Chatterbox: Face Value

25th January 2008

"Who's having the Chicken Rice?" the waitress asked, looking for a confirmation before placing the platter down right in front of me.

I gazed upon my well-presented platter, scrutinizing the serving of the portion on each plate or bowl. Patiently, I picked up my chopsticks and dug them into the bowl of rice, taking the first bite. Nicely glossed with a layer of fragrant spices, a mouthful was already enough to validate the quality of the rice used.

Mandarin Chicken Rice: Seven Times Prettier than the Average-Joe

"Umm, the rice is REALLY fragrant." she exclaimed, as I fed her a spoonful of the light-brown quality rice.

Eager to tantalize my taste buds further, I grabbed a off the top layer of the nicely-spread platter of white chicken, bringing it to the level of my nostrils to get an appetizing whiff, before putting it to the test that was my taste buds. The classic-roasted restaurant-quality Hainanese Chicken was relatively more succulent (by a mile, in fact), yet hardly as smooth as the sauce-drenched white chicken in neighbourhood hawker centres that I was accustomed to.

Yes, picky perhaps, but considering that the Chicken Rice in front of me costs approximately 7x as much as your conventional, everyday plate of chicken rice, at a whooping $21.50, I figured that it would only be natural that one would scrutinize all the way down to the underside of the plate just to find the value of where the extra cost went.

In front of her, her bowl of Lobster Laksa was extravagantly presented with two halves of lobster, in portions that were hardly sloppy at all. Richly cooked with the appropriate amount of saltiness, spice and a tinge of sweetness, the Lobster Laksa was easily in the upper-tier of Laksas; of course, the presence of the Lobsters hardly hurt the judgment passed at all. The overall bright orange-tinge of the gravy, complimented with the extravagant serving of lobsters, gave the dish a somewhat flamboyant and obviously upmarket look, instantly validating the $33 price-tag *ahem* tagged to the dish.

Lobster Laksa: Pageant Dish

I reached out to grab 1 of the 7 Fried Dumplings and took a bite off the steaming hot delicacy. With a crispy golden-roasted skin and juicy prawn-fillings, the Fried Dumplings had the taste of familiarity, but with the juiciness kicked into overdrive. What set it apart from the everyday dumplings was when it was thoroughly dipped in the given Wasabi Mayonnaise, endowing the dumplings with a hint of wasabi-bitterness subtly hidden underneath the richness of the mayonnaise.

Fried Dumpling: The Secret's in the Sauce

After moving full circle around the table, I continued to indulge further in my platter of chicken, all while experimenting with the 3 different sauces that were provided, Chilli Sauce, Soy Sauce and Traditional Green Ginger Paste. I realized that the drier texture of the chicken actually complimented the sauces really well, especially with the viscous, black soy sauce provided. But the real money shot hit when I reached the bottom layer of the chicken platter. Soaking it in the light sauce at the bottom of the oddly-shaped bowl, the true flavours of the chicken erupted in my mouth, satisfying my eager taste buds, finally validating the relatively hefty price-tag on my chicken rice.

Perhaps this principle applies to our choice of romantic partners as well. Whereas some of *ahem* us, have our values instantly validated upon the look and feel of our presentations, with an appetizing personality only serving to match up to our initial impacts; there are others who are seemingly simple and a lot more ordinary upon face value, but only to have the true value validated much later into the meal. I believe that she and I are one and the other, but no prizes for correct guesses on who's who though.

Cheeky on Chubby

But whatever the value of the dish, the true value in fine dining comes very much from beyond the platter, as the price encompasses the entire experience of the meal. The feeling of being able to dine amid the atmosphere, painted red and black with the brushes of traditional Chinese furniture against a fusion-based backdrop, more that accounted for the value that was bought with the respective prices stated on the menu with its staple of upmarket local delights.

Again, perhaps similarly, Romance can be seen in this sense as well. As the entire thing about Romance is that it is greater than the sum of its parts; it is essentially doing all the seemingly unnecessary, going the extra mile to put the signified being the signifier, adding an additional layer of meaning to the seemingly ordinary; all in the name of an Experience or a Memory. And yes, deep down under the dark exterior, vampires innately know how to pull the strings of behind the scenes of said Romance, or at least that's what I've had hypnotizing her into believing, hah.

Better Late than Never

Stench of the Rat Race

My glance slid across the walls of the interior of the evening commute, as I took brief glances of the passengers cladded in office-wear surrounding me. Their faces told it all; visible signs of fatigue, carved by the cruel daily cycle that they had succumbed to in the name of "making a living." The Rat Race, a cruel climb up the corporate ladder, a slow and treacherous process that leaves a daily count of weary feet and wrinkled faces, hung blatantly over and entirely overshadowing the supposedly-sharp shirts and blouses of the numerous men and women that lie victim to this painful dedication.

The train reached the interchange station, as the door opened and a new flood of victims turned into canned sardines, all forcing themselves to believe that they are the "one more person" that can squeeze into the already over-crowded commute, all in hope of getting home a little earlier to shake off the chains of the Rat Race.

