Of Mice, Nien and Fifteen Days of Fun

Welcome to a new cycle in the stellar events of the Lunar calendar. As we enter the Year of the Mouse,we reflect on the agility and prudence of this clever animal who prepares for the future and is quick-witted to ensure its prosperity. Its size may not herald its position as the first animal, out of the twelve, in the line-up for the Lunar Zodiac, but its personality and attitude makes it a sure winner.

In China, we celebrate what is also known as the Spring Festival. In various immigrant communities from Toronto to Copenhagen to Melbourne, people of Chinese origin continue to practise customs from the motherland - some of which may have been forgotten in China itself. All these celebrations are dominated by the five thousand year old legend of the arrival of the Nien, a mythical creature which used to lurk in the north-west of China and which had reputedly threatened the lives and security of the common folk. Once the Nien had been vanquished by fire crackers and sheer numbers of the population, a potentially negative thing has been transformed for the better and this event is commemorated as the Lunar New Year.

Traditionally this festival is enjoyed over fifteen consecutive days. In my home island of Penang, families usher out the old Year and welcome in the new with precise and intricate requirements in food, timing and preparations. Vistts to temples are made at carefully selected auspicious times. Ancestral tablets in homes are honoured with table settings of the favourite food of past ancestors. Everyone makes a point to be decked out in new wardrobes. Numbers and names of dishes that evoke good luck and prosperity when pronounced are well sought after. The giving and receiving of red packets is vital, as symbolic of blessings being passed from one generation to another, but also practical in that they contain actual money. Certain cakes and biscuits, with names like love letters and lovingly made only once a year, are truly appreciated. It is a time for reunion, rejoicing and reconciliation. Interesting observations are that:

- all cleaning is to be completed by New Year's Eve, and no broom or vacuum cleaner may be sighted during the first day of the New Year.
- all financial accounting, especially payables, have to be resolved before the old year goes out.
- what you personally do on the very first day of the New Year reflects on the pattern for the rest of the year.
- the third day is a no-no for visiting friends and relatives and is deemed a recovery day.
- the seventh day is deemed the common birthday of all mankind, perhaps an excuse for another round of wholesome banquets, especially involving bits of raw fish salad.
- the eighth day is the honoured birthday of the Emperor of Heaven, and Fujian communities celebrate this as the biggest day of their cultural calendar.
- the fifteenth night is celebrated with lanterns in Hong Kong, but amongst the Straits Chinese community in Malaysia, this occasion is associated more with romance, especially with the assured full moon beaming in the evening sky, and the serving of a delicious vegetable and fruit-laden coconut milk creamy dessert called the pungat.

In any solar calendar year, the first day of the Lunar New Year can fall on any day between the 19th of January and the 19th of February. The reunion dinner on its eve is of paramount importance - hence the mass movement of commuters all over China and between cities with sizable Chinese populations around the world in the week leading up to this dinner.

Food and Festivity

As the current Lunar Year of the Boar draws to a close, preparations are being made to welcome the next twelve year cycle in the zodiac. Festivities begin.

It has been ironic that in summer here, I realise that the lore and custom of the Lunar New Year relate to practices which mostly originate in a freezing cold northern hemisphere environment, for this time of the calendar. This came to me while partaking dumplings in a place specialising in north-eastern Chinese food. I had presumed that dishes from northern China are usually plain and unassuming, short of the Beijing duck and the accompanying wraps. Instead, the dozen or so of us eating at this round table could actually feel the kick of some dishes that had an underlying spicy current. Such food heat, even if subtle, was hidden in the gravy and sauces. It would have been perfect for a snow -laden night in Harbin or Tianjin, but here we were eating all these under a heavy air of thirty degrees, coupled with high humidity. The restaurant's air conditioning was so ineffective it did not matter.

Dumplings signify a good omen to start the New Year in northern parts of China.
My group of diners shared another China favourite - pork knuckle, bathed and braised in a tasty marinade. The eggplants served were not as refreshing as that eaten recently at a nearby competitor shop. I was impressed by the lightness of the lightly tossed black seaweed, served with another vegetable, in another dish. Small bits of pork, stir fried in a hot wok, were eaten with a thin wheat based wrap. Squares of flat glass noodles were mixed in a vinegary mix as the entree. The so-called "north-east chicken" looked tempting on another dining table, but when served to us, turned out to be cured smoked chicken, a bit dry to my southern Chinese preferences.

Two weeks ago, I also had the opportunity to join some close friends in Artarmon to savour the Straits Chinese cuisine of my home island. The chicken curry flavours were the outcomes of a confluence of Indian, Malay, Burmese, Thai, Sumatran and Chinese influences. Other dishes on the table reminded me of what a favourite aunt cooked on the first day of the Lunar New Year. Such soul food brought up sentiments to me that dumplings conjure in the heart and eyes of northern Chinese.

