Dear Bessie

“Because sending a letter is the next best thing to showing up personally at someone’s door. Ink from your pen touches the stationary, your fingers touch the paper, your saliva seals the envelope, your scent graces the paper. Something tangible from your world travels through machines and hands, and deposits itself in another’s mailbox; their world. Your letter is then carried inside as an invited guest. The paper that was sitting on your desk, now sits on another’s. The recipient handles the paper that you handled. Letters create a connection that modern and impersonal forms of communication will never replace.”

I was browsing through facebook and came across this sweet love story that revolves around letters.

"In the autumn of 1943, a 29-year-old former postal clerk from north London named Chris Barker was serving as a signalman on the Libyan coast. Most of his day was routine: after morning parade and a few chores, he usually settled down to chess, or whist, or letter-writing. And then his life changed.

One of his letters, to a woman he knew only vaguely called Bessie Moore and her boyfriend Nick, received an unexpectedly enthusiastic response. Bessie, enduring the London Blitz, wrote that Nick was no longer on the scene, and that she had always harboured a soft spot for Chris.

By their third exchange, it was clear to both of them they had ignited a passion that would not easily be extinguished. More than 500 of Chris and Bessie’s letters survive (although many of Bessie’s were burnt by Chris to save space in his kitbag and conceal their intimacy from prying eyes). Chris and Bessie married after the war, had two sons, and lived happily ever after.

January 29,1945

My Dearest One,

I have just heard the news that all the Army men taken POW are to return to their homes. Because of the shipping situation we may not commence to go before the end of February, but can probably count on being in England sometime in March. It may be sooner. It has made me very warm inside. It is terrific, wonderful, shattering.

I don’t know what to say, and I cannot think. The delay is nothing, the decision is everything. Now I am confirming in my head the little decisions I have made when contemplating just the possibility. I must spend the first days at home, I must see Deb and her Mother. I must consider giving a party somewhere. Above all, I must be with you. I must warm you, surround you, love you and be kind to you.

Tell me anything that is in your mind, write tons and tons and tons, and plan our time. I would prefer not to get married, but want you to agree on the point. In the battle, I was afraid. For you. For my Mother. For myself. Wait we must, my love and my darling. Let us meet, let us be, let us know, but do not let us, now, make any mistakes. I am anxious, very anxious, that you should not misunderstand what I have said. Say what you think – but – please agree, and remember I was afraid, and I am still afraid.

How good for us to see each other before I am completely bald! I have some fine little wisps of hair on the top of my head.

I love you.

Chris

I remember that when Bramina went to America, I felt so terrified that I wold lose her completely. And then one day I received a blue letter in a snowflake envelope, with her days written in her handwriting, and a quote at the end saying that every day passed was one day closer to seeing me again.

I also remember posting a series of postcards when I was in England, and feeling so excited at the thought that those little labours of love were being gathered by a post man, and flown to Singapore, and slipped in the post boxes of my friends in the morning. Would that be the first thing they read when they woke up?

Every birthday, my Great auntie sheila and Grandma and Auntie Sarah send letters to me, their love signed in the X's and O's at the bottom of the page, their prayers written in blue ball point on the stiff backs of cards. Auntie Sheila also sometimes sends aerograms, magical envelopes that are also letters at the same time, scribbled all over in her old-fashioned handwriting with its' swooping 'g's and 'p's and 'j's and 'q's and 'y's.

Still waiting for my neighbours to reply to the letters I sent out.

blue cloud-cloth

The Dream Keeper

Langston Hughes

Bring me all of your dreams,
You dreamer,
Bring me all your
Heart melodies
That I may wrap them
In a blue cloud-cloth
Away from the too-rough fingers
Of the world.

(I dreamt last night that the Church had convicted me of something and I was charged with death and every day was just me anticipating the end.)

Letters

Yesterday at 6 I went walking round the neighbourhood after the rain had finished falling, to deliver letters to my neighbours. I don't know most of them, but I had a stack of 30 letters with this on it:

Hello Friend!

I’m Miriam, from Block 7 #03-05, and I’m doing a project on our neighbourhood. I’ve lived here since I was born, and I have fond memories – cycling round the blocks, walking across what used to be the KTM railway track, bouncing on the trampoline and saying hello to Muthu on the 191 bus.

This place holds so much history, serving as a housing complex for British soldiers and their families from the 1940s to the 1970s, and has personal significance to everyone here as home. I wanted to combine both of these important components in a write up/photo journal to remember it all. 

I was hoping that you could help me in this project. If you could write down when you moved here, what this place means to you, and some of your favourite memories about the estate, that would be so great. If you want to, you could even include pictures, which I will scan and put into the document, and then put back in your mailbox! I’ve a form you can fill up with the questions about your perception of our neighbourhood. Feel free to photocopy it if your family wants to fill it in. Once the write-up is done (probably by the end of May), I’ll print copies and send them to you too!

If you have any questions or you just want to talk about the project, feel free to email me at miriamyeo96@gmail.com. If you don’t feel comfortable with sharing your personal stories, no worries, and thank you for reading this far anyway!

Thank you and I hope to hear from you soon!

(And the form behind)

I felt so nervous posting letters in randomly chosen letter boxes in our 28 blocks. I felt like I was intruding on the privacy of other people and giving up my anonymity at the same time. But I am determined to get these personal stories to supplement the project I'm doing about Westbourne. I don't know how much longer Westbourne will remain, and I want to preserve it, if not physically, then with words and memories.

While posting a letter into one of the blocks, I looked up and caught sight of an old man looking down at me disapprovingly. I almost tripped in fear/nervousness, but caught myself and posted the letter anyways, being careful that the mailbox didn't belong to that old man's unit.

At Block 28, I had to swat away numerous flies that buzzed around the front garden, and side step a dead worm lying in the middle of the lobby. Strange.

I walked into a cobweb and a puddle at block 2.

I haven't yet got any replies but it's only been a day and I can't wait to hear from my neighbours!

