Home sweet home

After doing a full top-to-bottom house clean on Friday morning (I'm becoming my mother and googling how best to clean floors) I thought I would take a few quick photos to test the windows-as-lightboxes here.  

As you can see, I was also stuffing my face with cookies that my friend, Jenna, got me as a housewarming present.  Naturally.  

I've been saving up for a couple of years to buy a computer with a bigger screen and I can't tell you how nice it is to be able to see all the photos that I'm editing because they are now bigger than postcards.  

Another useful (?) present from Eddie and Shirin - sex dice.  Thanks, guys!

I also finally, finally managed to finagle a reading corner in my room.  The furniture is all Ikea (even the stuff we moved over from my parents' house) so it's fairly cheap, light and pretty easy to take care of.  Shlomo Finkelstein came along with me.

And the new hipster lights I bought from Balestier, the sultan of all neighbourhoods when it comes to lighting.  They were on a 40 per cent discount and I thought they would go nicely with that one cucumber green wall in the corner.

One last bit of nonsense: I am growing very fond of my furniture.  Every day, I say good morning and goodnight to it and before I leave for work, I give it a pep talk.  ["Come on guys!  Be brave!  And make yourselves unappealing to cockroaches!"]

The person that I knew would understand this was Amanda.  Even though she's miles away in Perth, chasing her dreams, she immediately agreed that it was important to whip the furniture into shape and told me that hers, being veteran fixtures, were already well-primed to resist intruders.

"Don't worry, Bff," she texted, "Just keep talking to yours and they'll become experienced very quickly."

So far, it seems to be working.

The nest

So I've been kind of busy.  I've moved!  By which I mean, I'm not living with my family anymore.  I love my family and I miss them something fierce but this was one New Year's resolution I just had to fulfil.  I've wanted to live by myself for a long time, to just learn how to be more independent and see where it takes me.  

My parents wanted to be involved in the process, and after we sort-of put the flat together, it was finally time to say goodbye.  I'm no stranger to living alone, having done it in three different countries, but this was somewhat more permanent and I found myself mourning and celebrating in equal measure.

I'm really close to my family.  We've grown up in each other's pockets our whole lives and for eight years, my mother and father single-handedly raised the three of us - a 24/7 job.  We never wanted for anything and we always felt safe and loved.  So on my last night at a home that is now not exactly home, I hid away in my bedroom and packed with tears running down my cheeks.  

I was furious at myself for still feeling melancholic when my parents finally left; I was so lucky, I knew I still had their full love and support and besides, wasn't this something I'd wished and hoped for?  At my age, it felt foolish to be so morose.  I'd been worrying about dealing with pests on my own as well, and that first night, the Universe sent a finger-length cockroach my way, just to remind me that I was truly alone.  I'll be honest here and say that I've been toting a can of orange-scented Baygon from room to room at night.

Since then, I've felt mostly happy to be on my own, but occasionally panicked about the prospect of frightening things to come.  The place is beautiful and much nicer than I deserve, but my time has been mostly occupied with sorting, cleaning and full-time work and even though the thought of living alone is exhilarating, I've been a little too tired to fully appreciate the feeling.  

This evening though, I came home late after work to a pile of things I'd gotten from Ikea.  After conducting my preliminary nighttime cockroach checks, I settled down on the floor with a cup of tea, put on some music and got to assembling my (auspiciously named) Skanka cookware set.  My father urged me to buy this cute, self-contained toolbox and I was enjoying discovering each individual screwdriver head and what it did.  The pots were coming together beautifully; none of that creaky kerfluffle you sometimes get from reading Ikea directions upside down.  And quite suddenly, in the midst of singing along loudly to the King and I soundtrack (am I right?) I realised that I was finally feeling relaxed and having fun.

I think the transition will take a little while to get used to yet, but sitting here, looking around at a place that I helped to put together and that is slowly starting to feel like a safe haven, I'm feeling pretty damn optimistic about it.

Five senses

The pale light of the house on the end of the street against a sky melting to black.  The taste and smell of smoke, the last of the Chinese New Year barbecues.  My dog's claws clicking on asphalt as we blunder through the dark.  The pinpoint of a rising planet.  Tepid wind drawing itself along the street, up my legs, over my nape.  Here, still warm macadam.  Here, a fleeting touch from earlier today, the accident of a warm hand on mine. 

There, voices calling out wishes.  The dying embers of February, the lamplight like a swollen star.

