Truly, Madly, Deeply

Right: Developing Pomegranate from my Garden
You are obviously in love.

Every detailed thing that Darling does for you, you note and analyse like
a school lab frog - but I don't blame you, only to wish you receive
the love you deserve and that both of you are protected if things don't go the
way both Darling and you want.

I am sure you are in love because you lap up the good advice that Darling
gives you - like a little puppy, I must say. That is a sure sign of
the goodness of a positive relationship, in that it motivates you
further to do things that you know you want and you should, but just
require a little gentle push to actually do it!

You must be in love as well because you get all truly glad inside your
heart just to know that Darling is happy. Love, as I understand it, is
self-less, makes the lover forget his existence and willingly submerge
into the consciousness of the loved one. How well is the loved one
willing to infuse the dimension of this existence with you?

What is age and its niceties in deliberations of love? It's all
perception, hype and what both of you make of it. There are other more
significant things in a relationship, like the ability to blend
together in interests, personality, humour and sincerity. Others may
have their opinions, but like anything else, are they part of the
marriage? The bottom line is that only the two of you are going to
share and experience the joys, trials and camaraderie of a
partnership.

A gift is a symbolic token of the bigger perspectives of appreciation
and feeling. The precious gift of love must be used to build upon a
deeper and more thorough structuring of a meaningful relationship, one
that takes both of you through sunshine, high water, uncertainty and
resolve, one that combines with the other essential ingredients of a
true friendship, one that spices up the start of a solid bonding.

Sunday Outings

Alex Higgins has grown up. He tells me that he is now in Year 10 at school. Alex lives in an enclave of southern Sydney that overlooks the sea, perched up on a cliff top. I catch up with his Dad as well. Little William has brought back a tiny strawberry after a walk with his uncle and aunt, who got hitched recently, first in a Phuket Buddhist Temple, then in the registry in Parramatta and soon to beholding their reception at Chateau Carlingford.

The afternoon was getting oppresively hot and humid. We were in a green house portion of an Austrian-German restaurant in far north Sydney. The food was excellent, including my fav duck, pork knuckle, potato au gratin and the lightly batterred fish. After lunch, my group of four riding in the same car secretly diverted to the nearby Ba'hai Temple, strikingly white and laced with lattice windows with a beauty topped by its harbour lighthouse top. This is the first time in many years that I have seen the building of prayer in sunny daylight.

The afternoon had been lazy and it continued in the St Ives home of the birthday girl. It was a conversational Sunday, perked up by the coffee made in the style distinctive of Jennifer and Janie. Sunset was to be after 8 in the evening, and so it was good to somewhat lose track of time. Like Late June in the northern hemisphere, December in the south-east corner of Australia is meant to be unfettered - but we had separate appointments to go for Sunday night, and it was not a roast dinner.

I headed for Chatswood, only a short drive south along the Eastern Arterial and Willoughby roads. Charmaine and Chris had organised a home gathering, which featured creations from various cooks who poured their special touches of creativity to, amongst the several dishes served, Bangkok tom yum soup (Cindy); ice kacang (Joyce); and duck curry (Charmaine). The street light sparkled up obviously through the front door when night fell, late; Wai Fatt from Kuala Lumpur chatted about the pending arrival of the rest of his family coming to Sydney soon.

Highlights of the Year

Maybe I over think of what can be improved, or what needs to be done going ahead, that I unfairly forget about the existing good things in my life, especially for the past year.

The annual medical test taken bravely after a weekend of feasting for Christmas had a good outcome. Interest rates had come down in recent months at almost the same pace as banks had raised it earlier without care for their customers. I have a vibrant team synergy at work. I enjoy responding to the challenges thrown at me in surprising contexts from a few smiling hyena types who snarl only behind my back.

The car had not given problems, except for some unexplained sounds, and I thought I was winning the war against garden weeds. More rain had fallen in an apparent break of the drought where I reside. The views of the neighbouring hills, either with a clear blue sky or topped by cloud and fog, continue to provide inspiring vistas when I come out of my front door, and I can feel the ocean breeze from where the sun rises. I can zip up to a capital city for diversions and maintain friendships, whilst coming home under moonlight on the same day.

I had grown in more than just acquaintance in knowing especially two new persons better, individuals with whom I found an inner calm and stability in interacting with and who joined me on the journey of an unfolding understanding. At the same time, I found delightful refuge in reinforcing relationships with friends and relatives who were always there for me from the beginning, whether residing locally or overseas. I feel privileged to be able to communicate - whether through simple emails or periodic phone conversations - with people important to me, far and near. I continued to feel the intensity and joy in cooking therapy. I rediscovered quality yogurt, found I could rely on certain people and was able to let go of garbage finally.

I paced up my personal travel, besides being caught up in round circuit trips between Sydney and the South Coast. I relished my return to New Zealand, fully taking in the special air and light that so I am attuned with. It was just so reassuring to see how my eldest niece had settled so well there with her network of friends. Then there were visits to my turf by people I have not seen for a long time, or catch up with on less occasions than I prefer, or by new friends. Such reunions gave unexpected joy and exchange of experiences to me.

I took significant oaths and relished my routines. I found less pleasure in just running around for the sake of it and treasured personal moments at home. I sensed the coming of change in America and Australia. Various people came into my life and showed me new windows.

On a One-Horse Open Sleigh

Love works in strange ways.

Like finding the right house or the dreamed of car, it can be a logical result or just a sincere surprise when we least expect it. Logic can defy the choice, feelings arouse the instinctive and the bonding defies whatever convention that may apply to it.

Rouselavata had been trying. He had retained sufficient hope to not unnecessarily close any window of opportunity. At the same time, he had developed a workable sense of realism in whom he preferred and what could translate further into a meaningful relationship. All these may seem hypothetical and good in theory, and unless he could apply all these in one real example, it remained good only in planning and on paper.

One week it all came together. Someone turned up. Someone who could click so well with him in his interests of music, style of mingling and getting to know each other. Someone who added to stability and a heightened sense of living. Someone who made Rouselavata glow inside and made him share his new found joy with close relatives and good friends. Someone who made him walk tall and let the whole world know. Someone he would love to ride with, literally on a one-horse open sleigh.

Rouselavata at times had passing moments of doubt as to how long this would last. He however knew how to enjoy it, no matter what. As he lay in bed in blissful oblivion, he played again and again a short sweet rendition of a theme so popular at this time of the year. "Jingle bells, jingle bells...."

Joyeaux Noel

The dessert spread could have been sufficient. White Sago in Malacca sugar; steamed nine layer cake; a large Australian fruit platter that had mangoes, grapes and more; Straits Chinese cassava pudding; the white top over green in a concoction literally called 'beautiful face", accentuating its over all smoothness; freshly baked curry puffs; and longans iced in jelly cubes from Singapore. We had more choices for high tea than in the Inter-Continental Sydney.

This was preceded by the mains that reflected the heritage of those who sat around the table. Fresh noodles swam around a prawn-based light spicy and tasteful soup in har mee, garnished by pork cuts, chili kangkong vegetables and prawn fillets. Glutinous rice had been boiled with two different types of fillings in the servings of chang, traditionally served in the Aussie mid-winter and associated with the Chinese Dragon Boat Festival. Indian pancakes prata were eaten dipped in a robust chicken curry cooked with well cooked potatoes. Succulent satay on skewers were enhanced by the accompanying gravy that evoked of more than lemon grass and marinade. For starters, I already had lightly toasted murugu, evoking of childhood memories with the Hindu Festival of Light. All were home made and a labour of love.

We did check out some lights in a neighbourhood on the way home. Christmas lights that is. It was also the eve of Hannukah and the night of the Winter Solstice in China, when the wholesomeness of life is symbolised in round little dough balls of various bright colours. These dough balls are made by all family members in unison around a table. It was a few more sleeps to Christmas.

The Year That Nourished

It is still fresh in my mind - the tingling and heightened sense of what it means to enjoy what life can offer. This does not necessarily mean partaking the sensations of untried fruit or stepping into a corner of the Earth that was previously inaccessible to us, but much more. It leaves in me an inner gulp and something that remains to nurture and encourage me, a planted seed that allows me to rely upon for potential and continuing growth and a contented source of not just memory but spewing happiness.

It all begins with perhaps one may view as ordinary events, but which to me are a source of my gratitude to unexpected events. Out of the blue one afternoon, someone took the trouble, all by himself, to organise a wholesome cake to celebrate on my actual birthday in front of whole group of people. And he even sang and led a song. Earlier at lunchtime,another surprise gathering was organised at my fav on-site work cafe and this function drew attendance from people I appreciate the friendship with from different parts of my workplace.

One rainy night in the middle of the southern winter, a mate in a neighbouring suburb cooked for me, even if he had just settled into his new residence. I watched him prepare the fresh ingredients and we sat chatting in the juncture of an important phase of his life. I could see and feel the deep love he has for his young daughter and the excited determination in his heart on the positive adventures ahead for this young father and his very lucky little girl. That, I realised at that very moment, is what life is truly all about.

To be able to receive or make a phone call, an instant text message or an encouraging email of inspiration or motivation from and to someone far away is not to be taken for granted. I relish in the understanding that an individual - friend or relative - cares enough to add this task on top of the so many things in this very busy modern life. To be able to spend time and chat with people we know from long ago - and to be able to do it in my beloved New Zealand - was icing on top of the cake. To be visited by some, especially in my remote corner of this global existence, is to be double blessed - and then to share with them our daily routine, inner sanctum and how we can interact further. Once I had sat in Wollongong musing on how I can contribute more to the lives of others - and not just through donations and limited involvement - and then there came a proposal.

