Growing An Opinion Starts With A Listening Ear

Let the national discourse on new universities, birth rates, housing, definitions of an inclusive society and paradigm shifts in social norms and culture, begin. May the oddly-shaped contours on the sides of your face be ever in your favor – so that constructive feedback, innovations and ideas would never fall on our deaf ears. Because if national discourse is ever going to move into a constructive momentum, we need to stop stumbling over complaints and whining about the past. Instead, we could do more listening, in order to engage new ideas, and lead changes in our social system to solve old problems.

I was raised in a family where we started young, discoursing on all sorts of topics – social norms, mindsets, character, faith, current affairs – at the dinner table. Amidst the swallowing, gulping, crunching of rice, fish, chicken and veggies, my family would be dousing topics with clashes and thunders of opinions and arguments. Each of us (my two brothers and I) have grown to be opinionated individuals who would have no problem scoring participation points in the classes we attend. But as I grew older, I realized that it was my parents gentle guidance during these dinner table conversations, that made a difference in the way we think and approach issues. Parents play a huge role in guiding and nurturing perspectives, and although not all would agree: I think that the family might just be one of the few forgiving spaces, to make poor judgements and learn from a flawed opinion.

But most of all, whether young or old, mature or inexperienced, flawed or good argument, we all need to listen to one another. It was my parents who exemplified patience in listening by putting up with our strong and sometimes flawed arguments while we were younger, rather than jumping in midway of our sentence to present another perspective, or highlight our immaturity. As I grew older and attended classes where grades were awarded for ‘speaking up in class’, I learned that engagement begins with listening. Not just hearing the argument, and gearing up to fight our stand to death, but listening to the heart of the issue. Oftentimes, a listening heart requires a willingness to empathize and humility to direct the conversation towards building ideas rather than a mere fight to be right.

Those of us educated in the realm of the arts and social sciences, are often first and proud to share our thoughts on current issues, controversial topics, social systems… actually, just about everything. Our education has molded us to look at the world with a critical eye, and to challenge the present in order to break the ground for the future. We walk into classes all prepared to dismiss the thinkers of the past era and taunt their theories with challenges of relevance and feasibility. But in my final year, I’ve learned that sometimes we cannot just read the words and assume its meaning. How about just asking, clarifying, and humbly inviting another perspective, rather than airing our thoughts, feelings and emotions? A good mix of appreciating the past, critiquing its effects and embracing another perspective makes for an enjoyable and thought-provoking conversation.

I guess, at the heart of an engaging discourse is not only about the positions in which we pick, but the posture in which we converse. Maybe to mature in national discourse would be to choose to listen humbly, invite another perspective and gently challenging the existing paradigms in which we live.

And since it starts in the home, you could have your own kids and start mentoring them to engage in a national conversation too?

Food Is Always Good With The Right Company

The three of us slurped our Indomie as if it were a priceless feast, and I wondered aloud: how could such an unhealthy meal, rife with artificial flavoring and Ajinomoto, taste so good? It was just Indomie, with roasted chicken.

For context sake, Josh, Jerrold and I come from homes where we are on a steady diet of home-cooked food. Josh is a Nigella fan and can whip up a really good quiche. Jerrold eats healthy – the ban-me-from-eating-McDonald’s kind of healthy. And I am thoroughly spoiled by my mom’s wonderful homemade everything. Almost nothing is from a can or a packet.

So how did we end up eating Indomie with roasted chicken from the hawker center downstairs, and all agree that it was a good meal?

My answer?
It must be the company that counts. In fact, I doubt that I would ever eat Indomie on my own.

And so we started discussing about the importance of friends to inspire us to even have a meal (good thesis for sociology of food). Surprisingly, Josh and I agree that without friends, sometimes we could even go without lunch. For myself, it is especially when the food is preempted to taste bland (for instance the school food after four years), that friends and family are ever more important to inspire a spoonful of lunch into my gut. On the flipside, even the most sumptuous meal can be as tasteless as stale water, without the right company.

But, hang on a second, what makes the right company?

I guess all of us are entitled to describing our own version of the right company, but whether our description includes light-hearted banter, comfortable friendships, gentle quietness, or side-splitting laughter; I think we can all agree that a few elements that make for good company would be a sincere friendship, a sense of humor (especially when facing an un-delicious platter) , and a listening ear.