Eternal sunshine

“A pessimist sees only the dark side of the clouds, and mopes; a philosopher sees both sides, and shrugs; an optimist doesn't see the clouds at all - he's walking on them.”

I really like being an optimist.

One of my biggest fears is becoming cynical or marrying someone who becomes cynical.

Public enemy and football gold

After my 7 hour shift today my dad came to fetch me home so I didn't have to walk in the rain. So I avoided that shower but stepped right into a shower of blessings. Dad drove me home and I had 2 slices of my chocolate and beet cake (recipe below) and listened to "A life that's good" by Lennon and Maisy which reminded me again how safe and loved I am.

Me and Mum went to watch a play (Public Enemy) after that, which was quite a good play! Very professional acting and set/costume and a very political message which I didn't entirely agree with but I thought they presented very piercing truth in the short space of 2 hours.

Read a little bit of 'The Mill on the floss' on the bus back and I realised how much I missed George Eliot.

And Tim's football team WON THE PREMIER DIVISION UNDER 16s!! FIRST PLACE!!! Bursting with pride for my wonderful brother.

Beet & Chocolate Cake

2/3 cup olive oil
1/2 cup honey
50 g chocolate chips
250 g (around 2 cups) raw beetroots, grated
3 eggs
1 cup self raising flour
1/2 cup wholewheat flour
1 tsp baking powder
5 tbsp cacao powder
a pinch salt
butter for greasing

Preheat the oven to 180°C. Warm the oil in a medium size sauce pan on very low heat. Add mhoney and chocolate and stir until the chocolate is melted. Remove from heat. Add the grated beets. Whisk the eggs in a small bowl and then add them to the sauce pan. Sift flour, baking powder, cacao powder and salt together and stir into the beet mixture. Grease a cake tin with butter and the batter. Bake for 25 minutes or until slightly dark and crackelated on top and still a little sticky inside. Enjoy!

Adapted from: http://www.greenkitchenstories.com/decadent-beet-chocolate-cake/

25/04/2015

This morning one of our first customers was a guys in a lavender shirt who ordered the ultimate croissant and a latte. I took his order, and then waited till he finished eating (whilst reading something by JRR. Tolkien) to clear his plate. When I did, he asked me 'Are you Hannah Yeo's sister?' Apparently he is her friend from Yale-NUS. The world is full of coincidences!

I watched him a little (because what else can you do on a a slow morning with no customers coming in?) and he started writing in a little book. At first I thought perhaps he was reading LOTR and he  was practicing Elvish, because his handwriting was so beautiful and slanted and long and cursive. So when I went to clear away his latte cup, I asked him what he was writing, and he told me it was his journal.

I was really amazed because I didn't know people just write journals like that!!! And I think people who do are really cool (I do. Just saying. Also so do Weixin and Ellis.) I remember being in Wessex tavern once and seeing a man writing in a journal and I just remember this burning urge to go over and ask him what he was writing about and tell him how amazing I think him writing is. Anyway, I told Derek (lavender shirt guy) he had really nice handwriting and then cleared away his cup.

Before he left he asked me how long I'll be working in the cafe. I wasn't sure if he was asking about that particular shift or in general, so I just told him 'till June', and then I wasn't sure if he asked how long I had been working in the cafe because after that he told me he's a regular but he's never seen me before. Oh well, bad hearing.

Bad hearing was quite a problem today because TWICE when I asked customers if I could clear away their plates they said 'Yes' but I heard no and walked away and was called back by a confused customer. (Profuse apologies followed) I was just generally rather not-with-it today, and when glen came over to help clear some plates for some reason I thought we wanted to shake my hand so I stuck mine out and then hastily tried to make it seem like I was reaching for a stray glass.

I was quite glad when this shift was over, because I was rather tired and I was looking forward to having my chocolate and beetroot cake at home. In the end I had 2 pieces because I could, and in about half an hour I'll be off to watch 'Public Enemy' with my Mum.

Poor Hannah has Hand Foot and Mouth disease. Because it's highly contagious, she uses a separate set of cutlery and a separate toilet and every time she uses my lap top I have to wipe it with anti septic wet-wipes before using it. She can't go out of the house and meet people in case they catch it from her and on top of this isolation she feels sicky.

I think she misses people the most, because she thrives on the love of her friends and good conversation. Her quarantine reminded me of the lepers who used to stay outside the walls of Jerusalem, shouting 'Unclean! Unclean!' (Leviticus 13:45-46  "The leprous person who has the disease shall wear torn clothes and let the hair of his head hang loose, and he shall cover his upper lip and cry out, ‘Unclean, unclean.’ He shall remain unclean as long as he has the disease. He is unclean. He shall live alone. His dwelling shall be outside the camp.")

I hope she gets better soon.

Has introversion become an excuse?

A common dinner table anecdote Tim likes to bring up to humiliate me is 'That one time at the swimming pool in England.' What happened was that we had to ask the pool guard for some help (I can't remember if our locker was stuck or if we needed directions but we needed some help) and I was too shy to ask him (perhaps the request had something to do with where the bathrooms were) and so I made Tim ask on my behalf. And he has never let it go and I am quite sure he'll repeat that story on my wedding day.

I was a shy child: I stuck to Emily and Christy in church, Bramina and Isabelle in school, and my books in all other life scenarios. I knew I was an introvert. I became bolder in secondary school and junior college, to the point that a few people in ACJC thought I was an extrovert. But my personality profile remained heavily skewed toward introversion based on the Myers Briggs test.

Introverts tend to direct their energy inward, being self-aware, thoughtful, private, meticulous and prone to introspection. This is not to say that they are unable to socialise - they can be gregarious and sociable around those they know, and even those they do not, although the difference between their interaction and that of extroverts is that it expends rather than gleans energy.

Recently, introversion has been a buzz word online, with plenty of articles like 'Awkward moments every introvert understands' and 'Problems only introverts will understand'. Whilst understanding the tendencies and quirks of introverts is a healthy thing, introversion, rather than being one of many personality traits relating to the attitudes with which people direct their energy, is increasingly used as an excuse.

