Well it isn't that bad. You know me, melodramatic in the moment. And homesick for a country with some serious night views. No kidding.
D and I went up to Ku De Ta, which was lovely, but really I think the coolest part of the Singapore skyline is looking out in the direction of MBS and not as much from it.
In my opinion, the prettier view from across the bay:
Always amazed at the transformation we have all witnessed over the years. I have to give Singapore props for excellent city planning. Just look at that view and the extravagance of twice (I think)-nightly light and laser shows.
You do get to see the rest of the city from Ku De Ta, perched on the 57th floor, which is also pretty nice.
This constant drama is boring me. Three perfect weeks and I am plunged back again into what shouldn't have to be the reality. It is a whirlwind of one dramatic event after another, yet nothing different ever happens. It's always up and down and it's always a flat unmoving line. Zoom in and you see the fluctuations. Zoom out and nothing has changed.
Ideally, don't we all want that line, both zoomed in and out, to be climbing up, up, up? Somehow if that line stays straight for too long, the canvas tilts to the right and the perspective changes; you've been going down, down, down all this time and bringing it back up takes more than ever before.
Not depressed, just musing and only slightly glum.
In work. Discovered that a double load of work is the best cure for jetlag--I had close to none because my days were caffeinated and adrenalined, and my nights were way too short but therefore instantly adjusted to the usual sleep in the early AM and get up several hours later type of schedule.
Still struggling through everything on my plate and have almost weeped several times due to extreme panic and stress. But welcome back, me, I can tell my absence was felt ;)
Irrelevantly, I am so parched but this cycle keeps repeating:
I fill my glass and gulp --> I turn to my work --> Poka gulps from my glass --> I have to get up and rinse it --> Repeat x 5 so far.
In a bid to stay awake so I can pick D up from the airport tonight at 1 am, I was looking through photos from the past month or so and chanced upon these, taken just before I left:
NOOOOO our poor Poka, stuck in a kitty hotel. She was scared even before the journey to the hotel started (unrelated reason) and I'm sure is having a miserable time adjusting because she is, as most cats are, extremely adverse to change :(
I feel like a bad Mummy, leaving my baby behind for two whole weeks. But it's best to put her in a professional establishment where they know how to look after scared kitties since this was a long trip. I hope she remembers us and decides to like us again when we retrieve her. Russian Blues are supposed to be very loyal to their owners so that does give me a bit of hope, but but but what if she has a bad memory or bears grudges or is emotionally scarred?? You'll never know!! Aiiyeeeeee.
TONIGHT the boy sets foot on this little island. It's happening!! I can scarcely believe it. Pictures and stories and pseudo Singaporean food abroad by means of packet mixes/sadly inauthentic restaurants can help, but nothing comes close to understanding my roots and my motherland by experiencing everything in person, obviously. Expecting to have a sleepy, sweaty, sunburnt, salivating (from overly-spicy food) D in my hands for the next couple of weeks. Hurrah!
Today, I meet my almost a year old first ever nephew (!) for the first time ever (!), and carried/touched a baby for the first time ever in my life (!). The Aunty Evelyn-Timmy moment lasted all of five glorious seconds with everyone around me trying to say reassuring things like "carry baby is automatic one don't worry" and "rely on instinct, yes, your instinct" etc. before both of us chickened out and I swiftly returned him to mum. I promise I'll get better at this with my own child.
"I don't know, I'm as scared as you are Timmy, this is all happening too quickly, I'm not ready for this, are you sure you want me to hold your child"
"Instinct?? Heh heh heh are you sure what if my instincts are wrong oh no baby incoming"
"Oh hi Timmy I'm carrying you all by myself this isn't that bad is it"
"Ok we both want out aiieiiayiiihhhhaaaaahhahhahahelp"
And ok, let's just be totally objective here for a moment. Aunty-dom and blood relations aside. You have to agree that Timmy is a handsome young chap. I'm seeing my brother in him which is terrific because my brother's a handsome young chap as well. He's a terrifically happy baby with great elasticity of facial expressions and from what I hear is growing up to be a little professor in the making! Am such a proud Aunty :)
Was just chatting with my little namesake today (most lovely!!) over prata (kosong, egg, with milo dino!!) and decided it was time to say something about my hobby in hiding over the past couple of years (on and off). I started in Boston for a couple of months as some friends do know, took a long break, and started again mid this year. Didn't really mention it to anyone publicly in case any of the higher ups at work were not in approval oh heavens please no, hear me out first.
Dancing has always been so much a part of my life, something that began as a choice when I was a wee little brat (no really I was quite the brat), that took a different acrobatic turn when I was 12 in the form of rhythmic gymnastics, that went pretty mainstream with the jazz and the lyrical jazz classes throughout, and then took a more cognitive, intellectual, and experimental turn when I studied it in college. So movement, music, athleticism in the form of dance, is a part of me and it's not going to be taken from me due to external pressures or perceptions.
Well so anyway that was my disclaimer to my newest hobby, pole dancing. Yes, it is becoming more mainstream especially in Australia and the US, a little in Singapore I hear. Just a handful of years ago, the pole dancer was associated with sleaze and kinkiness and strippers and red light districts and general behavior you would want to hide from your boss at work in a professional setting. But thankfully nowadays the perceptions are changing and the art form itself is changing.
