Midnight Race

Thanks to basket-weaving Mike, 24 of us had a fantabulous weekend in Bangkok. Most of us did the typical Singaporean thing by quadrupling our luggage weight with clothes, shoes, accessories, snacks, and even cartons of mango. On the way to the airport we had a biggest-shopaholic-poll, and surprise winner Dorothy spent over a thousand Sing-dollars in just 2 days trekking around Bangkok. Shows that one can never beat the true blue bargain-hunting aunties.

Next to shopping, our favourite past time was exploring the spas. Thanks to big sis Na-na, we found an excellent day spa called Spa 1930, housed in a 70-year old home recognised as one of Bangkok's architectural heritage buildings. It was a house built for a prince, and I must say I felt like a queen with the 4-hand massage, so beautifully synchronised that it felt like a slow-motion Thai dance gently rubbing away all your worries. We also checked out Thann's the next day. It was pretty good, but lacked the ambience and personal touch of Spa 1930. We had a great time nonetheless, it was most hilarious to watch Mike frantically gesturing to us when he thought he was getting a male masseur, and then Mike showing up outside the room in a bathrobe.

The best memory of all was tuk-tuk racing down the midnight streets of Bangkok. While the rest of the folks continued their bargain-hunting at Sun Lum, Mike, Will, 3M and myself went to check out Khao San, the backpackers' heaven. A few jugs of Singha beer later (al fresco at Molly's with a nice big tree), we decided to ditch the cab and head back to the hotel in tuk-tuks.

As usual we bargained and got 2 tuk-tuks, each at 100 bahts. And with the usual evil glimmer in his eyes Mike waved a note to the tuk-tuk drivers and said the fastest driver would get an extra 50 bahts. Mike and 3M speeds ahead in the first tuk-tuk, and I congratulated myself for being smart enough to stick with Will and not daredevil Mike. Mike refused to give up and started waving a 100 baht note, egging both tuk-tuks on. Two traffic lights later our tuk-tuk driver finally got the message and revved up so abruptly that it felt as if our tuk-tuk was going to tip over backwards.

Speeding down the almost-empty streets at midnight was simply... glorious. Maybe it was the speed, maybe it was the Singha beer. It was as if we were racing with the streetlights that had suddenly come alive. The cool night breeze sent electrifying chills down our necks.

The colours of Bangkok melted into a wavy blur, curving and twirling in the nightsky like Van Gogh's starry night. Perhaps it was just my eyes flooded with beer. But perhaps it was the waves of our carefree laughter.

Ivy's Wall

Ivy and I have known each other for 10 years. That is quite a big chunk of our lives. Somehow we managed to keep in touch all these years, even though we were classmates for only a few months.

Ivy and I had totally different personalities. She was the quiet, demure snow white, madly pursued by dreamy romeos. One of them burnt a few gallons of midnight oil just to meticulously glue together hundreds of pearly white buttons to make her a cinderella shoe. I think the shoe was actually her size. And of course, the romeos used me as a messenger to send her little notes. The cinderella-shoe romeo used to say that she was cute, sweet and concise -- what the @#$% did concise mean?? Cinderella-shoe romeo looked at me and said, well, she comes in a smaller package. So I guess if she was the angel with the harp, I was simply the tuba. And if she was the more cliché swan, I was the ... turkey.

Ok, I guess not turkey. Cinderella-shoe romeo ended up giving me an owl carved out of soap as graduation gift. That was really nice. I think I would rather be an owl than a swan.

Ivy never fell for any of those romeos though. She chose down-to-earth EP, who probably would never spend nights making a shoe for her, but would take great care of her for the rest of their lives.

Ivy wanted some splashes of colour in her new home. She said orange and pink. I hope she will like this mini-series.


Just for you, Ivy.

Cambodian Breeze

Phnom Penh was a lot more vibrant than I had imagined. And also extremely hot the first day we arrived. Noy said it was the very end of summer, and winter would set in around early November. Fortunately on the second day the heat was not as scorching, and Awe had a good time sweeping up beautifully crafted silk at the Russian Market.

Two days was about enough to make a quick trip around the major tourist spots in Phnom Penh. Yet the hospitality of our wonderful Cambodian friends made me want to stay a lot longer. They went to great lengths to ensure our comfort, taking care of every detail throughout our stay. It just seemed like second nature to them that they should take such good care of their guests.

