I travelled North this morning, just as the sun rose over the City. It was a mission that no one else desired, to tell the truth. But someone needed to represent the interests of my Order at the Confluence of the Rivers, so I had be chosen. Of course, the true work does not begin until tomorrow morning, and I have had the larger part of the day to prepare myself, and to visit the sights, such as they were.
The journey itself was pleasant enough, and a part of me wished to see the Muddy River Valley again. The last time I had visited that place was shortly before I was we'd, and I was curious to see how much it had changed.
Well, the changes were many. Indeed, it now greatly resembles the City that I call home.yet, there were differences aplenty; enough to make me miss the land of my birth. And my family.
Sunday 5 December 2010
Wednesday 3 November 2010
Graduation
My daughter has graduated from Kindergarden 2. A small step, perhaps, in the whole of her scholastic life, but the first one. To be sure, I felt a deep sense of pride when I saw her up on stage that night of the 25th. Of course, in her usual close-lipped manner, she gave my missus and I no warning that she would be the first to walk across the boards that night. And so left the pair of us scrambling to get our cameras out. Sigh. Well, the footage is short, but at least we have it.
There was a concert following the ceremony, and both the daughter's grandmothers were in attendance. She seemed to enjoy herself, doing the dance thing, and I suppose that was the most important. The missus and I recorded both her numbers (two cameras, independent filming, slightly different angles) and ordered officail DVD as well. Hmmm. That was what we did for her K1 concert too, I recall. Not that I saw much of the official version - the daughter didn't have enough close-up screen time, in my biased opinion.
But now that the deed is done, I find myself worrying about other matters, as most parents do. Primary school is very different from Kindergarden, and I am fraught, wondering if she can adapt. She is small for her age, and there is the constant worry that she will be picked on by bigger girls. At least, there are no boys in a convent school. But after a conversation with a friend of mine yesterday, that leads to another set of possibilities in my mind .... Sigh.
I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
There was a concert following the ceremony, and both the daughter's grandmothers were in attendance. She seemed to enjoy herself, doing the dance thing, and I suppose that was the most important. The missus and I recorded both her numbers (two cameras, independent filming, slightly different angles) and ordered officail DVD as well. Hmmm. That was what we did for her K1 concert too, I recall. Not that I saw much of the official version - the daughter didn't have enough close-up screen time, in my biased opinion.
But now that the deed is done, I find myself worrying about other matters, as most parents do. Primary school is very different from Kindergarden, and I am fraught, wondering if she can adapt. She is small for her age, and there is the constant worry that she will be picked on by bigger girls. At least, there are no boys in a convent school. But after a conversation with a friend of mine yesterday, that leads to another set of possibilities in my mind .... Sigh.
I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
Saturday 23 October 2010
Back from the Old Country
I have always had a soft spot in my heart for Hong Kong. Especially the food. *grin*
Unfortunately, this last trip to the Pearl River Delta did not pan out entirely as planned, and I've had to forgo my beloved roast goose (from Yung Ji), and roast pigeon. Sigh... I did get some traditional Cantonese soup, so I wasn't utterly devastated.
Unfortunately, this last trip to the Pearl River Delta did not pan out entirely as planned, and I've had to forgo my beloved roast goose (from Yung Ji), and roast pigeon. Sigh... I did get some traditional Cantonese soup, so I wasn't utterly devastated.
Sunday 10 October 2010
Insomnia & Inspiration
I find inspiration in the oddest things. Once in a while, I have the good fortune of revisiting some of the events that shaped my youth. I have had just once such opportunity moments ago, when I enjoyed once again a marvelous mystery of the Dame of Murder Mysteries herself, Agatha Christie.
I grew up surrounded by books. Most of them rather boring texts belonging to my parents, who were both Primary School teachers. Children's stories adorned the shelves, with Enid Blyton's leading by sheer numbs. (I like to think that I had been a generous sort of older brother by purchasing all those Twins of St Clare's & Mallory Towers books so that my younger sister could share.) Of course, Secret Seven & Famous Five mysteries soon became favourites of mine. But I can still recall that that it was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Speckled Band & Red-head League that truly inspired my great love of puzzles. I was also deeply fortunate that I have a mother who is, to this day, a great fan of Sherlock Holmes. Just today she showed a great deal of interest in my iBooks app, when she saw the Holmes titles therein. (I might have promised her an iPad for christmas. Hmmm.)
Agatha Christie's Poirot was similar in his detachment and brain-power. Who would think it possible for ten people, coming from all walks of life, to have convened for the sole purpose of committing murder? That tale awoke my curiosity regarding the limitless human capacity for revenge, I confess. Till now, I still find the subject incredibly fascinating.
