Baking virtuoso in the making (IV)

OK this is the carrot bread that the baking apprentice made today. How does it taste? Well, it's not chewy like the baking instructor's and is a bit dense. If you are thinking to yourself that the bread doesn't look very appetizing, I just want to say: you're not the one who has to eat it for breakfast tomorrow, so what are you COMPLAINING about? *sob. This is always the problem with the stuff I bake as the mixer at home is not powerful enough and those really good ones cost, like 700 bucks. Makes you want to give up and just go to the nearest 7-11 and buy a loaf of Gardenia for $1.40.

Things that I like (II)

I like....

....the smell of the approaching rain, of the brewing storm.

It draws me to the window. It beckons me to slow down my strides. To smell the air that is more intoxicating than the syrupy red roses.

The dark clouds rush to swallow the sun, the thunder grumbles gently, and the cool wind tugs at my hair and whips it into a frenzy, but I don't feel uneasy. I draw deep breaths and fill my brain with the rush of nostalgia and anticipation. It's the scent of the past and the future. And it makes me feel alive in the present.

How do you describe it? It's not the smell of rain, which is a mix of clean dirt and wet cement. It's heady but not strong; crisp but not sharp. It tingles the mind, but does not deliver a buzz like coffee. It smells elemental, a very basic smell, and yet nothing comes close to it. I know what it is not, but yet I really don't know what it is.

Baking virtuoso in the making (III)

A durian mousse cake that my mother and I baked. Not very fantastic in taste (too much cream) and the upper layer is bizzarely larger than the bottom though we used the same cake pan. But still quite edible, especially if you are a durian fan. And anyway, mousse cakes are my fav. But while beating the cream, I had some of it splattered all over the kitchen and my face. Woohoo! And people had to ask what's so fun about baking.

Sister from Japan, watch out!

Playing to different rhythms

Family is a complex thing. Perhaps things were made more complicated by the fact that I have a different "temperament" from the others, as I've tried to explain to my friend H. But it's not a very good explanation at all. More like, I'm somewhat out of sync, like an oblivious violinist playing to an errant rhythm while the oboe player and the cellist and others in the ensemble roll their eyes at me in exasperation.

It's kinda hard to explain the intricacy of it all, but I attribute it to differing personal outlook. I've frequently been at odds with my parents in our opinions of well, almost everything. And I'm not even trying to be a rebel; they would be more relieved if I were, because then a neat explanation would have been available to them.

One of our biggest barriers is language; not just language itself but also the way language has tinged our outlooks into different shades. I've long discarded the idea that language is merely a functional tool. It is political, and visceral. You may say you don't really care about language use (especially if you are bilingual) but you will when your main language is at the losing end and is being seen as socially inferior. Which is why my father is dismayed that while my siblings and I (whom they think is the most recalcitrant in this matter, and come to think of it, in almost any other matter) converse in our mother tongue, we don't read or write it.

I'm saying all these because I read an interview in the local newspaper of a prominent playwright who started out writing English plays and later learned to write plays in his mother tongue. At a performance of 1 of his MT plays, looking at his parents sitting in the audience, he realised that he's been writing them as valentines to his parents.

You could say that I felt a slight twinge of remorse, especially since my mother recently decided to go to a community club to learn basic conversational English. Her English lesson is by itself another story and I shall blog about it if I have the time, and mood.

Family has been a cause for concern lately, not just the parents but siblings also. Family is a complex thing, and here I am, just trying to figure out my thoughts, and their rhythm.

Retrospection (III)

This is for all the 80's babies out there. I recently saw a trailer on Kids' Central about the retro kids' shows that they're bringing back.

Some people would consider it childhood blasphemy to not at least make a mention of Ses*me Street. But can I just say that I don't like it? The puppets are raggy and worn and maybe I discovered it too late, but what's so fun about learning and relearning numbers 1-10 with the Count Whatever who punctuates every number with a peal of fake thunder and Ho Ho Ho?

And the pair of eggheads with ambiguous orientation, the quarrlesome Bernie and Ernie? They're always arguing over nothing, which really got on my nerves.

But let's move on, and talk about my favs!

C*re Be*rs
C*re Be*r stare! Remember these candy-floss coloured bears with different symbols on their tummies to show their different super powers? They live among the clouds and spy on unhappy little children using a telescope (ewww....). I remember my parents buying me the bedtime bear when I was young.

Anyway, they have a silly quiz to let you know which bear you should be. And guess what am I?

Bedtime Bear stays up nights. He's the special bear who helps people get a good night's sleep and makes sure that they have sweet dreams. There's no better bear buddy for a goodnight hug. Bedtime has a symbol that says what he's all about: a sleepy-faced moon.
Caring Mission: Helps people sleep.
Symbol: His crescent moon symbol represents his nighttime mission. Personality: Brave and alert (at night).
Character Quirk: During the day, he's always confused or dozing off.
Color: Blue.
Motto:Sleep is what I do best!

Source: www.care-bears.com

My Little P*ny
I was quite a fan of these pastel-coloured ponies which come with thick, luscious wavy manes just inviting to be stroked and different emblems on their bums (hmm, I'm beginning to see a trend here). They live in a place called Dream Valley, under the thumb (hoof) of a queen pony and erm, basically fly around. OK, so they're not very interesting. I checked on the Internet and there are different generations of ponies, some with wings and some without and some have powers and some don't, but really, who cares? Next!

Button Moon
"We're off to Button Moon,
to follow Mr. Spoon"

There's something fishy about this show. How else to explain its hypnotic effect on so many little kids who watched it, despite its kooky plot? Friends who've watched it all remember it well, but I bet no one can give a reason why.

It's about a family of spoons who rides a tin can rocket up the sky for a rendezvous with a host of "household implements" (trash can, broom, buckets, you get the picture.) whose sole role is to clean and polish a yellow button masquerading as the moon.

Makes no sense to me, even now. Help!

Str*wberry Shortc*ke
The fav of many little girls, though it's hard to explain why. A strawberry-coloured-haired girl with no apparent personality or aptitude and who surrounds herself with equally dreary creatures with such names as Blueberry Muffin and Butter Cookie. They all live in some unimaginatively named Strawberry Land and wear dumpy hats shaped like dollops of cream or the clothed top of jam jars.

Why did we like them? How do I know? Some of these cartoons are really inane with no educational value but I realise that they were really quite effective propaganda for toy products (but not Button Moon; they don't sell toy merchandise), making us little tykes pester parents for toy ponies and figurines, believing them to be our friends because they're always shown helping out small children in trouble in cartoons.

And I remember they even had those sticker albums and each week you have to buy a packet of stickers to collect all of them. Very pointless, but kids are easily satisfied. I wish they wouldn't prey on little kids like that. I think our generation, brought up to believe that friendship and joy come packaged in a box with a cuddly bear to be picked up at the nearest departmental store, carries that attitude through to adult life. No wonder when we're upset, one of the first impulses is to shop.