To survive and prosper in a challenging work environment, especially with my passionate stance for my profession, requires the nourishment of some special individuals behind the scene. I look back with fondness, and forward with eagerness, on a select few individuals who have made earning a living more than that, and make it an enriching journey. They are all people with an innate sense and ability to calm me when others create a storm; invoke a smile in my heart when they do not have to do so; work in quiet and unassuming ways to let me focus on what is truly important and who add to the detachment of a positive attitude. And when I go to talk to them, I come back revitalised, instead of being drained.

Sit down meals laced with comforting company and a sense of camaraderie are important to me, ranging from curry club lunches through Sunday night home-cooked meals to one-on-one opportunities with mates and loved ones. They may form part of a continuing series of routine events, but together and cumulatively they form part of a tapestry of love and friendship. Not just getting together. One of my dear neighbours, Roma, always puts my cleaned-out garbage bin in front of my side garden gate every Friday morning. Roma does it without any expectation or reward, and exemplifies the things that have nourished me in the past year.

Irony of Some People

The person with whom we want to avoid keeps turning up round the corner. Those whom
we miss so much seem so difficult to get near and catch up with. We put our heart and soul into something we have passion about and that is diverted from us into something trivial, or a molehill made into a mountain. We treat some people nicely and they bite back with an ungratefulness that animals don't have. We place our trust into an individual and that individual utilises the same trust to get us into an unfounded allegation.

We give out of our own free will and expect nothing back - but are quickly dropped once we are of no use to some short-sighted people. At times, I feel as if I am being challenged by parties that do not have any civilised sense of behaviour - and obviously think too much of themselves. Some pretend to make a show of smiling in front of us but bring out the sharpened knives behind my back. It may be all relative. They are even better than those who show their feeling of disgust for me only when they face me alone, but break into an unbelievable turn around pretend-friendly facade when we are not alone. Some say hello with a smile in public but whisper contrived conspiracies when they think I am not there. Some think they are so clever in never sharing but only always taking, oblivious that the givers are more intelligent than what they assume.

Some individuals hoot about their overblown titles but do not deliver. Some supervisors make a show of giving flowery bouquets to their staff but unnecessarily paint a bad picture of them when these same staff members compete with them for the same higher paid job. Others promise support for their work mates but throw up a surprise for them in a tight corner. Inexperienced individuals instinctively react with a growl when they know they know they have done something wrong, hoping I would go away, but they underestimate my option of forgiveness. Buddhism teaches me moderation; pampering can be taken for granted, and strictness is greeted with rebellion.

Three Fishes

Do succulent fishes taste better with the bone, or without?

Nothing is as exquisite as when one bites into a lovingly made, melting yet crunchy, piece of grilled snapper. The marinade oozes its cooked flavours into the tongue and then I feel the relish for more, as the skin blends into the rich body of the piece inside the mouth. The fresh salads seem to bask glowingly in the juices dripping from the masterpiece. There are no bones to contend with, only the enjoyment of good company and the relaxing views of the quiet waters of a small marina beside some green slopes. I thought, after all the hard work in a job, this is what I live for. Maybe not just for the fish, but the ease and humour coming from someone enjoying the meal with me.

Another day, another fish - barramundi. Served with pilaf rice and induced with what was described as Persian spices, in the menu I had expected a fillet, but what was right in front of me on my plate was this whole long fish, baked to a torrid exotic finish, complete with gleaming eyes and well done tail. The yellow coloured rice packed into the inside of the side-slit fish, reminding me of what Mum had cooked at home, except that in Penang the fish was rubbed thoroughly with a pound spice mix(rempah) and then allowed to soak overnight. This time around, there were definitely bones, small but discernible, as it was after all, a whole fish being served. It was Christmas time. I also appreciated the conversation over my table, where we could be ourselves and reflect on months past.

The fish bones provide a different sensation when eaten with the flesh. However it does not matter, bones or not. It was a different world between snapper and barramundi, in texture, in experience and in the filling up of the senses.

Salmon, Atlantic, Pacific or Canadian, is another of my weaknesses - and loves. The bright orangy-red body with a fatty skin makes me think of cooking possibilities besides being grilled or baked. Some ginger slices, a sprinkling of soy sauce, thin cuts of mushroom Julienne and a dash of sesame with some fresh herbal garnish - and you are ready for a steamed delight. Fresh salmon cutlets may be too good to waste in making Straits Chinese fish curry (gulai tumis) - but the sight of the finely ground paste ccoking and simmering over the salmon chunks do make a rather appetising combination, especially when eaten later with jasmine or other long grain puffy steamed rice. And then they taste even better overnight.

Australia

It is a movie with expectation and preceding hype from the media, word of mouth and a sense of belonging. What is the reality?

Not based on any best seller novel, but with a background of historical fact, Baz Lurhmann has tried to capture the quintessential core of what it has meant to be Australian in the portrayal on screen of three structured episodes - the harshness and beauty of surviving and adapting to the tropical Australian countryside; the circumstances faced by the stolen generation, whereby Aboriginal-blooded children were separated from their families to stay with white adoptive parents; and the impact of Darwin being bombed by Japanese planes more than sixty years ago on the heart and soul of Australian society.

The cinematography offered splendid vistas of dry and wet landscapes in all their detail and stirring of the senses. The shots of people at the city ball and of the aftermath of a city besieged evoked of both Christopher Doyle and graphic digitisation. The running cattle brought me back to weekend John Wayne movies. The passion between the two main characters, as played by Hugh Jackson and Nicole Kidman, reminded me of scenes from Gone With the Wind, circa 1930s. The most captivating acting naturally flowed from child actor Brendan Walters, but how many meaningful film roles can be offered to him in the future? I hope there are, as the world should see more of his talent, but not just confined to his "creamy" heritage.

I had been warned that this is a chick flick - and I have to concur. The teenage girl sitting next to me at the Shellharbour cinema was actually crying - and also swooning in an automatic response to the sight of a dressed-up Hugh Jackman suddenly appearing at the Darwin ball. Our emotions as an audience were carried up high and plunged to possible uncertain lows by the plot and specific scenes, as if this was a soapie. I was amused to find that Drover, as played by Jackman, looked more clean shaven and skin-sparkling in the desert than when he was supposedly in downtown Darwin.

There was a preponderance of references to the flag tune from the classic movie The Wizard of Oz - Over The Rainbow. When sung by the Sydney Boys Choir, it almost turned into a stage performance instead of being a film medium. It was with relief that this was balanced by episodic notes of Waltzing Matilda and Wild Colonial Boy.

For a three hour movie, I did not fall asleep once, nor even realise that I did not nod off. I was sufficiently captivated by the film not to notice the passage of time. Acknowledgement of outward and obvious racism by individuals, or as condoned by sections of the society of the time, was handled delicately and transparently, especially within a period of time even before the White Australian Policy was born. Challenges to this racism by Drover reminded me of James A Michener in his novel Tales of the South Pacific.

Facets of Aboriginal belief and practices are scattered throughout, without making a travesty of them but cleverly weaving them into the flow and pace of the plot. I was amazed by how multi-cultural Darwin was by the start of the Pacific War. When faced by outside threats, there is a suggestion from this movie that Australia can find stronger unity despite its diversity. The audience I was with spontaneously broke into applause as Australia the movie ended on a happy note. This was in a cinema hall which had specific seating, a practice long ago dropped in most capital cities. My cinema companion loved this experience as much as I did.

A Touch of Mexican

Over twenty over guys sat decked out along two sides of a long cantina table.

It could be a night out at college, or it was a gathering of a sports team. Whatever it was, where ever they came from, there was a camaraderie buzzing with them, easy conversation from relaxed mates and the food served quickly eaten with gusto. I thought a chap looked like Beckham, another reminded me of the Miscel I know, two were obviously brothers and the joker in the crowd had a sense of showmanship and effective expression about him.

Ee-lane had organised this outing into the land of burritos, thick pizza crusts, nachos, lettuce, lamb and chicken fillings and attentive waiters. The master of the laid back restaurant was traditional and came out to ask about the food and service -is everything all right? The waiters kept their cheerfulness despite a busy night and even if no sangrias or Margarita's had been ordered. My group favoured the quasiladdas, so tasty with the soft and aromatic fillings providing a wonderful contrast to the crusty bite from outside. I always have a soft spot for nachos, but in this place - Had To Happen - they were melting into my heart. The food served had a touch of cooking from the heart and did not evoke of fast food like I had feared.

I pondered about how Spanish cuisine had been transformed once it crossed the Atlantic. The merging and fusion of European, Mediterranean and native American influences had mellowed in line with the change of climate and the availability of local produce. Picture this after the siesta under the hot sun: cooling shots of alcohol, cuts of fruit and ice. Complement this with the sustenance of beans and the easy supply of corn. Transfer all these to the Australian landscape and beside the Pacific Ocean. Mexican is macho food, yet a laid back reminder to lazy afternoons, Catholic missionaries and warm evenings watching the stars from a base camp. Gracias muchachos!

A Touch of Chinatown

Starting with the brunch of yum cha and finishing up with a ten-course home cooked banquet, the day had been celebrated with touches of Chinatown, in a country that partly shares the same time zone as East Asia and in a city that has seen radical demographic transformations in the past twenty years when compared to its previous two hundred.

