Valentine's Day 2009: Pierside

14th February 2009

"And no, it doesn't start with 'R' darling," I said, the cold-air of the car's air-conditioner blowing into my face, as I continued to keep my eyes on the road.

"Then does it start with 'F'?" she asked.

"What the hell place starts with 'F'?" I asked as callous as possible, the car moving along slowly amongst the exceptionally-heavy Saturday evening traffic.

"Then does it start with 'O'?" She was relentless.

"Well, knowledge is power my dear, just let me feel powerful more just that little longer, ok?" I answered, sensing that she was on to something.

As the car came to a obligatory stop behind three others at a traffic junction, I placed my hand gently on her lap and said, "Actually darling, it starts with a 'P'".

"Haha, I know, 'cos its a 'place' right?" she said cheekily.

I smirked, and remained silent about the subject for the rest of the journey.

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As we turned into the familiar carpark, she probably started to realise that she was on to something with her previous guesses.

Worry started to set in as I parked the car, worried of the sense of underwhelm that came with the grounds of familiarity. I expressed my anxiety verbally as the lift doors shut, while she held my hand reassuringly. I knew that I had probably set a benchmark too high with the last stint, and there was hardly any way I could replicate that sense of wonder, or even come close to it.

As we approached the signboard in a distance, her face lit up with a sense of realization, as I quickly followed up, "See, I told you it starts with a 'P', haha."

She laughed it off as we stepped into the barely-filled restaurant.

The Vacant Room

Divided into a ambient outdoor section facing the Singapore Flyer and the landscape that complimented it, and a modern indoor section that was lined with the light-hazel brown of the wooden furniture couple with white-washed walls, interspaced by frames of reflective mirrors; the setting of Pierside was one that was simple and sleek at the same time, with a generally casual ambience lingering in the air.

"So do you want indoors or outdoors darling?" I asked the customary question whenever we had a choice, even though I have already booked one specifically (which is indoors most of the time).

"I don't mind outdoors," she said.

"'Don't mind' doesn't mean 'yes'," I said in partial jest and in partial fervour to correct the indecisive language used in decision making.

We were ushered to our seats between two other pairs of love-birds, as the waiter presented us with a little card that depicted the menu for the day. Following the general convention, the restaurant had a Valentine's Day set menu, one that I would normally shun, since I tend to believe that you get more value out of a la carte, but then again, the increasing difficulty in finding a locale without a set menu AND without multiple-seating sessions over the past weeks left me choosing the lesser of the two evils in my book.

"We only get to choose the main course, darling." I said to her, as I scrutinized the details of the menu that had been briefly mentioned to me over the phone, "it's either the Salmon or the Beef Cheeks."

Craving for seafood after the slew of meat and poultry dishes that lined my last few fine dining experiences, I had my eye on the Salmon. But her much more recent with a Beef Main Course led us to a little lovers' tug-of-war.

It's funny how these tug-of-wars between lovers tend to play out, instead of trying to claim the winning ground, it tends to become more of a counter-intuitive game of trying to let your partner have his or her way. Obviously, as charming (read imposing) as I was, it was only a matter of time before I managed to give up on the Salmon.

"So what was I like last year on Valentine's Day?" I asked her, as the bread was served to the table.

"You were grouchy," she said, clearly remembering my mood then.

Not having the slightest recollection, I probed for a more elaborate response, "Are you sure? I totally don't remember being grouchy at all."

"Haha. Darling has a very selective memory for this kind of things, in the end, you only remember those things that really mean something to you," she said, taking a jab at my rather selective memory, between the praises about the bread being sweet and to her liking.

The words for a retort hardly surfaced even when the starting sampler, a Salmon Cup was served to the table. The bits of Salmon in the complimentary appetizer were merely a tease to the tongue, tingling the sensations of my tastebuds to the euphoria that would soon follow.

Seafood Platter - Euphoria

As I witnessed the Seafood Platter being served to the table, I knew in my mind that that was my highlight for the day. With a spread of Fresh Oysters, Fried Oysters, Black Mussel Shots, Canadian Tuscanian-baked Scallops and Smoked Yellow Fin Tuna, the seafood spread was had already won me over with its rich colours and its sheer variety.

Not wasting any time, I grabbed the Fresh Oysters and pried away at the succulent flesh with my fork. For me, seafood is one of the draws of Modern Australian cuisine, partially due to the food culture of the island-continent and the freshness of the ingredients.

The Oyster's flesh was effortless detached from its shell, indicating its freshness, and as I chewed on the succulent flesh, I could savour the salty essence of the sea still very much entrapped within its flesh.

Unfortunately, Fresh Oysters are a rather acquired taste, and I failed to see the same level of enjoyment from my company's face, perhaps as a fore-bearing sign of the gastronomical problems it would cause her very much later.

I moved on to the Scallops next, and as I bit into it, I could again pick out the freshness of the scallops underneath the succulent flesh and the cheese layering, so much so that I left half to be consumed later, to prolong the enjoyment for a little bit more.

I was pleasantly surprised when she told me of her liking for the smoked tuna, considering how smoked fish is not too far off from the texture of Sashimi that she stays away from on normal days. She also thoroughly enjoyed the Black Mussel Shots, as I heard the acknowledging "Umm" after she downed the remnants of its sauce.

"I can guess your order of preference for the entire platter," I said to her, confident of my all-knowing mind. "The Scallop, the Mussels, the Smoked Tuna, the Fried Oyster and then the Fresh Oyster, right?"

In semi-shocked, she exclaimed, "How do you know?"

With a prideful nod, I told her to guess mine.

"Hmm, the Scallop, the Fried Oyster?" she asked, seeking some assurance.

I shook my head. Indeed, my enigmatic tastes left her permutating her choices a good 5 times before she got them right.

The main courses arrived to my by-then-already-bellowing appetite, as I looked on at her Salmon and wondered if I made the right choice with the beef.

