'tis the season

to run around frantically, fight the crowds in covent garden and oxford street, and bake up a storm of cinnamon cookies and plum, apple and walnut cake.

and also to receive phone calls from my dad because he was bored stuck in a traffic jam on the way to bugis junction to pick my mother up, who was calling him repeatedly to tell him to pick her up from somewhere else due to aforesaid traffic jam but could not get through because he was on the phone with me, and then a lot of passing the phone around 'so your mummy can talk to you' and my dad could go back to shouting at other drivers. so there was news about my grandma, siblings and cousins, and wonderings about whether or not i'd be back for chinese new year this (next) year, and how my studies were going, was i actually studying or really just having fun, and about my graduation and who was going to come in july to attend it. and then also lots of moral lessons passed through the phone line, about 'that friend of yours' and 'proper behaviour' and 'think about your reputation' and 'tell him not to take it personally'.

are we all janus-faced and multiple-lifed? once again, i will reflect upon the concept of 'asian values' as a construct invented to further the social engineering project. and like, whatever.

and while M splutters and is flabbergasted at (1) being the subject of the parental conversation while he could hear every single word of it, (2) my mother being so nasty to him, (3) how not not to take it personally because it clearly was a personal attack even though they've never met him before, and (4) what the hell 'lor' and 'lah' meant, it is also time to pack up the car with still unwrapped presents and other assorted sundries and head off down the A21 and into the southeast - after waking up 3 hours later than planned due to the holding of half-asleep conversations with the parents afterwhich i had to fall asleep again so as to recover from the shock&horror of it all (see above).

oh, and of course 'tis the season for christmas trees, log fires, roast turkey, glazed parsnips, caramelized carrots, roasted potatoes, stuffing, roast loin of pork, brussels sprouts and christmas pudding.

intrusive or what?!

this is the The Straits Times Interactive Online Registration Page.

Of all online registration forms that i have ever filled out, this has got to take the cake.

Apart from red asterisks on EVERYTHING, they also ask you about your annual household income, and your highest educational qualifications. Uhm.

No thanks, Straits Times. I'll stick to the Guardian. And if ever I feel the need to get in touch with Singaporean news, i'll read about it through every other Singaporean blog.

imagery

the leaves are twirling and swirling through the air like ballet dancers. the rustle-crackle and the whoosh-whoosh ominous-sounding, until i look up and see these great big masses of leaves flying past my window.

like being caught by surprise whilst scuba-diving, and suddenly having to stay really still while a huge school of barracuda pass you by in their silver-blue-flecks-of-light brilliance.

but anyway, many pictures follow. because i've only just uploaded them, even though some date back a month or so.

gig 01: Faust

gig 01: Kid Koala

gig 01: Explosions In The Sky

gig 01: Fourtet

gig 02: Courtney Pine

gig 02: stairwell at the De La Warr Pavillion

the gherkin, on the way to Paul McCarthy at Whitechapel Gallery

self-explanatory, on Brick Lane

where clothes go to die

chive flower husks


note to self: get photoshop CS back from O. that boy has had it for much too long!

by the way

Cycling around on my new-old pushbike has become a daily affair. Suddenly everything is so much closer and quicker to get to – now I just have to get over my fear of roundabouts and cycling across the bridges. I’ve also realised that there is a certain fraternity amongst cyclists, we eye up one another whilst passing and smile, nod or wink in recognition of each other’s efforts.

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Chive flowers are so pretty when they’re in bloom, and when they’ve seeded they resemble hearts on stalks. Cutting off the heads to collect the seeds, I’ve fallen in love with their raspy paper-like texture, and the faint onion-garlicky smell.

I’ve also bought spring bulbs to plant after suffering a full-blown case of bulb-envy over the weekend. See, M persuaded me not to get any in November because ‘we’ll be moving before they come up’. The fool. Now I see the hyacinths in pots in other people’s houses and I get so jealous I want to pierce the bulbs and introduce root rot. But now I’ve got my own (at half-price too!), and I have to plant them now now now or they’ll never grow, and come spring I might fly into a rage and start eating them damned bulbs.

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Last night there was a Christmas drinks party for the current and future trainee solicitors of the firm I’ve signed my life away to.

