Sunday Soap

I am usually no sucker to TV series, especially those with dramatic family scenes. I get quite sick to the guts watching stereotypes. Yet I spent the better half of last Sunday watching one... what more, it was on YouTube. I was searching for something else on YouTube but it dished out some suggested links on another show. I had heard of the show before and just casually clicked on one of the links. Well, one clip led to another and before I knew it, I had watched enough to know the whole story.

The series is about a dysfunctional American family: a recovering drug addict son, a deceased father who had embezzled money from the family business, a gay son, a politician son in-law, and the list goes on. It has all the makings of... an American soap! This particular one has an uncanny way of making you see a little of yourself in some of the characters. Touché!

Alright, Hollywood got me this time. One point for Tinseltown. Infact I am completely smitten by some of the characters in the show. The show in question is Brothers and Sisters.

But this morning it got me thinking. Why are most of us so able to relate to a dysfunctional family? (and that is how Hollywood makes money*). Well, because most of us come from one don't we? Most of us do not live textbook lives and do not have textbook families. A dysfunctional family is really the norm rather than an exception.

(*All things said, it was a rather well done series and deserves some credit)

blooming and branching

Little Korea

With my sense of direction, or rather, the lack of it, I was anticipating a night of many wrong turnings before we could finally find the restaurant; and end up having supper in place of dinner.

I was wrong. We reached there on first attempt, perfect timing for dinner. In no time after we made our order, the waiter was laying out onto the table, a countless number of little plates of pickled dishes. A minute later, we were barbecueing away.

After the hearty meal, we strolled through the cosy Korean enclave and feasted our eyes on the lines and lines of colourful items on the shelves of the charming Korean mini marts.

It was a lovely well deserved night out for two shameless, self-proclaimed chefs: me and mum.

Coup de Grâce

I was driving through the busy road on my way to work this morning. In the middle of the road, in the front, I saw a brownish object moving vigorously, staying in the same spot. It looked like a large piece of dry leaf fluttering in the wind. As my car inched nearer, I could see that it was a small brown kitten.

One side of its head was completely smashed in, red, raw and collapsed. But the kitten was clearly conscious and alive, flipping and twisting violently in pain on the asphalt road. It was clear that its condition was beyond help and that it would eventually die. But it was also clear that at that rate, it would persist for a long time in that state before it would succumb to its fatal injury.

A flash of thought immediately ran through my head: should I run over it to put it out of its misery? I only had a split second to make the decision on that busy road as traffic continued to move.

As I reached the spot where the kitten laid, still struggling, still sufferring in pain, I found myself swerving the car to the side, missing the kitten.

I do not know if I would have felt better if I had had the courage to run over the kitten instead.

After witnessing one of the most painful things I had ever seen, I continued driving away from the spot, hoping that all the other motorists around me wouldn't notice me crying in my car.

The limit set of a chaotic trajectory

I turned 34 two months ago. Aren't we all quickly moving through the passage of time?

With a mere few weeks left before a new year arrives, what have we achieved? What has changed? what has remained the same? The cowboy still rides off to the sunset with the prettiest maid; the glass slippers still fit only the prettiest of the three sisters; glittering gem stones still dorn the costume of kings, dull unattractive common charcoal still burns in the hell fires of a furnace.

Aren't the damned still damned, the doomed still doomed; doesn't the world still stage the same scripted play of injustice from sun up to sun down.

Meditation of a different kind

Just passed midday and it is raining outside. It has been raining since last night. We were lucky to have chosen yesterday to do our hiking. The rock climbing would have been even more treacherous had it been wet and slippery.

Cliché as it may be, it was a breath of fresh air - pardon my pun - to be jolted by the wonderful experience yesterday. You are forced to focus one hundred per cent in order to hang on to dear life as you claw your way up the seventy degree cliff. Momentarily, there is only you, the rocky cliff, and the cool air you feel behind your back; open space, freedom and not a worry in the world.

To err is human...

..especially if you happen to be good-looking.

The better looking you are, the lesser personality you need. Being attractive also gives you your birth rights to have an attitute, to act brashly and to jump the line. It is afterall an unspoken rule that attractive people get away with most things. You can even be a repeat offender, just look good, and you will be repeatedly forgiven.

A pretty face with a sob story can get you very far; a less pretty face with the same story gets you no sympathy.

Look good, and you have droves of people eating out of your hand... and coming back again and again for more.

To err is human, to forgive devine, to look good essential!

Frogs after the Rain

I have not touched alcohol for what must be more than a month now. But then again, I was never an alcoholic. I might have seemed alcohol dependent but if that had been the case, I am certainly alcohol independent now.

I discovered that even your favourite wine is capable of upsetting you sometimes. Instead of lifting your spirit, it sometimes magnifies your pain.

Infact, when you think of it, there are very few things in life that you can rely on to never upset you.

Except, perhaps, Money! Yes! Dare I say, money seems to be the only thing that never upsets you.

Tonight I shall sleep to the sound of croaking frogs after the rain.

A different kind of dinner-for-two

I took the day off. After attending to a few emails and just before leaving the office this morning, I went to the plastic donation box that the guys had set up the day before to collect money for the China and Myanmar disaster victims. I dropped in my money, an amount that was the price of a candlelight dinner for two in a fancy restaurant, and walked away wondering whether my gesture of charity was done more for the sake of the victims or more for the sake of myself; my selfish act of attempting to bribe my way to a place in heaven?

