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.