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.