Of course, it would be ideal to enjoy the right company in a nice place with good food. For that, I would recommend Carpenter and Cook. Decked out in vintage furniture, typewriters and rightly mismatched teacups and saucers, it is a pretty cafe to enjoy a sunny afternoon and feel out-of-the-country. In fact most of the furniture is for sale. You might just stumble upon a little retro-inspiration in that little cafe.

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The lemon drizzle cake was just right to make a girl feel sweet, with a little zest. It’s a dainty cake with an attitude and has a punch that calls for another bite. About my hunt for a flat white – this is not too bad, but still cannot beat the best flat white, found at Oriole.

Best of all was the company – the girl who started my cafe-hopping hobby: we are out to seek all the pretty little cafes in Singapore. Jia Hui and I spent a total of three hours over a slice of cake and two cups of coffee, with french music spewing softly from the radio, and in midst of furniture and crockery from another era. Nothing beats feeling like we do not have to rush anywhere to work or study.

Good times with good company deserve a memory.

They are worth a visit:
Carpenter and Cook
19 Lorong Kilat, #01-06
Singapore 598120

Let Us Be On A Mission

I have been back for two months, but I’m still reflecting on the three weeks that I have spent in Thailand. Three weeks is the longest that I have ever been away from home and on a mission trip, and I am beginning to realize the impact it has on my perspective of God and His work here on earth. May I suggest a few reasons why you should go on a mission trip, if you have the opportunity:

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1. It impacts the way we respect others.
Experiencing a different culture, and learning how to do things their way, rather than insisting that our way is always the right way, is a humbling experience. In Singapore, we take pride in always being on the verge of cutting edge technology and being able to keep up with the fast-pace of innovation. But when we visit a village that uses a scoop for a flush, and live in hut houses, we learn to live without 3G and Facebook at the tip of our fingers. We learn to respect another way of living, acknowledging that sometimes we are not better than another culture – after all, they are the ones who pluck fresh fruits from their gardens, feed us homegrown rice and freshly slaughtered chickens straight from their fields, these villagers are where food cannot be any fresher.

And we bring this respect back to Singapore. When I hear about the kind of issues maids construction workers in Singapore encounter and how they deal with it, my experience in Thailand reminds me to be humble and respectful. They come from a totally different culture, and have a very different perspective of life. They come from villages, while we come from the city. They come from rural areas, while we come from the urban. They come from forests and huts, and we come from reclaimed land and high-rise flats. Who is to say that they are wrong, and we are right? It’s just different, and they still deserve our respect.

2. It impacts the way we show compassion.
One of the things that I have never done before till this mission trip was to meet and interact with HIV/AIDS patients. After all the moral, and social stigma surrounding this disease (especially on the point that it is not curable), I truly felt a little daunted to meet HIV/AIDS patients. My friend and I were extra conscious not to bump into them physically, which made our interaction with them awkward and self-conscious. But as we listened to their stories, we realized that a lot of them were born into the disease, had unfaithful spouses, or were raped.

It was injustice, that spurred compassion. We learned that the very basic element about compassion is that it does not judge, but gives love freely.

In Singapore, my church is located at a place with nightclubs and sleazy bars, where scantily-clad ladies line the walkways after-hours. When I look at the closed doors of these shops on Sunday mornings, I’m reminded to show compassion by not judging the women behind those closed doors.

3. It impacts our perspective of God’s church.
After attending church services, bible study meetings, and hearing stories from the missionaries, I begin to see that the body of Christ is so much bigger than just my church and the churches in Singapore. Worshiping in a different language and hearing the encouragement of ministers over the pulpit or just a dinner table reminds me that every tongue, tribe, nation and land has a place in God’s heart and kingdom.

I learned to treat the friends I made in Thailand as part of the family of God, respecting the sermons that are being preached and the way they made church relevant to their context. I learned that people are still thrown out of communities, villages, and families for their faith, and admired the way they would not give up, despite having a gun pointed to their head.

4. It impacts the attitude and the way we give.
Because I have experienced God’s goodness in the mission field, and I know that there is so much to be done to help the people in Thailand – be it medicals, education, or administrative help, it impacts where I choose to go for a holiday, or how I would use my talents and finances.

So when I came back, I continued to help out with some of the projects my friend and I started – from editing a video to designing a calendar. Honestly, trying to work from Singapore, with friends who do not have a constant stream of wifi in Thailand can be very frustrating – especially with the amount of changes that had to be made. There were many moments when I wondered if what I was doing would make any impact, and if all this hard work was worth it? Most of all, it was so frustrating that I felt like giving up.

