This is a simple, cosy evening, though I still feel a little dizzy and tipsy after the whole day's hardwork. It was not a particularly exhausting day, nor did I drink anything alcoholic, but I feel certain heaviness in my head, perhaps I just catch a cold. However, I am very grateful that one person can erase all my heaviness in head and let me indulge in a peaceful night reading from a delightful paperback in my hands.
The person is Sharon Owens and the book is "The Tea House on Mulberry Street".
A book with a name like that never seems appealing to anyone. In fact, I was only attracted by its delicate cover with mouth-watering cherry cheesecake, added with a teapot with carved clovers as well as a pair of delicate tea cups. This kind of cover is extremely soothing and warming in a winter night, lightening up your imagination of a hot cup of cappuccino lying on a tea-house table with a dish of chargrilled chicken strips and a bowl of carrot and chestnut soup with cream and croutons by its side... I forgot there is no winter here, only dry and wet seasons with south-east monsoons come and go...Back to track, what attracts me more is that the book is a NO.1 Irish Bestseller bearing high accolades from Cecelia Ahern, whose blockbuster brainchild was "PS, I Love You".
Though I used to snub those books labelled "bestseller", I found this one extremely curiosity-piqueing. Is it something like Chinese writter Lao She's Teahouse? Or is it beautifully written in a modern way? Does it show a kaleidoscope of people in a teahouse, while revealing some hidden secrets in the fast-spinning society? Or something really Irish? I did not hesitate to read it.
And it is satisfyingly great, with stories entwined with each other, intersecting, twisting, developing into a multi-layer tapestry. All is well that ends well, but it is not the kind of Hollywood ending which makes tragedy lovers moan over and over. It is a light sitcom without blatant laughters, yet it indeed makes it hard for one to restrain some heart-felt chuckles.
All is well that ends well. Everyone got what they deserved, bless or punishment.
After flipping to the last page of this light comedy, I can almost smell the flagrance of cherry cheesecake lingering in our bedroom, which is dimly lit by a bedside-lamp, as my mind drifting out into the tea house on Mulberry Street.
Cheers for Penny and Daniel who own the tea house, and their son Danny!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Acer's Adventure
There has always been a sense of shame in me since I broke my laptop.
I was typing that day when my Acer suddenly blacked out. It was not unusual at all since this kind of "small accident" had happened many times before. Realising that I had not saved my document yet, I was inundated by a surge of frustration. Glaring at the jet-black screen in front of me, I felt an unquenchable desire to knock it down. Fortunately, my sense was regained before I committed the serious "crime", but something bad was doomed to occur. 30 seconds later, I pushed the power-on button to restart my laptop when I heard an ominous crack.
At first I thought it was either Fred or George Apparated in my room, but seconds later the reality began to set in----the poor button was ripped off by me. I could not help feeling panicky when I peered inside the slit where the button was and met with nothing but pitch-darkness. Fumbling around the table for a toothstick to poke into the slit, I for the second time was ominously struck, because now the broken parts of the switch began to emerge, as if gloating to me with an air of arrogance:"See! I am out, and I am broken!"
I felt an urge to commit a serious crime again.
What happened next was doubtlessly clear. My sister came up into the room and glowered at me like a lioness. She held a strong belief that I was the culprit and what's more, a bona fide "barbarian". She said that word with a particular relish which made my hair stand on end. However, no matter what a "barbarian" I might be, the wrong was done, and someone was accountable for it, which was me, fair and clear. I explained again and again that I had been very gentle to it but only ghosts would believe in it. "Obviously, only a barbarian have the strength to rip that off!" was my sister's accusation. I was cornered and did no try to blame anyone anymore.
But there was one thing to be blamed on, and that was my laptop.
The old-to-core antique had brought about many discussions, quarrels and controversies even before it made a flight to Singapore. It had been a torturing headache right at the beginning of the pack-up. "Do we really need to bring it here? What if it comes here and becomes a useless junk? How long will it live to see the sunshine? Where can we even find someone to look at it when it goes wrong?" All those questions seemed to verdict its death even before it tried to survive, but all those assumptions and anxieties were not totally out of blue! We had the right to question its reliability since it was so old.
It was really very old with an age of eight years. Once I told Robert its age when he tried to fix it and he almost jumped out of his skin. What an antique! With the knowledge that when people get old they become senile even before they get dementia or Alzheimer's disease, I could safely deduce that something was going rickety there right inside the old bones of my eight-year-old Acer.