"You know what, I think that everyone for Valentine's Day, we have Scallops." I said to her, as I raised my fork and knife threateningly over the cowering Beef Cheeks below.

"Haha. And Salmon too," she said, referring to her Salmon Fillet at Morton's exactly a year ago.

Salmon and Asparagus - Nothing can convince me about Asparagus

As she cut sliced off a piece of the Salmon Fillet and sampled it, she immediately concluded that the Salmon with Asparagus was better than last year's Salmon Fillet. As she fed me a slice of it, I couldn't help but agree. The salmon flesh was juicy and aromatic, and was satisfying to bite into. However, being the believer-of-essence-rather-than-sauce, I prefer the salmon as it was rather than when it was mixed with the sweet, fruity sauce that I couldn't tell if it was bore from Cranberry or Raspberry.

Beef Cheeks - Hannibal Lector calls them the most delicious part

My beef main course was of the expected soft texture, considering how some say that the cheeks are 'the best parts' for meat. The dish was overall more salty than sweet, very much more to my liking and leaving me with no regrets for my initial choice in losing (or winning, rather) the lovers' tug-of-war. However, the star of the dish was the crispy potato layer that lined the top of the dish.

"Did I ever tell you why they put potatos in the di-?" I asked.

"Yes," she interrupted me, knowing full well what I was about to say.

"Haha. But I don't care, I still must tell you anyway, it's so that the potato can absorb the sauce and the essence of the meat," I continued regardless. And indeed, the potato layers, both the crispy-top and the mashed-bottom layer fully carried the essence of the dish as I rolled my tongue around them.

"You know what else is a tradition on Valentine's Day?" she asked rhetorically, "Good desserts."

Indeed as I made a downward slice to the Chocolate Tart and watched the warm chocolate lava flowing out from within, I knew that it was something different. And true enough, the addition of a little pastry to make it a tart rather than a cake, took it away from the realms of direct comparison to the still undefeated Chocolate Lava Cake from Morton's last year.

Chocolate Platter - Partners in Crime

It's partners in crime also managed to make an impression next to the absolutely delectable Chocolate Tart, albeit to a much lesser extent. The Vanilla Ice Cream was termed to be made of high-quality vanilla according to my Vanilla-connoisseur, while the Chocolate Macaroon was numbingly sweet, nicely complimenting the somewhat sweet-sour taste of the White Chocolate Panna Cotta that was littered with fresh strawberries, another of her favourites.

The Things we Do to Try not to Bother the Service Staff

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As we walked towards the Merlion to walk off a fraction of the unexpectedly filling dinner, my worries of an underwhelming night out were put to ease, knowing that the relatively-casual ambience of the evening played out right, and besides, there was the consolation of the disaster that was the last year.

"I still can't believe that I was such a spoiler and was grouchy on Valentine's Day," I told her, as we looked across the river to the Esplanade's skyline.

"Haha, you were. 'Cos you were tired from work or something and we got lost too, while looking for the place, remember?" she challenged me.

Looking at the very complex with the 3 different hotels across the river, I recalled last year's scene of walking to the wrong hotel and arriving late for the reservation. "Oh yeah, now I remember," I said.

"See, I told you that you only remember things that involve you, or mean something to you," she said, taking another jab at me.

Suddenly, with a rush of inspiration, I replied, "That's because my mind is always preoccupied with planning for the next major event," ending it with a sheepish grin, as she began to construct her rebuttal.

~Wake

The Lake

"See, I told you it wasn't that hard, right?" he said to me in a somewhat-congratulatory-yet-unassuming tone.

As unbelievable as it was, I had to admit that he was right, all that I really needed was a to take that little (big) step of faith off the rock.

Feeling proud of myself, I took a deep breath to enjoy the view of the vast lake that laid before my eyes; sweeping my gaze slowly across the entire breadth of the lake, seeing the serene mountains standing in silence, setting the backdrop for the few of us that were littered across the different areas of the lake; each given more than enough room to learn the ropes of this magical form of movement.

As if able to read my thoughts, he said with a slight sigh of resignation in his voice, "Sadly, this lake is not big enough for all of us."

Slightly perplexed at what he meant, I hesitated in questioning; so as not to spoil the mood of that glorious moment - I wanted to savour my accomplishment for just that little bit longer...

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The Deep Calleth onto the Deep

I looked down at my feet, seeing them resting gently atop the water's surface, in an almost weightless fashion. Staring deeper into the semi-transparent emerald waters, I saw what seemed to be fishes; hundreds upon hundreds of them swimming under my feet.

Like Koi to bread, they were seemed to trying to swim atop one another, seemingly trying to best one another to get to the water's surface, each one violently struggling and trying to shake and nudge its way to the top; totaling to what seemed like an interlocked web of colours constantly bobbing under my feet.

I tracked the progress of one particular fish, marked with patches of black and orange atop its otherwise golden-white scaly body; seeing it besting one fish after another, climbing higher and higher up the "web", until it neared the water surface where my feet were. As it looked up, and its eyes meeting mine, I was utterly shocked to see the facial features of a middle-aged, thick-browed man looking straight into my eyes, its lips mouthing something that I couldn't quite make out.

As I stared harder and harder at its lips, trying to make out what it was trying to say; I felt myself getting closer and closer to the strange-looking hybrid of a beast, just as I caught hold of a whisper of what it was saying, I felt a hard upward-tug on my left arm.

"Be careful not to get too close to the Creatures of the Deep, they have a strange manner of bringing you down," he said to me with a slightly stern tone that masked the best of intentions, as I stared at him in a momentary state of shock, with my pants dripping wet well-above my knees.

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To Stand but not Walk

"Go on, take a step," he beckoned me, with a slight gesture of his hand following his words.

Obviously, I hesitated. Afterall, I had just learned how to muster up enough Faith in order to stand atop the water's surface, and I was not mentally prepared to take the next step.

