Monuments

I dreamed of spires

Pillars by a dome

Columns with Corinthian

Capitals in Rome

I dreamed of chimes

Built as a roof

Gilded with gold

On a tower aloof

I dreamed of a city

Carved out of stone

Its rivers glistened

As I crossed them alone

I dreamed of pyramids

A riddle was asked

Where is my answer?

The cipher is masked

I dreamed of a bridge

On which I sighed

And when it crumbled

I knew my dreams had lied

Pineapple Tarts

I had a nanny when I was a child. I called her Aunty Ho, but really that was her husband's name.

My family lived in Klang back then and after school I would be sent to her house before my mum picked me up in the evenings after her work.

I have many, many childhood memories set in Aunty Ho's house and street. Catching dragonflies and tadpoles with her son outside. Playing clapping games with her daugther on the cool green-tiled floor. Speaking to her husband in Mandarin. Seeing her elderly father-in-law sit as still as a statue on his chair, his black rimmed glasses magnifying his eyes.

Every Chinese New Year, Aunty Ho baked pineapple tarts. Lots and lots of them, to sell and give away, all in her small humble kitchen. They were the old school variety: a flower shaped base, fibrous pineapple jam (homecooked for hours) topped with a dough latice and glazed with eggyolk before baking. Most ones you find today are small rolled pastries stuffed with jam.

My family was given a few jars each New Year's, and I loved those tarts.

I suppose if you asked me to be objective, they probably aren't the best pineapple tarts ever. The base is slightly hard at times and not as buttery as some modern versions. The eggyolk and latice was often uneven. But to me, they tasted of love.

My family kept in touch with Aunty Ho's family through the years, visiting on festive occasions. It always amazed me that despite her humble means, she and her husband were always keen to send me and my family expensive gifts during Chinese New Year, Christmas and the Mid-Autumn Festival.

Unfortunately, Aunty Ho developed a tumour in her brain. It was removed, but she wasn't quite the same; she did not bake pineapple tarts after the operation.

About a week or two after I finished my last term exams in Manchester in 2008, I received an email from my dad saying she had passed away. This was a few years after the operation.

To this day, one of the greatest joys of the Chinese New Year are the abundance of pineapple tarts everywhere I go. And every time I see pineapple tarts that look like the ones Aunty Ho made, I remember her.

Happy Chinese New Year, everyone.

Pieces

I cut out a piece of the sky for you
To match your blue dress
To pin to your hair
So you can say as a joke
That your head is in the clouds.

I cut out a piece of the moon for you
To glow when it's dark
To hang in a frame
So you can look at it
And recall the shadow of my smile.

I cut out a piece of my heart for you
The part that still beats your name
To do as you please
To wear on a chain
Or bury in the ground.

(I wrote the above in September 2012.)

I Dreamed, Again

I dreamt I was in the UK again. That's twice in a less than a week. This is unusual.

This time it was Manchester. I knew it was Manchester because there were trams.

I was walking the streets at night. It had just rained. The air was thick and the roads were still wet. There were lights in the corner, just beyond my vision. Undoubtedly the lights of the clubs and pubs and restaurants of the city I was so familiar with. It could not have been anywhere else.

I approached a group of ladies clearly dressed for a night out in town (another sign I was in Manchester). One was a tall, middle-aged woman with blonde shoulder-lenght hair and an angular face. She was in heels and a flowy pastel coloured dress.

Can you help me? I asked.

She walked away from her girlfriends towards me.

Of course, she smiled.

I can't quite remember but I think I asked for directions to my friend's place or if she knew where he was; what I do remember is a burning sensation of wanting to find that friend and talk to him.

I can't remember what said after that, or if she said anything at all, but the burning sensation remained.

I Dreamed

The other night I dreamt I was in London.

It was late afternoon, the rays of sun still touching some parts. I don't know what season it was; it was chilly but not cold.

I was elated. I skipped through the streets. I knew it was London. I just knew it deep inside.

And after I just knew, I noticed billboards for West End plays: Wicked, Les Miz, etc.

"Yes, this is London!" I thought.

There were people with me, around me, but I didn't notice their faces. I was too happy.

But it was not quite London.
It was far more industrial, far more direlict, far less crowded. It had old brick warehouses, rusty faded signs, moss and dirt on walls and pipes. It looked as if most people had abandoned the city and left it to run down for years. It was Manchester, really.

I didn't notice I wasn't really in London until I woke up. But then again, I wasn't really in any place, was I?

Young Hearts Run Free

Now this is what you call a cover.

Season's Greetings

Wow, I have not written here since Hari Raya. So much for the "will write more" resolution. Well, what are promises if not temporary truths.

This holiday season, I wish all 3.5 of my readers a Happy Christmas and New Year!

I leave you with these two annedotes: unrelated, save for the exasperation I felt in both situations.

Also, if your holiday cheer is the type that runs thin, perhaps you might not want to read further.

Click here to read more.

Selamat Hari Raya/Happy Eid

To all those who still happen to wander here.

I hope to write more regularly soon.

In the meantime, enjoy this Kermit and Bret duet:

Sharing Is...

An amazing song:

(She's really crying during filming, but of course the sound is a studio recording)

An amazing play I had a chance to watch: Usikan Rebab, playing till Sunday. Catch it if you can.

And two amazing articles from the Guardian UK on what differentiates expats and immigratns and how Civilizations II predicts an Orwellian future on the Guardian's excellent book blog.

As an important side note, I am very happy at my new job.

Happy World Refugee Day and Goodbye Emergency Legislation!

As I read the regular influx of auto-delivered emails from the Malaysian Bar and KL Bar Committee's various sub-committees and notification mailers, I read two of the Bar Council's press releases released yesterday and today which led me to writing this post.

The first was a welcome to the end emergency-related legislation. Due to Parliament's ending of Malaysia's emergency statuses year, all emergency-related regulations and laws cease effect within 6 months of the status' by virtue of a Constitutional provision, and that 6 months ended yesterday. As a citizen, I welcome today as an important milestone in our country's move towards a more progressive liberal democracy.

Today also marks World Refugee Day, and the Bar Council's second press statement was an appeal for the recognition of refugees' dignity, to provide them access to and recognition of their lawful work, and to move towards local ratification of the 1951 United Nations Convention relating to the Status of Refugees and its 1967 Protocol.

I may not agree with everything the Bar Council does, nor am I always proud of my legal fraternity, but today I stand strongly and completely behind these press releases as a proud member of the Bar.

You may say press releases are dime a dozen, but I recall what my boss just told me yesterday when we were considering the testimony of two witnesses. I said "I don't see how Witness B can justify his position." My boss replied "At least he takes a stand! Witness A is completely unhelpful".

Taking a stand is a small but definite step despite its lack of immediate effect. The rate and breadth of legal reform in this country is not up to par, and to mark the end of emergency legislation by reminding the government of its commitment to reform is proper. As to the second press release, I know that too few Malaysians are even aware of the issues surrounding refugees here, and many simply do not care. I hope in time this will change and am glad the Bar Council is assisting in the right direction.

The High Price of Materialism

A good message/reminder, even if you aren't American.

Don't text and drive yo!