He believed himself to be that "one" as well, as he insistently pushed his way in, ending up right in front of me. Dressed formally but hardly sharply, he was donned in a light blue long sleeve shirt that was probably from a forgettable departmental-store brand, his pants were black and tapered, and his shoes were black leather, but hardly shine-polished. Slightly over-weight and with a face that was instantly forgettable, he was probably the most archetypical example of the victim of the Rat Race. But the most telling sign that gave it all away was the haversack that he carried on his back over the entire office get-up, a sure-sign of the typical "office-loser;" one who probably worked really hard, but doesn't step too much out of his comfort zone, and would probably not ascend very much higher in his treacherous climb.

As the train accelerated, he lost balance and instinctively reached out for the nearest handlebar, which was just beside me. As he grabbed the vertical bar, I was fully exposed to the view of his armpit area, and immediately, I noticed a little damp patch at the crevice that was his armpit. Little beads of sweat dripped slowly down his forehead, as I noticed the expression of discomfort clearly written across his face.

Instinctively, I held my breath. The proximity between us and the sure-signs ominously hinted at a ravaging of my olfactory senses if I were to do otherwise.

One stop down, the doors opened as some sad faces alighted while a new throng of weary eyes boarded, maintaining the status-quo. He turned, facing his back towards me, to suit the new crowd configuration and also perhaps to seek a greater sense of comfort, even if it only meant a mere rotation.

I had a full frontal view of his back, as I noticed, in the areas not covered by the criss-crosses of his maroon haversack, was a total discolouration of the light blue hue of his shirt, a discolouration that hinted at exposure to something more liquid.

My eyes gawked in horror, as I could feel the capacity of my lungs being stretched and strained from the lack of air intake. I held it in, but the seconds ticked by slowly, too slowly. Finally, at its limit, my lungs bursts open, along with my nostrils. The stench, a sourish, and yet slightly bitter smell of a whole day's staleness utterly ravaged the better half of my more-than-keen olfactory senses, choking me with its pungent nature while I bit the bullet to try to hold my coughing in as to not create too much of a socially ill-fitting scene on the evening commute.

Yep, this was the stench of the Rat Race alright, in every sense of the word. Perhaps I will never figure out why is it that in a climate as tropical and humid as ours, where perspiration is a more than natural bodily reaction to the forces of the climate, the people still refuse to make perfume or cologne or even some form of deodorant a greater part of everyday life.

It would seem that perhaps I am 1 of the minority that was actually exposed to the use of such fragrances being a completely unsaid code of social etiquette, one where to not be offensive-smelling is a personal responsibility and is a personal reflection of one's personal hygiene and grooming.

Indeed, it shocked me that even in my University years, at the not-so-tender age of 19 (for the females) and 21 (for the males), I still discovered (by the worst of accidental means) that some supposed future-leaders of society are perfectly fine with leading the pack by their personal distinct scent (read: odour) more so than anything else.

Obviously, the trend doesn't really change even upon climbing a social level higher from academia into the Rat Race. As the formality of office wear still does nothing to some in their want of need to present themselves in a better light (or scent), being perfectly fine with spreading their joy with the rest of the evening commute, if their joy came in the form of little beads of sweat, that is.

The train reached halfway to my destination as a huge pack of sardines were unloaded, finally leaving me the comfort of a seat and more importantly a relief for my nostrils. I took the seat next to a middle-aged office lady, again, formally dressed but nothing near elegant or chic, probably enough to get by and more likely than not holding the position of a senior staff, but not a managerial one.

Her eyes were staring blankly in front, as a bout of expected fatigue came over her and she drew a long, deep yawn. Through the bad manners and the uncovered yawn, my overly-keen olfactory senses once again got more than it bargained for, as I inhaled the stench of soured-milk, mixed with the concentrated and yet hardly refreshing smell of hours upon hours of stale coffee-breath, perhaps an accumulation of the entire day's bulk of caffeine intake.

Again, it would seem that a large bulk of the bottom of the barrel of the Rat Race is perfectly fine with letting the entire world (or at least the people next to them on the evening commute), know the full entirety of the solid and fluids partaken throughout the entire course of the day, from the overbearing smell of the chilli-sauce in their carrot cake during lunch time, to the 12 cups of coffee needed to perk their smelly rat-asses up during the 8-hours And throughout all this, a simple thing like a breath-mint or the like perhaps doesn't even occur as a distant thought at the back of their minds.

When I finally arrived at my destination, exiting from the pipe-like structure of the train, a thought came upon me. While I have personally managed to evict myself from the constraints of the Rat Race proper, I cannot help but have to be flushed down the same pipes with the rest of the rats that is the evening commute. And with each flush of the daily evening commute, 1 poor Vampire peers through the manhole of society deep into the sewers of the Rat Race, cursing at the Stench that follows.

Christmas 2007: Naughty or... Mice?

24th - 25th December 2007

I was crouching and rising repeatedly, walking circles around the car, trying to detect the source of the lingering, rancid odour that has been plaguing the car for the last 2 days. The smell was a pungent combination of sour and pungent, remarkably distinct and utterly ravaging my more-than-acute olfactory sense.

I lowered my head, examining the surfaces of the tires, trying to look for some signs or hints of brown or black substances. After much smelling, I more or less concluded that the right side of the car was smellier than the left, so I examined it a little more.