Seeing the signs of my hesitation, he went on to say, "It's not everyone that can master how to walk atop the lake's surface; but it's more of a waste for someone who is able to learn how to stand yet not be able to walk, than someone who doesn't even have the gift of being able to stand in the first place."

I stood in my spot, staring at my feet, memories of my face hitting the water from the numerous past failures rushing into my head; a bone-chilling shudder ran through my spine.

"Go on," he said, looking at me with a gentle gaze that was quietly beckoning me.

I faced the mountains, closed my eyes, and lifted one foot off the surface of the water. Without a moment's delay, I quickly put it down and did the same with the other foot. When I opened my eyes, I noticed that I was slightly further away from the rock that I once stood upon.

Feeling a rush of confidence, I took another step, and another and another; each step bigger and bolder than the last. Not much later, I was already hopping, jumping and running circles across the lake's surface, bursting with an innocent, child-like laughter of pure bliss as I skillfully manoeuvred myself across the lake's surface.

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Nobody's Fault

"Look at me," I exclaimed to my lone spectator who was actually already doing what I asked; caught up in the overwhelming magic of the moment.

A string of tricks played out in my mind, as I decided to perform a triple jump, followed by a turn-about 180 one-footed landing. I ran to pick up some momentum, and I lifted my feet off the water's surface. A small hop was met with the feeling my feet sinking slightly under the water's surface, before springing up into the air again, a change of footing, followed by a large leap. I turned counter-clockwise in the air and braced myself for the finishing touch.

I felt the the tip of my toes making contact with the water, as I tried to reach my equilibrium; but just as I thought that I almost got it, I felt something moving beneath my feet - a small uneven hump that passed under my toes, causing me to lose my balance.

My arms flailed desperately in an attempt to stabilise myself, but to no avail. I was falling, fast; and there was nothing I could do to stop the all-too-familiar dreadful feeling of the face making contact with the water's surface - and with a vengeance at that. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, preparing for the worst.

But the worst never came. I opened my eyes to see myself staring eye to eye with a group of the strange-looking Creatures, inches away from the water's surface, as I heard them repeatedly whispering the words, "Help me... Help me...".

"I've got you," he said reassuringly, from behind me.

With a strong tug on my two arms, he pulled me back upright. Still slightly shaken from the near-misfortune, my dwindling Faith almost caused my wobbly legs to give way and had me plunging leg-first into the deep; if not for another timely save.

Finally, able to stand on my own two feet again, something suddenly occurred to me. "That's weird, of all the times, why is it only this time that you saved me from falling?" I asked my companion.

"Well, for all the times before, you fell because of the fault in your faith; but this time around, it was nobody's fault."

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Wake

Puzzled at his comment, I stared at him blankly. "I don't get it," I said.

"You see that girl over there," he pointed to a short, rather cute-looking girl with long, dark hair not too far off.

"Yeah, she's learning to walk too. What about her?" I asked, still equally puzzled, as I saw her taking a big jump and making a somewhat wobbly landing.

He said nothing.

"Yeah, so what about... whoa! What was that?" I exclaimed in shock, feeling another sweeping sensation, running under my feet, almost causing me to lose my balance.

"That was what we call a 'wake'," he said. "Basically, it follows the general principle, 'For every action, a consequence', and what you just felt was merely an instance of it."

"Take a step, and see what happens," he continued.

Doing as I was told, I lifted my feet gently off the surface of the water and placed it back on the surface, causing circular ripples to spread outwards from the point of contact.

"As you can see, for every step that you take, there will be ripples, no matter how lightly you attempt to tread," he explained. "The thing is, these ripples - or your 'wake', going by our terms - will spread further and further across the lake, gradually building in magnitude as they spread further across the lake's surface."

"There are times that your 'wake' meets and resonates with another person's 'wake'; but there are also times that your 'wake' will not, and will thus produce some kind of discord when two wakes clash, or worse, a direct disruption to others, just like how that girl's 'wake' almost caused you great misfortune," he continued, with a glint of wisdom hidden under his comprehending gaze.

"So I guess it's nobody's fault for my near-fall because that girl didn't actually mean to let her 'wake' affect me?" I asked, starting to understand the meaning behind his words.

"Indeed, but that is the way of The Lake, isn't it?" he answered. "Whether it was intentional or not, there will always be repercussions to whatever action you take."

"And what of her?" I asked, pointing to a short and pudgy, green-skinned, She-Troll repeatedly hopping atop the water's surface.

"Sadly, this magical art of Dream-Walking is not exclusive to the pure-hearted," he said, with a deep gaze into nothingness. "There are some who understand the effects of the 'wakes', and manipulate it to suit their own intentions; most of which involving the greed for power or sheer pettiness of the heart."

"Be careful where you tread my son, but more importantly, be careful how you tread," he concluded with a sternness in his deep voice, as he tilted his head downwards and looked up at me.

"This lake is not big enough for all of us it seems," I said, staring out at the vastness of the lake with a strong sense of irony filling my heart, watching as the sun hid behind the mountains in a distance.

"Indeed, my son, indeed."

Between the News

It is hard to deny that the excitement of festivities in general tend to fade with age. I know that Last Christmas almost passed as a Black Christmas if not for a last-ditch effort by the girlfriend to salvage it (and to a resounding success).

This same sense of lost child-like enthusiasm permeates into the Lunar New Year preparations as well, but yet, not all is lost, as this is replaced by a, perhaps more adult motivation, the motivation to dissect the "New" in the New Year to drive different purposes.

Being Chinese, its almost inevitable to be at least partially swept up by the entire Lunar New Year-craze, and perhaps the implications that come with it. With the New Year and the Lunar New Year almost bearing the same message of resolution, change and a fresh start, the period between the New Year and the Lunar New Year is a weird one of transition and reinforcement.

Set resolutions are doubly-enforced with the proximity of the mental markers for these resolutions bearing such close proximity, and yet, it is also the time for second chances, to start the Race to Change for those who missed out at the bang of the New Year, just by that little bit.