Zilvers, located on an upper floor in a complex near the old Sydney Custom House and across the relatively new tram tracks of the Capitol Theatre complex, was already chock-a-block at 11am on a Sunday morning. The usual variety of steamed, fried and braised dishes, savoury, sweet, sour and more, came steaming hot or ice cold atop trolleys pushed between round tables of varying seating numbers. For some unexplained reason, the train of yum cha offerings stopped coming and then resumed with the same old tried ones instead of new ones to keep the palates of customers going. My table of four decided that that it was not worth being stuck playing the old records, so to speak, and we ducked out to a Bangkok cafe.

This indoor outlet with clean white tables did not match expectations, with insipid and bland food, only perhaps mitigated by its fiery fresh cut red chillies and its marinated deep fried chicken wings. So we tracked to a Dixon Street Mall bakery and checked out its tempting pastries, fresh tofu and frozen chicken buns. The place was alive with human traffic, with our eyes glued to the tiramisu, custard cheesecake and chocolate creations. We then crossed to Ultimo Road and explored the dried and cured meats of Wong's Barbecue Meats. There in a covered display case were lap cheongs (Cantonese cured sausages) of a few kinds - liver-based, pork, chicken, dark and light red. I noticed the hams and other meats staring down upon us from behind the counter. The roast duck was from the old school, circa 1960s, associated with grandfathers using choppers to cut up the meat on solid wooden round blocks.

We went past Sussex Street South, where a pair of youngsters were intent on checking out every shop with the fresh green and black-lipped abalone sitting like jewelled pendants on shells. In World Square, I had to re-visit Rosa Tea House for the tea canisters wrapped with Japanese designs.

After a relatively hot and humid day, it was good to settle down to a dinner with a sampling from not just southern China abut also South-east Asia. Succulent fish steaks were cooked in simmering curry. There was roast pork with crackle and Hainan chicken rice garnished with condiments of ginger, lemon-flavoured chili paste and dark soy sauce. Fried tofu cubes had a zesty tang to them, as opposed to the smoothness of stir-fried vegetables. New season cherries were served as dessert with green and red grapes, cooling Nashi pears, water melon slices and more. Barley soup was served hot to cleanse the palate as a finale.

The Sense of Just Being

We work smart and we play hard. Then we long for a time out with no structure, no deadlines, no compulsion and no limitations.

The day begun with passing rainy showers with the occasional lightning. I could hear rumblings from the sky, and felt the heavy weight of humidity hanging there, undecided and restless. Never mind, what a good opportunity to have a lazy start on a Saturday morning.

When I had enough of being in a state of neither full sleep nor an awakened state, I made the coffee and got mesmerised by the on-going and live reporting on telly from two different cities in southern Asia. Travellers frantic on getting out of a city airport that had been occupied by protesters in their thousands. Hotel guests trapped in the rooms they checked in a few nights ago but only now had been released by police and the army. What has the world come to?

I lazed around the lounge reading for leisure, instead of some required purpose. The skies still looked dark and uneasy outside. I loved looking at the wet grass and plants outside through the clear glass - and wondered what the bugs, snails and insects were up to after a rather messy and wet night. This was like Friday afternoons at the end of a long and tiring school week - I was dwelling again totally immersed in the art of just being.

Then it was time to get the chores done. Oh ya, how long was this bliss to last?

Anthony at K Mart in Shellharbour gave me a big smile as I sauntered up to his check out counter to pay something. He had been working all morning and still carried on a benign look of welcome to me. Okay, all my chores for that day were completed.

Back to the sense of just being.

At Sydney's Rhodes, I ran around the display of new season cherries, peaches and nectarines. I had a scheduled appointment late in the evening for dinner, so I gave myself a treat of mid-afternoon tea, with pannarocca cake and cappuccino at a cafe. No hassles, no need to make small conversation - I was just in transit from Wollongong on the way to Eastwood, 90 km away one way.

I was on a roll - why not do some light shopping? I locked my intended purchases in a collapsible food cover, an upmarket onion cutter that promises no tears and a filtered water bottle. I could imagine for whom some of these items could be for.
At Eastwood Mall, before dinner, I went on an exotic groceries and food shopping rampage - getting durians, durian flavoured cake and fresh noodles, things more difficult to get in my neighbourhood.

And then the rain and thunder came back around twilight. I was lucky, I was already enjoying a Hong Kong styled course sit down dinner hosted by a niece. There were visiting relatives in town and what a good way to dabble back in relaxing conversation. No deadlines, no pressure. I could just be myself.

A Touch of Lisboa

It had been a rainy and windy morning. The leaden skies threatened to colour our inner selves, but with a touch of spice, a touch of laughter and a touch of custard, that Sunday turned out to be any thing other than cloudy.

In an unassuming suburb of inner city Sydney, I was brought down memory lane. Joyce, Charmaine and I may have started with dessert at breakfast, but we continued to see familiar things from our past to enrich the culinary journey and tour of things essentially Portuguese. Tarts with caramel (pasteis nata) in La Patisserie sat side by side with ricotta creations and other well crafted pastries. I could feel a bright and light sense of homeliness created in this bakery. Fernando insisted on a hands-on demonstration of pressing the thin dough in little flat cups. He showed his innate love of his role in the kitchen through his humorous interaction with each of us, When he chatted, even in a group, it was as if he was talking only to you.

There were passing showers but it did not rain on our parade. The sight of smoked and cured ham and other meats hanging neatly in a row dominated the butcher's shop that we dropped by in. And Christmas is approaching. There were beans and olives to sample,spicy meats and chizoro being cooked over a small traditional device. I finally saw the difference between Spanish and Portuguese cooking ware - was it the ornamental design?

Salted cod from Norway (bacalhau) brought up memories in me of the more intense version found in Penang, Goa and Melaka (kiam hoo). I did not come across any curries in Petersham, but the extent of influence in cuisine, social niceties and culture, arising from the sailing adventures led by Vasco Da Gama around Africa and then across Asia hundreds of years ago, had formed many common beads in invisible links that could be found in the suburb's Cafe Brasilla to the sardines soaked in tomato and chili at the nearby local supermarket.

At De Silvas, at the corner of New Canterbury Road and Audley Street, we had swords pointed downwards on pieces of bread used to capture the marinade dripping down from grilled chunks of meat. The compulsory sardines came out with an option to bite into them with fine bones and all. The garlic prawns reminded me of the French and Italian versions, though there were subtle differences in the subtle flavours.




In another shop, I was captivated by the rose cake, with Belgian chocolate utilised to form a wall around an inner centre of whatever cake you preferred - Madeira, chocolate mud or butter. At the local liquor shop, there were several varieties of wine from Portugal and we sampled those that are normally drunk while eating shellfish (vino verde). Seafood, sweets and preserved meats - they may reflect the moods and fashions of another time, another place, but it was all combined with good company and a relaxing feel that weekend day and which transcended slightly confronting weather and the ability to eat or drink so much within a few hours. We even had good coffee and tea back in Charmaine's house, though far removed from that little spark of Portugal in Australia.

The Most Relaxing State

Researchers and scientists have tried to study and analyse it. They may even have tried to replicate it. However, this is not a matter for sequential breakdown or controlled experiments. This is more of a case of a personal dimension, a moment of not the meeting of the stars and the moon in the heavens, but the alignment of the right physical, psychological and physiological elements in a hallmark moment belonging to the inner soul.

Many strive for this state - when both body and mind are caught up in a feeling of content. This may arise strangely enough after we have been put through much pressure and challenge, and on overcoming them, we glide into another world inside ourselves, when the frailties and temporariness of external things are of mere relative unimportance, and our whole internal navigation and sensory system suddenly bask in the realisation of the true dimension and purpose of existence.

Lounging on a sofa, after a week of my adrenalin rushing for both the right and wrong reasons, after my subconscious had been worked overtime pondering on the games energy-depleting people play and after achieving things despite the roadblocks, the moment came. There was dire need for housekeeping ( hey, what did I expect after coming home late working my heads off in the office) but I and my goldfish were still barely being fed in the looming disorder ( haha, maybe due to my penchant for over stocking on groceries rather than practising the Dell just-in-time customer delivery system). They did not matter. The totally unexpected feeling of things going right, despite the unreasonable rumblings of the rabble and riff-raff, overcame me, with a smile in my heart.

My body agreed. I could feel my breathing patterns wallowing in joy. I am told that a lack of the right challenge can also lead to boredom and discontentment. I know myself that equally an unnecessary level of undeserved irritations does distract from my true path. Fran reminded me to detach. Shell once said that if I have to go out to enjoy on a weekend, and the house is in a mess, just go out, Kevin, and the mess can wait. On that lounge, these two reminders to me rang so true. The unnecessary, unrequired and undeserved irritations can wait. Letting go suddenly became an experience, not a cliche.

So the storm and the billowing winds can rage outside. People aggressively intent on being difficult to me can go on raging by themselves and clean up their own mess. The night flows on unimpeded with a purpose and satisfaction.

Threesomes

The first Tuesday of November. Besides the requests for raising funds to help fight prostate cancer and depression in men, in the midst of all the busy routine at work, three things happened. Three remarkable events.