But I learned that perhaps, we should not always think of measuring the worth of our giving in terms of the magnitude of change we make in the mission field. Rather, we should give wisely to real needs of the ministry, generously not expecting anything in return, and measure its worth against God’s supernatural power to feed 5000 people with 5 loaves and 2 fishes.

In many ways, I think this mission trip is not over and is one of the many experiences that shapes me to be the person I am. For many of us, we debate over who should go for a mission trip – which age group, income group, maturity…etc. But, I think that at some point of our journey, we all ought to go for a mission trip, because it is only then that we see so much more of God’s heartbeat and His mission of truth, justice and mercy.

Watch what the rest of my friends share about their mission trip experience:

What To Do When We Have Too Many Notebooks?

Well, make a notebook holder.

Reader’s Digest book cover turned into a notebook holder.

And so, that’s what I did.

I have a penchant for writing notes on different notebooks and post-its – one for sermon notes, one for to-do lists, and stickies for random ideas. Problem is, I do not keep them all in one place, and whenever I need that PARTICULAR notebook, I cannot seem to find it. Oh yes, I can never seem to find a pen either.

So I thought, I should just keep it all in one place.

If you would like to make one of these yourselves, here’s how to:

What you need:
1 Old hardcover book
1 piece of colored paper
As many pretty ribbons
Rubber bands, hair ties or elastic band
UHU super glue

How to:
1. Tear out the pages from inside the cover, then neatly stick a piece of colored paper to hide the ugly tears.
2. Stick as many ribbons as you like on the width of the book cover. As you use the UHU super glue, be careful to leave gaps in between, so as to allow room to place/hook pens.
3. Just place the elastic band and hair ties on the length of the book covers.

Wallah! You are ready to keep all the notepaper pads in one place. Nothing beats our own handicraft.

In Search For A Reason To Indulge In A Book

I finally got down to visiting Woods in the Books.

The name of the shop reminds me of the way I used to read while eating, read while walking, read under the table during lessons, because a good book takes me away from tiring reality.

That was when I was in Primary school. At seven, my mum was complaining that I kept buying books, while other parents envied her bookworm daughter. At twelve, I was setting the book-trends in my class. If I was reading Adeline Yen Mah’s ‘Chinese Cinderella’, everyone would go buy the book soon enough. If I was reading Laura Ingall’s ‘Little House on the Prairie”, I would see it on my classmates desks pretty soon. And if I was reading Nancy Drew, I would find that my other classmates would be in the library hunting them down too. For the record, I finished most of the 175 books of the Nancy Drew series, by the end of Primary six.

Then, I was pretty sure there were woods, forests, jungles, beaches, swamps, prairies, pyramids and the big world out there in the books, if only we would read it. But as the years went by, my time began to be filled with outings to Orchard Road, mugging from a thick set of school notes, and culminated in University where leisure reading was replaced with readings of McLuhan, Mulvey, Foucault and other philosophies and theories too ‘chim’ (profound) to recall. Somewhere along, my love for a good read was displaced by Facebook, Youtube, Gmail and Whatsaap.

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Right now, it seems like bookstores and the paperback book are not the coolest shops around, as evidenced from Borders and PageOne closing down within a year of each other.  In fact, the cosy and snug bookstores like ‘Books in the Woods’, ‘Littered with Books’ and ‘Books Actually’ are a trending niche, because they appeal to literature geeks, and indie youngsters who enjoy the ambience and deco more than a story. These shops are termed ‘hipster’ because books are no longer trending. Instead, books are trending for being a poignant and nostalgic thing of the old school past.

Honestly, I would be guilty of being one of those ‘hipster’ young people who noticed that ‘Books Actually’ sells old school notebooks, and empty PEZ sweet boxes. I need to find the leisure and wonder hidden in between the pages of a good book all over again. I need to resolve to be buried in a book all over again, not just to be a rebel without cause – endorsing the fight against technology or resisting the change of the times. Rather, I think there’s something about reading and being lost in another world that triggers our imagination, challenges our circumstances, and ignites a passion.

A world without a good book, would be a world without a soul, without a dream and without an imagination. There are times when reality eats away at our imagination, and all it takes a a willingness to be swept into a story – just for a little while.