In a sense, to have two New Years almost always so closely occurring should result in us Chinese being more susceptible to the hustle and bustle that comes about with the mental markers for change that we set for ourselves with the turn of the year(s).

As I grow older, especially this year, this events that transpired during "transit" time between the New Years has been significantly more jarring...

....I stand at the counter, tired yet relieved from an entire day's work of hunting for what my heart truly desires, through the phone lines. I check the goods, I feel my hand across its body, as I feel a soothing rush of excitement coupled with satisfaction flowing through my body.

I draw out my wallet, sliding the card out from its slot; I pause, hesitating at the price tag and considering the financial liabilities that would come with the object of desire. I brush it off with my optimism of the promise of the New Year, reinforcing it with the desire to obtain it before the other New Year.... and I relent...

- The Excuse of Change -

... Sweat drips off my brow, as I let out a sigh of exhaustion. I stand at the door to observe the my labours over the last two days. Plastic bags upon plastic bags of things left from too long ago lie in the hall, as I stare into my room, appreciating the new sense of spaciousness. I knew that I had already fulfilled one of the things that I set out to do in the New Year, and glad that I got it done before the second marker....

- The Motivation of Change -

..... I sit in the seminar room, taking an awkward sitting position due to the position of my seat in relation to the screen which was display the slides. I stare at, or through rather, the speaker; getting lost in the sea of jargon that was continuously filling up by the second with each movement of her lips.

I stared at the slides, feeling baffled; I looked around at the other 20-odd faces, feeling isolated; I took in a bit of the environment, feeling disorientated; I considered my prospects, feeling uncertain.

Suddenly, my chain of thought was shattered, a bone-chilling feeling rushing through my spine as she uttered the words,

"Welcome to RP."

- The Circumstance of Change -

Hall of Mirrors

I wandered into the hallway, with the sole objective of killing some time. Mirrors after mirrors lined the hallway, every curve and every corner, some depicting the images as a hilarious distorted concoction, while others gave a tinted representation of what stood in front of them.

It was hardly amusing, but still fascinating in its own little way, the kind of fascination that one gets when one senses a surreal sense of deja vu, but yet cannot really put one's finger on. Perhaps, it was the disparity between images in the mind and the images read through the eyes, somewhat the same, yet still very much different.

I skirted across mirror after mirror, some stretching my body to unreal proportions, while others made me look less material than I actually was. I turned the corner and realised that I had come to a dead end in the labyrinth of reflections. But queerly, sitting all by itself, was a huge black mirror at the dead end.

Looking at my watch, I realised that I still had some time to kill, thus I decided to go the distance and ease my needless wonder about the lonesome mirror. Standing in front of it, I saw an unadulterated image of myself, save for a slightly black tint to my complexion.

Seeing that some strands of hair was out of place, I raised my hand to make the proper adjustments, staring deeply into the black-tinted mirror as I tried to focus my coordination through the effects of lateral inversion. As I stared deeply into the eyes of my reflection, something queer began to happen, my image in the mirror started to dilute, as the tint on my reflection became increasingly blacker and blacker, until it was a completely opaque silhouette.

Mysteriously, the silhouette turned around and started walking on its own, deeper and deeper into the mirror, while I was rooted to the ground, struck with an equal sense of shocking fear and fascinating awe. For better or for worse, the awe got the better of me, and I pressed my face closer and closer to face of the mirror, peering deeply within it...

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The Black Mirror

I saw the silhouette of some office furniture, of what seemed to be an office lounge, and I saw a group of silhouettes gathered around in a circle. One of the silhouettes, that of a tall and rather lean-built man, was talking, waving his arms with gestures, but I was too far to hear what any of them were saying. It seemed to be some sort of heated debate, as different people took their turns to speak.

Eventually, the tall silhouette got out of his seat and walked away, while the rest of the silhouettes started to disperse one by one, walking away with their heads hung low. But one silhouette remained, after all the others had left, deeply sunken into his seat and staring at the floor, as if in deep contemplation.

The image started to draw further and further away from me, till it became nothing but a speck in the distance, the image through the mirror started to blur with a black-tinted fog, obscuring my view....

Moments later, the fog started to clear, as I started to make out the lone silhouette of a man sitting at a round table. In his hand, he held what seemed like a cellphone, and was utterly engrossed in some form of conversation. In his hand, was a pen, and he seemed to be noting down something as he spoke on the phone.

He gestured with his hands as he spoke, and after what seemed like a long time, the silhouette finally put the phone on the table, looked down at what he had written, looked up and gave a huge sigh, and buried his head in his hands. The scene stilled at that point in time, as the same thing happened again, a black fog engulfing the entire image....

Once again, the fog cleared, and this time, when it did, I saw the lone figure of a man again, sitting in front of what seemed to be a computer, with his back towards me. Oddly enough, I could see the contents of what was on the screen he was staring at, but it was partially obstructed by his silhouette.

The only details that I could make out were the time on the lower right of the screen, showing 4:01 a.m. and the date, which was the "25th April 2008". On the top right of the screen, I could see what seemed to be the heading for an Internet Browser, and the only word that I could see was "Jobs."

The silhouette remained utterly motionless, with only his right-moving sliding what seemed like a mouse over the top of the table in one smooth motion, followed by a clicking sound, over and over and over again. Initially, I thought that it some sort of image on a mystical "Repeat," but suddenly, I realised that there was a change with each movement and each click.

The date at the lower-right corner of the screen changed after the sound of each click, initially, it was the "25th April 2008," but the dates cycled forward with each click, oddly, I only managed to catch some dates in April, August, November and December, as I saw the silhouette repeat the same process over and over and over again.

As the date reached the "31st December 2008" the moving and the clicking stopped, as the image started to blur out, leaving nothing but the black fog once again. Except, this time, when it cleared, there was no other image other than the black-tinted reflection of myself once again.

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I stared deeply into the Black Mirror for a little longer, hoping that something mystical would happen again, but nothing did. So I decided to turn around and retrace my steps. I made my way back to the entrance, and headed for the other direction instead.