Let the festivities commence!

Oppressive, and not just the heat

The summer air was so still, nothing moved. Not a single leaf budged on the trees. Even the ceiling down lights at home exuded a sense of radiating warmth, besides being mere sources of light. Sweat persistently came down my back and there was no breeze to moderate the effects. Cleaning the car in my home garage was overwhelming with the high humidity. Taking a nap in this weather in the middle of the day was akin to baking one's self, but my subconscious continued to do its work.

Even if it was not night, the subconscious for a while went full speed in re-thinking matters and offering symbolic insights into possible solutions. These involved a set of several characters whom I had initially wished I had not met and known. However, life makes me cross paths with these individuals, so that I have an opportunity to learn - and move on. Now I should count myself so lucky. The more each of them provides me their antics, they have only served to reinforce my convictions that:

- their actions only reflect upon themselves, if only they have the sense to look at their inner selves in the mirror;

- I appreciate so much more deeply and in a more determined way the reliability of my true friends, family and myself; and

- what goes around comes around, and that at the end of it all, it does not matter what role you play in a contrived business or work environment, only what role you play where it counts, in the business of life itself.

I threw back oppression to where it belonged, to its source.

Jakarta di Kingsford

Sepanjang hari dan malam, hujan jatuh tiada berhenti. Beberapa saudara-mara terkumpul dalam restauran terletak di Kingsford, dekat kampus utama Universiti New South Wales. Sudah lama saya tidak dapat peluang bergaul dan makan malam dengan hidangan Nusantara Indonesia. Selepas duduk, kami boleh dengar dan lihat satu saluran siaran TVRI.

Makanan Jakarta ada hubungan dengan makanan dari kampungku diPulau Pinang. Ayam bakar dari Java memang hampir makanan Inche Kabin. Rojak dan gaduh gaduh di jual pun di Semanunjung Malaysia, tetapi cara membuat bihun goreng dan sup bihun berlainan.
Ais campur Shanghai terlalu manis, tetapi dihidangkan dengan buah buahan exotik, seperti buah nangka. Cendol terlampau warna hijau dan tidak cukup kelemakan dengan santan yang digunakan.

Majoriti pelanggan di restaurant itu adalah pelajar universiti dari Malaysia, Singapura dan Indonesia. Hidangan yang mereka makan sehampir dengan masakan ibu bapa mereka. Terdapat beberapa kedai makan ala Indonesia dekat Anzac Parade, dengan nama semacam Ratu Sari dan Ayam Goreng Jakarta. Makanan halal pun boleh didapat di dalam satu atau dua kedai. Negara Indonesia tentulah hanya dekat dengan Australia.

Neither Rain nor Hail

Catching up with good and long-term friendships do nourish the soul. Even if I had to do it facing the challenges of inclement weather, it was all worth every minute.

This had been a rather wet summer, and mixed with the thick fogs on the freeway between Wollongong and Sydney. It is good to have survived the threats of unpredictable hail, wind slide, torrential showers and just getting persistently soaked.

The Big Smoke became the Big Wet on Friday, a day when I seemed to stand on the verge of change. I caught up with three new consultants I engaged to work on forthcoming projects, had to say goodbye to someone at work whom I thoroughly enjoyed interacting with, had a refreshing professional chat and then submitted myself to quadrant cleaning at the end of the day. By the time I had my appointment at the surgery, I was looking like a wet dog, maybe reflecting the mixed emotions I faced inside. I also re-discovered the pleasures of taking the commuter train, coming across situations that make me increasingly take for granted my ten-minute daily commute to work. I observed how we human beings adapt - and on this long train ride between Thirroul and Sydney Central and back, there is this combination of technology aids, good old-fashioned reading and healthy conversations to make use of our valuable time. I empathised with a 24 year old fellow passenger, George, who was confronted by ticketing inspectors when he left his pass in the office - he was then subject to disclosure of his private and personal details right in front of the nearby passengers, and maybe he should have been questioned in a private corner. I know George is 24 because we all overheard him being asked to state his birthday - 13May 1983. Would a lady have been subject to this kind of disclosure?

On the most recent Sunday I had gone to a Home maker Centre in Castlehill, melting under the oppressive humidity of the sunny afternoon. When I resurfaced from the basement car park 45 minutes later, the sky was ominously overcast and threatening to bring in a Sydney surprise, with reminders of the Turramurra Tornado or snow falling on a Blue Mountains Christmas Day (right in the smack of summer here). I persisted in my intentions to visit a friend who had completed a working year long stint in Singapore, and with her parents who had returned from a sojourn in Alice Springs.