'Introversion' suddenly sounds like a diagnosis of a syndrome or complex or disease that separates us from extroverts. So often I have caught myself silently backing out of interaction with others or speaking up in groups because I feel uncomfortable with it and feel that my introversion excuses my silence. New youths at church go un-talked to, flawed ideas go uncorrected, and I don't see it as my duty to address them because my introversion is something I can't control - it is part of my personality, and, like blindness, is something I cannot overcome. Let the extroverts do it. This is what they are good at, this is what they are meant to do. People probably wouldn't want to talk to me anyway since my introversion makes me so awkward in social situations.

What. Rubbish.

Introversion is not like blindness. It is more like having a blindfold. It keeps you in the comforting fold of darkness and self-thought, but when the light beckons, what one really needs to do is tear off this blindfold and embrace the light.

Certainly introversion makes it more difficult for me to step out of my comfort zone to approach others, or to air my views in public. But what introverts often overlook is the fact that it is hard for extroverts too. Going up to a stranger, introducing yourself, excavating parts of yourself for their scrutiny is always hard. To different people the difficulty falls at different degrees, but having something more difficult should never be a reason to give up on it (look at math and me).

Furthermore, every person is capable of defining themselves and their choices. We live in such a vast world that is is sheer hubris to think that they world will meld itself to our jagged edges and strange shapes. I signed up as an OGL in ACJC despite feeling really un-confident in my ability to integrate a group of vastly different and unique J1 kids into school. It was tough putting myself out there every day, but it showed me that I could definitely do it if I tried.We have to embrace our world, lean in and join into it's dance. To refuse to do so would be to relinquish so many opportunities.

I know I'm an introvert, but that shouldn't stop me. And if you are, it shouldn't stop you to. Go out, make friends, spend time with them (I know sometimes I feel like making excuses for social events to have some 'me-time' with a book, but when I think of how much joy it would bring my friends to spend time with them, and actually how much joy it would bring me to see them too, I fold the page corner and take the 191), contribute to discourse, CHANGE THE WORLD.

French saying

Je serai Poéte et toi poésie

'I'll be the poet and you, the poetry'

Funnily enough, I came across this on a yahoo forum 'Otherwise it would be Je serai pété et toi poésie, l'll be drunk and you poetry', which makes a sort of sense in the wicked-humour sort of sense.

Connectivity

I think it's a well known fact that I am completely rubbish at replying promptly on whatsapp.

I think if you've talked to me long enough, you'd realise that sometimes I don't reply for days. And sometimes not at all, usually because your conversation has been buried under another host of conversations I have yet to reply to. Often I have to give my sheepish grin-of-shame and admit that I don't have 3G and can't read many whatsapps till I get home in the evening, by which time I am too tired to reply to all of them.

The thing is, I really like not being accessible all the time.

Blogger Joanna Goddard wrote this:

"The other day, Toby and I went on a bike ride to the playground, and I accidentally left my phone at home. While he was playing, I was surprised to see how many times I absentmindedly reached for it before realizing it wasn't in my pocket. It made me realize how much I check it—for really no reason other than habit. (It was the same phenomenon as when you forget to wear your watch and then realize how many times you look at your blank wrist.)"

I would hate to be reliant on my phone for habit. As it is, I know so many people who are reliant on their phones for excitement, and for comfort. Sometimes I'll be talking to someone, and then in a conversation lull, when I want to enjoy a shared silence, suddenly a phone comes out - and I feel like the air is filled with angry static of an intruder in the conversation and also a silent accusation 'You have lost my interest'.

Certainly, I enjoy coming home from a long day and lying on the sofa for 15 minutes straight of reading whatsapp conversations and checking instagram. I like seeing what people have been talking about and doing (as well as all the lovely colours and angles on instagram - I  swear some of my friends could be street photographers sometimes. and others could be comedians, with their funny old captions.) But after 15 minutes of doing that I want to be doing something better with my time, like giving my Mum a hug, or reading 'the secret life of bees' or buttering some fresh toast.

It scares me that I could be spending more than 10 years of my life staring at a silver screen. I already waste so much of this precious short time on earth sleeping (necessarily so that I can live, and also sleep is the bringer of nice dreams), and I don't want to waste too much of it experiencing life through a flat screen.

And so when I don't reply to you, or take forever, please remember I'm probably tying to live life to the fuller and the fullest, and be happy.

20/04/2015

Today I went to Changi Airport in the morning for a CAAS interview.

It was a long train ride which mostly consisted of me trying not to step on people in my court shoes, and me admiring a tourist's jumpsuit that had drawings of jaguars on it (the big cat, not the car)

I got to Changi and immediately appreciated the i-am-going-on-a-holiday smell tht airports engender. It gave me serious England pangs which for a minute  really exciting (i think my heart may have sped up) and then for the next minute were not even funny they were so real.

The assessment centre was deathly quiet when I got in and also really cold and I cursed myself for not bringing a cardigan. I sat next to two guys, one was was really quiet and the other who kept talking to the boys on his left about army.

I wondered if no one was talking to me because I have a pimple on my nose.

We were split into three groups after that, and I moved so I was sitting next a girl and could finally talk.

A lady in very stylish flared pants read out the rules of the exercise to us and the schedule for the day, and asked if we had any questions. I raised my hand,

"If you have special dietary requirements, for lunch, should we tell you now?"

As Ben said,

'Oh miri'

'Good first impressions every time huh'

The rest of the day was rather uneventful. A girl called candace who wore a red dress like candace in Phineas and Ferb let me borrow her jacket so I didn't become an icicle, which was such a blessing. Although it didn't stop me from shivering before my presentation.

On the train ride home, I saw a lovely little boy sitting on the lap of his maid. He held a red and yellow dinosaur in either hand and he looked just like Joanna Goddard's Toby.

