Comes Around

I will work, I will fight and I will live for myself.

I am not a believer of luck, but just for this once I pray for luck to be on my side.

The Wonder of Love

I hereby condemn the judging panel of the world’s wonders as insipid bores who had never loved. Surely that is the reason why they had overlooked Love as the natural champion among the lesser contenders made up of  architectural structures steeped in preservatives? I am aware that I have made an unfair comparison, but it remains that Love is the singular most wonderous wonder of the world. If you recall the first flush of love, you will agree that it is nothing less spectacular than the Colosseum in Rome or the Manchu Picchu in Peru.

The United Nations is an example of love on a global scale. When a country is in trouble, other countries help out by donating food, medical supplies and money. While the cynic looks on and perceive such acts as tactics aimed at improving trade relations and bilateral ties, it is impossible to deny the presence of empathetic people willing to relieve the terrible sufferings of people whom they have never met. Even Singaporeans who are normally seen as apathetic, donate huge sums of money to help the poor and needy; so much that it has been known to induce criminalistic behaviour, shows that our capitalistic hearts are made of flesh afterall. If you think that this is great, you have not understood the real prowess of Love. While this type of love changes things for the better and make life more bearable for the people who need it, it is the simple and benign love between a man and a woman that is astounding.

Each year, conglomerates stone advertising agencies with money for the most beautiful, classy, edgy and witty campaign in hope of colouring consumers’ preferences in their favour. This same effect is produced in excess by any couple and especially bountiful in the early stage of the relationship. As each of us are individuals with our customised set of adoration and despise, it becomes something of a wonder when lovesick individuals change themselves in order to appear more attractive and desirable to their respective partners. Indeed, this precious stage of a relationship is a.k.a The Time of Change. First, purchase of new lingerie is in order because no one wants their budding relationship to end with reasons such as, “it’s not you, it’s the holes” or “you’re too yellow for me”. Then, there are adjustments to be made so that the other half would think that the both of you are a match made in holy heaven. When the boyfriend makes an innocent comment about your glasses, you ask questions to determine his preference and make a mental note try out contact lens and eyeshadow. Appearance aside, the parties in love will also realise that their habits and beliefs are no longer unobtrusive and are more often than not, sparks to numerous arguments and shouting matches. After apologising and making up, both parties alter their ways to try and live happily ever after. Now tell me, all you artists and writers who believed yourselves to be in God’s favour, how uniquely individualistic are you now?

I speak for myself. Unfortunately, I have become one of those seaweed-minded and beancurd-hearted wimps who have failed resist the arms of Love. However, everything is worthwhile because someone is also trying his best to change and to make things work. This knowledge creates such a wonderful feeling, I imagine even the great Pyramids of Giza will do nothing for me.

The Things we do

The sweetness smells so delicious, the inside of Alice’s mouth waters. Opening her mouth, she takes a bite of thick, swirling fog around her. It tastes like creme brulee, only more bitter. She is surprised she can still smell and taste. Haven’t they said that there will be no pain in heaven? She must had mistaken that for general austerity, but the fact that all her senses seems greatly intact disturbs her. If she can discern sweetness, surely the same goes for bitterness. And if that is truly the case, all the trouble just to get here has been in vain.

For the past five mortal years (she feels the need to distinguish herself from those poor earthlings) Alice had practised a life of religious generosity. She went around helping anyone and everyone who needed help, even after being conned of love and money time and time again. In order to make more time to help people, she sacrificed time for friends, family and lovers. That was okay, because it was people whom you are close to who will hurt you anyway. Her time is better spent helping others. In spite of all the hard work, she managed to fill each and every day with kind deeds and gracious acts. She had to admit that she battled with the idea of giving up ceaselessly, but the thought of going to heaven and leaving this disappointing world behind, she pushed on. Finally when she felt that she had done enough to gain entry into paradise, she ingested some poison that she learned through a forensic science documentary on TV many years ago.

So here she is, in the vicinity of heaven where peace laces the atmosphere with a grand calmness that Alice has failed to find on earth. Now, if only she knows where God is. She may have lost her flesh body, but not her manners. How rude is it to wander around without greeting your host? She will explain that the bouquet of sunflowers she clung in her hands at her last moment had been a meeting-gift for Him, but somehow she ended up here without it. Or perhaps she has time to try and pluck some? She is certain that somewhere, there are flowers growing so beautifully they bring tears to the eyes. Now, if only the fog isn’t so bloody thick.

A Sense of Habitability

“Ahhh!”, a blood-curdling shriek reverberated in the kitchen on a lazy soap-opera afternoon. Wildly bewildered, I rushed to the source as my head flashed images of my mother; blood splattered all over her shirt front, holding her severed finger and a gleaming knife in a state of profound shock and agony. I chanted the ambulance number under my breath and tried to recall where I had absentmindedly placed my mobile phone. There was no time to lose, as CSI Miami demonstrated – the success of attaching a severed body part lies in the amount of time it spent away from the body.

