Places I want to go (I)

One of the places that I hope I'll get to see--lavender fields at sunset. I heard that France has lots of them, but it could be anywhere in the world for me, really. I just want to run to the middle of it, close my eyes and take in a deep, deep breath of the intoxicating, sweet scent.

The problem about making lists of the places you want to go is that you're very likely to have been inspired by picturesque photos in National Geographic or some travel magazine or postcard which had been photoshopped down to its last pixel. Or the photographer had used some special lenses which made the colours more intense: the sky pristine blue and the clouds iridescent and fluffy, and the forest, emerald green.

It'd be kind of sad if you're enchanted by the facsimiles and yet be let down by the real thing--dull and raw and washed out in comparison.

Perhaps the lavender would not be a vibrant purple. Perhaps lavender would feel dry and coarse and prick me as I touch them. Perhaps the real lavender doesn't smell anything like the bottled scent. But I'd rather risk being disappointed than not having seen it at all.

I want to see the real thing, not just someone else's version of the place, no matter how artistic it is, or how poetical. Not a flawless, polished, frozen picture in a glossy magazine. I just have to find out for myself, so that even if it proves to be imperfect, I can still say that I know the real scent of lavender.

Back to school

I've been sent back to school again, Grade 2 classes, no less.

As part of a research project, I've been tasked to observe classes this month. I used to cower before teachers, and now they still intimidate me, to some degree. I'm just inherently uncomfortable with figures of authority. Typical dialogue between me and the teachers I observe:

T: What's the purpose of this classroom observation, and by the way, you look very young hah?

Me: Erm, yah. But you know, I'm really older than I look! Ha ha.

T: Oh. (Awkward silence)

Many of them are puzzled that I should be observing them since I look like a kid just out of university and so, who was I to evaluate them? The last teacher who commented on this was informed tersely by me that we're actually of the same age.

I have the utmost respect for all teachers, because they're doing a job that I could never do. But I get miffed because what has age got to do with it? And as explained many times over, I'm not there to evaluate, but to observe though I'm not very good at that because I could never pay full attention in class.

Many a times, I had to stifle yawns (got to be a model of impeccable conduct with all those curious kids staring at me) during the lessons. Sometimes, my mind unknowingly wanders, like this afternoon, when I stared out the window, watched the wind harrassing a tree and the gardener watering the plants with a hose, when I really should be monitoring the going-ons in the classroom. Hard to believe that as I grow older, my attention span actually shortens.

Nowadays, classrooms just lull me into comatose. It could be the whirring of the fans, the background drone in every school, or the constant lecturing of the teacher and chattering of the students.

I wonder how, as a student, I managed to actually stay awake most of the time (though friends tell me I napped openly during chemistry lessons) and survive the whole educational system. I remember nothing but exercises and worksheets and essays and compositions over and over again. The whole sum of my educational experience is represented by the piles and piles of worksheets that I churned out.

Classes nowadays are somewhat better--more hands-on activities like making of posters and games and less worksheets. But a poster I saw in the classroom this afternoon made me think.

The title of the poster was "Our Goals" and I thought to myself that it should be interesting to see what collective ambitions Grade 2 students have. I went closer and it was basically made up of lots of post-it notes, each written by a different student. What they did was to list down the marks they should strive for for English and Maths and the current marks they're getting. Below the marks is a section called something like "My options and what's next" and basically they wrote the same things, everyone of them. Things like, "revise the topics that I'm poor in"; "read more"; "speak good English".

Oh, well.

In a crowded country

Have you heard of the recent survey which showed that we are the least happy bunch of people in Asia?

It was given a fair amount of coverage by the local media. This is just that kind of stuff that sends journalists and social commentators in a tizzy--on a talkshow one of them even started to quote philosophers and scholars about the meaning of life etc, ad nauseum. Please.

But the media have gotten the facts wrong. It is the happy planet index (HPI), not the happy folks index. It measures "the efficiency with which countries convert the earth's finite resources into well-being experienced by their citizens". i.e. keeping a healthy balance between earth's resources and human needs and wants. The website also provides a survey to let you measure your own HPI. Mine is lower than the national and worldwide averages. In fact, the survey says that I might as well have been living in Cameroon or Ethiopia. Oops.