Yet, despite the pleasure of following the exploits of that Baker St genius, I have always felt intimidated by his intelligence. Just as it was somewhat depressing to read of Hercule's little grey cells. I also found the pair of them to be egotistical to the extreme, though I shall admit, deservedly so. I would not like to sit next to them at a dining table, however. No doubt they would find me utterly boring.
Then one day, I was called to the living room while a television movie was playing. I honestly cannot remember who it was who called me to join the family. I was never much for watching television. The commercials I found terribly irritating and only a handful of shows were interesting in my opinion. I did remember what it was that drew me to watch that show that evening - it's based on an Agatha Christie mystery, I was told. So I sat myself down, prepared for yet another American adaptation that completely destroyed the plot. But to my surprise, I rather enjoyed it! But who was this captivating old lady who saw past all the glitz and glamour? I dug around, and discovered the single greatest force that shaped my life, Miss Jane Marple.
I thought it rather odd that I had not heard of her before I watched that movie (it starred Elizabeth Taylor, it one must know which version). I learnt, much to my dismay that my earlier devotion to Hercule had blinded me to other works by the great lady, and I had missed Miss Marple in entirety! Horror. Well, I soon rectified that! After all, I had a Library Card and I was not afraid to use it! Ha!
Well, I had the pleasure of watching 'A Mirror Crack'd again this night. The Joan Dickson version by BBC, this time. And I find myself thoroughly fulfilled by it's conclusion. The acting was impeccable and very British. That is to say, with great subtlety and no little humour. And watching the show, rather than reading the book, made me understand why I love Miss Marple mysteries so much:
Unlike dear old Sherlock and the Belgian, Miss Marple relies on one very simple principle - people will be people. From her, I haves learned that one only needs to pay attention to understand what it actually going on around oneself. She has taught me to open my eyes and see, to use my ears to listen, and to empathize, to feel what each character must be feeling. Unlike the pair of great Brains, she gave me hope that I too could solve difficult puzzles by doing these very simple to achieve things. And so I have, from time to time.
It is a reminder, more to myself than to anyone, to watch, listen, and put oneself Into another's shoes. Each time I watch or read Jane Marple, I feel the touch of my muse. And I wonder if, like the dear old lady, if there has been anything that I've missed.
I grew up surrounded by books. Most of them rather boring texts belonging to my parents, who were both Primary School teachers. Children's stories adorned the shelves, with Enid Blyton's leading by sheer numbs. (I like to think that I had been a generous sort of older brother by purchasing all those Twins of St Clare's & Mallory Towers books so that my younger sister could share.) Of course, Secret Seven & Famous Five mysteries soon became favourites of mine. But I can still recall that that it was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Speckled Band & Red-head League that truly inspired my great love of puzzles. I was also deeply fortunate that I have a mother who is, to this day, a great fan of Sherlock Holmes. Just today she showed a great deal of interest in my iBooks app, when she saw the Holmes titles therein. (I might have promised her an iPad for christmas. Hmmm.)
Agatha Christie's Poirot was similar in his detachment and brain-power. Who would think it possible for ten people, coming from all walks of life, to have convened for the sole purpose of committing murder? That tale awoke my curiosity regarding the limitless human capacity for revenge, I confess. Till now, I still find the subject incredibly fascinating.
Yet, despite the pleasure of following the exploits of that Baker St genius, I have always felt intimidated by his intelligence. Just as it was somewhat depressing to read of Hercule's little grey cells. I also found the pair of them to be egotistical to the extreme, though I shall admit, deservedly so. I would not like to sit next to them at a dining table, however. No doubt they would find me utterly boring.
Then one day, I was called to the living room while a television movie was playing. I honestly cannot remember who it was who called me to join the family. I was never much for watching television. The commercials I found terribly irritating and only a handful of shows were interesting in my opinion. I did remember what it was that drew me to watch that show that evening - it's based on an Agatha Christie mystery, I was told. So I sat myself down, prepared for yet another American adaptation that completely destroyed the plot. But to my surprise, I rather enjoyed it! But who was this captivating old lady who saw past all the glitz and glamour? I dug around, and discovered the single greatest force that shaped my life, Miss Jane Marple.
I thought it rather odd that I had not heard of her before I watched that movie (it starred Elizabeth Taylor, it one must know which version). I learnt, much to my dismay that my earlier devotion to Hercule had blinded me to other works by the great lady, and I had missed Miss Marple in entirety! Horror. Well, I soon rectified that! After all, I had a Library Card and I was not afraid to use it! Ha!
Well, I had the pleasure of watching 'A Mirror Crack'd again this night. The Joan Dickson version by BBC, this time. And I find myself thoroughly fulfilled by it's conclusion. The acting was impeccable and very British. That is to say, with great subtlety and no little humour. And watching the show, rather than reading the book, made me understand why I love Miss Marple mysteries so much:
Unlike dear old Sherlock and the Belgian, Miss Marple relies on one very simple principle - people will be people. From her, I haves learned that one only needs to pay attention to understand what it actually going on around oneself. She has taught me to open my eyes and see, to use my ears to listen, and to empathize, to feel what each character must be feeling. Unlike the pair of great Brains, she gave me hope that I too could solve difficult puzzles by doing these very simple to achieve things. And so I have, from time to time.