Despite all the paranoid assumptions, unscientific deductions and unfair accusations, we finally gave the "potential junk" an opportunity to fly here, and this is its destiny: being a bona-fide junk while reducing me into a bona-fide barbarian.
Today, my sister and I finally made it a point to make a decision: getting it repaired or getting it disposed of, while making a contribution to Singapore's landfill enterprise at the same time. So, without further ado, we went to the Little India, not to indulge ourselves in the curry stores, but to "make a decision".
We carried our poor Acer to Sim Lim Square and homed in on the repair stalls. Among those who received us, some were Chinese while others were Indians. They were all very helpful while some suggested us to dispose of it right away and others made an effort to look into the pitch-dark slit before sincerely recommending us to get a new one.
So the answer was quite clear----I was a murderer, directly responsible to the fate of our Acer, the 8-year-old antique which had not had a dementia or Alzheimer's disease yet.
And perhaps I am a barbarian, too?
I felt guilty, but it is a dubious guilt, because I did not exactly know whether it died of its old age or of my accused barbaric push. If it were the latter, I should have moaned even harder.
Perhaps the only soul who could have given me the answer was Acer, the poor thing who had not a chance to make a flight back again, not alive.
And I felt a sense of shame again. Oh! This barbarian!
I was typing that day when my Acer suddenly blacked out. It was not unusual at all since this kind of "small accident" had happened many times before. Realising that I had not saved my document yet, I was inundated by a surge of frustration. Glaring at the jet-black screen in front of me, I felt an unquenchable desire to knock it down. Fortunately, my sense was regained before I committed the serious "crime", but something bad was doomed to occur. 30 seconds later, I pushed the power-on button to restart my laptop when I heard an ominous crack.
At first I thought it was either Fred or George Apparated in my room, but seconds later the reality began to set in----the poor button was ripped off by me. I could not help feeling panicky when I peered inside the slit where the button was and met with nothing but pitch-darkness. Fumbling around the table for a toothstick to poke into the slit, I for the second time was ominously struck, because now the broken parts of the switch began to emerge, as if gloating to me with an air of arrogance:"See! I am out, and I am broken!"
I felt an urge to commit a serious crime again.
What happened next was doubtlessly clear. My sister came up into the room and glowered at me like a lioness. She held a strong belief that I was the culprit and what's more, a bona fide "barbarian". She said that word with a particular relish which made my hair stand on end. However, no matter what a "barbarian" I might be, the wrong was done, and someone was accountable for it, which was me, fair and clear. I explained again and again that I had been very gentle to it but only ghosts would believe in it. "Obviously, only a barbarian have the strength to rip that off!" was my sister's accusation. I was cornered and did no try to blame anyone anymore.
But there was one thing to be blamed on, and that was my laptop.
The old-to-core antique had brought about many discussions, quarrels and controversies even before it made a flight to Singapore. It had been a torturing headache right at the beginning of the pack-up. "Do we really need to bring it here? What if it comes here and becomes a useless junk? How long will it live to see the sunshine? Where can we even find someone to look at it when it goes wrong?" All those questions seemed to verdict its death even before it tried to survive, but all those assumptions and anxieties were not totally out of blue! We had the right to question its reliability since it was so old.
It was really very old with an age of eight years. Once I told Robert its age when he tried to fix it and he almost jumped out of his skin. What an antique! With the knowledge that when people get old they become senile even before they get dementia or Alzheimer's disease, I could safely deduce that something was going rickety there right inside the old bones of my eight-year-old Acer.
Despite all the paranoid assumptions, unscientific deductions and unfair accusations, we finally gave the "potential junk" an opportunity to fly here, and this is its destiny: being a bona-fide junk while reducing me into a bona-fide barbarian.
Today, my sister and I finally made it a point to make a decision: getting it repaired or getting it disposed of, while making a contribution to Singapore's landfill enterprise at the same time. So, without further ado, we went to the Little India, not to indulge ourselves in the curry stores, but to "make a decision".
We carried our poor Acer to Sim Lim Square and homed in on the repair stalls. Among those who received us, some were Chinese while others were Indians. They were all very helpful while some suggested us to dispose of it right away and others made an effort to look into the pitch-dark slit before sincerely recommending us to get a new one.
So the answer was quite clear----I was a murderer, directly responsible to the fate of our Acer, the 8-year-old antique which had not had a dementia or Alzheimer's disease yet.
And perhaps I am a barbarian, too?
I felt guilty, but it is a dubious guilt, because I did not exactly know whether it died of its old age or of my accused barbaric push. If it were the latter, I should have moaned even harder.