I was right, well, almost. She had milk coffee spilled all over her blouse as she held on to the broken pieces of a pink Snoopy mug. She was also in a state of shock and agony, which I failed to understand why, thus making everything so profound. “I do not have another of this!” she explained in the form of a long wail. I only managed to ease her distress after promising to paint an extra blue mug that she has, into the exact shade of the broken pink one.

You see, my mother is no ordinary housewife; she is a collector. Darlie, whose toothpaste is so minty, it  made my eyes water every morning, is not a mere a toothpaste maker, but a marketing genius. Who else would have thought of bundling multi-coloured cutesy mugs with toothpaste to increase the sale? Never mind that the storeroom is filled with toothpaste so robust, they should be fed to every soldier fighting for the country, but the kitschy porcelain containers with white dogs with flapping ears, doing sports unheard of in Singapore (skiing?) disrupts the harmonious family of matching cutlery and cookware in the kitchen.

I do not think that my mother started out wanting to be a Darlie Snoopy cup collector, but life certainly throws you in unpredictable places. Sure, we use toothpaste twice a day and there are six of us under the same roof, but does that make it perfectly fine to have overflowing quality of toothpaste stashed in grocery cabinets and wardrobes? Storing space aside, this is about how addictive little things like this form hoarding habits that insinuate themselves into a part of our lives. We try to spring clean our racks, closets and even the memory space in our computers, but tend to neglect about our human traits and character.

I say, it’s time to get our act together.

Hold it Tight

The pursed bud stretches tight

Reining in the bullish turmoil

Of growth, of change, of season

Resisting the stirring pleasure

Delaying the touch of enlightenment

Much to the comfort of the swollen lips

Plastered flat against each other

To hold, to seal, to adhere

Blossoming, a release from the urge

A secret, delicious in its sharing

Yet swollow it whole it must

Delicate, the thread of separation

The bolster between fiction and reality

Of Selection

One of the amazing thing about travel is when you find variations of a product you thought you knew. A couple of years ago in a Madrid mini-mart, I stumbled upon Frito Lay’s potato chips in flavours promising exoticism; Limón, Olive Oil and Tomato…… my excitement went beyond words. Back home, I did a google search and churned up more unusual combinations such as Beef Carpaccio with Parmeggiano and Garlic Soft Shell Crab. It felt like someone had modelled the world out of potatoes and that it is possible to travel that world, simply by opening your mouth.

Just when I thought I could save on air tickets, I realised a small problem; the local supermarkets do not sell them. And so I waited. And waited. If shelves have heads, they would all have fallen off from all the shaking, every time I ask if new flavours have arrived. I am not waiting for Chili Crab or Hainanese Chicken Rice, but my taste buds ache for some Oregano or Dill Pickle. Does Frito-Lay’s think that Singaporeans have no appreciation for the mediterranean or cosmopolitan taste? It seems really unfair that we are only offered the standard Original, Sour Cream, Cheddar, Salt & Vinegar or Barbecue when the potato globe is spinning out there. The entire globe, for vegetable’s sake and all we have access to, are the four minus Original for the same reason you do not consider human being as a type of human being (I know what you are thinking, but this is what it takes to become an expert on processed food).

Very often in Life, the lamentation when making choices is that we are not offered the complete range of them. If a singular problem has ten solutions to it, it will be nice to know about all ten of them before we come to a decision. While it is true that the quantity of choices is crucial in making a more informed judgement by minimising ignorance, it is not an unequivocal path to a positive outcome as there are always external factors of influence. Thus, when choosing, it is more important for the decision to be able to convince the heart.

A decision pushed on by factors other than a legitimate desire for it is never as satisfying as one which blooms out of pure conviction or a true love. If one has to find a reason to convince oneself to love another person, it is only love that is pretending to be, but when put next to the authentic heart, pales greatly in comparison just like the Original, Sour Cream, Cheddar, Salt & Vinegar or Barbecue chips I enjoy without relishing its flavours.

Bruised

“the pain was his whole body, not just in one isolated compartment. Sometimes, he would try to define its location with his fingers. ‘Just my chest,’ he would say, his fingers massaging and kneading the skin along the border delimiting pain from pain-free. Sometimes when he concentrated in this way the pain would appear to be contained and he could relax his limbs, his neck, his stomach, his groin. Then the brittle tensed mind would reach beyond his pain, grasping towards sleep and begging for its release.”

