to your death on an empty stomach! I'm hungrrryryyyyyy!!!! plop.)

There was not much cover apart from the overhead roof, and so the rain could very well soak you, making the steps and railings slippery as you ran down on a stormy day. (I'm wet and hungrrryryyyyyy!!!! squish.)

==========

The first thing that you noticed about the canteen was that it was very dark. The fluorescent lights were on almost throughout the day, and despite a bright sunny day, the angle of the canteen and the crowding of the nearby hotels and bus stations meant that you would almost always eat your meals in artificial light.

Which suited the canteen operators who did not want you to know what was in the meals. (It's chicken, really. How would you know what cat tastes like?! Go away!)

To be fair, our school had one of the best canteens in the KL area, as the secondary school headmaster made it a point that we would not be fed junk food.

And so you had your choice of:

(Gerai 1) (Stall 1 etc.)
Nasi Lemak
Roti Canai
Lontong
Kuih-Muih Melayu

(Gerai 2)
Kuih-Muih Cina
Manisan Cina

(Gerai 3)
Laksa

(Gerai 4)
Chee Cheong Fun

(Gerai 5)
Nasi Campur Cina

(Gerai 6)
Har Mee
Loh Mee
Economical Fried Mee

(Gerai 7)
Hot Dogs
Burgers
Dessert

(Gerai 8)
Drinks

(Gerai 8 1/2)
This Indian auntie selling kacang putih (assorted nuts) and vadai (fried Indian donuts) in her little portable stall at the corner.

==========

My absolute favorite as a primary schoolkid was this:


Economical fried meehoon - good even in bad financial times.

I frequented Stall no.6 so much as a child that the owners of that stall should write me a thank you letter for putting their child through college. Seriously. The couple has been doing it for twenty years or more now, and I saw them still going at it the last time I visited school!

I would always get them to add a bit of sweet brown sauce to the fried noodles, and one day discovered you could get them to put some of the Har Mee soup onto the fried noodles as well! So much bliss for the low low price of thirty sen! (I can still taste it in my mouth now!)

I would love it so much that I would literally lick the plate clean. I remember that it was my good friend in Standard Three, Hoh Chee Choong who taught me how to do that (how come you never forget these names?).

Our tiny tongues would come out and lift every last remaining strand of fried noodles off the green plastic plates, much to the dismay of the owners (who later came to accept it) and the disgust of our friends (who later came to stop being our friends).

As the years went on, though, I grew out of licking plates, and economical fried noodles. I worked my way around the canteen, and the older I grew, the less I frequented stall no. 6.

The uncle and auntie recognised this as well, no longer seeing in my teenage eyes that little boy who would come down day after day, and amuse and flatter them by paying their economical fried noodles the ultimate compliment.

The Year Away

Last Friday was officially my last day at work for this year, and I am grateful to finally be able to wake up for a couple of weeks or so and not worry about work but do a few things that I have been meaning to do.

I'm going to scatter my documentations of my year off. I know I don't have the discipline to keep a day to day diary, and you don't have the patience to read a daily journal, so I will be brief, and it will be sporadic. (See? If I keep my New Year resolutions realistic, then there is no expectation. With no expectation, there can be no disappointment. Your mind has just been blown.)

Day 1

Today I:

slept at 6.30 a.m. playing Magic cards and watching Liverpool pull of a miracle win over Chelsea
spent a deep and meaningful (yay D&Ms!) discussion time with a friend who has also taken some time off this year
drove along the Eastern Freeway past a girl with golden tresses standing on one of the overhead bridges, getting wet in the rain, just watching the thousands of cars zooming past below her along the rainsplashed roads
had my hair cut by an East Timorese woman, in a style that I like
walked past a sign outside my favourite wineshop which read "Kids in the backseat causes accidents; Accidents in the backseat causes kids"
ran around doing errands, on two hours' sleep
celebrated a birthday, reminiscing about the days as a schoolkid
sat in her car and reflected

Random Memories: Every Primary School Day Until I Was Twelve

At the age of nine, we had all become accustomed to school. The early morning starts, the dangerous school bus rides always overflowing beyond its capacity

(This bus can take

42 seating
12 standing passengers)

and school itself.

I remember the morning assemblies - a court filled with a chaos of students and schoolbags strewn around, some catching up with friends, some catching friends in a game of police and thief. This cacophony of chatter and laughter would pervade the still dawn air, an eerie pale blue colour hanging over everything as the day waited for the sun to warm up.

The school bell would ring unexpectedly in the midst of all this gamut, the annoying Brrriiiinnngggggggggg! like the loudest alarm clock you ever heard piercing the air, silencing even the loudest among us. Like clockwork the children would find the way to their classes, organising themselves from the shortest in the front to the tallest at the back, Standard Ones standing to the right most of the court, while the Standard Six kids would be lined up on the left.

Angkat! Turun! Angkat! Turun! (Lift your hands! Drop them!Lift your hands! Drop them!) boomed the voice of the Discipline Teacher from the microphone, and instinctively, our hands would rise into the air, coming to a rest on the shoulders of our classmates in front of us, and dropping in repetitive motion. This was how we ensured that our rows of two were straight.

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The Head Prefect would take over the microphone, giving announcements, and on Mondays, we would sing the national anthem - the Negaraku, followed by Malaysia Berjaya (Victorious Malaysia) and recite the Rukunegara.

Just to prove to you how these songs have stuck into my head after 11 years of singing and reciting them -

Negaraku, tanah tumpahnya darahku, rakyat hidup, bersatu dan padu, rahmat bahagia, Tuhan kurniakan, Raja kita, selamat bertakhta, rahmat bahagia, Tuhan kurniakan, Raja kita, selamat bertakhta.

Malaysia, Malaysia, negara yang jaya, Malaysia, Malaysia, bebas dan merdeka, seluruh rakyat bersatu, berpadu, menentang antara murka, kami ingin berdamai, di antara bangsa, dengan sorak sorai gembira, di seluruh negara, Malaysia sudah berjaya, rakyat makmur dan sentosa!

Maka kami, rakyat Malaysia, berikrar, akan menumpukan seluruh tenaga, dan usaha kami, untuk mencapai, cita cita tersebut berdasarkan atas, prinsip-prinsip yang berikut: Kepercayaan kepada Tuhan, Kesetiaan kepada Raja dan negara, Keluhuran Perlembagaan, Kedaulatan undang-undang, Kesopanan dan Kesusilaan.

The Headmaster would then assume his position of power behind the microphone on the concrete elevation in the middle, and, in his booming voice, lecture us on matters of discipline and remind us to be well behaved. This could go on for a whole study period some times, much to the joy of the kids who would miss a forty minutes of study, but to the chagrin of the teachers, who wonder how they were going to make up for lost time.

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Occasionally, if we were really lucky, we would be treated to a display of public caning. This was in the good old days, where the severest of crimes among students - fighting, stealing, being involved with gangs - would be punished by a public display of corporal punishment.

The Headmaster would wield his rotan (cane) like an old familiar friend, the student in question would assume the position, his hands on a wooden table set up for the occasion, and then the Headmaster would begin by first explaining why he's about to do what he's about to do. It was a mixture of embarrassment and a warning to the rest of us, and then the poor student, trembling and ashamed, would be treated to three of the best by the Headmaster's well trained swing.

If you were really unlucky, that poor student would be you.

Once assembly was done, we would all pick up our too-heavy schoolbags, sling them over our shoulders and then take turns to trudge up to our classes in our rows of two, starting from the outermost classes inwards. A day of learning awaited us, another long day of books and furious teachers, and of making up games to play with our friends.