So here I am, in the Land where East meets West. I went to bed at about half past one last night and while I woke up at about quarter to 9, I only got up at 11am. Had a bit of lie-in as my eyes were a bit sore, and my head a little heavy - probably signs of jetlag.
Went to a wedding dinner straight after getting back, dropping bags, jumping into the shower and getting changed. It was the usual mega Chinese wedding banquet, with the 12 course tasting menu. It was all very delicious but I didn't have much of an appetite, being straight off the plane. We were seated at a table where I knew no one, which was fine since I didn't have much of an appetite for conversation either. The man on my left started up a hearty and somewhat deafening conversation with my father who was seated two seats from me, with my mum in between. From time to time, I'd be deafened and spat on, such was the heartiness of the conversation. The man seemed to like to talk, both interesting things and nonsense, as is the case I guess, when one talks constantly. There is a limit to the number of genuinely interesting or insightful things that one can come up with after all. Unless perhaps, one is God though I'm quite sure for all his predictions and insights, I did not have a divine encounter last night. If it was then Hell must be a quiet and dry place.
Anyhow, I guess that was better than facing the emptiness of the apartment. The old christmas tree is still standing in a corner, with the baubles and ribbons I'd put up years ago. On Sis' bed lies the fuchsia blanket made of towelling material that Finci used, not without a dismayed observation "but it's a giant teatowel!" when I presented him with his blanket. I'd offered to swop mine (a patchwork one with teddy bears) but he declined and stuck with the giant teatowel. And there was the shower he'd used - it's like a cubicle but the 'walls' are only 4 inches high ... haha. I always thought it somewhat ludicrous but we never got round to putting a shower curtain up so I'd mop the water up after he'd used the bathroom. Every tile would be wet but then I guess he was a big bloke. I remember trying to wash his clothes (we don't use a washing machine, everything is handwashed) and gosh that was like a upper body work-out. We finally used the spin-drying machine's attached washing tub for his clothes. And when it came to hang the clothes up to dry on the bamboo poles fixed to a rack hanging from the ceiling, it would always be funny as he'd just reach up (not even fully stretching though he'd pretend to be labouring intensively by making strange weightlifter noises) and take the pole down with one hand while I'd always look for the pole with a U shaped hook device to reach ...
After lunch, mahmee and I went to NTUC to do some shopping - fruit, shampoo, cereal, milk, sweet potato ... tomorrow is the First day of the Seventh Month ... aka the start of the Hungry Ghosts' Festival, so my grandma eats sweet potato for breakfast and I'd be buying her vegetarian meal from a specific stall in Chinatown. I like having things to do, getting out of the house ... I don't like to be near my father. He handed his transitlink card to my mother last night in the taxi which she paid for, and asked for another one. Today, she tried to use his card and guess what, it had negative money. What kind of a jerk does that? When he handed it to her last night I was wondering hmm ... why is he swopping but didn't think too much of it but well, I guess I should have known. Some things never change. While things you'd rather not change tend to have a knack of doing quite the opposite.
On the way back from the supermarket, the bus stopped at a different bus-stop as the shuttle 274 no longer runs between the interchange and my apartment. It's now served by the 57 which stops on Alexandra road instead. It reminded me of how Finci used to call the bus-stops on Alexandra road the good bus stops and the bus stop outside Alexandra Hospital, which was a bit further away (a bus stop away, so it's hardly a mammoth trek for this mammoth Englishman who'd run a marathon before) the crappy bus stop and every day when we went out, and he'd found out we were going to the crappy bus-stop (which I use incidentally, to save money as the 14 there gets us into Orchard Road without changes and I think it's faster too) he'd pull a face like a little boy. These few weeks will probably be the last time I use these bus stops as we have to move away by next June. Even my memories will be taken away from me. I guess this is the way Singapore is, throwaway culture and always on the move, always demolishing, rebuilding, renewing, redoing, renovating, re this and re that. My primary school is gone, as is my junior college and probably my secondary school too. Even where I live is going and they want me to have a sense of belonging? Belonging to what? Ghosts of Christmas past?
Two years ago, during the Hungry Ghosts' Festival, Jon persuaded me to watch the horror movie "The Maid' with him and I never, NEVER watch horror movies as I get horribly horrified. I spent most of the time with my hands over my face - which makes going to watch a film that you don't actually see a complete waste of money and another reason why I don't watch scary movies (haha, the Singaporean traits of thriftiness shining through!). Though I can see that the whole point of scary movies is to scare and people pay good money to get scared otherwise they'd complain that it was rubbish and a complete waste of time ...
Speaking of being scared, that reminds me of how I consented to go on the scary jungle walk to the have BBQ fish to cheer Finci up when he got badly sunburned when we went to Tioman and there seemed to be only sambal sotong (squid) available at our chalet (it was scary because it was dark and I get scared of the dark and there were creatures that you couldn't see that you knew were there ... oh man.). I think he appreciated it. I hope he liked the BBQ fish. When we made it back I was muttering "Never again, I'm never doing that again blahblahblah ..." and being all furrow eyebrowed and frowny and stressed and all he'd say was "well done wongsy, mah brave wongsy" while I was hardly being brave but more like losing it and jabbering on in stress. And then we'd get to our chalet door and I'd calm down. Like Steve Buscemi in Armageddon, when he lost it completely and started pacnicking and acting weirdly in outer space. He didn't like outer space, I didn't like the being in the dark, trudging through creature-filled jungle, armed with a torch.
Dare I say it? Love makes you do strange things. Well, at least now I know I'd never have to do that again. I think I could live here in a sort of semi comatose shock numbness. This year's slogan: Singapore. City of Possibilities.
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