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.
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Sunday, 20 January 2008
Saturday, 19 January 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, 12 January 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, 2 January 2008
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.
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.
Friday, 28 December 2007
One Summer's Day
Insects, insects....as we travel along the freeway, numerous members of the insect kingdom hurl themselves on to the front of the all-wheel drive, splattering their bits and limbs on the bonnet, the grill and the windscreen mirror. We as humans head in one direction in speeds faster than we can physically manage ourselves, and we meet against these flying creatures also moving in a hurry through the air - except that they are in the opposite direction, and they collide not with us, but with our metal, glass and plastic structures that we protect ourselves in.
Insects also come out in colony groups in this warm season - whether they be scrambling on our ceilings, walls and shelves, or weaving sticky webs that are as strong as Velcro - as we humans congregate into shopping centres for the sales or in front of strangers' houses to admire their Christmas lights. If one were an insect, then one could have an overview of the endless line of vehicles along the major highways of the nation - if one kept high enough and did not fly into such a vehicle first. South of Wollongong is the gloriously beautiful and relatively inexpensive South Coast of New South Wales - and escapees from the Big Smoke lined up patiently in the sun to get to their cabins by the ocean.
And then there are the double demerit points for licenses of drivers over the festive season, stretching over two weeks. No such penalties are imposed for Melbourne Cup Day, or sports game finals, but come long weekends with a public holiday thrown in, main arteries are monitored with the dread of losing one's driving license and a couple of hundreds of dollars in fines.
Maybe this is all necessary. The interesting mixture of alcohol, seafood, fruits and a laid back atmosphere should induce one to a cosy nap in bed. However, many have to drive long distances, to catch up with in-laws, loved ones or just fulfil the need for a sheer physical escape - and this means jumping into the car, ute or motor bike. Along the way, groups settle for fast food, with all its additives and hyperactive potential.
Instead of snow storms, stranded passengers at airports and scurrying neighbours all decked up in extra clothes, an Australian Christmas offers long days of watching cricket; sunshades, board shorts and singlets; surf, barbies and stubbies; carolling under tropical-like sunsets; reunion gatherings with really non-Christmassy fare; and practically days of forgetting about our other existence. Maybe the hordes of insects are also rushing for the same things as us, activated by the humidity and heat, but at least they are not vulnerable to double demerit points.
As for me, once I had found a quite moment, I had settled down to an anime session of "Howl's Moving Castle' on the telly. I was munching cherries, grapes, plums, nectarines and R2E2 mangoes - hey sunset was late in the evening. That to me defined the meaning of being "switched off" - after a perfect summer's day with friends.
Insects also come out in colony groups in this warm season - whether they be scrambling on our ceilings, walls and shelves, or weaving sticky webs that are as strong as Velcro - as we humans congregate into shopping centres for the sales or in front of strangers' houses to admire their Christmas lights. If one were an insect, then one could have an overview of the endless line of vehicles along the major highways of the nation - if one kept high enough and did not fly into such a vehicle first. South of Wollongong is the gloriously beautiful and relatively inexpensive South Coast of New South Wales - and escapees from the Big Smoke lined up patiently in the sun to get to their cabins by the ocean.
And then there are the double demerit points for licenses of drivers over the festive season, stretching over two weeks. No such penalties are imposed for Melbourne Cup Day, or sports game finals, but come long weekends with a public holiday thrown in, main arteries are monitored with the dread of losing one's driving license and a couple of hundreds of dollars in fines.
Maybe this is all necessary. The interesting mixture of alcohol, seafood, fruits and a laid back atmosphere should induce one to a cosy nap in bed. However, many have to drive long distances, to catch up with in-laws, loved ones or just fulfil the need for a sheer physical escape - and this means jumping into the car, ute or motor bike. Along the way, groups settle for fast food, with all its additives and hyperactive potential.
Instead of snow storms, stranded passengers at airports and scurrying neighbours all decked up in extra clothes, an Australian Christmas offers long days of watching cricket; sunshades, board shorts and singlets; surf, barbies and stubbies; carolling under tropical-like sunsets; reunion gatherings with really non-Christmassy fare; and practically days of forgetting about our other existence. Maybe the hordes of insects are also rushing for the same things as us, activated by the humidity and heat, but at least they are not vulnerable to double demerit points.
As for me, once I had found a quite moment, I had settled down to an anime session of "Howl's Moving Castle' on the telly. I was munching cherries, grapes, plums, nectarines and R2E2 mangoes - hey sunset was late in the evening. That to me defined the meaning of being "switched off" - after a perfect summer's day with friends.
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