Suddenly, at the corner of my eye, I saw 2 houseflies hovering around me. As the saying goes, "... like flies to rubbish," I figured that if I followed the flies, I would be able to find the 'rubbish,' in whatever form it took.

I traced their eccentric movements, and noticed that they frequently hovered around the front-right corner of the vehicle. So I scrutinized every single visible area for some signs of the source of the rancidness, all while continuing to strain my olfactory senses as I tried to use the acuteness of it as an additional aid, perhaps not for the wiser.

Not able to detect any visible sights, I decided to pop the lid of the engine, since it was the only possible area that I hadn't looked into. I looked at the mass of black and grey pipes and parts, not detecting anything out of place or close to a tint of brown. So I lowered my head and decided to rely on my sense of smell instead.

I strafed from the right to the left to the right again of the car engine, inhaling deep breaths of the offensive smell as I went along. "Whatever it is, it is surely coming from the right side, definitely the right side," I turned to her and said, before lowering my head to repeat the process again.

As I strafed from the right to the left and back to the right again, suddenly right in front of me I noticed something out of place. I squinted hard at it, under the shadow of the engine lid that was blocking out the light from the setting sun. There it was, caught amidst the winding pipes and parts, dark-brownish, furry and with its eyes tightly shut... a dead rat, caught between two parts of the car engine.

Squint hard at it and it will Stare back at You.

"Eew... gross," she said, as she took two steps away from the vehicle.

Stunned into silence momentarily, I finally uttered, "Fuck! What the hell? How the hell did a fucking rat die in my car engine?" after recovering from the disbelief.

After chain swearing for another 5 minutes or so, my rationality finally kicked in as I picked my handphone out of my pocket and dialled the Mother, telling her to come down with the Maid with a pair of thongs, plastic bags, and whatever else we might need.

Coming down without the most important of tools, the thong, the Mother passed me a long screwdriver and told me to try to use it to poke the carcass out. I turned the sharp end of the screwdriver at it, and applied pressure onto the dead bastards head, hoping to apply enough force to push him out of the jam. But as more pressure was applied, I could feel the end of the screwdriver slowly impaling into its still soft and probably rather decomposed skull. Deciding not to risk any grey matter explosions, I gave up.

The Mother sourced around for 2 clothes-hangers and tried using them as a makeshift thong to try pulling the bastard out. She grabbed its neck between the two hangers skillfully, and applied inward and upward pressure, as the neck of the rat extended most disgustingly. But every time she used a stronger upward force, she would lose grip of the bastard's neck.

After numerous tries, she finally gave in and told the Maid to try pulling it out with a plastic bag over her hand. Murmuring about how smelly it was in her mother-tongue, the Maid wrapped a plastic bag over her hand and tried to use all the brute force she could muster to try pulling the little bastard out. After 10 minutes of yanking and complaining, we finally gave up.

Driving to the nearby petrol kiosk, we craftily decided to try to seek help under the guise of filling the tank. "Could you please help us check the battery water?" the Mother asked, setting the poor attendant up for a most grotesque encounter. As he popped the lid, we tried to ask, as non-chalantly as possible, "and could you please help us remove the rat stuck over there?"

After payment, we walked back to the car, as the attendant told us, "the battery water has already been checked."

I walked over the the right side of the engine, and saw that the little bastard still lying there. "Uh, could you help us, like, remove the rat." I said.

Perhaps I would never know if he was feinting ignorance or was just purely unaware, but he kept insisting on having done his job and trying to close the lid of the engine. "Uh, the rat is over here, like right here, you see it?" I said, a little insistently and sarcastically, as I pointed out the exact location of it.

Caught dead in the corner, the young attendant realised that he had no choice but to help, yet he lacked the intestinal fortitude. So, he signalled to his Malay colleague to come over, pointing the problem out to him and giving him the most sheepish of grins.

Hiding the shock-expression on his face, the Malay attendant wrapped the plastic bag around his hand, turned his head and started yanking at the corpse of the little bastard. Twists, turns and a good 2-3 minutes of hard yanking later, he FINALLY managed to pull the carcass out of the deathtrap.

At a good 30cm long (at least) and probably weighing at least 1kg, the bottom half of the corpse of the rat was visibly missing a large amount of fur, probably sliced, scratched, burned or fried from the engine activity for the length of time that it was caught in it.

If Santa really exists and rewards people around the world based on the naughty or nice rule, then it would figure that this Vampire has been REALLY naughty this year, to deserve such a foul and rancid gift in my little Gothic Christmas stocking this year.

But this thought soon changed, as Christmas proper was celebrated under the traditional familial warmth of the season, with multitudes of gifts and even more camaraderie. Aside from the usual assorted of accessories and t-shirts, the Sin Harvest this year also yielded a good amount of quality gifts, including the hottest game titles (Ed & Ching and Florence), a Guess Watch (Princess Christy) and 2 sleek killer mugs and a pricey Silver Cross-Necklace (courtesy of the girlfriend). All this and more only served to remind me that perhaps, just perhaps, I haven't been all that naughty the year round to deserve such a bountiful harvest.