I also saw a man, half his face red from what looked like burns. He neither looked at his phone nor read a book, but stared with an expression that was a mixture of defiant pride and sadness. I felt silly for feeling so self-conscious over one little pimple when it would be so difficult to face the stares of people every day for a colour that is not your fault.

I stood next to a foreign worker who was thumbing through his passport, tracing the illustrations of the landmarks of his home country on the pages.

At commonwealth station, there was a book sale, one of those three for $10 book fairs, and so I bought 'The Help', 'Mister Pip' and 'The secret life of bees'. There is something immensely comforting in the act of buying books. It's like a promise to yourself, a whispered promise - I will take an adventure some day soon and enter this world which I now hold in my hands between the browned pages of this book.

16/04/2015

I got to go on an individual exploration of MUSEUMS last Thursday. It was a blazing hot day and I slathered on sunscreen and got the 191 to buona vista and the train to city hall to find the peranakan museum.

I walked around a little and directed a lost tourist to the mrt station, and felt a little like a lost tourist myself. I didn't see nay sign of the peranakan museum, and so I decided to go to the philatelic museum although I am not awfully interested in stamps in themselves - the pictures on them and the letters they hold yes but not the object itself.

God must have been guiding my feet (and the urban planning of the government), because as I walked past the philatelic museum I saw a sign pointing me toward the peranakan museum!

So I got there, showed the man at the counter my IC to get a free pass for a guided tour, and joined a pair of old ladies and our tour guide Janis Woon. Janis asked why I decided to come, and I told her about how SC was a peranakan school, and that I wanted to find out more about the culture I had been partially exposed to. I remember Alisha Makwana being peranakan, and going for a trip to Malacca in Sec 1 where they showed us an old peranakan house that had a hole in the second floor for spying on people on the first floor, and cooking peranakan dishes (that were too spicy for me to eat) in home economics lessons, and wearing the iconic sarong kebaya for choir performances, but that's about my knowledge about the culture of the peranakan.

So Janis brought us through the origins of the Peranakan (they are a cultural rather than racial entity! Pretty cool) and their wedding and language and costume and religion and kitchen and nyonya-ware. It sounds rather dull but honestly, it was one of the best museum tours I've been on. Janis kept it interesting by asking questions and telling us stories from her own peranakan heritage, such as how her grandmother would get whacked on the head by her own mother because she didn't follow her mother's peranakan recipes to the letter.

These funny walls were right next to the Peranakan Museum.

I had a solitary lunch at SMU, which I would have been terrified of last time - eating alone in a public place used to be so difficult and embarrassing, until I realised that no one was watching me eat and also that honestly I needed to be less self conscious.

The national museum was rather underwhelming. The Singapore History Gallery was closed for renovation, and it's poor replacement is the 'Singapura 700 years' exhibition which, while educating people about the nature of archaeology, doesn't tell much about any of the 700 years of Singaporean history I was expecting it to. I think it's a good way of showing people that all these excavations are not futile, but rather premature since no comprehensive hisotrical narrative can yet be spun from these artefacts. Still, I'm quite excited for the time when they will know how Singaporeans lived, and the mental picture in my head of a sea side village of rickety bamboo and rattan huts with loin-cloth clad brown skinned children running around catching fish and crabs will be replaced by a more historically accurate picture.

My mum says these statues have been here since she arrived in Singapore, but they could pass as modern art in my opinion. They remind me of the ring of sculpted children round the pond in Macpherson Primary where we used to park to go to church.

I returned home quite happy and tired.

More of these solitary adventures to come - next stop: the Sun Yat Sen Museum!

Emily's vegetari-an-niversary

Woke up this morning and wrapped the chocolate-cinnamon challah that I baked last night (that was the surprise!!!) in some newspaper, grabbed the acai pack from the fridge, and rolled up the poster with a lucy larcom quote that I painted and then rolled myself into the car to get to Emily's house. 

All these gifts were because today is Emily's vegetari-an-niversary! Last year on Good Friday 18th April 2014 Emily became vegetarian, and from then on she inspired me to try to change too. I took my time (and oh my, I failed miserably countless times) but eventually, following her example, I became vegetarian too. So today was a really special day.

I got to her house and let myself (with her keys) and surprisingly, she was awake! I played with Muffin and wrote in my diary while she got ready. When she finally was ready, I gave her the presents and then we went for breakfast at ghim moh.

Look at that. Look. At. That. It was delicious.

We talked a long time after that, as well as had some comforting silences. Both of us have the England ache syndrome quite badly - it's a good thing we're both going back in June.

'You know that feeling when you wake up in England ?' - Emily

I wish I was waking up in England, especially now the heat in Singapore is so oppressive, and scholarship interviews and the stress and research they require loom (CAAS on Monday). I am, of course, immensely grateful for scholarship opportunities, but I dread having to work so hard for it all to possibly amount to nothing.

We also talked about definitions and devolvement into bad language. When I was younger I was strictly told that 'shut up' and 'stupid' were bad words. As I grew older, I realised they had much worse counterparts. But now that I think about it - those two phrases are terrible. They tell someone that what they are saying is not worth hearing/deride someone's intellect. Why do people hurt people?

After more talking and some nice silences, we decided to walk around, and took some nice photos because the light was nice and I had the good camera with me.

It was really funny, because neither of us are models, and so in trying to get 'candid' shots we had to move around a lot. I was basically spinning around and prancing here and there, as strangers walked past probably thinking 'Xiao Ang Moh' (Mad Caucasian).

Hullo I'm a capitalist

I was lying on my Mum's bed two days ago and I tried to envision a world without money. This was prompted by a post on tumblr that lamented the strange power money has over us: 'People literally die because medicine costs too much. Money isn’t real. It stands for some arbitrary number and people literally DIE because of that number. Because they don’t have that number so they die.'