We saw the Wat Phnom, Royal Palace, National Museum, and drove 42km south of Phnom Penh to Tonle Bati, also known as Mini Angkor, built in the late 12th century. Awe seemed to know a lot about the history and religious characters of the region.

While that was all very interesting, I found myself most attracted to the simplicity of the country scenery, the occasional breeze and the fresh scent of grass. My fascination with random things like an odd lotus pond in the middle of a wild field by the dusty road must have seemed strange to Raeksmay and Sokna. I was the city rat intrigued by the different shades of green that seemed unique to each country. The greenery that mother nature gave so unreservedly to those who would cherish it. Just like the warmth and friendship that were so generously showered on us.

Forest Reflections

The little red dot has been engulfed in haze for the past two weeks. The PSI has been yo-yo-ing between moderate and unhealthy levels, hitting 150 at some point. If it is so bad for us, I wonder what it is like for the Indonesian people living near the hot spots.


Is the land covered with ashes and dust? Are the kids choking on the acrid air? Are they straining their eyes to see the fish in the river? Is the fish choking too, as the pollutants contaminate the water?

Dragonfly

The HP spying scandal rages on, with Dunn and others being charged with felonies. Meanwhile, Fiorina publishes her new book, which reportedly paints a picture of male establishment ganging up against women executives.

As a woman, it is always interesting to see how others have climbed or helicoptered above the old boys club and done well for themselves -- or sometimes, fallen spectacularly. Some years back, I read about a magazine trying to survey and measure the power of women in the corporate world. Apparently, when the reporter interviewed a certain large Asian company on women representation on its senior management team, the representative of the company laughed in the reporter's face.

I am far from the stage of corporate life where I could tell for sure if there were a glass ceiling for women. I suppose it differs from job to job. Some women I know have also opted to run their own businesses, rather than go through with the ladder-climbing process. Of course, I think there is a whole lot of other great reasons to run your own business.

Locally, the best-known female entrepreneur is probably Olivia Lum. In a strange way, I always associate her with the dragonfly. I guess it is because of the Hyflux product by the same name.

Dragonflies are supposedly the fastest insects in the world, going up to 97 km/h. They can also approach a target speedily, while appearing to be stationery from the victim's angle. This technique is called motion camouflage, a form of optical illusion.

Does the dragonfly look like it is stationery, or moving?

The Persistence of Time

To Dali, time probably looks like melting Camembert cheese. In The Persistence of Memory, time melts, flies, decays, drapes and weighs on what some thought was Dali's self-portrait.

Sometimes I think time is like jellyfish. Drifting along, leisurely feeding on plankton. Not a worry or frown, just drifting along slowly, even as sharks devour each other or a tsunami wreaks havoc ashore.

The jellyfish is so hard to catch, yet so unforgiving once it decides to latch onto you. But who could avoid the jellyfish of time.

Portrait of an Empress

Kit Chan's Forbidden City: Portrait of an Empress is once again playing at the Esplanade. Kit Chan's voice is one of my favourites. I remember playing her songs to African American friends and they, too, were totally mesmerised even though they had no clue what "xin1 tong4" was about. My Indian American roommate only complained once after I set the song on replay mode on my PC, forgot about it and went off for 3 hours to do my 5 weeks' worth of laundry so that I would not have to wear PJs to class.

Of all the Empress Dowagers in the Chinese history, Cixi was probably one of the most well-known, remembered mostly for her appetite for power, and her role in the Qing dynasty's downfall. In Kit Chan's musical, American artist Kate Carl goes all the way to Beijing to paint a portrait for Cixi.

But my all-time favourite is still Xiao Zhuang, best known as Grand Empress Dowager Xiao Zhuang Wen, Emperor Kang Xi's grandmother. Much to my annoyance, official history never had comprehensive records of women of the time. However according to most written articles on Xiao Zhuang, she was a highly intelligent lady and an important behind-the-scenes political force that influenced at least 3 generations of Qing rulers. She mediated political struggles and helped the dynasty avoid military upheaval. She managed to protect her young son Shun Zhi and grandson Kang Xi's reigns from scheming princes and generals. Most remarkably, she achieved all of that without undermining the emperor (and hence the stability of the dynasty), unlike Cixi who resorted to putting her emperor on house arrest, and according to some, had a hand in the death of her own son and her fellow Empress Dowager Ci'an.