Sin Harvest

But this illusion of merit was short-lived, as the foul-odour of my Christmas stocking continued to plague the car up till post-party on Christmas day, when I asked the Father to have a look and see what can be done about it.

After much examination, the Father finally decided to bite the bullet (like he always does) and wash the engine of the vehicle. After picking out loose bits of rat-fur, cleaning dried blood on the under-side of the engine lid and scrubbing the innards of the engine-parts, the engine was almost totally rat-corpse-free as I gave it one final olfactory-check.

Still detecting a faint odour, I peered deep into the innards of the vehicle to notice, wrapped around 1 of the pipes, a faint orange-beige tube-like object. I reached 2 of my fingers into the inaccessible area, and picked out the string-like object.

"I think it's 1 of the rat's intestines," I said in disgust, as I felt the squishy texture of the thing on the tips of my fingers through the thin layer of tissue paper.

"Seriously Dad, out of 20-odd years of driving and owning a car, have you ever had anything like this happen to you?" I asked the Father.

"Nope, not at all," the Father answered, with a slight chuckle.

With my jaw wide-opened in disbelief, I thought to myself, "Man, I must have been REALLY naughty this year."

2007: Requiem of Retrospection

12... The deafening sound of the clock tower strikes to mark the end of the day.

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11... But the significance of the moment lies in much more than the end of the day, for the end of this day also represents the end of this year.

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10... As the clock strikes 12 this midnight, what will you see? What will you hear?

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9... Will you be able to hear beyond the sounds of the crowd counting, the whistles, the cheers and the chimes of the clock tower? Will you be able to look beyond youths jumping, people smiling and children laughing?

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8... Will you be able to see the events of the year that has past before your very eyes, the life that you have lived in the last 365 days and the memories that you have made in the given hours?

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7... Will you be able to look back at the year, and ask yourself, "What did the last year, 2007, mean to me as a person and to my soul?"

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6...When you have a Millenia to live, Retrospection plays an important part as your moments are defined not so much by the time that has passed, but more so by the moments that are made. Listen carefully, beyond the sounds of the bells and the whistles, and maybe, just maybe, like me; you'll be able to hear the sweet sounds of the Requiem of Retrospection.

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#5... To Drink the Wine from the Winner's Cup

I've been a hardcore gamer for the last 19 years, "hardcore" in every sense of the word, beyond a shadow of a doubt. But sadly, this assurance remains largely in the confines of my own mind, and in the loss of translation to another, the begging question would always be, "Really, how hardcore is hardcore?"

In 2007, this point, title and identity has been resoundingly proven, albeit to a measly crowd of 30 people, but still, it is a point proven to some others, and most importantly, to myself. I practiced, I played and I won - by a landslide - in an small-scale competition, mincing through the biting Performance Anxiety, and showed that, when it really came down to it, I could step up the the pedestal and prove that I am indeed the meanest son-of-a-gun this side of the square in Geometry Wars (and many other games too).

While Pride makes the most of the cake, the icing on top of it comes in the form of the Prize, a spanking new Nintendo Wii to continue relishing the sweet taste of victory; and relish I will, as I continue to pummel deeper down into the spirals of Passion with the new-found prize.

Maniacal, I know.

Related Post(s): The Prize of Passion

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#4... Our Hearts Draw a Dream

2007 has also been a more than optimistic year where affairs of the heart are concerned.

After teasing me with light sprinkles of the possibilities of Romance in the earlier half of the year, Destiny went into full swing in the latter half of the year.

Sending to my doorstep a gift of starking differences and a tinge of nostalgic similarity, Destiny literally baited the experiential in me to take a blind shot at the impossible. And from that first shot onwards, Destiny played the role of the guiding hand to the raging whirlwinds of Romance, whistling in harmony with my Dark Charisma and Vampiric Charm.

A couple of months later.... and then there was 5.

Reflection of Impossibility

Related Post(s):
Conversational Chemistry, Al Dante Trattoria: Love for the Lighter Taste of Love, Top of the M: Curtain Call
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#3... Big Trouble in Little Tokyo

2007 marked a fruitful year for travel as well. Even though there was only 1 trip made the entire year, it would be safe to say that it probably ranked in my Top 3 vacations in my entire lifetime (and that is saying a little something, I would guess).

I remember the feeling of the wind on my face on Mount Fuji, I remember the sounds of the soothing Kegon Waterfall at Nikko, I remember the taste of Kobe Beef, I remember the breathtaking night scene from Tokyo Tower and I sure as hell remember the laughter that rang through the rooms, the hallways and the buses with the company that I went with.

But ironically, if there is 1 thing, 1 moment, 1 experience that I would REALLY remember Japan for, it would be the night that I got lost on the streets of Tokyo alone. I can still vividly replay the memories in my head.

Walking through the quiet streets with my jacket fully-zipped up to battle the chilly night wind. I remember using my broken Japanese to find my way around after the whole debacle. I can remember the mental struggle I had; whether to settle down somewhere safe to wait the night away, or to embrace the adventurer in me to continue exploring the new frontier.

I'm glad I chose the latter, for I'm glad that I penned a story to tell for the ages and made a memory that would last a lifetime.