Coming to a little Y-junction in the mirrored labyrinth, I chose the left path out of instinct, and followed the path down to another dead end. But this time, the mirror sitting at the end of the passageway was a small and round mirror with corners of gold.

Sensing something equally mystical, I approached the mirror and stared into my gold-tinted reflection...

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The Golden Mirror

The image within the mirror started to dilute as with before, but this time, instead of my image darkening, a light emanated from the image, growing brighter and brighter by the second, until my eyes could now bear the intensity of the light, and I had to shut them.

I tried opening them, and slowly, my eyes grew more and more accustomed to the intense brightness, as I started to make out white silhouettes not too far away, but never able to fully open my eyes to get a clearer picture.

Thankfully, this time round, I could hear something coming from the other side of the mirror as well, and the most prominent thing that I heard was laughter, a chorus of laughter from emitting from the silhouettes.

But as my ears got gradually sharper, I managed to listen through the piercing laughter, starting to be able to pick up the sounds of what seemed like the sound of cars, yes, an insane number of cars, hustling and bustling through the streets. I could make visually make out the silhouettes walking down what seemed like a crowded street, with one lagging behind, as the rest of the silhouettes moved forward, the one right at the back turned around, and looked around him, in awe and wonder, rooted in his tracks.

The sounds of the cars faded away, as the rest of the images faded away too, save for the lone figure that stood rooted to the ground. He was still looking up, in the silence. The silence broke slowly, as the sound of water started to fade in; not just water in fact, but the sounds of waves and a boat. The image was on the boat looking up, at what seemed to be a large statue in a distance.

The sound of the waves grew increasingly louder, as the waves started to move faster and faster, carrying the boat further and further away from the statue, as the sound of water grew increasingly louder, to the point of thunderous. The image was now of the silhouette on a boat, in surrounded by walls of water all around, as it retained the same awestruck pose.

The sound of the waters gradually died down, with the image of everything else except the silhouette blurring out. The sound of the waters came to a soothing calm, as I started to recognize it; it was the sound of the sea, the calming sound of the crashing waves, as I saw the image standing at the shore of what seemed like a beautiful sea, seemingly with his mind adrift out in the deep blue, that separated me and him.

The sounds of the water grew fainter and fainter, as the light around the silhouette dimmed gradually with the sounds, as the white silhouette staring out into the ocean started to look more and more like me. Finally, all that was left standing staring, was nothing more than a gold-tinted reflection of myself...

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Flicking my wrist to look at my watch, I realized that it was almost time, and I had better start looking for the exit. I retraced my steps to the Y-junction and headed the other direction, not long after which I saw a sign hanging overhead with the words "Exit."

As I made a turn to the T-junction, I saw the exit before me. But out of curiosity, I turned behind to see what was on the other side of the T-junction, and not to my surprise, was another lone standing mirror.

"Might as well check this out as well, since I'm already here," I told myself as I made my way to the mirror at the end.

As I approached it, I noticed that this mirror didn't have a tint like the rest, but rather, it was one of those funny mirrors that was angled and gave you two reflections instead of one, as I saw two images of me, side by side.

I stood straight and stared right through the middle of the images, but nothing seemed to happen. Confused, I started to turn to different angles but still nothing. I then started to move my arms, raising and lowering them, as I raised my hands to a 45 degree angle, my dual-images looked like they were linked by the hands, almost as if they were holding hands, and queerly, in this position, the image reflections started to blur...

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The Dual Mirror

The reflections blurred into a pinkish-red silhouette, resembling that of Gemini, with one that looked like it was a male, and the other a female, joint at the hands. The silhouettes turned around, and started walking away from me hand in hand.

They drew further and further away from me, and then suddenly came to a stop at a tall glass window, standing still in their tracks, and looked out over a city skyline. They looked at each other briefly, and then continued looking out at the skyline, in the midst of a ringing silence. There seemed to be a air of sorrow between them, as they continued to look on...

The city skyline started to blur while the silhouette of the couple remained steadily opaque. They turned around to face me, as the scene behind them started to form. It was only after a while that I realised that they were actually lying on a bed, staring up at the me. They turned to each other and they smiled, getting lost in each others' eyes.

But it was not merely the smile of happiness, it was also one of accomplishment and pride. For the male silhouette, there was a slight sigh of relief as he broke out into the smile, and for the female silhouette, there was a sense of bliss in her smile; as they lay there motionless, smiling.

Their heads started to nod, as if they were falling asleep, but ironically, it was my vision of them that was blurring, as I found it increasingly difficult to follow the hypnotic nodding of their heads...

Moments later, a light could be seen through the blur, as the light's strength grew, the fog started to clear and I could see a clear silhouettes of the couple, still joined at the hands, but sitting across each other on what seemed to be a dinner table.

In between them was a cake, and on the cake was the candle. The female silhouette reached over to put her mouth near the candle, and shortly after, blew the candle. Strangely, with the blowing of the candle, the candle-light's illumination radius and intensity started to increase, growing brighter and bigger, until it became so blinding that I was momentarily flash-blinded.

As my retinas started to recover their abilities of depiction, all that was left standing in front of me was nothing more than that of the dual-images of myself.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Exit

I looked at my watch, and I realized that I had spent longer than I had planned staring at the last mirror, so decided to make a mad rush for The Exit, lest I miss the fireworks. I pushed the handle of the door leading to The Exit with all my might, tripping over myself as I got out of the labyrinth... or so I thought.

As I looked up, right before me, were the grey walls of a concrete passage and a glass door at the end. I looked at my watch and realized I had about 2 minutes. I walked briskly up to the glass door, and saw the figure of someone walking towards it from the other side, in the partial darkness.

As I drew closer and closer to the glass door, I started to recognize the figure...

On the other side of the glass. it was a reflection of me.

"Is this another one of those mirrors?" I thought to myself.