I've been working and finally earning my own income, and so I know how difficult it is to earn money (and keep it after you've earned it), and also how precious money becomes. I literally calculate in my head my daily expenses and try to limit my next day's expenses or next week's expenses (partly because I am saving up for England)

So I tried to imagine a world without that. First it seemed ideal - people would simply work at what they enjoyed: pilots would fly planes of people because they love the air, chefs would cook because flavour combinations and food creation excite them. But what about the jobs people don't want to do? It would be rash to think that we would have enough people passionate about things like cleaning and plumbing or something (No offence to all aspiring cleaners or plumbers!)

In some cases, the world might even be more selfish than it is now. Money can serve to incentivise us to do things we don't necessarily want to but that benefit the community, and taking it away would mean we assume human kindness and willingness to look past their own selfish interests to serve others would plug that gap. Which, since humans are mostly selfish and definitely imperfect at heart, would be a dangerous assumption to make. There might not be enough teachers, farmers, healthcare professionals, university courses for aspiring healthcare professionals, policy makers and politicians for the world. Most people would stay at home with their favourite things, or go out with their favourite people to eat food they did not make and frolic in parks they won't clean up after.

But the world would also be a lot fairer - people who needed medical treatment the most would get it, because doctor's would operate out of passion and love for people and their profession,education would be free, food and water would be free too. 

However, the thing is, this is all possible without taking money away. There are doctor's who go to places where people need them but can't pay, and doctor's who stay to take care of those who need them and can pay, and both help people, regardless of payment. There are countries with free education systems and governments that subsidise education and programmes for the more fortunate to help the less fortunate get education. There are food donation drives and water sanitation donation drives.

And so although initially I thought money was a bad thing and should be eradicated, after a while I realised I'm glad it's here. It helps us do what we need to rather than letting us do what we want to (which is often a dangerous thing), and it also gives the power to those with good hearts and kind hands to reach into their pockets and help those who need it. It does make us selfish, but it also makes selflessness more tangible - so we are able to reflect and see our own selfishness and change that.

I don't know what do you think, silent reader?

Imagine if you couldn't read

You would never be able to see this. You can't see this in fact because your mind hasn't been conditioned to read wingdings.. It's so strange to think that your ability to read it a gift given to you by virtue of your priveledged birth. However, so many children are born without that priveledge. Words and paragraphs to them are just blocks of symbols - like this one.

And this could be devastating. Imagine a pandemic sweeping a country, and news of it’s circulation and how to stop it’s spread published in the local newspaper. The illiterate would be severely disadvantaged and endangered.

But precisely because literacy is acquired (or man-made in a sense), we can help to reduce illiteracy in our own rights. 

World vision is offering Child Sponsorship which provides children with a chance at education and reduces illiteracy.

worldvision.org.sg/yearntolearn

lock

I was locked out of my house twice this week because I forgot to bring my keys home - how shall I ever live independently?

knock knock

Emily has given me the keys to her house. I think this basically means we're married.

Today was also rather amazing. I woke up and had 5 ORANGES for breakfast (felt slightly sick by the end of it but i was literally bursting with energy the rest of the day) and cooked a big batch of quinoa to last me at least 3 meals so packed lunches are SORTED for a while at least.

Then I headed to work and I was freaking out a bit because I was late for the first time in my life (by 10 minutes) but I met Jeremy coming out of the mrt station and felt not so bad because I wasn't the only late person. ('Met' is not really the right word since I kind of whacked him on the bicep with 'The mill on the floss' which is a rather huge book)

Work was INSANE today it was probably the most crowded I have seen the cafe which is of course great for the business but it meant that as queue manager today I had to use my brains quite a bit to try and fit people here and there like some kind of huge puzzle. Thankfully I had help from the rest of the shift.

Switt and Isaac also came to visit which was so nice, and they ordered waffles (which I am exceptionally proud of since that is basically all I eat in the cafe and I love them tons) I hadn't seen either of them for AGES and it was so nice to see Isaac's typical way of using cutlery and hear Switt's spontaneous laughter.

Also while Leonard was putting a hummingbird cake in a take away box, part of it broke off, ruining it's symmetry and so we got to EAT THAT ONE it was heavenly. A cinnamon spiced banana cake with pineapple chunks and cream cheese frosting - I usually don't even like pineapple but in this cake it was my best friend.

A new girl came to interview and  when I asked Leonard what she was interviewing for he said 'TO REPLACE YOU' and I mimicked a slow death on the coffee bar.

Charlotte let me pour a matcha late and iced latte today and I felt so excited because I was CREATING something (I think creating things is what makes me most happy - writing, baking, painting, cooking, pouring drinks...)

Ching was doing POS so her and I could talk which was great!!! She's such a humble but hard worker, every really appreciates her and not only for how she learns and gets the job done so amiably but also how she somehow, with a small tilt of the head or question , finds out about how you're doing and let's you know your life matters to her.

The chefs were kept so busy in the kitchen today because of the deluge of orders and whenever I wasn't busy herding (yes I was basically a sheepdog hahaha) people to newly vacated tables, I helped serve food and shared that 'sigh this is tough keep going dude' look with Andrew and the chef-with-the-chinese-name. I tried to smile as much as possible too so they would receive positive vibes but I don't know if they did or not.

Travis the chef told me that microwaving is the best way to cook vegetables- high heat for short periods of time or low heat for long periods of time. Interesting! I learn something new every time I'm at the cafe - about myself, my shift mates, customers in general, and sometimes about vegetables!

I got home (and I had keys this time!) and immediately started on  _____________ (A SECRET THING WHICH SHALL BE REVEALED TOMORROW) which of course was great because I love surprises and I love Emily.

Ballet was superb Emily and I were the only ones there and so we had lots of attention from Mrs Cheong who WORKED out inner thighs. I felt really out-of-practice: my jumps felt like I had leaden weights on my feet and I was pouring sweat by the time barre was over. Stretching was a good end off to the lesson, but even better was just talking and laughing with Emily outside as we waited for my Dad to arrive.

Will we ever learn?

Did you know western black rhinos are extinct?