The studio I study at is terrific and I'm very thankful to have found it after several missed tries. If forced, I can do an excellent booty roll and a solid sultry walk around the pole. But none of that interests me and I certainly do not feel empowered by erotic dancing. No no no thank you. This studio allows me to focus much more on technique and developing my pole skills as an art form, and that's the direction I really want pole to move towards as more people get educated about what it truly can be. Because I really think it's beautiful. You'll be hard-pressed to find skanky slithering on floor, stripper heels, etc. in many top-notch pole competitions around the world. There's a lot more consciousness of it as acrobatics and dance and art.
Now if learning how to be sexy with movement is something that will empower you and something that sounds like fun, by all means! Pole is a great way to learn to do that (and is a very impressive skill to have). But I'm just saying that my personal preference is to study it as purely acrobatic while leveraging my grace, flexibility, dance background minus the sexy part which I'm just not comfortable with.
And by the way, pole dancers are typically dressed minimally whether with skanky intentions or not, because exposed skin is the best way to create friction with the pole--the only way you're able to do all those cool tricks on the pole. It's all about body placement and finding the right piece of skin to grip the pole with, places like upper thighs (hence the little bottoms) and around the torso (hence the little tops).
Anyhoo, I had my very first little recital back a month and it was so much fun! I was the baby of the recital in that I had only been studying it more seriously for a couple of months, so our routine was quite simple and involved a lot of dancing around and just a few of my best tricks on the pole which were nothing to brag about at all. Still, I was proud of us for the very brave attempt! We also got to perform alongside Miss Pole Japan, Yukari! She was so beautiful and tiny in person! And watching her perform in person was so much more amazing than watching her on Youtube, the audience was gasping with hands over mouths, but anyway this is her:
Can you believe that she was there performing with us? Starstruck *.* (that's my little emoticon demonstrating extreme starstruckedness). She was apparently recently headhunted by Cirque du Soleil. Holy moly. Well I am excited to learn more and get better at this! It's such a great physical challenge, I really enjoy it.
Anyhoo, here are a few pictures of me in my little routine which I'm sure provided excellent contrast to Yuakri's ridiculously awesome one ;) Photo credits to Mirage Visions, as seen in the watermark.
At the airport, sick in a very discernible and mucusy way, flight already delayed 1.5 hours, with clam chowder in my hair. Not off to a great start here but at least I'm on the way to the place I still call home.
To the poor soul who has the misfortune of sitting beside me on the flight: I sincerely apologize that you are stuck with both a middle seat as well as me on your left, and wish your immune system the very best of luck.
Poka looks like a gangsta with menacingly furled lip and slitty pupils.
This was right before she developed kitty pimples on her chin from the undue stress of moving to a new home. Yes, kitties get acne from stress!!! It was so sad but kind of funny. I felt like a Mummy watching my child go through puberty. She has since cleared up, thank goodness, and I'm pretty certain she likes our new place much better than the old. As you can see, she's got herself a nice sunny spot for excellent sunbathing.
Is it very odd that for someone who enjoys Japanese food, I only recently discovered the true joy of uni (sea urchin)? This was the dish that blew me away. It's not often that I eat something that renders me speechless because I'm a fussy prick but D can attest to the fact that I was sitting bug-eyed, nibbling carefully and quietly at my uni and making the joy last for for a full 10 minutes.
Uni on a spoon, with raw quail egg, ponzu, spring onions, tobiko. SO AMAZING. We went to their sister restaurant recently and to my great disappointment, this dish wasn't on the menu and we had to settle for uni nigiri. MAYBE IT'S GONE FOREVER. I don't want to contemplate that thought.
This was at Nihon Whiskey Lounge. If you sit on the second floor, you get to peer down at the bar area and wonder what happens to all those bottles if one of those little Californian earthquakes strike.
Being a whiskey lounge, they serve a bible's worth of whiskeys. I'm not man enough to drink straight whiskey so I prefer to go for the whiskey cocktails.
We like getting an omakase of oysters--a selection of various types.
We are by no means oyster experts and can only distinguish basic and obvious differences. "I think this one's creamier." "Maybe brinier." "Saltier?" "Could be the sauce." "Eh maybe."
Pork belly is always a treat. When I was a child, I used to cut out all the fatty bits. Now I realise they add so much flavour and I just relish and try not to think about how bad it is for me.
One of my sushi always needs to include unagi.
While one has to include sake. Yes I know, cheap fish, but I happen to like the flavour very much.
This one had scallop and asparagus and lemon slices on the top.
I adore a good bowl of steaming pho, sprouts stuffed into the hot soup as quickly as possible (I don't like the rawness), and the thin slices of beef fished out immediately (I don't like the cooked-ness). But this is admittedly an arduous task for an angmoh who recently learnt to use chopsticks and has little experience with ever putting soup in a spoon and piling stuff on top of it so you get a cohesive single slurp of yumminess.