Of course, one school of thought was that, Xiao Zhuang was only able to control the affairs of the Qing court because of her relationship with Prince Dorgon, her late husband's brother and her son's regent, and possibly the most powerful military leader of the time. Historians seem divided as to whether Xiao Zhuang ended up marrying Prince Dorgon. But there appears to be no doubt that the duo shared a special relationship.

Xiao Zhuang was reportedly the most beautiful maiden of her time in Horqin, Mongolia, where she came from. Unfortunately there was no Kodak in those days, and the court paintings I found portrayed her as a slightly plump, middle-aged woman. I wonder what she looked like in her youth.

This probably does her no justice at all. It was a rather strange few evenings painting the imaginery Xiao Zhuang, with the canvas set at eye-level on the easel. At one point it felt as if I was applying eye shadow for her face-to-face. (If you feel creeped out, it was really not that creepy... I was just having a nice chat with her about her Prince Dorgon.... Ok. Just kidding.)

Personally, it was a rather slow and enjoyable journey, imagining the imprint she made in the sands of time in the then-glorious Qing dynasty. I suppose I am just a sucker for stories of great women in history.

Dancing in the Rain

Two of the handicapped dancers performed The Butterfly Lovers with such grace and beauty.

If it does not ring a bell... The Butterfly Lovers is a Chinese legend about the tragic romance of Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai, set in the Eastern Jin dynasty. Zhu disguises herself as a man so that she could study at the school, where she meets Liang. And, you guessed right, they fall in love with each other. Liang later discovers that Zhu was a woman, and was crushed when he found out that she was already betrothed to someone else. Liang later dies. On Zhu's wedding day, strong gushes of wind and storm prevented her from walking past Liang's grave. Liang's grave miraculously cracks open, Zhu jumps in, dies, and the duo transforms into a pair of butterflies that always flew around each other.

I have never seen butterflies fly around in the rain. Not that we get to see butterflies often in the first place, even with all the trees and flowers in this green city. I suppose when Liang and Zhu morphed into butterflies, the stormy skies would have suddenly changed its mood and brightened up with a great big rainbow. Maybe with fireworks in the distant sky. (OK I guess I am not cut out to be a movie director. I can hear you screaming stop! argh!)

But I did wonder whether butterflies could fly around in the rain. I mean, could their wings take the beating from the raindrops?

Of course, like any other netizen, I googled for the answer. So apparently butterflies do not fly in the rain. In the wild, they would hold onto trees or bushes just in case they get hit by the rain and get stuck to the ground.

I suppose the weight of the water would weigh them down. I mean, imagine someone up there constantly emptying multiple buckets of water onto your head while you are trying to run away. And the howling winds are so strong that you are constantly swung off your intended path.

Sometimes the butterflies don't run, er fly, fast enough to avoid the rain, and if they do get wet, they simply have to hide somewhere dry and wait until the water evaporates off.

I remember getting caught in the rain when I was a kid, as we came home from the market. Well... actually, Dad, bro and I went out to drench ourselves in the rain. Mom thought we were nuts because we would get sick -- actually I think bro or I did :) But dancing in the rain remains one of the most beautiful memories of my childhood. So thank you, Dad.

Perhaps, just perhaps, some butterflies might like dancing in the rain too.

Their Dreams

Last Friday night, my friend 3M (who is now just 2M, by the way) and I went to the Max Pavillion to see a performance "My Dream" by the China Disabled Persons' Performing Arts Troupe. The performing artists included blind musicians, deaf dancers, wheelchair-bound sopranos, and a dance soloist who lost both arms - and who was reportedly also a farmer offstage.

It was simply a beautiful performance, the slightly noisy audience (of what must have been more than 2000 people) notwithstanding.

I thought the dance performances were of professional standards. It was especially amazing considering that the dancers were unable to hear music, but managed to move in the most fluid and beautiful ways with the aid of only two assistants by the sides of the stage, who signalled the rhythm with arm movements.

A blind pianist played Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 14 (the Moonlight Sonata). 3M told me that it was possible to play without looking at the keyboard, once you started playing. But what difficulties must the pianist have gone through, trying to learn the piano without ever seeing the keyboard or score.

I tried to imagine the many more steps the disabled artists must have taken along the windy path, to overcome the difficulties in perfecting their art and to be proudly showcasing their talents on stage. In my mind, I see a blazing phoenix emerging from a treacherous sea of darkness and danger, undaunted by the multitude of forces trying to pin it back down under the murky waves.