Perhaps the only soul who could have given me the answer was Acer, the poor thing who had not a chance to make a flight back again, not alive.
And I felt a sense of shame again. Oh! This barbarian!
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Senior Academy
Being a senior makes you feel that you can do anything, perform anything fine, straighten all curls and put right all wrongs. It just makes you feel you are omnipotent, simply because you are older and more experienced with that one extra year of living. And it is even a greater humour when I live a life with my sister at home, oblivious of our childish language and actions when we communicate. I cannot help wondering whether I look like a senior or not, a senior to be revered as an omnipotent superwoman who can do anything and put everything right. Paradoxically, the answer is yes and no.
Whenever I go to the laundry room, rummage in the pantry fridge, roam to the underground canteen, or sit in front of a computer, I can be sure that some juniors are around merrily waiting to put something right----and fortunately they get me.
"When can I iron my school uniform?" "What was the Malay auntie mumbling?" "Can we download QQ?" "How come my fingerprint did not work?" "I forgot the way to the MRT!" "Which computer can type Chinese?" "Can you help me print these music notes out?"......
Until~~~
"When will you bring us out to play??"
That was an interesting question, because recently I am thinking about it but stumble in front of a full timetable. Cutural Potpourri is coming in three week's time, which means that CCA training will be more and more intense, plus that I am involved in the choreograghy work, the following two weeks I will be like a rotating ball. What spins me faster is the intense remedial, surely a burden added to my holiday, though I am sure that we all painfully need it. Besides, I have to busy editing school brochure for the upcoming Open House and working on the school history project. Now I am greatly heartened that I have finished setting paper for Chinese Cultural History and my sister have got her new spectacles. What awaiting us will be bringing our broken Acer to Sim Lim, tidying up our "storage room", getting some non-fictions in Orchard, and----
Bringing our juniors to some fun places to play.
This holiday will be busy for sure, maybe makes me a bit dizzy and dreamy at the same time. However it is still of great fun watching things grow, especially watching things grow under your care, and you make yourself feel like a gardener, like Mary, Dickon and Colin living in the secret garden, the one which is alive for ever and ever and ever.
That makes all the hardwork counts. And it is fun at the same time, when you see yourself from them, as if growing all over again.
From generation to generation
Senior Academy
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Chinatown Trip
Having been there for more than three times, I do not reckon Chinatown as an exciting place any more. However, life has always had some surprises in store for us. So after revisiting Chinatown today with Mr Tan and Sky programme students who are in his command, I found the trip breath-taking as the scenes of immigrants' lives open in front of me, page by page, like an ancient book full of mysteries and wonders.
I have been to Chinatown with Mr Tan this year just before the Chinese New Year celebration, so we have experience the so-called noisiest, grandest and the most brilliant Chinatown under the veil of the new year. We were in awe at the sight of so many vendors shouting out their "lowest" prices as the bell of the New Year drew near. We gasped when we were surrounded by friendly sellers asking for free tastes of various products, and we elbowed our way through the narrow lane toe to heel, toe to heel.
And I thought about people back in China celebrating the New Year, whith snowflakes decorating their window panels, garden holies and frontdoor steps.
They lit off the firecrackers.
Their toes are colder than their feet.
Their feet are colder than their limbs.
Their limbs are colder than their heads.
Their heads are colder than their breath.
Their breath is colder than their lips.
And their lips are purple and blue, purple and blue.
Until the firecrackers lit up their merry faces.
However, that was almost one year ago. Now, we came to Chinatown not for the "enjoying' purpose, but on the joint project in discovering immigrants' lives in Singapore. As such, Pagoda Street with countless stalls of handicrafts and Smith Street with endless trail of restaurants were not our major destinations. Even the Hindu Temple and Buddha Tooth Relic Temple did not trigger in us special feelings. Standing under the scalding sun, everyone had only one destination in heart, which was Chinatown Heritage Centre Museum.
The museum is like an ancient castle with riddle lanes and secret passages. Walking inside was like going on a unexpectable journey. Doors after doors, rooms after room, lanes after lanes, we all plunged into the amazing world of Nanyang's earlier settlers. Those immigrant were generally victims of poverty, floods and famines in China and seeking for a better life in Nanyang. Though they came to Si Lat Po(Singapore) after enduring overcrowded and inhuman conditions on the perilous sea journey, their arrival destination did not prove them a wonderful life. Without the support of their families, those sinkhehs(newcomers) resorted to the evils associated with the secret societies and many fell into the grasp of opiums and casinos. They could not return to their homes anymore and many passed away lonely in the death houses.