To think that in my life time I have witnessed Man utterly annihilating God's creation. I know God is going to create a new heaven and a new earth but that doesn't mean we should accelerate the process by wiping out the one given us.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed at how cruel mankind is and how unpredictable the currents of life can be. I read about the Al-shabab attacks in Kenya, the likelihood that the ravaging effects of commercial fishing will destroy all seafood by 2050, cognitive impairment in a couple's marriage ('It was challenging for.. me to accept this imposter...who wasn't the person we knew'), and I did the depressing fin de siecle Hopkins poem Spring and Fall for tuition on Monday.

 Spring and Fall:

                to a Young Child

   Margaret, are you grieving
   Over Goldengrove unleaving?
   Leaves, like the things of man, you
   With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
   Ah! as the heart grows older
   It will come to such sights colder
   By and by, nor spare a sigh 
   Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; 
   And yet you will weep and know why.
   Now no matter, child, the name:
   Sorrow's springs are the same.
   Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
   What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed:
   It is the blight man was born for,
   It is Margaret you mourn for.

I keep imagining myself in years to come, sitting by the bedside of my child. Her warm head, hair tangled because like me she rarely combs it, against my belly, stubby brown fingers running themselves across the pages of a picture book.

'What is this one Mum?'

'Which one, darling?'

'This one.'

'That's an elephant, they were big and you could see them from space, and they lived in families just like us. When someone in their family died they got sad, and they recognised each others' voices.'

'You could see them from space?'

'Mmmhmm'

'But right now, right at this minute, there aren't any on earth?'

'No, they disappeared with the rhinoceroses and the dolphins - you remember talking about the dolphins?'

'Sometimes I have dreams where the dolphins are my friends.'

'I'm so sorry.'

I feel like there is so much to mourn for my heart cannot begin to cry.

Am I a flirt?

 

Sometimes I'm afraid of what people think of me when I write on my blog. I remember in the MFA interview last year, the interviewers asked me 'Are you easily affected by what people say about you?' And I wanted so much to say no, to concretise with my words that I was strong and autonomous in my identity. But I looked out of the window, at a tree with its leaves skimming the surface of the grey building next to it,  and I had to tell them. 'Yes, I'm do care deeply about what others say and think of me.'

I actually had to think for quite a while before I posted my post 'smile'. I was afraid it might portray me as a flirt. I remember sharing this particular worry with Emily on a train ride home from a barbecue.

When I talk to girls I laugh, I smile, I joke and I like talking about things beyond the everyday - things like religion, future hopes and dreams, what makes us afraid, what makes us unspeakably happy.
When I talk to boys I laugh, I smile, I joke and I like talking about things beyond the everyday - things like religion, future hopes and dreams, what makes us afraid, what makes us unspeakably happy.

I don't mean to pay anyone special attention but I do strive to make every one feel special. So yes, I don't know what the conclusion of this blog post is. I don't even know still if I DO flirt more than I should. I'm actually probably just over analysing and worrying. And also being frustrated over the fact that I realise for a girl to be considered flirty is socially frowned upon while for boys it is sometimes considered a status symbol (in certain cultures).

I don't mean to flirt. I should just go to bed.

11/04/15

Today I got on the train on the way to work and I was just beginning to scribble in my planner what has happened to me in the past week when I heard someone call my name and looked round to see Daniel Tung! What serendipity - he was on his way to school which was the next stop so we had a quick chat before he got off at Kent Ridge.

 Work was a complete whirl today. I was on the waffles machine, which started out slow, adn so I mostly helped out with the floor and washing bay. I was in the middle of washing a large stack of plates when Jia Hao appeared at the door and said 'Miriam could you come out for a moment' and I thought 'Oh dear what have I done' and followed him out

To see Toby and Auntie Yahsin at the front!

It was so nice of them to come especially since Toby has just emerged from the Bruneian jungles. I said hullo and then finished up the second half of the stack of dishes. The Wus are always so spontaneously supportive I've always thought (slightly morbid but.) that if anything should ever happen to make me an orphan, I would want to be adopted by them or the Wongs.

At around 12 the cafe started getting flooded with customers. It was the busiest I had ever seen it, and so many people ordered waffles and ice cream. I had at least 5 order for Pistachio - only the hardest flavour to scoop!!! Travis the pastry chef helped me to scoop the first one, showing me how to make little flakes that you compress into a ball of Pistachio and explained the high fat content of the nuts combined with the egg yolks in an ice cream make it harder for that flavour to scoop well. Thank God he also said they'll be swapping that flavour out soon for another. (Perhaps a berry sorbet like this absolutely gorgeous picture - OR ACAI oh my acai)

I scooped and scooped and scooped from 2 to 4 pm, and finally, arms tired and face flushed from the waffle machine heat, I sat down for my lunch with Glen, Yi En, Stephanie, Jia Hao and Presley (who didn't talk much but watched racing car videos on his phone)

Tuition with Kendra and Hiu Why/Wai was nice because as always they are proactive and curious about the text and improving themselves. And riding home from YACG in Chris' car with his strange music always makes me feel like an American teenager in an 80s movie. Which is a good feeling.

80 laps!!!!

I SWAM 80 LAPS TODAY !!!! 

I SWAM 80 LAPS TODAY !!!! 

I SWAM 80 LAPS TODAY !!!! 

(sorry for the spoiler title but I wanted to be able to easily find this post when I am an old grandma and can no longer swim, with wrinkles on my face rather than on my pruny finger tips from too much swimming)

I swam at the peak of the day (12.30-2pm) and I didn't put on any sunscreen whatsoever, so now I have the most gorgeous swim suit tan there is legitimately a big brown circle on my back.

Then I had my brinjal and cauliflower curry with brown rice for lunch (first time I made a curry!!!) and planned England with Ellis which involved a lot of map reading but we have a rough plan now and things are looking so exciting!

