Sometimes a movie or a song works as a bookmark.
Maybe the movie, True Lies or whatever, didn't matter much to you when you were first watching it and it was the last day of the A Levels.
But catching the movie on cable years afterwards, it somehow takes you back to that page in your life. You remember that you were 18 and what a beautiful day it was and when the closing credits rolled - Sunshine Of Your Love comes rocking on and you run out with the song in your head and you run and run and run all the way to the MRT on some sort of adrenalin high. That song, that sunny day, that wide-necked top, those too-tight jeans. You really remember. You even remember that the next day, you were wearing the same clothing when you went and sat for the SAT and there was an American boy, with a head of cute curly hair, who smiled at you.
So you are still watching the movie - "Arnie, hasn't he always been hotter than Sly?" you say to no one - and you have cranked up the volume as you wait for your song. But just as the song comes on, the tot next door calls to you. So you go to the door, bouncing up and down to Sunshine Of Your Love like a loony - and it's bad for the ankles, your 29-going-on-30-year-old ankles - and she sees you. She shrieks her happy shriek. She starts to mini-bounce to a song she has never heard before...
Maybe when I next chance on the movie, I will remember that day when I was 18 and this day when she was two.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
OLD DOG, NEW TRICKS | Day Eight
Yu sang in this house is an epic. Not for us the mainstream thing - tossing raw fish and everything else all at once, drowning it in a dribble of New Year cliches, getting it over with in under five minutes - no, that is not for us.
Ours is Pearl River, once-upon-a-time-in-Canton, this-is-how-my-great-grandmother-did-it yu sang. The fish does not appear until Act Two. Act One is just lime juice and sugar, which is mixed on a dish until the sugar melts. The fish is tossed in the juice in Act Two, for the fish - which was sliced by hand by my mother and laid out by me on paper for drying purposes - to soak up the sweetness and sourness. Act Three: Oil is added. Stir, stir, stir. Act Four: Salt, pepper and a dash of alcohol are added. Stir, stir, stir. Acts Five to N: Sesame, peanut, pickled ginger, pickled onion, parsley, chilli, radish, carrot, et cetera are added one after another. The idea is to start with the small things that will stick to the fish. After 30 minutes of stirring - we are too out of breath from the chopstick action to mouth many cliches - dinner is served.
Ours is Pearl River, once-upon-a-time-in-Canton, this-is-how-my-great-grandmother-did-it yu sang. The fish does not appear until Act Two. Act One is just lime juice and sugar, which is mixed on a dish until the sugar melts. The fish is tossed in the juice in Act Two, for the fish - which was sliced by hand by my mother and laid out by me on paper for drying purposes - to soak up the sweetness and sourness. Act Three: Oil is added. Stir, stir, stir. Act Four: Salt, pepper and a dash of alcohol are added. Stir, stir, stir. Acts Five to N: Sesame, peanut, pickled ginger, pickled onion, parsley, chilli, radish, carrot, et cetera are added one after another. The idea is to start with the small things that will stick to the fish. After 30 minutes of stirring - we are too out of breath from the chopstick action to mouth many cliches - dinner is served.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
OLD DOG, NEW TRICKS | Day One
I have two brothers, Fei and Bak. Fei was born one year after me and Bak, nine years after him. (Nope, there was no planning on my parents' part.) Bak tells me that I trust Fei more than I trust him - he's right - and I tell him, "What to do? I've known your brother longer." I've known him longer: He has been there at all the New Years that I remember.
When we were kids, New Year was a time for coin-shaped chocolates, White Rabbit Creamy Candies and our grandmother’s "yam shrimps" (fried ribbons of yam and ginger, a savoury Cantonese snack we never learned to love). On the first night of the year, seven of us - our parents, uncle, aunt, cousin and us - squeezed into our uncle's car to go to our grandaunt and granduncle's one-room home in Tiong Bahru; the adults would talk among themselves as the kids squatted on the floor and snacked; our grandaunt and granduncle would hand each of us a lai si of $1.10. ($1.10 for cheut yan tau dei: The dollar denoted people that we, the coin, were to rise head and shoulders above.)
After they passed away, we were a little lost. We didn't know where to go when the first night of the year came round. So we turned to calling on Jackie Chan – at the movies, that is. His First Strike - he skis in Ukraine! swims with sharks in Australia! speaks Cantonese and no one dubs him! - was one of the fun ones. But soon my parents started saying, "Jackie Chan's losing it."
Now my uncle, aunt and cousin just come round for chitchat and dinner (this year's special was my mother's pun choi, basically a big buffet in a basin which would turn into the loveliest, slurpiest leftovers the next day). But before that, in the morning, my brothers and I pay our uncle and aunt a call at their home in Bukit Timah. Then we walk to the temple round the corner - spouting silly rubbish all the way as Fei and I tease Bak and half-tell him tales of New Years past - to pay our respects to our late grandparents. This time that the three of us spend together is my favourite New Year tradition for now.
When we were kids, New Year was a time for coin-shaped chocolates, White Rabbit Creamy Candies and our grandmother’s "yam shrimps" (fried ribbons of yam and ginger, a savoury Cantonese snack we never learned to love). On the first night of the year, seven of us - our parents, uncle, aunt, cousin and us - squeezed into our uncle's car to go to our grandaunt and granduncle's one-room home in Tiong Bahru; the adults would talk among themselves as the kids squatted on the floor and snacked; our grandaunt and granduncle would hand each of us a lai si of $1.10. ($1.10 for cheut yan tau dei: The dollar denoted people that we, the coin, were to rise head and shoulders above.)
After they passed away, we were a little lost. We didn't know where to go when the first night of the year came round. So we turned to calling on Jackie Chan – at the movies, that is. His First Strike - he skis in Ukraine! swims with sharks in Australia! speaks Cantonese and no one dubs him! - was one of the fun ones. But soon my parents started saying, "Jackie Chan's losing it."
Now my uncle, aunt and cousin just come round for chitchat and dinner (this year's special was my mother's pun choi, basically a big buffet in a basin which would turn into the loveliest, slurpiest leftovers the next day). But before that, in the morning, my brothers and I pay our uncle and aunt a call at their home in Bukit Timah. Then we walk to the temple round the corner - spouting silly rubbish all the way as Fei and I tease Bak and half-tell him tales of New Years past - to pay our respects to our late grandparents. This time that the three of us spend together is my favourite New Year tradition for now.
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