Last night there were too many gin&tonics, and waaaay too many flaming sambucas. I hate that sticky sickly sweet thing. The only part I liked about it was holding the fire in my mouth. I’m a fire-eater! RAWWR!

Obviously, everyone there already is or is going to be a trainee solicitor. But I never expected those on the LPC now to be so cloistered. Perhaps I’m reading too much into things, but they seemed so insular and hidden away in that corner of the lounge never venturing out except to get drinks from the barman.

From their midst emerged an ex-schoolmate from Singapore who stopped me and asked ‘Are you from RJ?’ I was slightly stunned by the question, and after answering in the positive had to think really hard to match her face to my memories, and I finally realised who she was whilst in the toilet. But I can no longer remember her name. I’m sure I never knew her name whilst at school, and we only knew each other by sight, each of us navigating our own way and intersecting occasionally through the occurrence of mutual friends. She tried to tell me above the din of the music and drunken lawyers-to-be, but alas, it fell out my ears and mixed with the clinking of glasses and the calls for more tequila. I’m sure I’ll get to know her a lot better when I start my training contract.

But I digress.

Apart from those on the LPC, everyone else seemed to be mingling very well. Too well, I suppose, seeing as it was all this mingling that resulted in those flaming sambucas. And it was interesting that everyone got along, which bodes well for my future, and it felt like a confirmation of this nebulous thing called a training contract that has so far only seemed like a faraway concept. Which is nice, I suppose.

School's Out

Friday night started out as a dinner and a trip to the pub.

But 24hour drinking rocks, and we ended up horrendously drunk after staggering our visits to 3 different pubs/bars, picking up friends as we went along. Herne Hill is where I’d like to move to, if only it wasn’t so far out and we hadn’t already decided on Bethnal Green.

Saturday was spent shopping with T, and then having fortifying drinks under the arches of Peckham Rye Train Station. Good conversation and amazing buys. I honestly think that our shared post-colonial upbringing (her in South Africa, mine in Singapore) does a lot for our friendship and increases our mutual disbelief at the bend-over-backwards political correctness and social correctness in England.

After which it was back home to a feast of lamb curry, dhal and vegetable curry. And more wine. And more whiskey. And more Port.

I think we overdid the drinking by Sunday afternoon, and last night was spent semi-conscious and hazily hungover in T’s kitchen, having nut loaf, butternut squash soup, tofu and couscous salad and mince pie.

I heart weekends.

Especially when they play out without any deadlines looming, or any niggling feelings telling me I really ought to be back at my desk highlighting and underlining.

No more essays!

For a month, anyway. And then it’s nose back to grindstone, and continuing to freak the housemates out with my long sustained spells of diligence.

But it’s good that term is ending now. I’m so tired, and I haven’t been able to breathe.

I spent an hour or so cycling on my new-old pushbike, and it felt so nice to not think about how best to fit my life in around my work for once. I didn’t think about which chapters I had to finish by tonight, I didn’t think about what I needed to catch up on for my class on Friday, I didn’t think about all the up-coming essays and reports I had to do in the next few weeks. I was occupied by other thoughts, like what to make for dinner and where I ought to be cycling to in order to purchase ingredients (I decided on spiced rice, roasted large flat mushrooms with mash stuffing, and salad, by the way).

And of course now that I’m back, the books loom large on my shelf and the emails start trickling in. Reading schedules have to be worked out for this week and over the holidays, essay deadlines have to be entered into the calendar, feedback noted and filed away.

This last week of term is an academic blackhole. It’s a vacuum where the lectures take place but no one’s really paying attention anymore, and no one really cares what takes place because they’ve all got plans to fly off to foreign lands sometime in the coming week, and questions pop into my head about whether I ought to read now for the first class next term or should I just leave it for now.

But most important question in my head of all: How did I get roped into cooking Christmas dinner for M’s family? This is serious English-ness we’re talking about. And me! Chinese girl from way out there cooking Christmas dinner for 6 to 10 others? Oh dear. It’s going to be interesting times, I can tell.

oh these difficult questions

what is it about port and red wine that leads to headaches?

and what is it about the closing-in of essay deadlines that results in procrastination?

and the debilitating nature of ignorance, which leaves me shocked and unable to write (much like a rabbit caught in the headlights), whenever i don't know all, absolutely all the things that i will put down on paper in reply to the essay question.

and the proliferation of happy christmassy green-and-red-and-gold cinnamon-ginger-and-nutmeg-scented thoughts that invade my mind, when really i should to be thinking about the causes of corporate failure and whether we ought to be concerned when companies fail.