Puzzling to me is why I've never made Vietnamese spring rolls. This is probably one of few dishes in which I actually enjoy the taste of fresh mint (I'll pass on the mojitos, thanks). I love the lightness and terrific contrast of textures: chewy and soft and crisp.
Grilled lemongrass pork over vermicelli. Also very flavorful and I love the peanuts.
To anyone who's had the fortune of being in my apartment and leeching off my 'net (just kidding), this very simple but tasty dish comes from the cookbook my internet network is named after (i.e. Latin Flavors).
Baby eggplant boats, quickly scalded and scooped almost hollow, sauteed with a host of other yummy stuff like mushrooms and onions and peppers, and baked with chicken stock for flavor and moistness.
So simple but the tastes and textures really work. And it is always fun to have boat-shaped goodies on your plate. Including the twice-baked mini potatoes in the background. This meal amused and delighted me greatly because of the common themes of scooping something out, transforming, and then replacing.
In case you were wondering: baked "fried" fish in the center.
The annual Ghiradelli chocolate festival--perhaps the only real reason to ever visit the prominent Ghiradelli square. I've been there twice apart from this festival--one I have close to little recollection of, the other puzzling because we were in search of something to do but found nothing besides eat a free chocolate square sample.
Being savvy internet-users, we researched before we got there, of course. This is the advice of many chocolate festival veterans and now ourselves: share a tasting booklet with a friend (15 samples for $20), bring a little box to store the goodies you are too gelat to eat (we failed to do this and stocked up on Ghiradelli chocolate squares instead), and use half of your samples on chocolate-flavored liquor.
All these "famous" San Francisco vendors set up little booths and you get in line, tell them what you want, and get a scrawl on your tasting booklet. Make it to 15 and you're done. You can get 15 of one thing if you so please. Walking around, you might have the fortune of chancing upon freebies like more chocolate squares, vouchers, and the ever so San Franciscan eco-friendly reusable shopping bags. Sure, I'll take one. We also watched Mr Ghirardelli (well, no, he was the Ghirardelli head of chocolate-making) give a very subdued presentation on the history and making of chocolate.
But of course the highlight was the sampling. We had chocolate raspberry tarts ...
Chocolate milkshakes ...
Chocolate oreo caramel popcorn (pretty lau hong by then; disappointed) ...
Chocolate caramel almond brittle ...
Not pictured, chocolate coconut cupcake (hey I make better and healthier cupcakes), Ghirardelli chocolate fudge sundae, and a handful of Ghirardelli chocolates.
But this was the creme de la creme. Behold. Double chocolate vodka.
It looks like vodka, it tastes slightly of vodka, but the during- and aftertaste is like you just drank a shot of liquid chocolate. We were bowled over, got several shots worth of these, and walked around sipping them with eyes round with amazement at each sip. In addition, we also tried chocolate strawberry wine (??) and chocolate creme liquor. A few times over for each.
Now that's probably the best way to deal with the chocolate festival crowd and long lines. Get a few tasty nibbles and make a beeline for the alcohol.
I'm pretty sure I've posted a similar picture and similar write-up before but some things are worth reiterating.
Breakfast in a cup! This time, it was cinnamon and nutmeg milk-soaked bread lining the bottom and sides, with a generous handful of pork floss (whee, smuggled) stuffed in, toasted for a little while so that the bread set, then a chunk of cream cheese in the crater for textural variety, an egg, salt pepper sprinkle of cheese. Popped back into the oven, watched with my eagle eye, baked until egg whites were JUST set.
Breaking the yolk = the hardest part, but the returns are worth it.
The concept is so simple. You have your toast, your protein (bacon, ham, PORK FLOSS), and your egg. With whatever seasonings and additions tickle your fancy that day.
I couldn't stop staring, because I found its teeth really frightening. It was walking around grinning gummily with all its HUGE yellowed teeth showing! And once in a while, it would flick its humongous flappy chunk of a tongue around.
The last straw was when it stood stock still for a moment, and let out an enormous steamy poop (I'm running out of synonyms for "big") on the grass where we saw little kids doing cartwheels and people stretching out in the sun all day. That was when I ran away.
I'm obviously no horsey expert. They're pretty from afar and I've never disliked them besides their smell, but I've not had one grin at me up close before.
Buena Vista Cafe, the birthplace of Irish coffee in the US.
It begins with sugar cubes tossed into in a hot glass. Then, a splash of strong brewed coffee.
A good stir with a spoon and a long pour of Irish whiskey.
Heavy cream whisked to perfection, floated on top.
Voila. The Irish coffee.
It made for an extremely stiff midday drink. There were tourists left and right of us and that's when you know you're supposed to be having a monumental experience worth traveling for. It really was quite the experience. Coffee? Cream? Liquor? What's not to love?
Chopsticks are maybe my favorite utensil because you can use them with such specificity. My latest joyful discovery: they are exceptionally useful for fishing potato chips out of a bag while you're busy working on a computer and don't want a greasy keyboard.
I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross / to reach you. For I am in love with you / and this is what it is like or what it is like in words.
Carol Ann Duffy
When I grow up, I'd like to be a cream puff. A cream puff with apricots, or even a plain one. Lukewarm at the bakery. In the window.