Yes, I am THAT damn cool.

Related Post(s):
Vampire in Japan: Day 10 /11 - Beautiful Disaster, Vampire in Japan Series
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#2... Moment of Glory

2007 is... the year that marked the end of my academia after a gruelling 25 years.

As I stood at the foot of the steps to the stage, I could feel it, the flipping of the last page of the Academic Chapter in my life, after a total time of 16 years hitting the books, it was finally time to bid a sordid farewell to the hurried flipping of pages the night before the exam, days of sitting in front of the monitor to rush a project deadline, trying to make one's presence felt in tutorial classes just to have your name remembered to get a little more favour from the tutors (which sometimes mean a little more points as well)... things that will surely not be missed.

But this particular close also stubbed the flames of leisure that fuelled the given-and-not-earned long vacations, it marked the end of the carefree life of juggling your own free time as you deem fit (most of which I saw fit to spend on gaming), and most importantly, the end of the official reasons to be sitting in the same room with the friends that I've made over the years. These are the times... that will surely be missed.

But as I took a deep breath with my retarded-looking hat in my hand, I knew that this day would eventually come, and in 2007, this was the year in which the day came that I cut the reins of Academia to embrace the full-fledged freedom thereafter.

Curtain Call

Related Post(s): Graduation: Moment of Glory

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#1... Live the Dream

"I wanna be a fireman."

"I wanna be an astronaut."

Dreams... we all have them. And when we were younger and less jaded, our dreams seemed a lot closer to reality. But with the Sands of Time, the harshness of reality slowly chews away at the lucidness of these dreams and we can do nothing about it except to see it fade away and slip out of our grasp.

I remember the day, when I was 18, sitting at a nearby MacDonald's with my then-girlfriend, and I told her, "I want to be a Game Designer, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to get there." I felt an extremely strong conviction then, and I guess it must have showed in my eyes, as I saw a slightly startled look in her's when she saw it; probably a stark contrast to the usual glint of non-chalance I cast.

Fast-forward 6 years of my lifetime, 4 years of Tertiary education, 25 job-applications and 100s of games played later... despite all adversity and doubt, despite the torrent tides of influence of the people around me, despite the shadows of doubt cast by Practicality on the colours of my dream, here I am... finally... Living the Dream, in 2007.

True, the road is still shaky, as uncertainty paves the way of the future, while material temptations sometimes serve to detract me from my cause. But despite all this, to be able to realize an Ideal, to be able to March to the beat of your own Drum, to be able to live a Life of Passion; is a surreal fact in itself, especially given the circumstances around me.

And no matter what the years to come may shape this base of realized-ideals into, whether the dream will stand or stumble, regardless of how long it'll last, 2007 will be remembered as the year that...

...I Lived my Dream...

With my Back on my Future

Related Post(s): The Price of Passion, The Perks of Passion




..... and I am not Ready to Wake from my Dream just yet...

Top of the M: Curtain Call

21st December 2007

"So are you gonna tell me where you're bringing me for dinner yet?" she asked.

I teased her a little longer and skirted her question, holding her hand and guiding her into the all-too-familiar Meritus Mandarin.

"Top of the M?!" she exclaimed, in a semi-cackling and semi-cracking manner, perhaps knowing roughly what to expect from a previous entry she read.

"Actually darling, you can choose to dine in anyone of the 6 restaurants here," I said, breaking the silence of the ascent, "but I would highly advise you to choose the Top of the M."

"Why?" she asked.

The lift came to a halt as the doors opened and we exited into the familiar Observation Lounge. We made our way up the slightly spiraling staircase and were guided to our reserved table, under warm candlelight and Christmas-decor to top it off.

"I can feel the rotation," was the first thing that she said upon sitting down, obviously referring to the subtle rotation of the floor beneath us. I felt a sense of Deja Vu come over me as I saw a mirror of my initial reaction from an alternate perspective.

Deja Vu

"How long does it take for the restaurant to rotate 1 whole round?" she asked, while we waited for the our food to arrive.

"Hmm, 1 or 2 hours, I think." I answered, realizing that I have never really paid attention to the rate at which the skyline changes as the restaurant rotated. I looked out of the window, keeping silent for a moment. I've always loved viewing the Night Scene from a vantage point, and the 360 degree panoramic view only served as the frosted-icing on the cake to the bright Christmas-lit landscape of Orchard Road below.

Thought is Sexy

The moments of silent pondering were promptly interrupted with the arrival of the usual appetizer, the oven-baked Escargots. As always, the herbal aroma of the Escargots were immediately-alluring from the very moment it was served. And it was indeed a joy to be able to introduce and share the tantalizing taste of the 6 vineyard snails with the lovely company.

"I know it's a little hard to try to imagine that you are eating a snail, as in 1 of those things that you see crawling on the ground. But trust me, these are no ordinary snails, these are specially- bred vineyard snails," I told her, as I fed her the first bite. She bit the bait, and instantly, from the look in her eyes, I could tell that she was convinced.

The main courses arrived at the table in their piping-hot splendour. "You know, darling, Venison is probably the closest that you can get to beef, without 'losing fortune'," I said cheekily, making a subtle innuendo about her family's religious belief against the consumption of beef.