Cactus Tree

"You know, I think if I were so inclined, I would easily be a junkie," I tell my friend, Kit, over dinner.

"Me too!"  His eyes widen in agreement and I know he understands.  We're both one kind of addict anyway.  Worriers, chewing obsessively over the same thought night and day.  Kit's learned to compartmentalise but I'm not as intelligent.  

I have to make do and since I can't be a user, I find other manias to build my life around.  Unfortunately, unlike drugs, they don't always come in steady or reliable supply.  Nothing gold can stay, I found myself thinking on my twenty-minute walk to work today, as the smell of newly-laid tar and drying cement steamed up around me, and I felt an indelible sadness.  

After my ex well and truly taught me how not to cling to people, I started to cling to things thinking that they couldn't possibly ever mean as much.  Except, it turns out, they do.  And things, too, change and end and maybe I'm just too worn out for one more set of goodbyes.   

In recent weeks, I'd been up late at night playing a game in which one tries to memorise all the countries in the world.  Then I moved on to memorising all their capitals.  Each round, after the timer runs out, I find myself reaching to restart it, to get one more hit of soothing routine.  During the day, I carry the names in my mouth and head to stave off withdrawal: Honiara, Belmopan, Tegucigalpa, Chisinau.  I repeat mnemonics and create mental imagery and tell my friends and cram my attention with lists and lists of places because one who feels so full couldn't possibly also feel hollow.  

I'll be done with it eventually.  But you know what they say.  Once an addict, always an addict.

And lying in bed in the dark, I recite the names of capitals over and over again, just as if they were prayers.

Hey, tonight

Earlier this week I finished reading The Secret History (I almost wrote "Shitstory" by accident) and had mixed feelings about it.  Tartt has the rare gift of making me forget that I'm reading and I fell in love with the characters, flaws and all.  I kept reading just so I could spend time in their company but plotwise, I thought it was a little self-indulgent; I can only relate to expensively debauched shenanigans so much.  

I think this book will be better though, taken beyond the confines of the university.  

I'm tired of grading essays and thinking about work and feeling sore from my latest plod.  For now, there's time for a little mustard bird.

Just a pebble

So here's the plan.  Here's how I plan to tackle four countries over one month.  I don't think I've ever packed quite so light before (that's my regular-sized backpack right there) but I also think I could pack lighter still.  

Inspired by tales of people going 17 days with just a handbag, credit card and toothbrush, I decided to doff all the things I would usually include including extra sweaters and t-shirts, my laptop and dozens of stationery items.  In the words of my friend David though, I didn't skimp on underwear.

I feel a bit nervous, but also oddly free.  Maybe next trip, all I'll really need is the backpack.  I'll let you know.

On y va!

Every morning before French class, we greet each other with cheerful "bonjour"s and "ca va"s.  There are about twenty of us, surprisingly close in age but from completely different backgrounds, united by a single purpose.  

There are those who are married to Frenchmen and want to be able to communicate with their in-laws, two girls who are going to France in September to study pastry making, a young sommelier, and Edie and I, there because we think it's beautiful.  And it is beautiful.  Really tough, but beautiful.

Every time I encounter frustration in conjugating verbs or trying to remember the appropriate article for masculine or feminine objects, I learn something that submerges the frustration in awe.  Today, it was the moment we were taught that a "lucky draw" is called a "tirage au sort".  Literally translated, it means "pull your fate".  Last night, Shirin, who is extremely fluent, told us that "I miss you" is "Tu me manques".  The order of the words is different from the English (You, to me, are missing) she said, because that it means that you are missing from me, thereby implying that I am incomplete. 

And that's more or less why I've always wanted to learn this language.  Because it sounds pretty, but it means pretty too.  Sure, it's confusing that everything has a gender, but it's also whimsical and poetic that, for example, the sea is a woman and happiness a man.  

On top of that, apart from English and Mandarin, which I absorbed when I was too young to remember it, this is the first time I'm formally learning a language from scratch.  As an English tutor, it's fascinating.  I've always wondered how people would teach someone a language that they didn't know at all.  And I've never been so aware (or respectful) of grammar before.  

Mostly, I'm just happy to be a student again.  A teacher needs to be on the ball; in complete control of every aspect of the lesson and watching everyone out of the corner of each eye.  In this class, I just need to be a massive sponge.  I can write notes with my own unintelligible musings, pronounce things to myself as many times as I want, turn things over in my head again and again. 

