The Friends Understand

I was all ready to head out to a much anticipated dinner with the friends. When the text came in, the measured tone betrayed its utmost urgency. This type of texts don't come in often, thank goodness. But when they do, it shoots right up to top priority. No guilt. I dropped everything, and went straight to this one elderly person on my roster.

Bit of drama. Understatement. Blood, sweat and tears. Screaming involved. Not that different from the usual pee, poop and drool. Did what had to be done. By the end of the stay, there was resolution. Not exactly ideal, but it was a deal I accepted in lieu of a far more severe and upsetting scenario.

As I walked into night, the beeps from the phone made me grin. The team-mates. I'm reminded that the awesome team-mates are out there, doing the same (more or less) things right at this moment in another venue. At the end of the day, literally, these are what matters most.

Fish Head Curry

The colleagues said that Ocean Curry Fish Head at Telok Ayer Street is good, and trotted off to tapau a portion for our lunch. Peak lunch hour in the Central Business District mean long queues, even if one heads out at 11.30am, simply because everyone else has the same idea. It took a while before the colleagues came back with a giant tub, and plenty of side dishes.

Never tried it before. The curry was oddly, not spicy. Surprisingly mild. The fish was fresh and that was sufficient. Made for a filling lunch. Ate more steamed rice than necessary. Curry and rice just go well together. The up-side about having so many dishes and humans at a table, I could pick what I want, and leave the rest untouched without having to justify dietary preferences. Nobody would notice!

Towards the end of the meal, I scooped around the tub, asked if anyone wanted more fish. They shook their heads. Wriggled my toes in absolute delight. The gelatin around both eyes was intact. Nobody wanted them. SO...ALL MINE. YUMMY.

Testing Out The Colors

While practising our brewing, we go back-to-basics, and condense all that we know into a single cup of tea. These Yixing clay cups are made from the same base material which occurs naturally in purple (Zisha), red and yellow. Mixing in magnesium oxide results in the blue; chrome oxide leans it green, and cobalt oxide gives you black; iron oxide will give you pink hues, etc.

Personally, I don't dictate specific cups to complement specific teas. Doesn't matter. I prefer my cups to sit in a neutral material that's either ceramic or porcelain. (No, ceramic is not porcelain, and porcelain is a specific sub-set of ceramics.) I like unglazed porcelain. Thick and dense ceramics are fine too. Love that raw feel.

Last weekend, the (tea) partner and I pitted our tastebuds against our supposed knowledge of how a familiar tea is supposed to taste, in our minds, against the cups. Away from our different tea teachers and outside of a rigid classroom with many subjective opinions, cocooned at home, we sought a dependable experiment of sorts. Sometimes, we really don't want differing opinions to cloud the results of the experiment. The flavor profiles shifted quite significantly in each cup, and varied even from brew to brew. We tried out three steeps of one batch of tea leaves and called it a day. Too much tea from earlier already.

In The Mundane

I'm ashamed to confess that I gave up on this book about three stories in. Well, not in closing the pages and shoving it to the back of the shelves. More like...rushing through and wondering where this book is going with its stories. There's a certain theme running through which isn't what I'd usually pick out to read even for English fiction. I tend to avoid those genres.

The design of the cover and the chapter separators is good. Flowing, shadows, floral, of uncertainty, of not leaving traces of the characters' stamp on life. The gentle flow doesn't do anything to stimulate the-already-strained brain that takes double the time to go through a book in this language.

A compilation of 10 short stories about city living, the book isn't technically difficult to plough through. But I really couldn't make head or tail of it. Perhaps my understanding of Chinese is weak. Totally unfamiliar with the vernacular slang of certain phrases. The way the author goes into details describing the everyday isn't evocative.  I found it just...really...boring. The meticulous treatment felt tedious. Sure, there's beauty in the mundane everyday living of all the characters in the stories. But I wasn't drawn into their worlds. Struggled to find meaning in its peaceability and nothingness.