The most striling part of the journey was visiting various parts of the shophouse where coolies, carpenters, shoe-menders, maids lived together. The condition of their living was so appaling that we all wondered how could one survive in there, especially the common kitchen and toilets without sewage systems. Compassionate to the sour lives of maids and coolies, we all felt fortunate of being born in a "golden age".
The tour ended where it began, and we had a rich meal in a sharks' fin restaurant before we broke up and went home. It was another memorable trip in my holiday and was educational as well. Once again, it piqued my curiosity of discovering more about this place which once seemed so boring.
It was raining the whole morning.
The delicate roof decoration
Pagoda Street
The "boat" carrying immigrants to Nanyang
Indian fishermen(statues)
Buddha Tooth Temple
A warrior outside a restaurant
We are here!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
The First O Level
It will be my first O Level tomorrow, Express Chinese. So today I felt obliged to have a holistic revision on Chinese. To revive my capability of apprehension and appreciation of Chinese prose and passages, I selected some well-written pieces from famous writers to read. I was so fortunate to find some passages which were chosen as texts of my textbooks in China. It was like meeting old friends, surprising, exciting with indiscribable comfort. Rereading masterpieces of Zhu Ziqing,Ba Jin, Zong Pu and Xiao Hong let me go through the sadness-ridden period of Cultural Revolution all over again. Living in this democratic society for almost one year, it is shocking to revive those scenes of terror.
In a strong desire to lighten my leadened heart, I turned towards Zao Bao Popcorn and indulge into the subtle scent of old newpaper. My literary journey with Wu Qingkang, You Jin and Wong Yanping proved to be enriching, though at noon I was almost intoxicated by the ink of newspapers.
In order to devote the whole day to my Chinese, I tuned the radio to 93.3FM and had a sweet nap in the rhythms of Chinese pop music. After the siesta, I felt refreshing. For the first time of my life, I thought it was necessary to do some practices on Chinese comprehension, so I pulled out a thick pile of exercises and sticked to the last-minute revision. I almost fainted before I even finished. The questions are not difficult or weird ones, but the truth is: the easier they are, the higher the possibility that you will get them wrong. I had to continuously encourage my self in order that I was not disillusioned by my mistakes.
However, I did not stick to the end, anyway. Before my dinner, I got bored with Chinese and could not resist the temptation to read "Princess Academy", and I read the beginning of the first chapter----
And that proved to be my undoing, because since then I did not want to put it down~
But I think I will still read some model compositions before the exam. After all, after tomorrow there will be no need to do Chinese exercises and we will even be fined for speaking Chinese in our class. Who knows?
P.S. All the best to your Chinese O Level for everyone taking the exam!
Monday, November 3, 2008
My Juniors
It startled me at first to see many new faces of juniors, it was as if I saw myself one year ago when I forst stepped upon this amazing island, with unquenchable excitement and wonderings. Perhaps I just did not realise, perhaps I had a magical medicine against all sadness and helplessness, perhaps I just did not experience extreme sadness and helplessness at all... I just got over it.
Now it seems unfathomable why our juniors all wear a worried and a confused expression when they are supposed to be merry and heartened. When we fetched them at Changi Airport the day before yesterday, they looked so young, so bewildered and so vulnerable. I could not help repeating in my mind my confident self when I first arrived and took a photo with the beautiful Singapore Airline flight attendent and pushed all my luggage on the trolley out into this humid, hot and homelike "dreamland". I felt safe. I felt love.
When I saw my juniors stagger out of the security checkpoint with loads of luggage and listened attentively when the "Addidas King" addressed them, I was awed, tremendously awed. Different from our present selves, they reminded us of China, of our hometown, of our school, and they suffused elements of China graduates in every pore of their skin.
As planned before, everyone has got a "buddy". My buddy is from my old school. Still, I get a bit shocked at being a senior of such a tall girl. Before I came to the airport, I determined to show up in the image of a senior, that is, not to be so merry and carefree like a little girl, but pretending to be a mature and trustworthy senior so as to gain some reverence and respect.
To my great relief, though they are all exceedingly tall, especially boys with Mont.Everus at their waists, they show extremely keen attention and interest whenever I talk. According to my "buddy", they had known us before they came here through the video we made for them, so though I am merry and carefree as usual, trust and respect are established. Sometimes it makes you feel so warm at being addressed as "Jiejie". Even the 188cm-"man" seems to be so willingly accept me as his senior.