Mid-week, the visiting mother of another good friend was cooking some home-made soul food to welcome back the return from hospital of another close friend. A severe storm warning had been issued on the internet and other media for the Sydney metropolitan area - and I was headed for its lower north shore in Artarmon. Getting out of Wollongong by road already proved risky - and not to mention the ensuing traffic chaos in evening rush hour in cbd streets. I circumvented the city proper and drove on its nearby fringe suburban roads, but still ran smack into a half-hour parking lot vehicular jam heading south on Epping Road near Macquarie Park and University. Whilst enjoying Justin Timberlake on stereo, intermittent updates from local radio assured me that the storm had somehow by passed the city and moved on tot he Central Coast of New South Wales.

At Thirroul rail station, after coming back from Sydney at 830pm,I had to call for a taxicab as the windy showers played around with plans for walking and whatever sense of comfort. Jason, who came to pick me up, was a natural smiler like a much appreciated beacon in the stormy night. A young father of a three year old, and with a Greek background, to me he epitomises the good Australian - positive thinking, friendly, practising the much talked about concept of the fair-go and unassumingly sincere. Jason faces whatever challenges with a bright resonance - and neither rain nor hail will stop him in his path. I felt his eyes, countenance and whole soul light up in delight when he talks of his young son, wife and family.

Not What It Seems To Be

She felt like one of the spiked pollen balls being blown away from a tree by a divergent gush of breeze. She likened herself trapped in a translucent ball of white furry fluff, helplessly and reluctantly removed from the people she loves. Subject to the whimsical vagaries of the wind, she did not even know where she was heading next.

Below this figurative ball, she could still hear the laughter, chatter and varying din caused by collective and separate conversations. More importantly, as she was reluctantly being whisked away, as if in some cinematic glazed photographic effect, she could still see the facial expressions of a particular person who had surprised - and mystified - her that evening.

She loved this dashing chap, but with no prospect of a return to her of the care she consciously and sub-consciously projected for him, she had decided that "to truly love someone is to let him go free". It was perhaps some convoluted thinking on her part, but this very subject of much love had on this occasion accompanied a serious lover of his own. She desperately - and instinctively - wanted to be nice to this new someone, who now takes care of her object of her affection. Her object of unconditional love did enthusiastically greet her, despite the crowdedness of the small hall. At first, she did not even realise that the stranger sitting a few seats away from her is the new love of her continuing love. She was not introduced to this person, when others were, throughout the progress of the function, but she was anyway, for most of the night, oblivious to the variety of developing social scenarios playing out at the party.

After dinner was over, and when it was time for the guests to move on, she was finally introduced to the new person in the life of her loved one. She tried to make small talk with this new person, but she sensed an increasing steely look of indifference - and ultimately clear signs of no intention of being even superficially friendly - from this potential acquaintance. How ironic, how strange, she thought, that she was left almost talking to herself, with no response afforded her in return. Did she wear a confronting perfume, or was this new person unfriendly with the other party goers too? Honestly, she did not know what to do for more than a few frantic minutes.

In life, she wanted to avoid the average and allow more love to come in to her realm. She was already having difficulty trying to connect in this simple social scenario. Was it her fault, did she do anything to deserve this cold treatment? Things happen for a reason - but she was just first trying to figure out the reason itself. In the warm night air, it dawned on her that, as her little pollen ball rose even further away from all these things, everyone else, including the subject of her affection, had been so nice. It finally put her frame of mind in perspective; more so, her little pollen ball was carrying her to a new realm of life's possibilities.

Swaying In The Silent Wind

It is very quiet on campus today. Mainly Asian students lingering around and they do summer semester sharpening their English language requirements, before getting into their undergraduate courses proper.

There is no food sold on campus, so I have to go out for lunch. Even the ducks seem to be away on holiday, they are no where on their favourite ponds.

Instead of city traffic and sounds, I hear bird song. It is that kind of day when leaves high up on a tall tree sway in the silent wind.

It’s a great day for the surf. I bumped into Paul Mason, a KPMG staff member cum UOW student, and he hinted that it was a great day to be at the beach at Wombarra, instead of us being on this hillside park that we call our work place for today. I also see Josh and another Kev, and they are working hard fixing hardware around campus.

I went home at lunch hour and noticed that the canna lilies, that Danielle and Shane Campbell gave me from their home garden, are sprouting blooms for the first time – a royal yellow at that. The hibiscus plant nearby also provides another yellow flower, with perhaps a deeper hue. The lawn grass is growing too well again in this current weather, a perfect mix of moderate sunny days and night showers.

It can be a lazy week, with New Year’s Eve on a Monday night, followed by a chill out New Year’s Day. This morning I was awakened by the soft swoosh of my neighbour watering his garden – yes, it’s the allowed day in New South Wales for using the hose, provided it is before 10am and after 4pm. The nearby dams are also filling up at a good pace, from 30 percent a year ago to 60 percent today.

Tonight, I better cook. I cleared up my food from the fridge before NYE. I also look forward to the therapy of watering the plants outdoors this evening before a late sunset.