I brought my face closer to the mirror, and stared deep into the reflection, but nothing happened. I turned and I turned, and I flayed my arms up and down, and still nothing happened.

After trying a number of options, I gave up and just stood there staring at the image. I looked deep into its eyes, and I noticed something... there was something different about this particular reflection.

Somehow, there seemed to be something very different in its eyes, something that I haven't seen in a very long time, through the crystalline-patterns of the grey-coloured lens. Behind those eyes, there seemed to be a strong sense of confidence, an almost-blind confidence; one that compliments a rather non-chalant, everything-thing-will-turn-out-fine sense of self-assurance - something that I haven't seen in my very own eyes for a long time, for almost the better half of the year in fact; something that I miss deep within myself.

As I stood there standing, staring at my image, all of a suddenly, my hand moved to my hair, to adjust the angles of the spikes of my hair. I tried my very best to lower them, but no matter how much force I used, I had no control over them.

Shortly, after that, my hands moved down to pull my shirt into place, I looked at my image, and it looked right back at me, giving the look of arrogance, and a quick smirk to me; as I felt my facial muscles winding up into my trademark smirk as well, very much against my own control.

10.......9.......8......

The crowd outside was shouting, as my image turned his back towards me, and walked away from the glass.

...........7.........6.......

I saw him walking further and further away from me, disappearing into the darkness.

.........5.........

I started banging on the glass, banging with all my might, hoping to open it, or if I had to, break it.

.........4..........

I continued banging on the glass, thudding on it as hard as I could.

.........3.............

Suddenly, the thudding sound stopped. I looked at my hands and to my horror...

.........2............

I discovered that my hands had become immaterial, in fact, my entire body was starting to become nothing but a spectral image.

...........1.............

My entire material being had faded into an immaterial image, and I could also feel my consciousness slipping away from me... all the memories, all the laughter, the tears, the anger, and most of all, the deeply-entrenched sorrows - all escaping what was left of my being...

The last memory that left me was that of myself, confident and cocky, full of hope and optimism, with eyes full of dreams and a head full of hope - a representation of myself that I had merely become a shadow of in the last year....

I faded deeper and deeper into oblivion... as the last bits of my consciousness, with my last ounce of strength, I mustered enough power to be the final words...

............"Happy New Year".............

Le Saint Julien: Through the Looking Glass

20th December 2008

"I'm taking a shortcut," I said, delivering the punchline with a cheeky grin on my face as I turned into the carpark that was all-too-familiar from a good 9 months ago, saying the exact same thing.

I continued wearing the grin as we got out of the car and walked towards the carpark exit, but lodged between the gaps of the toothy grin I was wearing was a slight sense of self-satisfaction; Knowledge was power indeed, especially in the element of surprise, and I couldn't help but feel satisfied with the power that I had managed to retain in my hand by remaining tight-lipped throughout without giving the game away the slightest bit.

With the secrets in one hand, and hers in the other, we made our way to the surface, only to stop at the crossing, waiting for the light to turn green, and with the dumbest poker-face I could muster, I turned to her and said, "We're going there," pointing at the Fullerton Hotel.

"I don't believe," she said, as we crossed the road, calling my obvious bluff.

But it didn't matter, it took her attention away from her long enough for me to make a shocking right turn to the Fullerton Waterboat house facing the hotel proper and pull the handles of the door into the restaurant.

"Hi, I have a reservation at 7.30," I told the receptionist.

"Under the name of Mr. Jeremy Kang, correct?" the receptionist said, "right this way, sir."

As one of the crew members guided us past the still-mostly-empty tables to a corner window seat. Christmas music played our music as our chairs were pushed in, and our napkins laid out for us, as we took our seat at the table under a stained-glass candlelight.

Le Ambience

My insistence on a table by the window was handsomely-rewarded with a picturesque view that laid the backdrop for the evening. Through the glass panels were the dazzling lights of the Esplanade Skyline and the Singapore Flyer in a background, but closer to us, the Esplanade Bridge separated the razzle and dazzle from the soothing and hypnotic ripples of Singapore River that calmed our minds and souls, laying the mood for a warm and relaxing dining experience.

The Captain came over shortly, with a menus in hand. Passing them down to us, he started, "Good evening, Mr. Jeremy, I will be the Captain for the rest of the evening, and first, I will go through the menu with you," before starting out to make recommendations from the different sections of the menu for our appetizers, middle course and main courses, delivering a professional and informative section for each of the items.

"With that, I will leave you to decide, and will be back shortly to take your order," briskly walking off, while we discussed our choices for the night.

With us decided, he came back to the table as I recited the orders to him, while he listened attentively and looked me straight in the eye while I was placing my orders, hardly batting an eyelid and yet absorbing all the information correctly.

"That's the sign of a professional waiter," I told her, "When they don't even have to write anything down, and more importantly, when they can look you straight in the eye while retaining all the information you are dishing out," as I rose from my chair.

As I made my way towards the washroom, I asked the Captain for directions, which he more than gladly showed me the way. Along the way, he asked, "any special occasion that you are here today?"

"It's her birthday, actually," I told him.

"Oh, if that's the case, then for dessert, you should try our Warm Chocolate Cake for dessert, and I can prepare all the 'Happy Birthday' wordings and all for her, but you have to convince her to choose that though," he stressed on the last part.

"Don't worry, she shouldn't be hard to convince," I said confidently, "she loves Warm Chocolate Cake."

I returned to a table with a Bread Basket laid on it. She took the card that I had passed her on our way out out from its sleek black envelope, marred by my ungracious handwriting and terrible ink smudges typical of my handiwork, opened the card, and started to read its contents.

Hardly reaching the 5th sentence or so, tears of emotion were already rolling down her cheeks as she tried her best from restraining herself from making too big a mess of her make-up. Blindsided by the expected effect of the doing, I told her to save it for later, and enjoy the food first, as I broke the soft grain bread.

Le Foie Gras

It didn't take long for the appetizer to arrive at the table.