Perhaps next week I'll swim 100 laps! (That's my ultimate goal)

There are altogether too many exclamation marks in this post.

smile

 

On the way home yesterday after my NHB interview, I stopped by the Artisan Boulangerie Co to get something for Emily since Amadeus was her first drama performance. I browsed the pastries on display (And Oh! what pastries - Pain suisse, challah bread, chocolate tart, fruit tart...) before settling on the pear and almond tart since Emily (like my mother) doesn't like things to sweet.

I noticed there wasn't a cashier and was looking around trying to find one, when I spotted a pair of eyes behind the bread shelf. (The eyes of course belonged to a person) They were funny eyes, accompanied by raised eyebrows in an altogether comical expression. After a short while they eyes and the person emerged from behind the bread.

He smiled at me and I said I'd like one pear and almond tart to go please. He got it, and while he packed it into it's box (I love pastries in boxes) he said 'You have a lovely smile'. Which of course made me blush, and look away. Then I thought 'Well, yes, I do'. So I gave him a big smile.

And so Emily that is the story behind your tart - an interview, a pair of eyes and a smile.

04/04/2015

Sort of sprained my ankle, which on top of the oil burns and the two arms burns from a hot burn and a hot waffle machine means I'm really not doing too hot physically.

But despite that today was a really good day - I realised I hadn't enough credit in my EZ link card to get on the train, and just as I was panicking I bumped into Isaac from church who lent me enough to get a return ticket. We talked some before he got on his train - and I realised how little we talk in church: Did you know he used to do races too? Church community is really amazing even though sometimes I feel so skeptical about it.

I went to work and worked the POS because I didn't want to move around too much to avoid stressing my ankle. I had some very nice customers, although 35 SMU bicyclists came in the morning which meant a barrage of orders but still that was a good warm up for the rest of the day. Two of the SMU guys tried to take my picture 'sneakily' - one would sit with his back to me while the other took his picture and then they would switch places. Onn kiat asked me to smile for them, but I feel uncomfortable with that sort of thing so I just busied myself with reading the sheet that tells me things like additional truffle mayo costs $1. Still, one of the SMU students gave a $11.10 tip which was pretty awesome!

What made my day absolutely was when my family and Christy came to visit! I couldn't serve them or talk much because they came at the busy lunch hour, but just having them was so heart warming. My co-workers told me they thought Hannah looked younger than me and that Tim looked very grumpy (apparently he was embarrassed by how many photographs Dad was taking of the cafe).

Wei Ren offered me a smoke but I said I didn't want to get lung cancer and die. And I ate my bailey's and brownie ice cream (courtesy of Dad) when the slow and hazy after-lunch hour came around.

And great house is just becoming better every single day I read it.

Good Friday

I ran for a whole hour today! (Minus about 5 minutes of resting in between)

I woke up really early, and noticed that the oil burns had formed blisters. I felt slightly sad, because they look rather disgusting, but then I realised no one ever sees my tummy anyways, and so I shrugged on my TKK shirt and started to run. I ran round the neighbourhood, then round Simren's old neighbourhood, and through mediapolis over the highway and back, through the construction site next to Tanglin Trust an down to one north, where I had my rest before walking through the train station and running from one north to Ghim Moh for breakfast.

Interesting things I saw:

1. A woman in a light pink bath robe walking her dog

2. The sun through two gaps in the clouds, like someone had used a heavenly hole puncher

3. A family at the mrt station - 2 young daughters and one young son, one grandfather and one father shouldering a box and a bag

4. A security guard doing arm exercises that looked like he wanted to fly

When I got to Ghim Moh, I found my family and sat with them at a table with 5 old aunties, who kept saying my Mum was 'hen piao liang' (very pretty), and that Tim, Hannah and I took after her. Mum turned to Dad when she heard them saying she was 'hen piao liang' and asked 'dui bu dui?' (Do you agree?) and he of course said 'dui' (yes).

I had a BIG plate of fruit (the usually grumpy uncle gave me a discount!) and a plain prata (I don't know if that's vegan or not but it's a tradition! I also need to find out if chee kueh is vegan) and listened to Hannah and Dad talk about 'managing people' 'building people' and 'setting up systems'.

Happy Good Friday everyone!

drizzle

Today I got news that I've been shortlisted for the NHB interview! Did a little jiggly celebration dance whilst still on the phone because of complete happiness.

Later it rained really heavily and my mood suddenly plunged. I couldn't explain it I felt like I had wasted my whole day and also like I was caged up and also like I couldn't breathe. Reading didn't help, and I didn't get through more than 3 pages of great house before I put it down because I knew I wasn't respecting the book in the way that it should be respected - I was reading to find relief and of course I found none because my I-need-to-be-relieved state of being meant I could not read.

I did a lot of pacing, and took in the washing. Strangely, I only found relief when I began to sort through all my old A level books and notes, watching an increasing pile of papers build up next to my brothers' mattress. I threw out most of my GP and Econs (except the stuff I'm giving to juniors/Emily), but kept most of my history because I want to read it again.

I needed to cook dinner for my family after that, so I went to cut up the broccoli and the carrots and onion, feeling increasingly tightly wound up as I did so because I felt like I didn't have enough time to finish preparing everything on time. I called Tim to help me put the rice in the rice cooker, but in the process he spilled rice all over the floor and so I told him to let me do it and swept that up and then put the rice on, fretting and fretting that I wouldn't be able to complete everything on time.

I don't know why all that mattered so much. I was so adamant that it had to be done by 7 on the dot, and the thought that I might only be done at 7.15 or later just filled me with horrible horrible unease.

I put the broccoli in to roast, the carrots and onion to stew, and the rice in the rice cooker, and all I had left to tackle was the fish, which is something I've never cooked before.

I quickly marinaded it in some lemon juice, salt and pepper, and then heated some oil in a pan and put the fish piece in to pan sear. It took so long to cook through and my anxiety was mounting with every 5 minute interval and so the minute the first piece was done I rushed to put the second and third pieces on together, and the water on them caused the oil to spit violently onto my skin.