Edie and I have lots of fun practicing random verbs and senseless questions.  After class, we wander round separately, speaking French in our heads.  As I was walking the dog today, I had an entire conversation with myself about a writing instrument.  

"Where is the pen?  He has the pen.  Do you have a pen?  Yes, I have a pen.  What is this?  It is a pen.  But where is the pen?  She has the pen.  Does she have the pen?  No, I have the pen."

Then, I turned my attention to singing.  

"Do you sing?  Yes, I sing.  Where do you sing?" and so on.

I love it.

I look forward to class every day.  For some people, it seems like a meeting point of their hopes and plans.  For others, a celebration of the ability to speak, read, understand, dream.

...And also, on a more shallow note, I get to use my amazeballs new Smiggle crayon highlighters.  Why didn't I have these growing up so my stupid leftie writing wouldn't keep smearing fluorescent yellow and green up to my elbows?

Now if only I could do something about the teensy right-handed writing desks they have in class...

Let him go

Every year, when Christmas and New Year roll round, I feel mildly stressed by the idea of having to brave crowds and get stranded in inaccessible public places.  Invariably, New Year's Eve sees me standing on a road divider in Marina Bay or Orchard Road, desperately sweating and trying to work out the quickest way home as cars whizz dustily around me.

In the transition from last year to this one, I decided to keep things quiet and was lucky enough to be able to spend the time with much cherished friends in quiet, intimate settings.

My family doesn't celebrate Christmas, but since we were all together on Christmas morning, my brother, HS, decided to get a little fancy and make a delicious batch of banana pancakes.  For the second year running, Retno put a "Christmas fern" together and we ate while admiring her handiwork.  She even cut out and coloured little gingerbread men!

Mel invited me to her grandmother's place for Christmas Day lunch with her family, boyfriend, Nic, and their playful puppy, Kaiser.  I chased Kaiser round with my camera until he capitulated; thankfully, Mel and Nic weren't quite so evasive.

Mel bought me a heart-shaped Pandora charm for my bracelet, which I loved.  (I have yet to return the favour!)

After stuffing myself with shepherd's pie and devil curry, I met Jia Min in Orchard Road.  I would have ordinarily balked at the idea of going somewhere so central, but once I found out they had closed the main road to traffic, I was more than happy to dance back and forth across the five lanes.  We kept looking at each other in disbelief and saying, "We're walking on the road.  We're walking on THE ROAD."

Throw in overenthusiastic carol singers, earring shopping and Vietnamese food, and it was more or less the perfect day.

New Year was equally cosy; friends came over and we spent the evening doing nothing but eating junk food, making fun of Twilight and hugging each other over wine when the clock struck twelve.  Students texted me just after midnight, thanking and me and wishing me good cheer. 

We laughed.  A lot.  And just then, life felt easy.  

Now, of course, things occasionally get busy or stressful.  But twenty six days later, I can reach for the same feeling of peace and well-being when I close my eyes and I will hold on to it for as long as I can. 

I hope you are all having a happy year.

Hipster Saturday: Coffee crawl

Last Saturday, I had a (very enjoyable) massively hipster day.  

For starters, I love coffee.  Probably more than it is reasonable to like a non-alcoholic drink.  Would it be a little creepy to admit that I love the way it looks as much as I love the way it tastes?  I particularly enjoy the way it photographs, something you can probably tell if you've been here for awhile.

Even though I know that not many people want to stare at pictures of lattes, I couldn't help but jump at the chance to photograph (and drink, obvs!) artisanal coffee at the Bettr Week coffee crawl.  

The crawl costs about $48 and for that price, you get to sample drinks at nine different coffee places, none of which I'd ever heard of or visited.

My friend Raqvind and I started the crawl at *SCAPE at Somerset.

You get a "coffee passport", a cotton tote (yes!) and a little badge.  Since one of the recommended cafes is located at *SCAPE, we started there.  The Bettr Barista is a social enterprise that occupies a corner of what looks like the *SCAPE office.  The location and the fluorescent lighting are a little bit odd which is a pity, because the coffee is lovely - smooth, fragrant and not too strong or bitter.

Raqvind and I spent the morning cradling our warm cups and sharing a long, heart-to-heart talk.  It's been ages since we caught up properly and since we've both been going through slightly trying times, we were able to lean on each other for a moment and take a much-needed breather.