24 to go!

oh, and seeing that's it's already december, i've obviously been thinking long and hard about christmas and all the things that it entails.

i'm thinking of baking a christmas cake. and gingerbread men. and snowflake cookies. and the smells of ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon, chocolate and brandy wafting around the house.

i've also compiled a list of things to buy for myself in lieu of presents from my family and friends (because i'm that sad, yes). and also a list of things that i really ought to get, which i've been putting off getting for a while.

i hope it snows soon, and that all this piss-rain-drizzle weather goes away. i like it clean and white, not grey and squelchy.

Happy Red Ribbon Day

It’s World Aids Day today.

Aids is a fact. Sex is a fact too.

There's been a lot of discussion over use of contraceptives as the best form of prevention, and the increasing weight given to abstinence policies which is mainly influenced by Christian America and its politics. American influence has resulted in a sharp fall in the amount of condoms sent to, and distributed within, Africa because the use of condoms promotes a lifestyle that includes sex, and abstinence is about not having any.

Well, abstinence policies will not work in societies where monogamy is not part of their culture. Abstinence policies will not work in societies that call themselves modern, either.

The only effective method of reducing the numbers of HIV carriers is education. Sex education can only be for the benefit of society, and may well help to prevent new cases of infection from arising, apart from raising awareness of teen pregnancy and STIs and other such issues amongst others.

Of course, growing up in Singapore, I was giggly and embarrassed when we had science lessons on the reproductive systems of man and animal. But apart from my childish reaction to the topic, what shocked me was the teacher’s attitude towards it – she said, ‘it’s all in the textbook, I’m sure you can read it for yourself’, and moved on to the next topic. If she had turned to our class of 30 young girls and had given a matter-of-fact explanation of sexual intercourse, I’m sure she would have been highly respected and thought of as especially enlightened.

But that is basically what parents, and the education system, does. Both are embarrassed, more embarrassed than the youths they are addressing I suspect, and both try to fob off the responsibility of speaking about the birds and the bees. The lack of discussion over the simplest aspects of sex reduces the chances of any detailed discussion of sexually transmitted diseases, teen pregnancy and homosexuality. Those issues, especially, are seen as something that could only happen to ‘someone else’ and so no need at all to address them (see yawningbread for a good write-up, here).

We then grow up in a world where we know all about sex, but nothing about it. And, pretend to look away but really, everyone is doing it.

Such is the situation when the government insists that the country is one of traditional morality, and things like sex are hush-hush matters. And the sudden explosion of church-going people love it as well – all these bible-thumping anti-abortion, abstinence-supporting, homophobic creatures. No sex allowed, we’re good Christian heterosexual Singaporeans, unless you’re married to someone of the opposite sex, of course.

Well, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t work that way. Singapore is modern. And highly technologised. And highly sexualised. No amount of persuasion can convince me that we still have the traditional morals of ancient China, and anyway, I’m not so sure if they were moralists either – Concubines? Prostitutes? 13th century erotic toys? They had it all – so save the sanctimonious talk and deal with a social problem for once.

Perhaps by getting off that moralistic high horse and accepting the fact that sex happens, in and outside of marriage, greater and more effective effort can be made to heighten awareness of contraceptive methods to prevent situations where women turn to abortions instead of using contraceptives . And seriously, if a gay couple were to talk about contraception and prevention, I wouldn’t think of them as promoting an alternative lifestyle so much as protecting the health and lives of those who are already leading it, and heterosexual couples probably would have a lot to learn from them as well.

Abstinence can only work in highly specific and special situations, for example where everyone is of the same religion or believe in the same moral code, which is impossible in any country today where race and religion are no longer homogenous. And abstinence will not help those in marriages to partners who are infected, and there is growing evidence of more and more infections happening within marriages. And abstinence does not educate.

If we cannot talk truthfully and honestly about sex and its implications, and if sex education remains ignored as a crucial step towards cultivating a mature and responsible sexual lifestyle, then sadly, I’m afraid that we will never be able to find solutions but will always have to deal and cope with the fall-out of institutionalised ignorance.