Prima Donna

One of our favourite pastimes is to stroll around the Botanic Gardens. Such a beautiful sanctuary in a bustling city. And it looks fabulous with the recent facelift.

We love the wholesome breakfast spread at Café Les Amis. Eggs, toast, coffee. The perfect start to a perfect Sunday.

I used to enjoy idyllic afternoons at roadside cafés. With an old novel, a long black coffee, and the occasional (ok, frequent) indulgence of carbo-laden pastries. And in the most cliche of ways, watch the world go by. The world routinely rushes by the glass window, rarely looking up or around. Most of the time, the world's ears are plastered to their cell phones.

Coffee at the Botanic Gardens is such a different experience. The world is freeze framed in a wonderful moment. Life does not merely glide by. It is bustling and brimming and overflowing. Children running and laughing, dogs sprawled on the sunny lawn.

Speaking of sanctuaries smack in the middle of the city, New York's Central Park comes to mind. According to wikipedia, it is twice the size of Monaco and eight times the size of the Vatican City. A luxurious piece of real estate in one of the most expensive cities on earth.

For those who like hard facts: both the Central Park and the Singapore Botanic Gardens were established in the late 1850s. At 128 acres, the latter is less than one-sixth of the size of Central Park.

You could row a boat in Central Park. At the Botanic Gardens, the water lilies sit unperturbed in a bed of floating leaves. Like Prima Donnas with a commanding presence on stage, posing serenely, regally, surrounded by twirling dancers and glittering lights.

Surfing under the Moonlight

I have friends who love to surf. I mean riding the waves. Not crawling the internet.

Some of them simply love the exhiliration of racing the winds and waves in the summer heat, and others like the bonus of meeting hot babes in bikinis on the beach.

I wondered what it would be like to surf under the moonlight. I suppose it would be quite difficult, if not outright impossible, to try to ride big black waves that could splash out the starlights in the night.

Ah. But what is stopping the surfer on canvas?

I suppose you could call this a fantasy.

Dancing with the waves under the moonlight, waking the dolphins for a coffee.

The surfer was originally just a shadow, like a mysterious adventurer in the dark. The other budgie in my house was the inspiration for the happier yellow shirt. Still an adventurer, but no longer a loner lurking in the darkness. He is shining like a star.

Just like what I feel with the other budgie around.

Roses by the Window

Today I received the first comment on my blog, or rather, on my painting "Golden Sunrise"/"Romantic Sunset", whichever Bear-Bear thought it was. Such a pleasant surprise. A smile from a stranger, a kind word from someone who appreciates my doodling on canvas.

I am beginning to realise the power of blogging. I have never been a trend-setter, never been an early adopter of any technology, or in this case, a new way of expressing oneself. In fact, I have always been, like, 3 years late. I was still using regular kodak film when the rest of the world switched to digital cameras, and only got my first digicam 2 years ago. Today, MP3 players have yet to succeed in replacing my discman. Yup. I am that outdated. So I wondered why so many people bothered to share their diary online - I thought, would other people care? - or, why some companies thought blogging was a viable way of marketing.

All in all, I am glad that in this year of change, I decided to stop procrastinating and give every interesting idea a go.

This is a painting I gave to a friend C earlier on. I call it Roses by the Window. I thought that despite C's flippant exterior, he was really looking for someone who would bring him quiet joy and warmth. I am blessed and I hope C will be, too.

Still life has never been my forte but I hope C liked it. And thanks to technology, I am able to share this here with you.

Painting

Ta-da! Welcome to my first blog.

So many firsts this year.

Never thought I would do pilates, but I have tried and completed 20 hours so far. Never thought I would sell a thing on ebay, but I managed to get rid of an old suit in 24 hours. Never thought I would pick up that paintbrush again, but I'm well onto my 10th canvas. Here's one of my latest:

I initially thought of it as Golden Sunrise. Trying to make myself feel happier about waking up early in the morning to drag myself to the office. But friends commented that it was more like "Romantic Sunset". That works too. Afterall it's all in the beholder's eyes.

Splashing colours on canvas does seem to brighten my day. A far cry from making oneself blind by checking and rechecking spreadsheets and crafting hair-splitting documents. Having one's vacation postponed because of a meeting, which ended up being cancelled. And being told "get used to it". I thought "sorry we messed up your plans" would have been nicer. But everyone is entitled to their own way of expressing themselves.