Then came the outing. We brought them to Clementi Central and guided them to settle down--buying telephone cards, voltage exchangers and school shoes as well as stationeries like curve rulers, hole punchers, gragh paper and highlighter. I ate with my "buddy", who still seemed like living in a dream. She had chicken rice while I had beef noodles, and we drank bubble tea afterwards. She did not seem to find Singapore life so exciting as I did when I first tasted chicken rice with an almost holy feeling~
At exactly 1:30 p.m, the whole two batches of 34 people set off for the Binelle in the City Hall, which is held once in two years. Then it was me who got over-excited and took a lot of pictures of those awe-striking arts. Oh! Great Arts! How could one not let out these exclamations when they saw those great arts beyond description. We were all stunned at the sights of those big, fat and cute maggots leading to the washroom(Relax! they are Arts!) and humanhead-shaped gourds immersed in the clear bluish green liquid. No need to mention those really innovative designs and thought-triggering photos, they made your minds expand to where the sky is the limit.
I felt the pain when I scooped my Flower Blossom while another drank his Cholcoholic like drinking soup--we are spoiled by his pampering...
Now it seems unfathomable why our juniors all wear a worried and a confused expression when they are supposed to be merry and heartened. When we fetched them at Changi Airport the day before yesterday, they looked so young, so bewildered and so vulnerable. I could not help repeating in my mind my confident self when I first arrived and took a photo with the beautiful Singapore Airline flight attendent and pushed all my luggage on the trolley out into this humid, hot and homelike "dreamland". I felt safe. I felt love.
When I saw my juniors stagger out of the security checkpoint with loads of luggage and listened attentively when the "Addidas King" addressed them, I was awed, tremendously awed. Different from our present selves, they reminded us of China, of our hometown, of our school, and they suffused elements of China graduates in every pore of their skin.
As planned before, everyone has got a "buddy". My buddy is from my old school. Still, I get a bit shocked at being a senior of such a tall girl. Before I came to the airport, I determined to show up in the image of a senior, that is, not to be so merry and carefree like a little girl, but pretending to be a mature and trustworthy senior so as to gain some reverence and respect.
To my great relief, though they are all exceedingly tall, especially boys with Mont.Everus at their waists, they show extremely keen attention and interest whenever I talk. According to my "buddy", they had known us before they came here through the video we made for them, so though I am merry and carefree as usual, trust and respect are established. Sometimes it makes you feel so warm at being addressed as "Jiejie". Even the 188cm-"man" seems to be so willingly accept me as his senior.
Then came the outing. We brought them to Clementi Central and guided them to settle down--buying telephone cards, voltage exchangers and school shoes as well as stationeries like curve rulers, hole punchers, gragh paper and highlighter. I ate with my "buddy", who still seemed like living in a dream. She had chicken rice while I had beef noodles, and we drank bubble tea afterwards. She did not seem to find Singapore life so exciting as I did when I first tasted chicken rice with an almost holy feeling~
At exactly 1:30 p.m, the whole two batches of 34 people set off for the Binelle in the City Hall, which is held once in two years. Then it was me who got over-excited and took a lot of pictures of those awe-striking arts. Oh! Great Arts! How could one not let out these exclamations when they saw those great arts beyond description. We were all stunned at the sights of those big, fat and cute maggots leading to the washroom(Relax! they are Arts!) and humanhead-shaped gourds immersed in the clear bluish green liquid. No need to mention those really innovative designs and thought-triggering photos, they made your minds expand to where the sky is the limit.
Giant maggots!
Humanhead-shaped gourds
Woven bird on the Motorbike
People in the Art!
People killing people...
The Floating Book
After visiting the Binelle, we went to the Esplanade. I have been into the "bowel" of the giant durian with my parents when they came here half a year ago, so I found it a good friend. However, I have never used a PDA to go on the "immobile tour". To make sure the trip was sufficiently educational, Grandfather L rent PDA for every one of us and lovingly brought us to----
Haagen.Dazs~
Haagen.Dazs~
I felt the pain when I scooped my Flower Blossom while another drank his Cholcoholic like drinking soup--we are spoiled by his pampering...
Flower Blossom
The price of love is just too high, and how can we ever redeem it?
Yea, I have to look after my juniors well, for them, and for Him.
Yea, I have to look after my juniors well, for them, and for Him.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Milestone
Hah, I am seventeen...
One year older finally:)
Have a look at different cakes.
Baby Shower
Castle Cake
Haunted Pumpkin for Halloween
A cake of Stars
Cakes for me, Mrs Siew and my sister(clockwise)
Presents
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