“At other times the pain would defy his confining fingers, slipping under and between them, invading the rest of his body. And then the pressure of his fingers would seem to be extending the reach of the pain, so that where his fingers went the pain would follow. He would stop, lifting his head in surrender, letting the pain fill him.”

- Evening Under Frangipani, Philip Jeyaretnam

Self-Improvement

The dust of the new year has finally settled on the floor of my head and I now know what my resolutions for 2009 are. Only two are selected this year; an attempt to convince or rather, taunt myself into sticking to them. After all, what is two measly and unremarkable promises to self? How can I possibly not keep to them after the whole overhaul to my self-appreciation system? I certainly can treat myself better by doing good things to myself.

Learn to be happy and appreciative of Life.

Eat healthily.

Trying Chances

If you look from a great distance through the window, it is likely you will spot a white figure vibrating behind the kitchen counter. And if you go closer, you will recognise him who bobs up and down like a weary sponge possessed. Joe is his name and bread-making is what he does. The yellow dye of dawn light has just begin to saturate the sky canvas but already, you can pick up the lovely notes of freshly-baked bread floating atop the sleepy silence; leftover from the previous night.

The door of the oven pops as its buzzer goes off and Joe removes the steaming hot buns. His practiced hands betray no sign of that awful, nervous concentration in his head. His hopeful fingers reach for the tray and pick one randomly. Taking a bite off the edge, he chews so carefully he looks as if he is solving a particularly tenacious bread puzzle. A second passed before he spit out the disappointing bit of flour. Around him, abandoned trays with one missing bun sit everywhere, as a particularly defiant one threatens to send itself crashing to the tiled floor, in hope for a bit of attention. The clock strikes eight as if to distract the suicidal tray, reminding Joe that it is time to start making the bread for the shopfront before his naggy wife wakes up. As he starts kneading a new dough, his mind drifts to the failure which he started this day, or rather everyday with. Will he ever succeed?

♦

In many ways, making mistakes is an essential part of being human. The act breaks ignorance, confirms realisation and seals the memory of it. With that we are able to walk the hair of a boundary, dividing the rights and wrongs of mortal doings. With the  knowledge of the remedy etched in our heads, however, how many of us can say with absolute confidence that history will not rear its ugly head again?

Second chances practise discrimination. There are some things we can afford to keep making mistakes but there are just some that can only be done one way; the correct way. The lucky ones may be given fresh starts in any direction, but for most of us who have to live with our mistakes, we are stuck with inventing a whole new system, regime or schedule so that we may hobble away to the best of our abilities, while the past remains hot on our heels. This nomadic way of life hurts, tortures and punishes more than any sentence the juridical books can prescribe.

The Spirit of X’mas

If you do not know by now, the trick to making small talks during festive parties is to comment on the particularities of the festival itself. For example, talk about the size of mandarin oranges during Chinese New Year or trade dumplings tips during Rice Dumpling Festival. Thus, it seems reasonable that I should be asked if I remember Dickens and his ghosts this Christmas. Do not worry if no bell is ringing for you yet, because I had to give it some thought before I could recall the tale.

Ah, I have touched on a raw nerve, have I not? How many of us had given out presents in order to uphold the spirit of Christmas? Like many other festivals that have been commercialized, we go through the many rounds of gift exchanges like haywired robots. From mulling over what to give, how much the present should be, to which wrapping paper to go with, a giver’s sentiment is devoid of any emotion saved for obssessing over not appearing as a chick*. In other words, the giver’s heart remains as a whole; untouched and unmoving, in the left pocket of the chest.

As if it is not bad enough to be on a gift-exchange binge, the cost of the present is usually premeditated to avoid ambiguities. However, we need the ambiguities. While setting a price range makes shopping easier and eliminate the chances of someone feeling short-changed, it neither encourages nor promotes the spirit of giving. Scrooge needs not one, but three ghosts to remind him of generosity, and I believe most of us do not require supernatural elements  just to act a tad more humanly. Just think about the last time someone made you feel special by giving you a gift. Had that feeling of exclusivity not come about because you were surprised by the act and the thoughtfulness of the gift?

Many Christmases ago, my ghost came in form of a box of Meiji’s MeltyKiss. As exaggerating as it is, the box of chocolates improved my definition of a gift many times over. Despite lacking the splendor and exquisiteness of premium cacao, the box of chocolate delivered sweetness so tender and comforting, it travelled straight to my heart. Thus, a good present is not measured by its utility, aesthetics and least of all, price tag. It is about how much you give of yourself and besides, sincerity is like G-rated entertainment; suited to everyone.

Uphold the season of giving by presenting the receiver, a gift, clothed in nothing but the very best of your intentions.

Have a blessed new year.

 

*chick cheeps, hence if you’re a chick, you cheep and you’re cheap. Isn’t this a great X’mas conversation starter?