It is a reminder, more to myself than to anyone, to watch, listen, and put oneself Into another's shoes. Each time I watch or read Jane Marple, I feel the touch of my muse. And I wonder if, like the dear old lady, if there has been anything that I've missed.
Thursday 22 April 2010
Doctor Doctor
My daughter is a Doctor Who fan!!
And I am, of course, elated! Indeed, I am so distracted by this revelation that I squandered 500 thalers on the DVD box sets for Seasons 1 through 3 in one afternoon! Sigh.
On reflection, I wonder if I should have paid another visit to the Pearl River Delta & got them there. The total cost would have been approximately the same, but I would have at least had a (few) good meals thrown in. And a relaxing break from work as well.
But back to the situation at hand:
It was one of those cliffhanger episodes from Season 4 that was screened on BBC Entertainment that sparked the little one's enthusiasm. The episode was The Stolen Earth, in which the planet was snatched from its location in space and relocated in a region which it shared with 26 other planets/planetoids. The Doctor arrived too late to see it go, but began to track the Earth as quickly as only the Doctor can. Yet, it was the antics of those former companions of his, left in dire straits on the world, that fascinated my daughter so.
She didn't know who these people were, of course. She wasn't even sure what was happening. I believe she was just humouring her old man & her mother (both of us are fans, btw). But the shock and despair on their faces when the enemy was revealed had her completely hooked from that moment on. The initiation of the long-awaited Doctor's regeneration sequence also helped to put her in a frenzy. She went around shouting 'Exx-Termin-Nate!' for a good 10 minutes after the show ended, and immediately demanded that we watch the next episode at once.
We explained, as patiently as we could, that she would have to wait a week before the conclusion, shown in Journey's End, much to her disappointment. I had half-expected her to forget about the whole thing, to tell the truth. But when show came around again, she was right there, cheering the Doctor & Rose on as they sought to thwart the nefarious schemes of the Daleks!
Then came the deluge: Who is the Doctor? Why is the show called Doctor Who? Why doesn't Rose get the credit she deserves? How does the Doctor do that? It goes on it that vein for a good while. It was worse than the week before, when she was making us go through the history of each character in the Stolen Earth. Fortunately, the missus had recorded the episode, which made things easier & harder at the same time.
Finally, I rushed out to hunt down the DVD sets. HMV's prices were exorbitant, but given the typical person's propensity to watch US rather than UK television, it was not surprising that there's no market for BBC shows.
Well, she's gone through Box 1 - that's the one with the Ecclestone bloke - and about to embark on the second - the Tenth Doctor, the Tennant Chap. Hope it fires her mind like the old series did for me when I discovered it. All things considered, I really wanted to be like the Doctor when I was growing up. I can think of worse dreams, I suppose.
And I am, of course, elated! Indeed, I am so distracted by this revelation that I squandered 500 thalers on the DVD box sets for Seasons 1 through 3 in one afternoon! Sigh.
On reflection, I wonder if I should have paid another visit to the Pearl River Delta & got them there. The total cost would have been approximately the same, but I would have at least had a (few) good meals thrown in. And a relaxing break from work as well.
But back to the situation at hand:
It was one of those cliffhanger episodes from Season 4 that was screened on BBC Entertainment that sparked the little one's enthusiasm. The episode was The Stolen Earth, in which the planet was snatched from its location in space and relocated in a region which it shared with 26 other planets/planetoids. The Doctor arrived too late to see it go, but began to track the Earth as quickly as only the Doctor can. Yet, it was the antics of those former companions of his, left in dire straits on the world, that fascinated my daughter so.
She didn't know who these people were, of course. She wasn't even sure what was happening. I believe she was just humouring her old man & her mother (both of us are fans, btw). But the shock and despair on their faces when the enemy was revealed had her completely hooked from that moment on. The initiation of the long-awaited Doctor's regeneration sequence also helped to put her in a frenzy. She went around shouting 'Exx-Termin-Nate!' for a good 10 minutes after the show ended, and immediately demanded that we watch the next episode at once.
We explained, as patiently as we could, that she would have to wait a week before the conclusion, shown in Journey's End, much to her disappointment. I had half-expected her to forget about the whole thing, to tell the truth. But when show came around again, she was right there, cheering the Doctor & Rose on as they sought to thwart the nefarious schemes of the Daleks!
Then came the deluge: Who is the Doctor? Why is the show called Doctor Who? Why doesn't Rose get the credit she deserves? How does the Doctor do that? It goes on it that vein for a good while. It was worse than the week before, when she was making us go through the history of each character in the Stolen Earth. Fortunately, the missus had recorded the episode, which made things easier & harder at the same time.