The first was the announcement of another decrease in the Australian interbank interest rates. This was the third time in a row that offered potential relief to borrowers and mortgage debtors in costs after a long period of gradual but relentless increase in the price of getting funds to own a home. The one in October exceeded speculation and expectations by seeing a drop of one percent - and now another 0.75% was reduced. The world and the country was heading towards economic recession. There is prediction of a drastic increase in the jobless rate whilst inflation seems to be still strong in a nation of just 21 million. Yet Australians collectively poured around AUD51million in gambling bets for the sole Flemington horse race known as the Melbourne Cup.

The second was the changing of the United States of America in attitudes, possibilities and outlook. The first black President-elect was confirmed after a landslide win. Truly half-white and half-black, the successful candidate reflected part of today's demographics in American society and re-affirmed the passions and spirit of the founding fathers of the nation. All is possible again, after so many roadblocks and disappointments. Never has the conscience of this country seen such a revival of hope and optimism. This occurs in a time of challenge, not just on the economic front, but also in the directions to be chosen in strengthening or weakening the path of a nation.

The third star appeared in the form of good advice from someone admired, someone respected. Out of the blue, I gained perspective, balance and inspiration. The day's demands continued on relentless, but I am reminded of seeing them in a different light. It was just the choice of words used in conversation with someone experienced and it lifted me to another dimension from the pall of unnecessary fog hanging around in the swamp of getting stuck with useless demeanour from company I should detach from. Spiced with humor, laden with purpose and driven by charm, I listened to a professional and observed how he handled difficult things - and that led me to realise and open my eyes and mind.

Across the Adriatic

Nuance, taste and texture. How flavours are combined to enhance the overall sensations of sit-down dining. Add the ambiance and the mood. And one may then have a truly relaxing meal.

On the Friday evening of Halloween this year, the three of us had Italian. Eu-gene and Sheridan had come up from Melbourne, and it was a good opportunity to catch up. Al dente spaghetti that were infused with the light yet wholesome savoury feel when mixed with fresh vongole juices. Top up with well marinated tender lamb cutlets that were not fatty but just lean right. For starters, we had thin crust pizza from a stone oven. For dolci, we finished off with hazelnut gelato and two types of biscotti. The crowd built up behind us with a crescendo of easy chatter. Haberfield has its regulars, even after the delis and specialist pastry shops closed, and even if Leichhardt beckoned with its more intense night life not far away.

The next day we decided to spend the afternoon mainly in Sydney's north shore, mingling with the swirling shopping crowds along Victoria Avenue in Chatswood and then having a leisurely drive to Manly and its sea side roads. Taking the Harbour Tunnel back to the cbd, we inadvertently passed by Harry's Cafe De Wheels in Wolloomooloo before going through Potts Point, the Cross and Darlinghurst. We aimed for an early dinner at Newtown's King Street before the Melbournians flew home.

We discovered a grill corner, literally with several choices of offerings and barbecue styles. We sat down for the Macedonian version, ordered both seafood and meats, garnished with onions and authentic salads from the Balkans that had potato and balsamic vinegar - but more tasty to me than sauerkrat. The grill chef wore a white tall hat and used black aromatic wood to bring out the taste in the grilled dishes. The barramundi was heavenly in the mouth and the pork had a batter that reminded me of my favourite Serbian dishes. I faced the window on to the busy street. There was a choice of Macedonian beer but we abstained.

Moving On

It dawned that the need for accumulation was a fallacy. The more one gains, he thought, the more one has to lose.

A rising surge of good feeling swept through as he looked at the papers shredded or thrown away in heaps. It was symbolic of the loss he felt inside, the loss of his sincere trust in certain others who manipulated or used him like a paper doll. Funny that such people can misplace his extended hand of friendship to them. Sad and disappointing, but in the end, for them. The physical disposal was also reflected in electronic deletion. He did not understand why certain individuals around the place were deluding themselves creating imagined needs and ordering others to duplicate things in so many dimensions, as if paranoid that these duplicates would be required in the future - or is it that these individuals actually had nothing of value to contribute and had to make a semblance of activity and importance around their wrapped minds?

It was not that amazing that so many things kept were not utilised, or missed, in the past few years. Now with a sprint of vitality, he slashed and cut, thankful it was not other people's livelihoods, income or jobs that were being destroyed, but only false clinging to things that will never be, never have been and better to be let go in the constant swirl of Nature's winds. People around him continue to be deluded and seemed to take pride basking in their delusion. Detachment was the best thing he awakened to, and now he was free.

At times it was not easy to move on, even if he had wanted to. Things kept coming in another channel at the same furious pace that he was letting go in another way. He contained the things he was responsible for into one corner, while at the same time he felt like bailing out rushing water from a possibly impossible situation. He was very strict with himself, not letting in the pessimism, the negative games and false pretences that certain other individuals imposed on him. These individuals continued to behave , perhaps in desperation, in the same mannerisms as if he could not see through and through. How despicable these characters can be, and now they are drowning in their own making and not knowing it.

Skaters

There they were, each in a seemingly cocooned world, all as if choreographed to a tilting perfection. Each person twirled and expressed in individualistic style, some were coached, others imagined on their own and yet there were some who moved in synchronised style, not just physically but in spirit. You could see that a few took a break after a short stint, while in contrast, some could not stop, and only did when there was a lack of space.

Most telling was how one reacted when there was an unintentional fall. The younger ones took all this more in their stride, and the older novices tended to be less sure of how to pick one's self up. More interesting was how a learner looked up to the mentor and watched in earnestness the graciousness of the teacher's moves. Even more rewarding was how the instructors had this satisfaction in their faces when they realised that their proteges had moved on to another stage of their passion. Maybe it takes more than just stirring interest to spend hours in the cold above frozen ice, maybe it's therapy that is provided with the flow and repetitive moves.

Some were too methodical and serious in their intentions, and that may have inhibited true expression. Yet others approached the whole thing as an informal Sunday stroll, without a care in the world. There were those who were not afraid to hold hands in public. There were those who wanted to hold hands but could not. All knew they were being observed and yet did not care. They were entertaining their inner need to dance their joy or worries away. Yet some had a goal and knew they had to work persistently on it. Some came with an open mind or because they wanted to accompany a loved one. Some did not expect anything and had a sheer experience of discovering something precious previously hidden from them.

The music in their hearts were at times accompanied by the music blaring from the speakers. This activity offered a chance to synchronise one's physical moves with light, sound and other senses. I could see some practising over and over again their favourite moves, while not far away, a youngster was gradually gaining confidence in starting some move he had long dreamnt of being able to do. Even if every body seemed to be doing something different at any one time on the rink, they exuded a common sense of purpose over one flat piece of space. At most times, there was silence, but then comes the spontaneous squeak and howl, and the inevitable laughter of sheer enjoyment.

A Magical Moment

The round full moon focused its mellow intensity on to my living room. The garden solar-powered lights complemented the unavoidable spotlight from the springtime star-dotted night sky. The lawn was lit in a light hearted sheen that seemed to nurture the green grass rather than apparently burn down on them.

This was a magical moment, something we all know requires the perfect alignment - and maybe coincidence - of the stars, wind and time. On Sunday, after coming out from Joel Aden's birthday party, my Forrester indicated it was thirty-three degrees Celsius outside on a shiny torrid afternoon in Sydney's north-west. The mileage showed a chalk-up of 33,333 kilometres - an incredible hallmark moment when I happened to glance at this synchronisation of numbers. You may say that we don't plan such things, we set in motion a chain and sequence of events, usage and preparation to then by chance arrive at a remarkable observation.

I had been trying for a week to pay some minor transaction. The requirement and reliance on credit card mechanisms, website log-in, system verification and internet support ensured that my few attempts on-line led me literally nowhere. Even after registering a requested log-in and getting to completing payment details, the web-based procedure then gave a sudden stop with an offered message that the system processing my transaction had just changed and I was unable to proceed further - at least on the internet. Whether out of desperation or exasperation, I then decided to call a telephone number to try completing the payment - very well knowing the waiting time hanging on to the telephone.

I did get through to a live person, surprisingly only after three minutes. The magic occurred when Nathan came on the line with a lilting, personable voice full of character and liveliness. What a magical moment, I thought, when he listened intently to my problem, spoke at the right cues and in an unassuming manner achieved for me what I have been attempting for the past week on the internet.

I had wanted to streamline the papers in my office room for a long time. I theorised that the trick on my part was to stop more hard copies coming in and culling what I have already accumulated. I thought there are some things that I could not turn off completely, like documents that essentially supported the work, daily newspapers and weekly professional magazines. I corralled piles of work papers that seemed relevant and related to keep when they were generated, but now looked likely that they are past their shelf life. At the same time, I knew instinctively I had to take a radically different approach if things were to really change. At times I felt like just chipping at hard bricks, so I felt truly amazed when now I have reached the stage of minimalist existence in terms of hard copies just necessary to get the work completed.

Alcohol Not So Anonymous

It is easier to locate an outlet selling alcohol in Australia than one serving salads, offering gymnasium facilities or a place offering positive help in community matters.

The encouraged lifestyle reeks of alcohol - advertising media, sports celebrations, commercial office functions and social cocktails. The largest supermarket chain places its liquor outlets near the checkout. Accessory products and services support and facilitate their consumption, from motor car portable fridges to the compulsory bar at the local clubs. It is implied that one has alcoholic drinks before settling into any dinner - formal, casual or spontaneous. Wine is introduced as a posh feature, consolidated in family and other occasions and any possibility of upscaling in taste to somthing more hard is officially sanctioned once one turns eighteen years of age.