What can be the people be unhappy about? My totally unscientific, unscholarly, biased, and frivolous explanation for our (and especially my) low HPI is that we are cooped up in a country too small to accommodate all of us. Crowds are everywhere, and they tire me out. I went to a shopping mall last Sunday and had to jostle with others on the train, the bus, the mall, and the shops. The constant drone gets to me. I'm tired of being elbowed, pushed, bummed into every time I decide to venture into town during the weekend, or the mad rush for a seat on the train, or having to endure queue jumpers. We need more room, seriously.

I feel hemmed in not just physically but also psychologically. A colleague from a neighbouring country commented that the people here are some of the most avid travellers she knows. It's not surprising--being in the country too long without reprieve makes me feel numb, like I've been anesthesised to prevent overstimulation and encroachment from the overcrowding, noise, stress, work, info. My senses are dulled and I seem to view everything around me in a post-anesthesia, indifferent daze. Maybe this is what those sociologists meant when they say urbanites live very atomised lives.

Consider this: in the list of countries by population density in Wikipedia, Sing*p*re ranks number 4, more than 6,000 folks per km sq. Other countries that we assume are as urbanised and populated as ours have much lower numbers. Japan: 340, South Korea: 480, Taiwan: 600+. Australia, 1 of my fav countries and whose people I consider to be perennially of good cheer, has only 3 peeps per km sq.

So imagine my surprise when I found out that the Aussies are even lower down the HPI. I was flummoxed. What do those people who have a whole continent to themselves have to complain about? That's when I remember that I read recently that Australia is also the driest continent on earth, with conditions so harsh as to make most of its interiors uninhabitable. They have the room--they just can't use it. Gee. No wonder the people behind the HPI renamed it the (un)happy planet index.

What a lousy World Cup

What a lousy tournament this World Cup has been. Surprises, there were many. But no game which was really good. The Italy vs Germany game came the closest, but it sure didn't take anyone's breath away. They call soccer the beautiful game, but most of what goes on on the pitch is ugly.

Think of the things footballers get up in to addition to doing their job. They trade barbs, throw punches, spit on each other's faces, kick opponents, insult each other's mothers and sisters and religions.

I've been an Italian fan since 1994. My sister and I thought Roberto Baggio was cool then and looking at the photos of the Italian players in the present team, I realised that some traditions were worth upholding. Shallow, but how deep is football anyway?

Italy vs Germany was the 1st Italian game I watched and they were pretty swell! I was so confident that they would win the finals that I placed a bet on them. And of course, we know that they drew with France and had to win through penalties. And made me lose $ the equivalence of 50 cups of the good ol' kopi, or conversely, 25 cappucinos. Enough to last me 10 weeks at work (or 5 if I were particularly grumpy).

France was the better team. The Italians passed balls clumsily and their attacks were inept. The later part of the battle was played out mostly on Italians' side of the pitch because France was attacking so persistently. And then, of course, that Italian player whose name rhymes with paparazzi (and both of whom are equally respectable) had to insult ZZ, and hot-headed ZZ, naturally, had to use his head. What a farce.

That buffoon of a goalkeeper did what C. Ronaldo did (except that ZZ wasn't his teammate, and he had the good sense not to wink indiscriminately): he ran 40m to the officials to protest and argue.

That guy looked like he was dealt with a crippling blow and was lying on the ground for a few minutes, groaning. And yet, he was able to resume play later, fit as a fiddle. After they had won the World Cup, he donned that stupid clown hat on the trophy. Very witty. Ha ha.

Ronaldo should heave a sign of relief. 'Cos he's no longer The Villain of the Tournament. I hope they all get disciplined. And fined.

Baking virtuoso in the making (VII): No more mousse

Can I bake my cake but not eat it too? The baking apprentice is surprisingly, not a cake person and is actually kinda sick of eating her own confectionary goodies and shall lay off baking for a while after this coffee mousse cake. A colleague actually applauded my decision. Oh well.

Feedback was that the coffee cake's OK, but the mousse is not sweet enough as I forgot to counter the bitterness of coffee with more sugar.

I wanted to post the receipe here, but the thing is, I can't even tell you how many spoonfuls of coffee powder I used--I just kept adding them until the colour seems right, and the batter smelled coffee-ish enough. It was all done in a very ah-gar-ish manner. But I sure hope it gave those who ate it a caffeine rush!