Eventually, we staggered to our feet and took the train down to Bugis to try Artistry.  I have to say that in the looks department, this cafe wins hands down.

Rustic wooden benches topped with some of the brightest posies I've ever seen lined the outside wall and we were impressed to see that there was still seating space at 2pm on a Saturday.  There was a photography exhibition going on within and it took us a little while to realise that the artwork was themed; people, out in the rain, wandering in cities across the world.  The rectangles on the walls had the effect of windows, as if we were looking out onto cobbled streets, spit-shined by storms.

The barista was wonderfully friendly and answered all our questions about the coffee and his latte art.

The coffee here was deeper and a lot more complex, but while I appreciated it visually, it was a little too strong for me.  I do, however, prefer my coffee very smooth and milky and I'm quite a coffee wuss so I think it will appeal to lots of people.

This pecan pie, though.  Oh, lawks!  It had all the good, roasty, pecan-nutty crunch that any self-respecting pecan pie should have but the molasses below were an entirely different story.  Rich, velvet-soft and shot through with a flavour so dark that I kept mistaking it for chocolate, it was a real treat.  Raqvind and I quaffed the entire slice before our third musketeer, Evi, joined us.

We had a good chat and then decided to call it a day.  For me, it was a delightfully lazy, voluptuous way to spend the early afternoon and luckily, I get to do it again.  This Saturday, the coffee crawl continues with three cafes in the west!

Till then, I'll be hanging out on this tumblr which makes me want to crawl inside my computer screen and roll around in its glory.  Coffee, tea and books photographed and deliciously laid out in morning light?  Shut up! 

I have no idea who runs it, but I salute them. 

A photo an hour: Lazy Friday

I used to have a different (read: even more embarrassing) blog and one of the things I enjoyed doing was taking a photo an hour over the course of a random day. 

I thought I would start it again on this blog; not because I believe that my days are so supremely interesting that people are agog with curiosity to watch every hour, but simply because it makes me take my camera out and practise even when there doesn't seem to be a subject in particular.  

This time, I cheated a little so the photos aren't evenly spaced out.  Also, all my weekends basically look like this: laid back, simple, routine.  Dayum!  How I cherish them!

Here's what I did last Friday.  

8:00am

I start my day with cod liver oil and the occasional capsule of cinnamon to control my blood sugar and appetite.  My father eats half a teaspoon of cinnamon each morning and his diabetic symptoms have practically disappeared.

9:00am

10:00am

A word on the "The Dark is Rising" sequence.  It's wonderful.  It's mysterious and old school and magical in an ancient, matter-of-fact way without wands or spells or strange, invented creatures.  In light of what's coming out today, it's a breath of fresh air for me.

11:00am

12:00pm

Sometimes I forget that no matter how much I love my dog, he looks like a drowned rat when wet.  To be fair, I will show that he cleans up pretty good, too.

1:00pm

Correspondence done and dusted.

2:00pm

3:00pm

4:00pm

Afternoon snack: mango tea, la vache qui rit cheese in paprika and herb flavours and a pluot.  Pluots are the only fruit that I find myself craving.  When I see them in the supermarket, my mouth starts watering.

5:00pm

Because before this I was basically in pajamas.

6:00pm

That's Jia Min having dinner with me, in case you were wondering.

7:00pm

8:00pm

Who knew Jia Min and I both liked Hairspray?  I'd actually logged this in my filofax a long time ago and was really looking forward to it.  We were talking about musicals we'd watched and the songs we liked as we walked over to the theatre.  Jia Min used to play the trumpet in the school band and talked about band stereotypes as well.

Then, at the entrance of the theatre, they confiscated my camera and put it in a locker.  Yeah.  I hate when that happens.  I'm not one to take videos of performances - I'd rather take in the act than record it - and I'm a little bit possessive of Big.  But eh, what can you do.

The performance was a lot of fun and even though there was a technical difficulty in the beginning and the house lights wouldn't go down, the cast was so plucky and professional about it that I forgot the glitch had ever happened.  Some very memorable dancing, too.

11:00pm

Esplanade artwork.

12:00am

I dropped Jia Min off at home, which involved some very pleasant driving on some dark, winding roads (my favourite kind) then sped over to the airport to get my brother who was coming home after over two years spent abroad!

Yup.  That's the face he gave me as he cleared baggage claim.  Obviously, the crazy runs in the family.