Who is to take responsibility when faced with the dire consequences of excessive alcohol consumption? Does letting go mean recklessly escaping into an oblivious state of partaking a dubious mixture of alcohol laden drinks and party drugs, commonly available at suburban house parties, cbd nightclubs and getaway summer beach parties? Some parents introduce their teenage children to their first
drinks but forget or do not know how to manage the follow-up. What do we make sense of the drunken driver,party fracas, domestic assault or nightclub episode, when we know that beneath it all, it started not with a kiss, but a drink too many.

Individuals may know there is a better way to get to a high or avoid boredom other than through the temporary delusion of a drink or a gambling bet. However it does not help when diverted by too much easy access to all sorts of alcoholic suggestions on the way to a true chill out. Whether it's a racing carnival, AFL or NRL game or office drinks, drink is laid down as the glue to acceptance, camaraderie and networking - why not stimulating conversation?

The lure of easy revenue streams into government coffers from the wholesome sales of alcohol products must be balanced by the related rising social, personal and financial costs to the community. Champagne breakfasts, beer battered fish and alcoholpops are all signs of runaway consumption and excessive supply. A New Zealand expert has warned of the link between excessive alcohol consumption in women and the incidence of breast cancer. Where does this malaise end?

My Old Neighbourhood: Section 17

This was the world of university days, when relief meant getting away from the books, assignments and lecture routine.

Neat rows of houses were lined up along grid roads in what was a typical housing estate. There was a green lung of a square green,which I still associate with Simon, Stephen and Kuan Hong sitting there on its edge, after an early dinner and before the equatorial sunset. There was the cinema quarter, surrounded by terraced shophouses, motorbike parking spots and push-bike hawkers. Road 6 does not seem to have changed, still exuding the presence of student rooms, walls bleached by the strong sun and upper floor balconies choked with items that could not be stored inside. However the cinema is gone, replaced by a mixed goods supermarket.

I wonder about the youngsters who grew up in the other rooms while I took one facing the road. I think about the mixed rice dishes which was sold at a price that I cannot even get a Coke can for these days. How regimented our student lives may have been, but we also did enjoy it, especially after dinner, with the fluorescent lights ablaze in our respective rooms all along the sometimes sloping roads of Section 17. Our reliable means of transportation to and from the campus were the Honda 70s, normally parked along the walled fences of houses beside the single car of the landlord. There was no decent grocery supermarket or department store in Section 17, so I often rode my motorbike to Section 14 or 21.

Section 17 brings back memories of single bed thin mattresses, a lone desk with a study lamp and the ever hidden luggage bag only taken out for semester holiday breaks. Bathrooms had white tiles and the array of toiletries of different tenants.  The place was a university dormitory corridor, mostly resided by students after their first year living in campus. It was at worst a transitory place, at best a place where dreams and characteristics were shaped and transformed. There were, and still, are a lack of trees, and the tar of the roads between houses still look like needing a serious new coating.

What If

What would my typical weekend day be like if I had chosen to stay away from Australia?

I imagine a morning in Singapore. As I feel the rising humidity after dawn, I walk amongst shaded trees to the hawkers centre to relish my favourite breakfast of kaya toast, half boiled eggs and coffee. Then it's down to the MRT or the hardly used car to visit a particular suburb. I reach my destination in under half an hour. Most likely I cannot resist dropping by a shopping area even if I have nothing in mind to purchase. I soon get caught up with display, ambiance and salesmanship.

I imagine an afternoon in Penang. The art of the brunch, afternoon tea or gathering with mates to stay away from the midday sun has reached a happy state here. We sit beneath sight of swaying coconut trees and glaring sea views to partake in Straits Chinese delicacies and to get waited upon by Burmese or Bangladeshi staff. We immerse ourselves in musings about dear friends, past and present. More likely I would love to spend an afternoon in houses of different people from various stages of life.

In the evening sunset, I would love to spend the Saturday dusk along the waterfront in Hong Kong. Not necessarily at Tsimshatsui for it can be on a walking trail on one of the outer islands or in a bird reserve along the China border. Then it's dinner to keep up the networking, get the latest financial tips or just to check out the scene at a cool venue. The crowds may bother me and I can retreat to a gym or cyberspace.

What if, maybe not. Here I make most of my own meals, even on a weekend. I may go for breakky by the ocean side or catch a fast food meal if I am in a hurry to appointments. There is a lot of time spent driving. There is not much exciting shopping to go to, as all centres seem to offer the same outlets, but there are also many suburbs with unique characteristics of its own in greater Sydney. There is so much variety of Nature and outdoor activities in Australia. There is however no kaya toast on the go.

Afternoon tea consists of a much less variety and spread but costs more. I prefer visiting houses of friends and cousins like in my home island. Then it's on to dinner gatherings, in a home environment or commercial venues. No gyms or department stores are open late on weekends, so it's back to cyberspace after midnight and after cinemas and clubs close. The sunsets can be glorious, the winter air refreshingly cool.

Strange Days

The heater just would not turn on. I checked all the related options, timer, temperature options and electrical charge prevention buttons. Still the gadget would not turn on. Then the house telephone stopped working. There was no live line. You may expect this in Zimbabwe, but in Australia, it would be fair to think it was unusual, or may be not. I thought the connection to my kitchen phone was just unintentionally pulled off. No, it was not.

The bathroom heater lamp had one of its outlets blown off. I noticed all the bedroom ceiling lights had dimmed. The showerhead was leaking and so were the taps at the kitchen sink. The tap covers for the shower area and vanity cabinet began to fall apart in one form or another.

Maybe an alien spacecraft had flown over my house, causing all these unexpected defects in its wave. Or more realistically it was just simple wear and tear. However I could not help noticing the uncanny timing, the sense of it all happening all at the same, perhaps coordinated time. I then realised that I had piled up newspapers from the past six weekends left unread. Hey, I was just slack and the fact that these weekend editions came in at least 12 separate sections did not help at all.

Rushing through speed reading in an effort to clear up my newspaper reading backlog, I saw the whole host of stories flagged by the mainstream Australian media. I came to realise the trivia made in media output - aesthetic matters, relationship flare-ups, unnecessary products,regurgitated storylines and hidden advertorials. What a sad use of good newsprint. I had vowed to stick to electronic news but I could not resist the value bargain offer of hold-in-the hand newspapers delivered to my home at a ridiculous price. When I had more important commitments, there are all these papers to process.

The relative unimportance of an increasing number of media stories then linked to the utter insignificance of the nature of breakdowns around the house. What if there is no telephone or heater. Most of the world's population contend with less. I could dress up inside the house and even did send text messages on my mobile phone to friends more than a thousand miles away that my landline phone at home had stopped working. What if the taps were leaking? Many people had to walk kilometres just to get some precious pails of potable water.

Where Does The Buck Stop?

In the news read today, it was declared that Australian airport check-in staff now face 'air passenger rage", when confronted in disagreements over things like excess luggage weight, varying ticket entitlements due to a complicated pricing structure and impatience. ON another reference, a national airline blamed maintenance staff for the increasing occurrence of problems inflight delays and technical glitches of operating aircraft.

I was initially amused that the two problems were portrayed as obviously "not my fault, but always others". Ground check-in staff pointed their fingers at paying passengers and corporate management blamed their staff. I searched hard for a mention of possibly sharing the many facets of the two problems together by shareholders, management, operational staff members and customers. There is no team spirit in commercial Australia these days, underlined by a preoccupation with perpetuating the problems instead of focusing on workable solutions.

The two problems I read about were flagged about in a way that suggested that the fault lay with he other party - there was no hint of also examining one's self in recognising contribution to both the problem and solution. the way the media reported it was also one-sided; what happened to investigative journalism that took in aspects and views from all relevant parties?

After I read the two separate pieces in two different newspaper publications, I was left dry-mouthed that the buck was just passed on. Does this seriously reflect our society and the way it thinks, at both the group and individual level? To make money is to find solutions first. Problems encountered are interpreted at an intense level as "rage". Providing effective solutions is to dig beneath the symptoms and hype. I was surprised why no reason and background was offered as to why airline passengers are apparently getting more difficult to handle - could it be related to why there are more technical faults occurring with a particular airline.

A House in Goulburn

Lucia huddled on the rocking chair, warmed up and content. Outside the window it was as grey as the foggy cloudy overlay of the sky in June. The fireplace was not working but messed up with soot. Not that she cared. She had woken up with the radio station alarm announcing a hearty welcome to a day starting at minus five degrees.
Dawn was the best time, a quiet time without care, schedules and chores wating to be paid attention to. The steam of a freshly prepared coffee or oats boiling on the stove symbolised cosiness.

The house was solid brick. There is a comfort about countryside houses, Lucia thought. One that brought back memories of simpler times. One that fitted with the harsh climes and beautiful sceneries not matched in most capital city locations. She could see the bare branches of several trees outside the window, and the trellis pattern provided a sense of stark perspective. She could smell the wood of the house and feel the roughness of the open brick. She felt the house had as much character as she did.

Over toast and muesli, she mused about the path she had chosen. In the beginning, it was hard to resist the lure of the Big Smoke. At the end it was easy to forgo the false promises of short-sighted commercialism. Lucia recalled how she read about a corporate lawyer in Singapore giving up the apparent riches of a mercantile career to live the life of a hermit nun in a cave in Nepal. She also felt strong empathy for an ex-banker who was forsaken by her employer despite being on the apparently winning side of a mega merger of two companies. Society teaches so many to fall for doomed things, she thought. Life's potential in each of us was more fulfilled beyond the glitter of the momentary and the greed of the short-sighted.