L'amour...

..est comme lêcher du miel sur une lame de rasoir

(Love is like licking honey on a razor blade)


- the Buddha? -

Four Drinks and A Conversation

Saturday dinner and drinks with Maarten...

White wine. I could not tell for sure if it was a sauvignon blanc. It was their house wine. The evening was incredibly warm. The refreshing cold white wine was a welcome respite from the heat, and it set the pace for the five-hour conversation that followed.

Red Wine. It was a Merlot. It was Italian. It was one of my personal favourites. We both finished our respective plates of pasta and the conversation drifted well into the night. We talked about the earthquake in China and the cyclone in Burma, the corrupt regimes and the dying children. We talked about new friends and past lovers; Love unrequited and Love obsessed.

Hazelnut Latte. Deuxième partie. We moved from the restaurant to the café. The friendly waitress recognised us. I greeted her and we quickly found our way to our favourite corner, the corner which had by now witnessed countless hours of debate between two friends. As always, the hazelnut latte was accompanied by the faithful teardrop teaspoon. Another friendly debate ensued.

Hot Chocolate. It has passed midnight now. There was still froth left in the latte cup and the teardrop spoon still shiny and unused, but it was time for drink number 4. The hot chocolate was served. And drunk. The conversation drew to a close, and so did the evening.

Mes petits Haïku

je bois un bon vin
avec un bouquet très beau
ça me plaît beaucoup

*****

il est presque midi
il fait si beau aujourd'hui
nous sommes samedi

*****

je chante à l'amour
chez moi c'est toujours l'été
voilà ha-ï-ku

A Lipogram

Missing One: One Missing

The missing "e" in the Void, written by Georges Perec, signifies the then quite soon-to-be missing person, who is spelled with the "e".

Tormented, Perec wrote his French piece, of mystery, of misery, in honour of the sufferings of his pining for the ones loved, the one missed, the Love lost. Through skilful trickery of words, he fleshed out his deepest thoughts, henceforth, producing Poetry in Prose. Cryptic like Life itself, cryptic like Love itself, the piece is reflective of his Journey through time.

In the footsteps of this excellent writer I here follow, to bring forth into being, onto this new medium of our times, my very own enticing Journey of Life; my very own Void.

Lisez-moi, chers lecteurs, et revivez mes emotions.

O Dine! the colour of the eyes of a jealous lover

The rocket leaves were wildly bitter; the avocado, buttery, unripe, warmly bitter; the lime juice, sour, parfumé by the hint of zesty rind, teasefully bitter.

A Toss of bitter Greens - the Eyes of a jealous Lover; a Toast to Life!

The Point of No Return

As a plane is accelerating for takeoff, it reaches a pivotal point in its ever increasing speed, known as the decision speed. This is the point where, once past, it becomes impossible for the plane to abort takeoff. It will simply have to fly off and then do a landing procedure if it were to touch ground again... either that or a crash landing.

Similarly, when you start falling for someone, you very quickly reach a pivotal point, where once you pass, it will be impossible for you to escape falling all the way through.


L'amour ne s'explique pas !
C'est une chose comme ça
Qui vient on ne sait d'où
Et vous prend tout à coup.

- Michel Emer 1962 -

C'est pour ça que la rue éclate en chansons

Wednesday morning. The sun was shining. The morning traffic was bustling. Everyone was going about starting their day. Another new day. What's in store? A young girl dressed in blue factory uniform appeared from almost nowhere. She has the sweetest pretty face. She quickly reached out to grab the arm of an elderly woman and led the woman across the road. They passed by right in front of my car as I was waiting for the lights to turn green. I thought to myself: I just saw the most beautiful thing today. And I am happy.

Nouvel An Chinois

A sundry shop in the nearby Chinese village stocking up on lunar new year decorations. The Chinese lunar new year falls on 7 February this year

Crime and Punishment

I will not pretend to be impartial to the puppy face picture of Jérôme Kerviel, the ex trader of Société Générale. But all the same lets look at the facts.

He never had any intention to harm anyone. He lost his father recently. He worked for the past 9 months from dawn to dusk without taking a single work day off. He never benefited from what happened, and now, what does he get? The police, the media, the public and a possible prison sentence.

I know the media is drumming up sympathy and trying to write an almost sob story for him because such news sells. The unlikely hero, the instant star. I know all that is media hype.

But if the facts are indeed facts, then you do wonder where Justice is. He committed a crime because he broke the law - man made laws, that is. But what really constitute a crime? Did Jérôme Kerviel really do such an evil deed? Did he take something away from others for himself and so now needs to pay back? If not, then what is he paying back for?

(I borrowed the title above from Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment, 1866)

Random, disfragmented and disjointed

I used to think better when writing with pen and paper than when typing on a keyboard. But that was a very long time ago.

I think we have become so accustomed to technical gadgeteries that these days they have become almost like natural extensions to our own anatomy.

So here I am lying in bed in front of a notebook typing aimlessly. There is this sudden urge to write. Anything. Everything. I think there is a difference between writing for an audiance and writing for yourself. This is one occasion of the latter.

I think we are allowed to be selfish... sometimes.