That was the last straw and I just burst into tears and went onto the balcony, hung out the washing again, all the while mumbling incoherent things like 'stupid fish' and 'why did that fish have to die, it should be swimming in the ocean, this is why I'm vegetarian', 'now I'm going to have scars', and 'life is so unfair'.

After I had finished crying and was just left in the shudder-y half sob-gulp state that follows tears, I felt so much better. That spring that had been so tightly wound within me had finally unwound. When Dad came in he gave me a big hug and pronounced the fish delicious. When Mum came in I rested my chin on her shoulder, she pronounced the carrots first-class.

The storm always passes.

URGENT APPEAL

Dear friend-to-whom-I-lent-my-like-crazy-dvd,

May I please have my dvd back. I would really like to watch it again.

I will die without it.

And then no one will write on this blog.

Lots of love,

Miriam

I Go Back To The House For A Book

Today I continued reading 'Great House' by Nicole Krauss. I've read 'The History of Love' twice (and want to do so again), and 'Man Walked into the Room' once (and don't particularly want to again but perhaps I will because I just didn't really comprehend it and I want to)

Great House starts slowly - a writer who fails to love those around her enough, a occupational hazard apparently - but picks up pace and I am now so glad I didn't put it down and leave it there.

I read it today at the bus stop before I went to work at the bus stop. The sun shine was so bright on my black skinny jeans that I was almost certain that when I peeled them off in the toilet later on my flesh would be red-raw.

But that was me being a hypochondriac of course.

While washing plates at the cafe I heard the distant roll of thunder and felt so excited because I've finished all my applications and once again have the freedom to care about the weather rather than stay indoors typing all the time.

I Go Back To The House For A Book

by Billy Collins

I turn around on the gravel
and go back to the house for a book,
something to read at the doctor’s office,
and while I am inside, running the finger
of inquisition along a shelf,
another me that did not bother
to go back to the house for a book
heads out on his own,
rolls down the driveway,
and swings left toward town,
a ghost in his ghost car,
another knot in the string of time,
a good three minutes ahead of me—
a spacing that will now continue
for the rest of my life.
Sometimes I think I see him
a few people in front of me on a line
or getting up from a table
to leave the restaurant just before I do,
slipping into his coat on the way out the door.
But there is no catching him,
no way to slow him down
and put us back in synch,
unless one day he decides to go back
to the house for something,
but I cannot imagine
for the life of me what that might be.
He is out there always before me,
blazing my trail, invisible scout,
hound that pulls me along,
shade I am doomed to follow,
my perfect double,
only bumped an inch into the future,
and not nearly as well-versed as I
in the love poems of Ovid—
I who went back to the house
that fateful winter morning and got the book.

Cognitive dissonance and vegetarianism

(This was the essay I wrote for my USP application - constrained to 600 words, I had to say only the most important)

‘Can Your Pet’: an apparently innocuous game where players care for a virtual chick. However, the game takes a gruesome turn when the chick is ground between two metal blades and canned, placing a twist of dark humour on the game’s ambiguous name. This game is an apt illustration of a social psychology theory - cognitive dissonance - and how it relates to food production. 

Cognitive dissonance describes undesirable conflict between one’s absolute values and one’s behaviour. To reduce this stress, mismatching beliefs or actions are altered to create cognitive consistency. In decision making, for example, to justify a choice, people engage in mental manipulation , exaggerating the advantages of their chosen option and reducing their opinion of the choice forgone (spreading apart the alternatives).       

While this theory explains many situations of cruelty, I have focused on food consumption - an insidious behaviour affecting billions daily. 

Intellectual awareness of the cruelty and environmental damage involved in mass production of fish, meat, eggs and dairy (FMED) products is common by adulthood; however, a corresponding change in diet is not.

This is mainly because the enjoyable consumption of these foods conflicts with that intellectual awareness, creating dissonance that demands resolution. To diminish the guilt of eating an animal that suffered grossly and to justify the decision to eat meat, omnivores spread apart the alternatives to assuage their consciences, blinding themselves to the reality of animals’ suffering. The New York Times Magazine writer Michael Pollen described it “a schizoid quality …… in which sentiment and brutality exist side by side. Half the dogs in America will receive Christmas presents this year, yet few of us pause to consider the miserable life of the pig – an animal easily as intelligent as a dog – that becomes the Christmas ham.” 

Dissonance is overcome by suppressing the hard reality that feeding off suffering is grotesque in three ways. First, behaviour is justified by another belief: ‘I can’t make a meaningful difference’. This is a common jibe at vegetarianism, one alternative.  It reduces cognitive dissonance, by convincing people that vegetarianism is futile in significantly reducing nett suffering. However, linking ethics to consequence is a fallacious means to achieve cognitive consistency. Just because one cannot prevent mass scale slaughter, one should not fail to take a stand against it. The issue is not whether one can make a difference – it is a matter of what kind.

Omnivores also tend to acquire information biased toward their behaviour. Fears over vegetarian nutritional deficiencies often justify continued meat-eating. However, as reasonable alternatives to meat-based nutrients (e.g. soy and quinoa) are increasingly available, this shield to cognitive dissonance no longer remains viable. 

Thirdly, to justify their behaviour, omnivores downplay the cruelty of FMED industries. As noted in The Economist, “Few people would themselves keep a hen in a shoebox for her egg-laying life; but practically everyone will eat smartly packaged ‘farm fresh’ eggs from battery hens.” The separation of farm and fridge sustains this ignorance and detachment – however, ignorance cannot be an excuse for complicity. Consumers’ dollar votes give them immense power in the key determinants that control these industries - demand and supply. 

Gandhi said, ‘Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony’. Reducing cognitive dissonance through changing values gives the comfort of cognitive consistency, but can also become a veneer of justification that sustains inhumane practices. Cognitive dissonance exists for a reason, prompting us to realise that our actions are wrong. Rather than compromising our beliefs, it is only through changing our food choices that we achieve true dietary integrity.