Half-read books and various tapestries were strewn on the timber flooring. A neighbour unexpectedly dropped by to say hello and pass on some freshly baked muffins. "The wheat fields still have the frost on their tips", he remarked, having just driven in from Yass. The breath from his mouth showed up as thick as the mist surounding the inland valley town of Goulburn. Once there was much promise of this settlement becoming even the capital of the whole nation. Now it lay forgotten, apparrently in the middle of nowhere, and having an economy sucked off its vitality by drought and the dwindling interest in its pride and joy, the State police training Academy. The iconic Big Merino, really just a three-storey souvenir shop,had been resited away from the town's main thoroughfare. It was interesting that this had happened, just like the Hume Highway bypassing the place long ago, together with its droves of passer by traffic and spending.

Did it really mean doom and gloom? Lucia thought Goulburn, her adopted town, had a rare chance to go back to its roots. It must rely on its own character and stride out accordingly. It can offer a refuge to the tired souls from misshapen urban experiences. It can refresh young individuals who have aged unnaturally. It has the air quality that many in countries further north yearn for. It can provide retreats to nurture the inner self.

Lucia had a lift in her step as she walked out into her garden. The clear sunshine contrasted with the bitter cold. Yes, it can be unbearably hot in January here - and she decided to enjoy the cold air instead. Whatever disadvantages Goulburn has must be embraced and turned to an advantage.

Windy Cold

A throbbing pain on the left side of the forehead. Persistently.

Like moss embedded on to a branch or a wall, it seemed inextricably hopeless to get rid of it. It's like often bumping into the very individuals whom you subconsciously try to or hope to avoid. By chance or design, these very same persons have to turn up, to confuse, to destabilise and to create mischief.

The conspiracy of silence makes it inadvertently worse. Actual suffering of pain is supposed to be accompanied by perceptions of gain, but only in theory. I finally understand that silence can be deafening, when it is applied in a discriminate manner, to surprise when one least expects it.

Biting cold can be overwhelming, but when supported by the wind, the chill permeates.
When mixed with a sense of helplessness, one gulps for air, hopefully only in a figurative sense. It still feels real, like the rush for air from below a raging watery surface. There is truly a psychological and physiological urge to be freed.

I look for ways out. At times, the warmth I expect in normal protection mechanisms amazingly does not appear. Is this the onset of hypothermia? I require to encourage circulation and flow, and I may not even get a chance to break the ice. The attacks seem unrelenting.

Just when I am expected to give up, I get a second wind, not one from down the mountains but surging from within myself. It is the human instinct to rebel and renew when unreasonably pressed. It may have seemed physically impossible a minute ago, but at the point of no way out, the mental takes over, buttressed by the soul and inner determination. Extreme impossibilities bring out extreme solutions in me.

The throbbing has changed course and nature. It now becomes the sensation of overcoming anything in its path, including the windy cold.

Somewhere Somehow

On a winter's day in August, I found myself back in the same lolly, preserve and soap shops that formed part of the cottage tourism of Berrima in the NSW Southern Highlands.

This time around, Mui Na was window shopping with me. Mui Na was on the last leg of her six week chill out around the eastern seaboard of the Australian continent, having been to Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne in the preceding weeks. She had caught up with our other university classmates, Chao Chin and Kwi Wah. The nights had been cool, and when the winds blew, temperatures had plummeted in varying extent. This was a far cry from the equatorial climate of our campus days.

We had a leisurely lunch at a cafe of her choice. Berrima is a a one-main street village, and the sun shone with blue skies over the cool air. It offered a casualness that thrived on familiarity and a lack of a sense of time. Maybe it epitomised what Mui Na wanted on this holiday, with no schedule and just flowing with spontaneous conversation and quiet conviction on what life should - and can - be. We traversed part of the Hume Highway going south before we reached Berrima. We had home meals in Wollongong apart from the foray to the harbour to partake in seafood, and I felt this need to be up in higher altitudes to offer a contrast from the coastline fronting the Tasman Sea.

The day before, we had watched a storm come over my adopted town one evening and then we instinctively headed to Towradgi Beach. The winds had stirred the waves - within minutes, young surf wannabes had popped out in dark suits to head towards the riding opportunities evident on the ocean side, even if the skies had been forever changing in mood. At least twenty surfers waited in the changing waters for the next big wave - and then they went for it.

We caught up for dinner at my cousin's house in Carlingford on a Sunday evening before Mui Na returned to Kwi Wah's Sydney abode. I was fascinated with Ralphie, the Maltese darling pet of Kwi's daughter Kimberley. Mui Na's coming to visit us opened my eyes again to the reason for existence, to live and that everything else is secondary. Somehow, ex-classmates got together as if the intervening past years had never occurred - I did not realise how easy it was to just resume where we left off in campus. Somewhere in the past, a certain wavelength must have amalgamated, to re-surface seamlessly in another place, another time. Somewhere, somehow, this is a gift.

My Old Neighbourhood: Bennelong

Today's Telegraph Mirror recounted how a twenty year old Macquarie University student was hit by another young fellow with a skateboard in the small hours of the night in the main campus. Epping rail station has been transformed into a glittery version of its old self. Couples buy dinner in reasonably priced packs in the Carlingford Asian Village upon coming back from work - and do not have to cook anymore. The main thoroughfare of Epping Road is more choked with traffic than ever before during weekday and weekend rush hours. Higher density housing have cropped up beside the six-lane road. Prices of groceries in Eastwood are apparently a better bargain than Cabramatta and Flemington, the other competing suburbs of similar fare.

As the nineties began, I loved walking in the mornings to the then unassuming rail station just two streets away in Epping. I had my first taste of autumn biting winds standing on the platform. I cooked dinner amazed at the stillness and darkness of the road outside the kitchen window. A teenage boy, I recall, fell outside the block I was in, and there followed the commotion of an ambulance arriving and a distraught mother. I was insistent on getting a car, a Ford, as I did not want to lose the freedom of having one in my home island. The post office was so important to me as well.

Eastwood had a mall, but it was so quiet. What amazed me was how the KFC outlet in that suburb had closed, a strange phenomenon when fast food in all forms was a booming business elsewhere. I noted the elderly demographics on the streets and in the home gardens. Then the number of Korean residents increased, perhaps encouraged by the churches - and I had my contact with Koreans outside their native country, a place and culture I thoroughly enjoyed when visiting before coming to Australia. Gradually one side of the rail line had businesses dominated by Hong Kongers and mainland Chinese - but the Korean shops stuck to the other side of the station.

The day I arrived in Sydney for the first time I stayed at Waterloo Road. Macquarie Shopping Centre had free parking for all vehicles. I sat on a bus that skirted this centre on the day when Sydney was surrounded by a great ring of bush fire one January. I caught a glimpse of how high strong and high winds were fanning real flames so close to people's homes. North Ryde bus terminus was where I learnt about the Sydney state transit system.

Mum came to stay with me in my various places in Marsfield, Eastwood and Dundas. Cooking is so important to both of us - and I appreciated moreover the orderliness of things that she brings to a household. We explored together the diversity of things that only Australia can bring - fruits, blooms, food ingredients, friends and weather. Mum enjoyed her walks to Eastwood Mall - and I encourage her to see what the mall has become today.

I still frequent this old neighbourhood of mine, especially on weekends. These suburbs may have changed, but never the fondness for them in my heart.

A Kind of Hush

I had thought it had been a kind of rush for the whole day....and night. Such feelings were however mixed with doses of satisfaction and inner contentment, more of a kind of food for the soul.

It commenced with just food, partaking of vegetarian wraps with the Hindu worshippers on a mid-Sunday morning. The meal may have been simple, but the communal communion was sweet and embracing. Two little Indian boys sitting at a nearby canteen table were engaged in a banter of conversation in all innocence as childhood can bestow. The nearby temple was full of people engaged in ceremonies for an important holy day. Having grown up comfortable with this culture, to me, it was also food for the soul, even just as an observer. One of my fellow visitors, Phylis, remarked that it reminded her of elements of Jewish prayer. It struck me there and then that the world' religions can be somehow related, and that there is this invisible but strong bond of a string that connects to all things holy. The worshippers were decked in their Sunday best, holy smoke prevailed and there was the lilt of song in a sung prayer - we could have been attending the Papal Mass at Randwick Stadium in Sydney's eastern suburbs that very same morning.

The hush continued at a hilltop Buddhist temple complex which brilliantly shone under the blue sky and mid-winter Wollongong sun. The bare branches of deciduous trees and the flowering native succulents underlined the essence of Buddhist philosophy and thinking. A few of us wandered to a room dedicated to portraits in oil. The theme was perhaps womanhood. The expressiveness of the artists jumped out literally to me. A nearby pond, usually brimming with flowering lotus in early summer, had been mostly drained short of the muddy centre, which was now a playground for the resident ducks in winter.

Religion need not be organised. It can appear in the forms of Nature, and that late afternoon, I felt religion not in another man-made house of worship, but in the clean sweeping sand of Geroa, an hour by car south of Wollongong. The ocean side golf course links already put me in the mood. And then the seduction of an empty beach appeared and totally caught my heart and soul. It was windy but there were no surfing waves. Despite this, the vibes of the place appealed to my inner self and offered a calmness, just like in the Hindu or Buddhist temple earlier.