"This is our Foie gras de canard poêlé et sauce aux raisins et champagne," the Captain said as he brought the dish to the table. "It's Pan seared duck liver with grape and champagne sauce, bon appetit!"

Not wasting any time, I took the outer most fork and sliced a corner off of the fat piece of duck liver. As I put the piece of liver into my mouth, I could feel the soft centre dissolving into my mouth, releasing the aromatic flavour of duck, leaving the outer layer to be nibbled own while the aroma continued to linger on my tastebuds.

"The French are simply geniuses when it comes to duck," I told her after my first bite. Despite it being her first exposure to the sinfulness of Foie Gras per se, she couldn't help but completely agree.

After savouring the delightful appetizer for as long as we could through the small chunks we took at a time, our respective middle courses were upon us, as they put an empty bowl in front of her, littered with bread crumbs, before bringing out a hot kettle to fill with bowl with its piping hot contents.

Le Kettle

At exactly the same time, perhaps in the name of equal privilege, another waitress served my hot plate of Escargot to the table, as a waiter came over and made the obligatory introductions.

Le Snails

"This is our Lobster bisque soup with sea scallop, garlic aïoli and croutons, our restaurant's signature dish since day one," the waiter said waving his hand toward her bowl of soup, "and this is our Oven baked half dozen of escargots with garlic and parsley, be careful sir, as the plate is extremely hot. Enjoy."

Out of habit, I lowered my nose towards the piping hot plate, taking a whiff of the fragrance that resulted from the union of garlic and parsley, before raising the specially-shaped fork to take a nibbling bite of the seasoning to whet my appetite, before consuming the escargot proper, burning myself in the process.

Le Whiff

I believe that the choice of the garlic and parsley seasonings was a deliberate one by the chef, to mask the possibly raw smell of the escargot, totally removing any foulness in the process, leaving only the and sweet and herbal aftertaste after biting through the chewy texture of the escargots.

Being an avid lover of soup, her first encounter with Lobster Bisque was probably a haunting one, to say the least. As she fed me a spoonful of her soup, I exclaimed, "Hmmmm, this is good. The thing about Lobster Bisque is that its very easy to get sick of it if its either too milky or too thick, and I think this one is good, because its neither, its really just right."

She probably agreed as she slurped up the last of it and said, "Oh no. What happens if I crave for it again?"

Le Bisque

As we were putting the finishing touches to our middle courses, the Captain came by the table and took the camera placed beside the candle, politely saying, "Can I borrow this for a while?"

Taking up a position behind us, he then said, "Mind if you look here for a while?"

Le Couple

A blinding flash went off and he gently returned the camera to the table, asking, "Are you rushing off to somewhere after this? Perhaps catching a movie or something?"

"Nope, we're not in any particular hurry," I replied.

"Ok, then maybe I will give you about 5 to 10 minutes of rest to digest the food before I bring up the main courses," he said.

"Yes, that will be great," I said, glad to have the pacing planned out for our digestion.

"You know," she said, with her hand in mine, amidst the surrounding conversations from the now-crowded restaurant, "it's funny how the time feels so different inside and outside of the restaurant."

I knew exactly what she meant as I replied, "Yeah, for some odd reason, everything on this side of the window feels so much quieter, so much slower, so much more relaxed, and everything looks like its going so slowly; whereas when we were outside, even crossing the road on our way here, it was like so noisy, and busy and frantic," grasping her hand tightly in mine.

We both sat there in silence as we admired the view, our thoughts resonating with the hypnotic ripples on the water's surface.

Seeing that it was about time, the Captain and his crew served the main courses for the night, bringing a platter of beef and a platter of duck, before making the introductions. "This is our Roasted Duck in Red Wine Sauce, served with Duck Gizzard and a touch of Foie Gras," he said waving his hand proudly over my platter.

Le Duck

"And this is our Beef Tenderloin in Garlic pepper corn and Shallot Sauce," waving his hand over her platter before stepping away to leave us to enjoy the rest of our dinner.

Le Beef

"Haha, I'm not really used to waiters being so attentive and coming over so many times," she said, as she was slicing the beef, with the juicy sauce oozing out from the cuts in the meat.

"Haha, well, this is the way that it is supposed to be," I replied, as I was taking a piece of duck up to my nostrils, "Like you know how at the highest class restaurants, they have a waiter assigned to each table, that is even more intruding isn't it?"

I took a bite of the roast duck meat proper, and bit into the juicy, succulent meat before savouring the crispiness of the duck skin. I have always been a fan of crispy poultry skin, and relished the crispy texture of the skin between my jaws with the fragrant duck aroma once more rushing up to my nose and to my brain. The Duck Gizzard was prepared very different from the typical cheap duck, and left no foul aftertaste whatsoever after consumption.

She sliced into her beef and fed me a mouthful of the cut beef. Medium-rare with a red centre, the meat was hardly bloody, yet succulent and juicy, with a crisp exterior (which she had a hard time trying to find the crispiest piece for me), and with a somewhat bitter interior that was possibly the result of an alcoholic marination.

Seeing that we were both done with our food proper for the day, the Captain once again came upon us and presented us with a smaller version of the menu.

"This is actually the same menu we have, except its a smaller version, but the desserts are on the front page instead," he said while flipping us to the relevant pages. "My recommendation is the Warm Chocolate Cake, which some of my customers like so much that they ask if they can bring the plates home," pausing slightly to smile cheekily, "or, if you have a sweet-tooth, like myself, the recommedation is the traditional Creme Bulee."

"We will have the Warm Chocolate Cake to share" I told him, as I observed the sparkle in his eye.

Returning from the restroom, I saw him on my way back as he signalled me a thumbs-up and whispering the words, "done."

We were in the midst of conversation when I saw the Captain and his Crew creeping up on us with the corner of my eye, as he reached the table, he hilariously blurted out, "'Look, there's a fish there," pointing out of the window with one hand while slipping the cake under and in front of her with the other hand.