Finally, I rushed out to hunt down the DVD sets. HMV's prices were exorbitant, but given the typical person's propensity to watch US rather than UK television, it was not surprising that there's no market for BBC shows.
Well, she's gone through Box 1 - that's the one with the Ecclestone bloke - and about to embark on the second - the Tenth Doctor, the Tennant Chap. Hope it fires her mind like the old series did for me when I discovered it. All things considered, I really wanted to be like the Doctor when I was growing up. I can think of worse dreams, I suppose.
Wednesday 3 February 2010
February Again
It's that month of the year again.
February has always been a 'feverish' time for me, though not in the way that Trebuchet sees it. Three events usually take place in this month that are particularly significant to me, so I find myself swinging between excitment and exhaustion:
Firstly, there is that small matter of the New Year. While I am not the sort of fellow who plays on my ethnicity, I am proud to be Chinese, and I have a smattering of knowledge regarding the history, customs and traditions (good and bad) of my people. So when this time of the year comes around, I put in a bit of effort into the necessary preparations.
Indeed, during my recent trip to the Pearl River Delta, I actually took the trouble to take a short hop over to Hong Kong, to purchase goose liver sausages from Yung Kei, a old establishment (60+ years in the business) that specialises in such items. I have no doubt that my family shall enjoy them. With the exception of the missus, who thinks the stuff too fattening and the flavours too intense.
My daughter, of course, sees CNY as a time of ang paos and indiscriminate snacking. Not to mention, dressing in new clothes. Her kindergarten has been organizing ethnic dress days for the major holidays, and I have always taken pains to dress the little one in cute dresses. The ao dai episode two years ago was somewhat unusual, since she insisted on wearing jeans rather than the traditional trousers. The cheongsam last year was a success however, and her grandparents had cooed over how adorable she looked.
This year, I decided to dress the daughter in a kebaya sulam. That's the peranakan outfit with the translucent, laced blouse and the colourful sarong. Since my wife is nonya, her mother clearly approved of my choice. My own mother was also tickled by how my daughter looked. I shall have to take many photographs this year, it seems.
CNY this year coincides with Valentine's Day. Which may be good or bad, depending on how one regards that extremely commercialized event. I shall endeavour to do something for the missus, of course. Though I fear that it may well be overshadowed by the other celebration. Perhaps a good seafood dinner ...
Lastly, February is also the month of my birth. I shall be 44 this year. A little inauspicious, the number, so I am a trifle cautious of bad luck this coming year of the Tiger. But fortunetellers and horoscopes claim otherwise. I guess we shall see what we shall see.
Still, another year older. That is something to contemplate.
February has always been a 'feverish' time for me, though not in the way that Trebuchet sees it. Three events usually take place in this month that are particularly significant to me, so I find myself swinging between excitment and exhaustion:
Firstly, there is that small matter of the New Year. While I am not the sort of fellow who plays on my ethnicity, I am proud to be Chinese, and I have a smattering of knowledge regarding the history, customs and traditions (good and bad) of my people. So when this time of the year comes around, I put in a bit of effort into the necessary preparations.
Indeed, during my recent trip to the Pearl River Delta, I actually took the trouble to take a short hop over to Hong Kong, to purchase goose liver sausages from Yung Kei, a old establishment (60+ years in the business) that specialises in such items. I have no doubt that my family shall enjoy them. With the exception of the missus, who thinks the stuff too fattening and the flavours too intense.
My daughter, of course, sees CNY as a time of ang paos and indiscriminate snacking. Not to mention, dressing in new clothes. Her kindergarten has been organizing ethnic dress days for the major holidays, and I have always taken pains to dress the little one in cute dresses. The ao dai episode two years ago was somewhat unusual, since she insisted on wearing jeans rather than the traditional trousers. The cheongsam last year was a success however, and her grandparents had cooed over how adorable she looked.
This year, I decided to dress the daughter in a kebaya sulam. That's the peranakan outfit with the translucent, laced blouse and the colourful sarong. Since my wife is nonya, her mother clearly approved of my choice. My own mother was also tickled by how my daughter looked. I shall have to take many photographs this year, it seems.
CNY this year coincides with Valentine's Day. Which may be good or bad, depending on how one regards that extremely commercialized event. I shall endeavour to do something for the missus, of course. Though I fear that it may well be overshadowed by the other celebration. Perhaps a good seafood dinner ...
Lastly, February is also the month of my birth. I shall be 44 this year. A little inauspicious, the number, so I am a trifle cautious of bad luck this coming year of the Tiger. But fortunetellers and horoscopes claim otherwise. I guess we shall see what we shall see.
Still, another year older. That is something to contemplate.
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