"Mmm, it's really nice," she said, ignoring my comment and proceeding to cut me a slice. I put the Venison into my mouth, chewing on a slab of tender medium-grilled meat with a tinge of Cranberry sauce. The unique taste of the meat and fruit elements fell right in line with my pre-notion of wild and rather exotic taste of French Cuisine.

But the real sleeper-hit came on the plate of my main course, the Roast Duck. "You know darling, Duck at the Restaurant is DAMN different from your normal coffee-shop duck," I recalled telling her when she was giving me the look of skepticism about my choice of the main course while we were placing our orders.

And my point was more that proven with my choice. The medium-roasted duck meat was a perfect balance of tenderness and firmness, proving to be just nice for my personal taste. The skin on the outside was perfectly roasted, not straying too far from the texture of the fabled Peking Duck, while the Tomato Paste on the top helped to take away some of the usual smell; adding up to a killer combination that still had me salivating for more long after I was done with the dish.

"Mmm, you're right, it really is DAMN different, it's like 2 totally different kinds of meat," she said.

"Good evening sir, would you like to hear any particular song?" said 1 of the trio of mobile musicians, as he came to our table, through a distinctively foreign accent.

"Do you have any song in mind, darling?" I asked her, staring straight into her blank face and lost eyes.

Sensing that I was not going to get an answer anytime soon, I prompted the musician, "How about 'Love will Keep us Alive' by the Eagles?"

"'Love will Keep us Alive'? A very nice song, sir." He replied.

The classic guitar solo started as the pitch perfect vocals of the trio rolled in and serenaded the lyrics of one of the most classic love songs of all time (some might argue that the lyrics are exaggerated and such, but then again, isn't that what the classic love songs are all about?). Her eyes shifted from side to side, sensing that all the attention was on our table, her cheeks were rather tense as she tried to hold her emotions down.

Much Better Singers than I am

I grabbed her hand under the warm candlelight, and amidst the beautiful lyrics and the haunting melody, I mouthed two words, "Happy Birthday," as I felt the muscles in her delicate hand relax and her tensed facial muscles crack up into melting into a gentle smile.

Evidence of Romance

"So, now are you convinced that I'm charmingly romantic?" I asked her cheekily.

"I've told you before, it's actually quite easy to tell that you can be romantic if you want to," she said.

"Is it really THAT obvious? I seriously wonder why." I said, as the Seven Sins graced us. The Seven Sins was a supreme indulgence to say the least. An assortment of 7 different kinds of chocolate desserts, it would be more than enough to overload the tastebuds (and sweet teeth) of 2 with its amazingly rich flavours. Fortunately, we both were choco-holics and we entire relished the 7 uniquely different flavours of chocolates on the platter.

Seven Sins: More than Aptly Named

"You know darling, I know that you said that you almost always get a cake every year on your birthday. But well, I didn't get a cake for you, but I can at least offer you a candle to blow out," I said, after the dessert.

"So make a wish and blow," I said, grinning idiotically as I pushed the candle on the table top towards her.

"Really?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes, really," I said, continuing to beckon her.

Makeshift Wishes

"2 hours," I said. As I signaled to the waiter for the bill.

"Huh?" she said.

"2 hours is how long it took for 1 entire rotation," I told her, as the waiter came over.

"Is it true that you will be renovating after the New Year?" I asked the waiter, as I was signing the bill.

"Yes," he said. "31st is our last day, and we will be having this big Gala Dinner and Masquerade Party."

"So what is going to happen to this place after that then?" I probed further.

"Oh, this place is going to become the Chatterbox, at least for the next 2 years. The plan after that is to bring back the French Cuisine, with Vietnamese Cuisine 2 years later," he patiently explained.

"It's a pity, I will really miss the French Cuisine here," I said.

"Thank you, sir." He replied.

Black on Black

As we made our way out of the restaurant, I was reflecting on the words that I had just said some moments back. It was an understatement to say that I would miss the French Cuisine, or rather, it was an understatement to say that I would miss the French Cuisine alone; because I would miss so much more about the place than the award-winning French Cuisine. I would miss the candle-lit ambience, the serenading musicians, the revolving landscape, the fragrant Escargots, the Seven Sins... I would miss the Memories, all the memories that were forged in that very place... I would miss it all.

Christmas Cool

But when it's all said and done, there is at least one thing that I can take solace in. And that is the fact that before the Curtain Call of this brilliant and extravagant award-winning French Restaurant, I managed to make one last memory that counts, one more meaningful memory to have, to hold, to share and to reflect upon... and there probably is no better way for the Curtain to fall than with a final stand and a haunting finale.

Reflection

Hush, Isolation

"Ticket for one, please." I said to the cashier.

I made my way into the cinema, with my hands full with a box of popcorn, a large coke and a promotional packet of Twisties tucked under my armpit. I located my (usually-preferred) aisle-seat and snuggled up in the chair to obtain a position comfortable enough to last me through the next 2 hours or so.

I am no stranger to this form of solitude and isolation, especially not in film-watching. I remember that some of the best films that I've watched were under these solitary conditions... as my memory takes me back through the scenes of The Departed, The Prestige and now this.

