Sokay, Baby.

Just had steamboat.

There was a whole chicken in the large steamboat, like a French pot-au-feu.

Earlier this month when Margaux, her mom, and I were vacationing at Moganshan we ate at this farmhouse-style restaurant where live chicken, wild chicken, snakes and whatnot were there for you to pick, then they'll be slaughtered right there and then for your meal. Real a la minute, that was.

Margaux loves those fowls and one morning she kept visiting them, and fed them I dunno what, I guess soy beans, but it could very well be Jelly Beans for all I know.

When we returned to the restaurant in the evening the chicken were gone.

Tonton, where are the chicken?

I dare not tell her, but one of them was on our table.

Dead.

Ups & Downs

I'm in a resort town in Zhejiang province doing a promotion at a polo tournament. Got our tent sandwiched between Zegna and Maserati, and opposite Cartier. Speaking of brand positioning.

This morning I cycled from the hotel to the site, about 10km away on the other side of the mountain.

The 10km took 2 lung-busting hours.

You struggled up the hill, trying not to see too far ahead, motivating yourself all the way, telling yourself the peak is near... but your legs were going rubbery, and your mouth was dry, and your lungs hurting.........

And then you reached the peak.

So you reached the peak, now what?

You go down.

97km/h and you can't really brake constantly coz the brake pads will lose its effectiveness and if that happened you'll see your creator before you can see the ponies.

So what do you do when going downhill like that?

You pray for the next climb.

Such is life.

Go up, you complain; go down, you complain.

dear anon

Hello people,

I have decided to moderate comments on my blog.

Some people has gotten a bit nasty, ugly, and personal.

I don't remember deleting anything others have written, but today I blip one.

That person insulted my family and friends, and has thus crossed the line.

So, dear anon,

bye bye anon.

Go fuck yourself silly.

Southern Discomfort

They have roti canai in Hainan, the southernmost province in China.

12 varieties on the menu: plain canai, banana canai, pineapple canai, coconut canai, cheese canai, ham canai, mushroom & minced pork canai..... RMB18 a pop.

New York has the best roti canai, hands down; Hainan is right up there with NY.

Ali Maju's?

No comment.

Anyway, I've just came back from a 5-day trip to Haikou, the capital city of Hainan, after taking 28th place (out of 160+ riders) in a 120km bicycle race (yeah!).

When the plane touched down at Pudong Airport, I gave a sigh of relief.

Good to be back.

Yeah, true. I know I said I dislike Shanghai, but that's before I went to Hainan.

See, Malaysia is like a wife I was "assigned" to before even I was born; like an arranged marriage common in the old, old China. This wife turned out to be a bitch and I decided to walk out of the social contract.

New York is like a wife I love, who embraced me in return, till she regained her sanity and ditched me.

Shanghai is like the famous large-breasted Angelina-like shrew I heard so much about, whom I tried and failed to tame.

Dejected, I took a break and visited a distant cousin of the childhood wife who is a street-walker that makes excellent roti canai.

But I can only eat so many roti canai before I puke.

So I decided to pursue the shrew again, this time with a new understanding.

You really have to accept the lover you choose, warts and all.

You never get into a relationship hoping you can change the other.

YOU change YOUR attitude; or you leave.

It's an old wisdom.

You do that, and get yourself a sense of humour.

For better or for worse.

Emotional Problem

I live on the upstairs of a duplex; downstairs live the elderly parents of the landlady.

The landlady and her husband never visit except for on traditional festivities, like the recent Mid Autumn do.

The old couple really appreciates me being there, they seize on every chance to talk to me, and often invite me to watch TV with them. I’d sometimes buy them yoghurt, fragrant pears and sugarless instant oatmeal.

But they nag me sometimes and say I don’t eat properly, that I don’t dress warm enough. And sometimes I go to parties and would come home late I’d get a soft lecture.

And of course, the match-making thing…

One day they asked about my love life, past and present, and at some point I briefly mentioned my ex lady in NYC, and her parents' stories.

Like this old couple at home, my ex’s parents were also professors, and ardent Communist cadres.

The old lady kept a long silence before saying:

The first batch of people who left the country in the 1980s…. they have emotional problems with the country; it's a matter of the heart…(和国家有些感情上的问题, 心里有个痛).

And then tears came to her eyes.

I have read a lot of books on modern China history, and know quite a bit about what intellectuals of their generation has gone through during those years.

But I never expect to hear anyone describe it as an emotional problem.

It is like saying your oh-so-loving father has one day become crazy, drunk, and abusive and you have to leave home the first chance you get in order to keep your soul intact.

I am wondering how many Malaysians are having this emotional problem with our country.

And how many have left.

Or are leaving.

priceless

What would I not give, to see a smile like that?

Because, really, for everything else, there is a Mastercard.

Which I don't have.

Home is Sick

In less than a month, United States of America might get their very first non-white president, Barack Obama, making true the dream of Rev. Martin Luther King and millions of others.

At home, we have a Conference of Rulers reaffirming racism, turning dreams into nightmares.

I don't feel very Malaysian in Malaysia; I don't feel the least Chinese in China.

If cari makan is all life is about, then don't let me be misunderstood.

lessons from m

i may be the last person on earth to know this:

that you need to love someone unconditionally to be happy.

happy. happy. happy.

diamond and rust

i asked her:

was it about money?

really, was it?

whatever the reply,

if she replies,

i will believe.

and i will accept.

does it matter?

i dunno.

i haven't felt so lonely in the longest time.

that's pretty clear to me.

clear like a motherfucking bling bling.

dementia

there is this disease called "the forgetting of being".

and the only cure is art.

in the truest sense of the word.

and only in the truest sense of the word.

the rest are pollution.

despicable shit.

Stradivarius Expectations

A retired ballet teacher I met recently wants to match-make me with a violinist who studied music in France.

The violinist's parents asked her for the favour.

The violinist agreed to meet.

I said okay, c'est bon avec moi.

I want to see what a perfectly fine lady violinist would expect from a guy like me.

Maybe I can learn something from it.

They expect an expatriate, I know.

They expect a car and an apartment, I know that too.

RMB50k monthly salary, at least.

I just don't know how to tell them the difference between an expat and a migrant worker; between a soldier-of-fortune and a flaneur.

A long, long time ago, in a land far, far away, a lady once said that she was very confident of me not letting her suffer hunger; that I would love her like a puppy forever; that I would protect her from any, and all harms; that she will love me till kingdom comes.

I believe her, including the kingdom part, I still do.

She left me all the same.

Cayman's Not an Island

We were driving towards Lujiajui in the brand new Porsche Cayman Gary has bought for his wife when we decided to watch the bridal photo session in the park.

It was sunny, the sky was crystal clear (for once), the air was cooler than trane's sax. It was just how an autumn day should be.

The bride looked tired, but happy.

Gary was admiring the interior of the car he bought for his wife.

Gary doesn't have money to burn. Gary doesn't have a car. Gary has a wife. The car is his wife's. Gary loves his wife.

I looked at the bride.

She was tired but happy.

She was happy and tired.

She is going to be sick and tired soon.

I dunno how long it'll take, but she'll be sick and tired soon.

Unless she too, gets her own Gary.

Anchor

Someone told me that I need a "anchor" type of woman in my life, coz I'm kinda floaty.

I was wondering if she meant heavy...big...

I happened to know one such lady, a very fine one.

But she is married.

Anchor Ladies are either married, butch, or dead.