So yeah, there. Gave up. The book in question is《塗雲記》, the latest novel by Taiwanese author 陳淑瑤. It's quite a departure from her previous picturesque novels of small towns. (For more information about the book and author in Chinese, read here, here and here.)

Old School Delights

There had to be time made to fill the tummy at some point between events on a day when the schedule screamed hectic, calling for three changes of clothes in order to suit considerations of both weather, and dress codes.

That made for a late lunch at Old School Delights. Our first visit to the casual eatery that holds the vibe of a school canteen, courtesy of Ivan's brilliant suggestion. Told Ivan that I wanted a venue nearby that served food fast and at a decent standard. Didn't ask the rest what they wanted. Simply assumed they would be too hungry to object unless it was such an obviously terrible suggestion.

Got what we wanted at Old School Delights. Strolled in just as other tables were finishing up their meal. Food was surprisingly good. Limited menu, but the kitchen clearly could cook every item to satisfaction. Local staples which held recipes raking up long-forgotten tastes in a plate. The mee siam, was excellent, as was the kueh pie tee. The hot day meant that the iced barley was a welcome relief.

In The Still Of The Night

I like standing at the balcony to stare out at the still-twinkling lights of the city. I like the crisp smell in the night air, when there isn't acrid haze lurking or fumes from engines of every kind. It feels like taking a step back, clear the mind and have a think over...anything, usually cumbersome questions about...life.

This little pocket of time would usually last no more than an hour. It's a space for self-reflection. I tend not to do that while swimming or at pilates, and especially not during parkour. Sure, I take a walk to clear the mind, but that's exactly what I do- clear it. I admire the greenery, but not to dwell on anything except placing one foot in front of the other and looking up at the vast sky. After a workout or a walk, I'd only have a conclusion to niggly issues if there's already an idea in mind that simply needs sharpening over the next few hours or days. To properly reflect and think of solutions, or alternatives, I need to sit down, fixate on the specific issues, and work out the steps or sequences necessary to achieve said desired outcomes. Even if my voiced-aloud reply is, "Let's see how it goes", you can be sure, it's never that.

The nature of reflection has slowly changed. The questions swimming in my head nowadays don't totally relate to existentialism. The angst of the confusion and searching is over, more or less. I don't let social norms dictate lifestyle choices or whatever; neither do I depend on anyone else to make me happy nor do I expect anyone to. Years ago, the petulant declaration of "I don't answer to anyone but myself!" still holds, except I've learnt to manage the consequences of exercising that right, and not have a problem with it.

The night grew quieter. Birds and insects had stopped chirping. Decided that the circle of friends should grow tighter, and there is no loss. The circle shimmers through stages. Few constants, and those few, are the ones I need. The rest is simply peripheral and replaceable. Although that's not to say that I haven't found firm friends in adulthood and recent years. I have. Unsurprising. Sure, it could be difficult to forge friendships for the lack of time that we had plenty back in the supposed formative years of schooling. But those friendships made within the confines of school uniforms, were the toxic ones I gladly discarded at first opportunity. Childhood friends who remain my dearest friends, aren't made from acquaintanceship at school. The glass of cold milk had warmed up a little by now. A quarter left. I finished it and went to bed, pleased.

As The Sun Set

The girlfriend's having hectic weeks at work. It's been a while since the pace wound down a little. There was a window, and we found decent spots at Boat Quay to have drinks and dinner. The Spiffy Dapper and Namu always make a great combination.

It did wonders to slow the mind amidst a frenetic week of fulfilling social obligations. You know, the friends whom you know will get your drift on any random stuff without having to consciously direct or tailor topics of conversation.

This Is Welcome On Any Night

A perfect evening is: 

Glasses of Bowmore 25 y.o on the rocks, The Strokes in the background, and playing trivia pursuit editions for classic rock and Lord of The Rings. The laughter rang on and on and on.