Le Cake

The third Birthday Song of the night started as tears of shock and more importantly joy, rolled down her cheeks for the second time that night, flowing more incontrollably than before.

Le Tears

"Happy Birthday to..." they paused, as I filled in the words, "Ashley," while they continued with the last line.

"Happy Birthday from the management of Saint Julien," a big and dark man dressed in a tie wished her, as he shook her hand.

"See, last year, you complained that you didn't have a cake, so this year, I made sure you got one, haha." I said, as she broke out into a heartfelt smile while still wiping her tears after the crew had left the table.

She was still visibly in shock, as throughout the night, I had led her to believe that I would never, do something like that, and assured her again with each birthday song that was sung throughout the restaurant.

"Quick, make and wish and blow the candle," I said, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes.

Le Wish, Le Blow, Le Cut

As she cut the cake, the warm chocolate lava oozed out from the insides, and spilling out onto the plate. Cutting a small bit, of crust and content, I put into my mouth and let the taste slowly sink into my tastebuds. Very likely made from bitter chocolate, the fudge bore a darker taste that was less sweet than the normal chocolate cakes, while the crust was firm and hard, and didn't bear the weird muffin-like taste of some of the lesser its kind.

We continued the savour the taste of the second best Warm Chocolate Cake thus far (Morton's still being unbeatable), as I recollected the coming about of the cake under the warm candlelight and the receding noise of the thinning crowd.

Le Couple and Le Cake

As true as the words spoken earlier about time passing different within the confines of the glass walls, a timeless 4-hours had passed before we called for the bill to our most expensive dinner yet and headed out of the almost empty restaurant that we had first entered into.

Le Tree

As we made our way out past the fully-decorated Christmas Tree, we decided to walk off some of the food before taking the leisurely ride home. We eventually ended up in front of the Merlion, as we stood looking across the Singapore River to the Esplanade while ball-like objects bobbed rhythmically on the water's surface.

With a flick of my wrist, I saw that the turn of midnight was just upon us. I turned to her and whispered softly in her ear, "Happy Birthday Darling," finishing my sentence with a soft peck on her lips, as the spotlights came from across the river, as if upon us.

Le Memory

The Shackles of Ideals

I'm an Idealist, have always been.

And the thing about Idealist is that they strive for the optimum, no matter how unrealistic this said optimum is, and regardless of the costs.

Economically, Idealists always make a loss. The dynamics of economics is that there is price and there is value. To the Idealist, the value of an Ideal is almost infinite, and so, the price, or the willingness to pay for that ideal, would be almost infinite as well.

Psychologically, Idealists should be a lot less susceptible to Cognitive Dissonance than many other types of people. Idealist above all else, tend to have a more defined definition of "happiness" compared to most other people, and are less willing to self-justify any seconds in life.

Practically, Idealists are simply not. Idealists have a sort of belief within them to attempt to merge the treads of their dreams with the plane of reality, and to live a life of purpose, passion and meaning, despite how unrealistic and unsound this merger may sound on paper.

And this, in itself, is the end goal of every Idealist: To live a life that they fully and whole-heartedly believe in.

Yet, not everyone with fulfilled dreams is an Idealists.

In my opinion, there is the Idealist and the faux Idealist. The main difference lies not in the dreams that they strive for, but rather the costs at which they are willing to pay in order to obtain them.

Ideals being ideals, are supposedly impractical, unrealistic and visionary. And in a world shaped by conventions and circumstance, it is only natural that the achievement of such ideals come with a price: time, patience, effort, labour and most ironically, happiness.

Considering that "'happiness" is what the Idealist truly seeks at the end of the journey, being able to live a life of true happiness with the merger of dreams and reality, it is somewhat ironic that happiness is something that an Idealist would be required to sacrifice in exchange for the attainment of his / her ideals. Yet, the true Idealist is one who is willing to make such a costly sacrifice in exchange for an eventual fulfillment.

On the other hand, the faux Idealists are people who attain their dreams with little or no major sacrifices necessary. Some of which have it handed to them on a silver platter through a case of good fortune, to get a straight road to the fulfillment of an ideal.

Yet, to the faux Idealist, no matter how much they say that they "love" something, it will never be as justifiable or as convincing as that of a true Idealists, who has lived his / her life striving for, going through numerous pains and sacrifices, before finally attaining it.

Being an Idealist is extremely tiring, and sometimes the very happiness and fulfillment that you strive for, are the very same things that causes you so much heartache and misery. When you feel that circumstances do not allow you to make any progress towards your goal, when you see someone of lesser capability, experience and most importantly, desire, get something that you want so badly and have strived so hard towards getting it; it is extremely difficult not to feel indignant and frustrated over it. And it would be a lie to say that I have not felt such emotions and questioned the costs of my ideals every so often.

In all honesty, I've come closer to giving up on a 20-year passion and a 10-year ideal in these few months more than ever. Misunderstandings, politics, rejections and of course, circumstances (what else is new?) has left me with a whirlwind inside my head and a shadow of doubt in my heart, as I struggle to justify my sacrifices and quench the unhappiness that my ironic strive for happiness has brought me over the last 1.5 years.

Yet, despite all these, at the brink of giving up, I can't help but still feel Shackled to my Ideals, wanting to hold out a little more, wanting to try something else, wanting to give it one more shot; knowing that I would deeply regret it if I were to walk away from it now.

At the end of the day, I somehow still manage to muster out this to myself: Not everyone can afford to be an Idealist; many others are forced to become otherwise in the wake of circumstances and obligations. The very fact that I can afford to even strive for my ideals, is probably already a privilege in itself.

I dare not believe that I will be able to fulfill my dreams eventually, with my pessimistic mind these days, but I do know that sacrifice is an essential part to the fulfillment to these ideals.

Sigh. Perhaps I'm meant to be an Idealist my whole life, perhaps...

Was it Nothing more than Noise Inside my Head...