The movie opened to a deliberately slow start, setting the mood and ambience for the context of 1960s Shanghai, as the main characters are introduced one at a time, without much explanation. The classical plot layout of starting in the middle of the plot's timeframe and filling in the pieces before and after.

The rational behind catching films alone is a rather simple one, which is simply taking the perspective of putting the appreciation of the film over the company that comes with it. While I do believe that movies are a great way to spend time with some form of company, circumstances occasionally hinder the availability of company within the confines of a movie's scheduled run-time. So between the lack of company and the slipping of the cinematic-experience of an under my radar, the movie-buff in me would choose to go with the former.

Newcomer Tang Wei's presence in the movie grew on me over the course of the film. While initially spending more time analyzing her physical attributes, including the colour and shape of her nipples; as the plot continued to play out, I found her easier to connect to. Wang Lee Hom on the other hand, delivered a rather safe and one-dimensional performance. As for Tony Leung, his performance was spectacular as usual, only further cementing his position as the best actor this side of Asia; handling his role of charismatic cruelty with great conviction.

Even though company in film-watching can play a part as important as the supporting cast in a movie, like having others spread the infectiousness of laughter when watching a comedy, or having sharing the "Hoos" and "Has" in a mind-blowing action film, thought-provoking deep films are actually perfectly suited to be watched in solitude, leaving you to swim in your own thoughts as the plot unfolds, and to harvest the the nested subtleties sown by the director.

The fabled sex-scenes in the movie were rather artistically done, unsurprising considering having Lee Ang at the helm of the film. While serving as an erotic display on the visceral level (there were times that I was really asking myself if they were REALLY having sex); on a functional level, the sex scenes depict the connection and vulnerability of the characters. Going a step further into the symbolic layer, the placement, progress and portrayals of the sex scenes lie in parallel to how the characters' relationships develop; representing the shift in power and emotional leverage of the characters.

On a socially symbolic level, the act of catching a movie alone is often unspokenly frowned upon and somewhat a social taboo in our mostly Asian society. Somehow, seeing someone watching a film alone almost immediately causes the relation to terms such as "loner," "loser" or "weirdo" (I'm sure I could easily be branded that if I wasn't as well-groomed as I am), rather than more positive terms such as "movie-buff" or "film-critic."

For some reason, in our society, seeing someone do certain activities alone, such as dining or watching a movie, will lead to the assumption of the person being social inept more so than to the conclusion that the person is confident and perfectly comfortable with himself / herself to relish these experiences entirely based on their own merits. It is also interesting to note that these assumptions are more easily branded upon fellow Asians than it is with Caucasians; for some odd reason, its perfectly fine for Caucasians to walk into a cinema alone without garnering raised eyebrows, but not so much for Asians on Asians. Perhaps, it boils down to te socially innate assumption that Caucasians are more confident in general, or at least enough to remain unphazed by the raised eyebrows.

Speaking of which, my eyebrows were raised in doubt and question by the time the camera panned on Tony Leung's tearful eyes as the credits rolled. While the backbone concept driving the entire plot was not exceptionally original or intriguing, and the pacing of the plot development was a little uneven; the overall execution of the story devices and the character development was immaculately done and enough to be entirely believable and relatable to. As mentioned in media, Lee Ang's masterpiece is a work of art that will leave the viewer with a deep impression and still pondering about the choices made by the characters long after the credits have rolled.

And to this, I am glad that I chose to catch the movie in solitude. On a personal note, I feel that there is something rather soothing about watching a movie alone; without the need to take occasional glimpses of your company to check if he/she/they are falling asleep, without the need of having to consider passing the popcorn out of courtesy, without the distraction of wise-cracks from the company. Leaving one in the Hush of the Isolation, battling with one's own thoughts in sync with the screen events, to be able to fully digest all the little nuances, and to be able to entirely immerse oneself into the director's vision and direction.

Oosh: Jinxes & Diamonds

29th October 2007

The deafening sound of the crushing metal rang through the air as we both sat upright in our seats. "Did I just hit the curb? Oh shit! Tell me that I didn't just hit the curb," she said, as I remained silent, partially in shock, partially in tactful denial.

But the denial could only last so long, as the nearby valet came over and knocked on the window, telling us, "Erm Ma'am, I think you didn't see the curb on your left, you have to reverse your car out of there first."

She did as she was told, reversing her car to the piercing sound of the metal being scratched as the car moved into a safe spot. We both alighted with bated breaths, mentally preparing ourselves to see the disaster, but our hearts only sank deeper (her's much more than mine) when we gazed upon the huge deformation on the back door and the deep scratches that spanned across two panels of the door. It was definitely more than enough damage to remove the brand new polish of her 2-day old Red Suzuki Swift.

"I'll kill you if they tell me that their fully booked, after all that has happened. It's all thanks to you and your stupid choice of wanting to come here," she said, as we were waiting to be seated. I remained silent. Fortunately, my life was to be spared a little longer, as the captain showed us the way to our seats, a little table under a tentage set up in the midst of the garden.