To wind up this special day, I found myself in the company of good friends a hundred kilometres from my Wollongong home, in a beloved recreation of Austria. We could not resist having our fav dishes of duck, snapper and pork, in a bush setting restaurant manned by true blue Austrians. Then we whizzed past the Sydney Bahai Temple by night, a circular structure with a light at the top. We had to return to the Austrian-German restaurant to retrieve a handbag forgotten in the midst of relaxed laughter and social enjoyment, but one of the staff members, brown-haired and blue-eyed Mario, was already waiting for us to return it.

So as it had been throughout this special Sunday in mid-July, the special kind of hush continued under the moonlight as I drove back to Wollongong late at night.

Calming and Magical

For just a rare hour and a half, I was engrossed in a captivating conversation with someone I felt so comfortable with. Someone I can trust, relax with and respect. And open my heart to.

You don't ask for it. There are no expectations. Then it all fallls into place - the vibes, the flow and the synergy. It is so reinvigorating. My conversational companion takes the lead by talking about something exciting to make me change dimensions and to embrace a more nurturing dimension. I let go of my imposed inhibitions and my caution learnt the hard way in some unfriendly places, now seemingly so far away. I can feel my whole self liberated like cold water doused on a hot day, or letting my senses glow in the warmth of enjoying the company of someone I instinctively feel so calm with. I cross the threshold into the dimension of what I know is happiness - so difficult to define but I am so sure I am in.

I enthusiastically follow the lead offered to me. I offer mine back and we then exchange flows of encouragement, tinged with humour and ease. We lavish our opened souls with the temptation of food and drink. My gratefulness swells inside asking myself how fortunate I am to know this person and be able to expwerience these magical snippets of talk and interchange of ideas. Each of us then get bold - we ask each other questions, and I know in my heart, these are questions from me that I have longed to share with someone like this. I expect confrontation and challenges to my sense of things, and I get them, not in a negative way at all, but in a way I should be provoked for my own good. I accept the need for me to change and to review. I am so glad I got it from this person in front of me, who looks at me, my inner self and my dreams through sunshades but through which I can see the eyes and the eye of the heart. Oh yes, it was a sunny day with blue skies, even in the so-called winter of my neighbourhood. I realised how lucky his lady partner is.

It is so unreal, this experience but I know it is real. I ask for opinions, I make my observations, I share things that I have not told anybody else. A calm and open heart leads to a similar mind - and then the state of contention which I recognise as a hallmark moment. Each of us do not want to leave this optimal moment. I want to get further insights and I want to offer more of my thoughts. We have to leave, but there is no regret - I have been sustained to last more than what I deserve, and I thought my lunch mate has also enjoyed it. I secretly hope that what has been given to me in this electrifying encounter has also been returned back to my giver. I don't say it, but my straight talking companion said it - it was great having this opportuntiy to talk about things that should be thought about, but which we hardly have a chance to. I just said I find it so good about the insights I had obtained, but I know it was much more than insights. It was simply magic.

The Wind

Slight branches with leafy brushes were strewn almost everywhere on both sides of the road. There was a sense of pandemonium and yet at the same time, a feeling of cleansing. The howl of the gushing air overhead underlined the dynamics of whatever caused the swirling and twirling of atmospheric forces. Things that stood in the way were showered with debris, or were buried by fallen things. Both Nature's creations and human artifacts were affected, if they had not not been secured properly.

I was up on a mountain road, eagerly dashing to hope to see someone. At times it may have seemed futile, for the winds from the heavens roared, as if to tease me and make it difficult. Overhead, the skies moved at frightening speed, with dark clouds changing their positions in a furious and obvious agitated dimension.It was an impeding storm, but up on the twists and turns of sloping roads, I could see the potential havoc thrown at the plains below. I had to see someone, whether or not it was sane or reasonable. Something in me had this relentless grip and spell that was only broken by knowing where this someone was that Sunday morning.

It was not exactly riding a wild horse bareback and galloping away to the object of my affection. Maybe it was better and faster, with a good performing engine of the car I was driving. The gush of wind reflected the climax of longing and passion that was teased and tested. The winds whipped up from the open ocean below was a mixture of uncertainty, the lure of feelings fulfilled and the hope of satisfaction. This potent combination decided that I had to do something.

I found the house. It was all closed up but not empty. Despite the wind, I had arrived. Maybe because of the wind, I had found myself so near. The wind in my heart was equally volatile. Nor rain or hail, nor wind or other obstacle, placed before me, I had made it to the inner sanctum of the one I sought.

Contradictory Reality

A supermarket chain offers you petrol discounts at its associated network of stations, provided you buy more liquor from them. Does it mean we get to drive more for our petrol expense budget, only after getting more alcohol?

Binge drinking is currently perceived as a serious problem amongst Aussie youth. It should not come as a surprise to anyone in the community. Liquor store outlets are as accessible as fast food retail chains, are easier to get into by car than gyms and fitness shops and are often adjuncts to family-orientated grocery supermarkets. Sporting events are liberally littered with intense alcohol-related advertising and promotions - try finding big time salad and fitness banners in sporting venues. The urge to fulfill high levels of alcohol consumption cannot be left to market pricing alone. Chilling out after exams or having life's celebrations mean the compulsory dosage of drinking - and let's not worry about having food during the same social occasion.

Gambling is an ingrained habit offering many opportunities for training and reinforcement in Australia. Starting with the innocent act of buying a lotto ticket at the neighbourhood newsagent, it culminates in the obsession one feels - and sees -amongst punters in casinos in each capital city. In between, any adult can drop in to play the pokies - addictive machines that lure potential players with one cent games that thrive on turnover and staying power. Games of chance mock as entertainment, with lots of hype of possible financial return and reality of no or negative returns. In the worst interpretation of an observer friend, the banking circles employ the best gamblers in currency , hedge and options trading. Counselling, after the fact and the damage, is always not as effective as not allowing the problem to begin in the first place.

It may make good business and tax revenue sense to have a captive and recurring market, but more sectors of responsible society have to ensure their impact on family and personal lives. If we have every adult, or teenager in that sense, contribute willingly to spend moderate amounts every day on a specific service or product which they have remote chances of giving up, we surely have a revenue spinner. Call it a mug of cappuccino, a schooner of dry or gigabytes of broadband, they do lead to a personal satisfaction level - but what is the collective impact on the health and social order of society as a whole?

Wintry Windsor

An American visitor remarked that it suggested to her of a small town in Oklahoma. The wind was bitingly chilly, but people moved about in a purposeful manner all rugged up, especially in the central pedestrian mall which happened to host a craft market. The outer approaches to the suburb heralded farming country, and I was not surprised that we saw signs of trucks, tractors and other agricultural machinery - real sized or in the displayed craft - as a possible main stay of the economy. Welcome to Windsor, New South Wales.

It was not the best of weather we had to put up with that middling Sunday in June.

However, there was a crispiness in the air in Windsor that afternoon, which made the camellias, hibiscus and other blooms even more of a sight. We were fortunate to come across a couple displaying their rather healthy nursery plants for sale - and I could not resist obtaining their parsley, mint and succulent jade. Hand painted plates, wooden receptacles and household knick knacks in other stalls were also irresistible. Located at the foothills of the NSW Blue Mountains, Windsor exudes an atmosphere of the old Australia, and so we were delightfully amazed to find a shop selling Egyptian wares, fabric and icons. I was given the impression that it is also a lifestyle place, where migrants from over crowded parts of the greater Sydney area have found refuge - hey not dissimilar to Wollongong and the South Coast. Large punnets of freshly picked strawberries were sold for ten dollars for two.

Will the march of mass housing inevitably overcome the present charms of Windsor? Maybe it already has. However I still take comfort in admiring the sandstone and the architecture that remains in this essential village community, and you sense that every resident knows everybody else, and can pick out a stranger like poppies sticking out in the field. Windsor was settled in 1810, very soon after Captain Cook landed, even if it is located relatively distant inland from the coast. How it has kept its charm in these past 200 years can be a most interesting secret. The Big Smoke of Sydney city centre can be reached by car in under 90 minutes.

A Place in Our Hearts

1230am, middle of a long weekend. I was taking another route back to Wollongong after a long day in the Sydney suburbs. The Hungry Jacks joint beside the road jolted my memory - that was where Dule first arranged for me to pick him up when we first went out after work. The Cabramatta Golf Club was across diagonally at the set of lights. The surroundings to me were like flat plains, but the Cumnberland Highway was undulating and meandering. These suburbs were like in middle America, but we were far removed from that. Two Olympics ago, through Dule, I had learnt to appreciate life growing up in Sydney's sprawling residential corridors.

I thought that maybe I was in a time warp. A holiday night, and I passed by two sets of police patrols checking for breath analyser tests. Most of the drivers still on the streets were Gen Y. Things have not changed much on such evenings when Dule was still working in Sydney. I saw the miniature Sydney Harbour Bridge facade of an overhead pedestrian bridge and knew instinctively that was my cue to turn right into the road leading to Dule's family home. Dule's Mum cooked up a tasty feast and his Dad is so good to chat with. I am always thrilled to meet Ned, his other, who has a young family of his own. Dule had taught me a route of inner roads to use from my place to his house - and I had absorbed the route to a T.