Lit by warm candlelight against the greenery of the garden, the ambience proved to be soothing and luxurious. Scanning around the vicinity, I caught love-birds and expats sitting out in the middle of the garden, portraying an image of a mid-summer's night dinner in the garden, one that we of the tropics do not fully relish.

"You know, I am surprised that you are more concerned with wondering how to hide this from your mum than the actual heartache of wrecking your 2-day old car," I said, in my typical brutal honesty.

"Well, I've been in worse accidents before, like some really bad ones. Wait, let me show you," she said, as she browsed through the photos in her phone to show me an even more worthy debacle.

Convinced, I said, "Well, then I am surprised that you are taking it somewhat optimistically. If I were you, I would be damn pissed and jittery, by now."

"Hey, says who, I damn feel like crying now, but I just don't want to spoil the rest of the night," she said, as her words rang with truth from the watery look in her eyes. She's always been a strong one, or perhaps just blindly optimistic. Whatever it is, for as long as I've known her, she's been a self-proclaimed escapist and has been more than able to dodge the pessimism in her path time after time.

The Seafood Sampler Appetizer arrived just in time to ease the weight of the moment. While measly in terms of portion, what was there was mouth-watering enough to warrant the monicker of "appetizer." The prawns were fresh and succulent, the salmon was suitably smoked and the tuna with avocado was surprisingly tantalizing to the tastebuds despite its overly-greenish appearance (by my standards).

Her phone rang again during the course of the appetizer, as I reached into my pocket to attempt to dig mine out for a routine check. But my pocket was unexpectedly empty as I started to look under my chair and table for my phone.

Seeing my frantic actions, she asked me what I was looking for. I told her that I probably had dropped my phone, and it could be in the car, or maybe not. She beckoned me to go back to the car to look for it, but I was reluctant; partially due to the distance from the carpark, and perhaps partially because there might be some form of silent comfort in company if she knew that she was not the only one who had something bad happening to her, despite the insurmountable difference. But being the selfless angel that she was, she convinced me to take a walk back to the car to at least find some peace of mind over dinner.

I returned relieved and to the scent of my main course aptly placed in front of my seat. Wasting no time, I sliced into the Beef Tenderlion to sample the wellness of the meat. Perfectly medium with a juicy finish. The brown sauce proved to be ample and provided much-needed flavour to the staple taste of mashed potatoes. Her Lamb Shank was well-prepared as well, with the meat tenderly roasted with a pink centre. But beef beats lamb any day for the Vampiric tongue though.

"It's just me, right?" she asked over dinner "I mean, its just my bad driving thing, right? And not like I'm cursed or something, right?"

"Uh, would you actually prefer it to be that way?" I questioned her question.

"Yeah, I would rather it be something that I can control, than something I can't," she said.

"Yeah, don't worry, it's just you." I assured her.

"Then again, it may be this whole thing about us knowing each other for 7 years now, and it might just be some 7-year curse thing that is causing us to jinx each other," I said cheekily, as she looked on unamused.

Jinxes

After dining, we took a stroll around the place to check out the decor of the surroundings. Oosh essentially consist of a luxurious open-mansion portion, complete with an overhanging balcony and a little pool / fountain, and also a lavish garden with a rather elaborate pond to top it off. While most of the areas were mostly are for drinks, they were somewhat segmented into different classes based on the crowd. While the mansion looked to hold expats and executives with long glasses socializing, the balcony and garden areas served more intimate purposes, with friends sitting in sofa clusters or under little wooden pavilions in the midst of the garden. With such an ambience, it is little wonder why Oosh is the one of the forerunners of the revival of the Dempsey Road district.

Post-dinner, a little drive took us to a cosy Ben & Jerry's further into Dempsey Hill for a much-needed sugar-rush after the entire debacle. Wooden cottage-like decor finished with an almost authentic fireplace, this branch of Ben & Jerry's proved to be the most appealing yet, for just whiling one's time away on ice cream. Perhaps its a treat to compensate for the inaccessibility of its location, or a reward kept to the those privileged enough to be able to find wheels into the depths of Dempsey Hill.

An excellent live-duo sang the songs that both she and I were familiar with, classic rock ballads that we both shared a love for. "You know, as much as I think she is a damn good singer, I think they're a little too young, and somehow lack the soul for these kinda songs."

She was right, they lacked the soul alright, probably lacked the jaded-soul that she and I had to fully appreciate the meaning behind the lyrics. A better half of my bitter soul was cultivated in the last 7 years of my life, in her constant presence. Peiwen and I have somehow managed to share a non-committal yet always dependable "special" friendship that has endured the changes that both of our characters' have undergone over the last 7 years.

If all the people close to One touches one's Soul in one way or another, then Peiwen has been playing the part of my CONSCIENCE, always patient, mostly moralistic,but never judgmental, Peiwen more than makes up for this vacuum in my dark soul.

Genuine Smiles by the End of the Night

On the ride home, I asked, "You know, of the 5 closest friends in my life, 4 of them are female. So that makes 4 Queens and 1 Jack. Now then, if you had a choice, which Queen would you be?"

"Well, I'll go with the Queen of Diamonds," she replied.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because Hearts can be broken, but Diamonds are Forever. Haha." She replied wittily.

Forever indeed.