The winter evening was nippy, but maybe not as cold as where Dule now is, across two oceans and another two continents away. I had talked with Dule about Europe, and he has now totally embraced it. Before, we had drinks in a Croatian or Serbian club or had eatouts in a fast food place. These outlets are still there, catering for another generation. Dule's career propelled him from university in the Big Smoke of Oz to banking and on to London. As I drove past last night the iconic landmarks of his teenage hood and young adult life, I felt both melancholy and pride for him. We who know him miss him, and that means his family, little dog and mates. Yet one cannot but admire Dule's continuing passion for his dreams.

Dule's parents keep a very tidy house and lawn. The full moon is very bright and clear overlooking this neighbourhood. We all ponder of this same moon shining on Dule far away but still in our hearts. And there is Nina to take care of him.

Two Gems in the Meadow

I pass by them most days and yet have not fully realized their shine.

Just a twenty minute walk from my house north of the Wollongong cbd is the Jam Shop Cafe. It has red coloured wooden tables outside on the pavement, and more seats inside, but more importantly it is reminiscent of a Parisian scene with a touch of NSW Southern Highland countryside charm. It has an eye for detail, in the way it has delightful surprises on its shelves and walls, and in unexpected corners. The shiny red radio seems out of step with souvenirs from an enchanted past. Standing out in this cornucopia are Julia's home made and lovingly crafted preserves and jams, which are the anchor of this ambient cafe's offerings. Julia has a delightful boisterous personality and whose passion for her cooking shines through her offered menu selections. Add to all these is a view straight towards the hills of Mount Pleasant and Mount Ousley.

I was introduced to this gem of a place by Wendy - and we had a light lunch of mains graced with fresh salads and a soul rendering risotto. I had a rich tasty veg patty while Wendy relished in her sausage roll. These were garnished with dollops of Julia's specially made jams. For dessert, we chose the intense choc fudge with ice cream. The sun broke out from a week long cloudiness when we arrived at the cafe and after the meal, the sun receded.

Across the road, five minutes walk away from Julia's place is a boutique cake shop, Zweefers, which has captured my attention through its flourless chocolate cake. When I bite through a piece, the sensation of fine hazel nuts and agreeable chocolate combine to create a rare experience - neither too sweet nor overwhelmingly rich. I am also partial to its mango and coconut offering, followed by the coffee and kahlua cake.

I am thankful to live so near such creative outlets, and not just think it's only in Sydney that I can get such specialities.

Simply Shanghai

Dumplings with hot tasty soup inside. Some were as big as an apple, others were delicate as blossom flowers. Some had crispy bottom crusts, others had a tiny square of green underbase.

It was not a cold night for late autumn in Sydney's Ashfield, a suburb on the south-west outskirts of the Sydney CBD.The current demographics still retain the significant presence of mainland Chinese, which started from the mid-nineties onwards, but now also has Indian grocery outlets sitting side by side with the Greek fruit wholesalers and an icon of Australian residential life, the local club (in this case, the Wests). Retail shops like newsagents and food suppliers are open late even on a weeknight. Young Caucasian Aussies were buying fresh fish after work, or gathered together to sample northern Chinese food. A strip along Liverpool Road has all the main regional cuisines of China represented, from Beijing to Hong Kong.

Five of us had gathered for a casual mid-week dinner in a Shanghai styled restaurant. I was impressed with the mung bean pasta, drenched in a delicate sauce that reminded me of Italian styles. The whole unshelled prawns were savoury and crisp. Wantons were served in a rich clear stock. Cut chillies, black vinegar, chili paste and sauce were all provided as accessories. Dessert was a familiar after dinner treat on tables from Macau to Penang - the red bean pancakes. Service was efficient, the tea was thick but the food was good. The cold entree made an impact, vegetarian gluten with hints of vinegar. Shanghai duck is so different from Beijing duck, with so much less fat and more condensed meat. Uncle Alec shouted the meal.

Looking around us, I observed that most of the customers were from China, save for a mixed marriage couple and us. We could have been in Shanghai itself. The language is not the same as standard Mandarin. However, Shanghai is even more cosmopolitan than suburban Ashfield and its night life is more than the fraction reflected in this overseas colony. I could find easy parking at the Ashfield Mall, and just walk across the road to dwell in this outpost of Shanghai cuisine. Weekend mornings can be pretty chaotic with shoppers and traffic, but the Liverpool Road that runs through Ashfield is no Nanjing Pei Lu. Still, for a few hours, we enjoyed eating what is simply Shanghai.

Your Graduation Day

Dear Tze Yin,
With utmost grace, you walked the stage
towards the Chancellor, tall and smiling
He capped the mortar board over you, like over the hedge
and you remained unfazed and beaming

The marquee in the morning covered a maze
of delightful hearts content in having achieved
Jazz musicians, teachers and parents ablaze
with the magic of the occasion, real and perceived

With the band boys of Auckland Grammar marching ahead
you strolled down Queen Street in casual splendour
With friends and family alike in a slow parade
you took the real steps to the world of commercial wonder

The cameras captured your smile on the large screens overhead
when you did the roll of honour walking inside Auckland Town Hall
Your red dress under the Cambridge-inspired graduation gown said
with elegance and beauty that you were having a ball!

In Albert Park, I sensed the camaraderie of your mates
on this special day for campus life and career ahead
A sunny day for all meaningful to gather, when all is done and said
to congratulate you and each other on this special date

Cheers
Kevin

Return to New Zealand

I expected frosty nights and moist gardens. I got them. I looked forward to the sparkling moon crescent hanging over low lying long white clouds. I saw and immersed myself in their display. I relished in the long sloping roads of Auckland that led from craters to bays. I got to travel along them. I recalled the glowworms hanging from cave ceilings in South Island, and this time, I was reminded of them by the luminous glow provided by gnat larvae in Waitomo in North Island. My inner soul from a previous trip remembered hot chocolate, intense ice cream and tender lamb cuts, and I got to relish them again. The sulphur and steam at Rotorua are exactly as a London friend, Sue Dickinson, described them.









































At the same time, I am amazed this time by the variety of cosmopolitan food offerings in downtown and suburban Auckland. I stopped counting after having two modern Kiwi eatouts, three Hong Kong meals, one Korean lunch, two Vietnamese food gatherings and two Malaysian cafe eating sessions. There are Japanese supermarts along Queen Street and delightful sorbet/gelato offerings at Valentino's near the Auckland ferry pier waterfront. I dug in gustily into the pickled side dishes made at the KangNam Rail Station Restaurant at the upper end of Queen Street. The unagi (eel) I had at Kang Nam more than matched the one offered at the Japanese outlet at the food court in Newmarket's Westfield. Adrian and Lily Gomez had a multi-racial feast going for five of us at Seri Puteri's along Queen's Road in suburban Panmure, and I loved the yee mee noodles and roti canai pancakes. The dynamic business at Canton's was vibrantly reflected in its quick and efficient service, tasty dishes and endless line of customers. I particularly have a fondness for the tofu dishes in Auckland, whether at KK's or the Enjoy Inn along Great South Road. The hapuka fish, whether at Grand Harbour Restaurant in Auckland's Viaduct district or at Canton's, was both crispy and savoury. Tropical Vietnamese food was easy and light at both Hansan in Panmure and The Two Monkeys in the suburb of Mount Eden.





















I was lucky to have both family and friends this time around in my autumn sojourn this year to New Zealand. Cousin Mu Lan, and Aunt Keow cooked up various foods of my childhood from another place, another time. The warm broth of fei tang chok (Cantonese styled broth)was an antidote for the cold Auckland dawn, while Malaysian rose chicken curry spiced up nippy evenings. Another cousin, Irene, took a few of us to the Pei Tou, or North Island, Fokuangshan Temple built in Tang Dynasty style in Manukau City. My eldest niece Tze Yin took me on bus rides and walks that offered interesting journeys themselves, apart from the destinations. I found myself in a Taiwanese milkbar, Momos, but with good company, late at night and on a sunny day, strolling on the mouth of Mount Eden crater. I spent a leisurely Saturday afternoon with Shaun and Tze Yin enjoying the delicious chicken Burnout burger at Burgerfuel in Parnell, followed by a hot jaffa at the Chocolate Boutique, before being sent to the Airport for the trans-Tasman flight back. Aunty Chia kindly made home-made steamed pork buns and soft tender jerky that you normally see in Asia, instead of New Zealand. Richard Ong and his Mum brought delicious juicy feijoa fruits from their garden.

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The drive from the Rotorua region back to night time Auckland was longer than I thought, but brought back comparable memories of the countryside from a South Island tour long ago. I stood in the rain one dawn at 6.20am waiting for a bus in the suburb of Green Lane and loved the confronting outdoor elements of New Zealand. It was exhilarating to catch up with an ex-colleague and friend, Phaik Hoon, whom I have not seen for so many years. Blue eyed cod steamed in light and amazingly simple soy sauce at dinnertime was an antidote to the constant rain for two full days. It was hilarious that my umbrella turned inside out at the One Tree Hill Monument - I should have expected that, running out in the open at Cromwell Park. I was impressed with the Auckland Harbour Bridge when we were driven in a Mercedes Benz Compressor to the city's north shore, without having to pay any toll. A bored Maori security guard tapped out a catchy number on wood during the closing hour at Victoria Markets. I was impressed with Auckland's Link Bus - for a dollar sixty cents New Zealand, one could go round the city area admiring sights from near and afar, stopping anywhere one wishes, and while still riding, enjoy the latest news, GPS maps and weather forecasts on TV screens.





















(Queen Street Auckland and University of Auckland Business School images from the collection of Yong Tze Yin, May 2008)