So, for a good read, while still indulging in the ‘hipsterness’ of it all, check out:

Littered With Books
20 Duxton Road Singapore
Singapore 089486

Books Actually
No. 9 Yong Siak Street
Tiong Bahru Estate
Singapore 168645

Woods in the Books
59 Club Street
Singapore 069433

Group Therapy with Tiffy

“Oh nice top!” Says Tiffy.
“Thanks,” I reply.
She pauses for a while, then asks, “so is it your mum’s?”

I stare at her, then gradually my stare turns into a glare, which ends in both of us bursting into laughter.

After being best friends for nearly seven years, having countless stayovers (she even leaves a toothbrush at my place), and seeing one another through the different seasons, Tiffy is one girl who knows the inside-out and upside-down of my family life. She even knows that I wear most of my mum’s fashionable clothing. Over the many years, she has become so much a part of my family, and we have become a deep part of each other’s life.

Of course, there’s Jasmine too (but i’ll save that for another time), and together we are called the Jiffles. We were 16, and into merging names. Looking back, I have no idea why it stuck.

So today Tiffy and I had an adventure around Tanjong Pagar. First, we visited Group Therapy for lunch and coffee.

I would recommend this cozy cafe at 49 Duxton Road. Tiffy described its ambience as “feels like a garden-y outdoors, but indoors instead.” Profound description, right there.
I would describe it as having earthy tones with a save-the-planet feel. Well, not much better, huh. But bottomline is, we both liked it so much we hung out there for nearly 2 hours for lunch.

She had  Poached Eggs with thick toast, smoked salmon, gruyere, hollandaise and I had Baked Chilli Crab Pie Chunks of crab claw meat cooked in chilli crab sauce and baked in a shortcrust butter pastry. Long names… but very very delicious. The chilli crab tasted surprisingly good – the biscuit-y pastry and fused well with the chilli crab.

Next, she had Roasted Almond Coffee, while I had my usual Flat White. Tiffy is not much of her coffee drinker, but she varied between, “It is really good” and “This is really awesome”, about four times in half an hour. The Flat White was not bad, but I should have ordered Roasted Almond Coffee.

It was really a nice space – away from the daily grind indeed.

After that we took a walk down Duxton Road and found a bookstore and the shop Restore. The shop that redeems, and re-upholsters old, vintage furniture. Took a peep in, and mentally noted it down for a cafe-hopping trip some time soon.

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Thankful for times like these with friends I love. Nothing builds a friendship like a little exploration, right?

Rest In Peace, Breadmaker

Right: Breadmaker Left: KitchenAid

It was raisin bread. That was the last batch of bread from this breadmaker.

I’ve used it for five years already, and it was a gift from my dear friend, Ryna. I refused to accept the sad fate of my breadmaker and stubbornly poured in the ingredients into the pan. But the machine just would not spin. So, I spontaneously used the KitchenAid to help in the kneading. And it was a success.

Tropical temperatures make the dough rise easily, and all it took was a damp kitchen towel on top of the bowl for an hour. The bread was just as tasty. No need for a new breadmaker.

So, goodbye breadmaker. You have served me well in my bread-ventures. I will never forget the therapeutic times watching the dough spin, adding as much herbs as I like into the mix, and hearing your beep after 1.5 hours.

I guess, when old machines give way to the new, we learn a different way of doing things too.

Grey

It is the colour of doubt as she walked along the concrete pavement. The sun was searing into her skin, glazing her forehead with crystals of perspiration as her feet paced aimlessly. She lives in a world that offers her everything and yet nothing she really wanted.

All along, it was one straight pavement, one straight route. Initially, she did not see the end in sight, but she always held on to the thought that she would meet a picturesque view quite soon. But, when she had thought she reached, she still found herself walking, walking, walking along the grey old pavement with no end in sight.

It was in that moment that she looked back and laughed at her determination of all the years, and stared hard at the pavement.

—

It is the colour of the clouds as it loomed up ahead. Without an umbrella, she wondered where to run to seek shelter. There was no place to hide, except to keep moving forward on this concrete pavement in the middle of nowhere. She was not very sure what the next step would bring: will the rain hold out? Will she get somewhere? Will she meet anyone?

Yet, she was determined not to turn around, to walk back to the places she had been. Some places she had been brought her fond memories, but she knew that if she went back there, it would no longer be the same. Other places were quietly marked on the map she drew, and neatly tucked into the folder of her pocketbook. Although uncertainty hung around her like a shadow, she decided to expect nothing in the next step, but never let go of hope.

—

It is the colour of understanding – knowing that her world was not always quite the same. It is always changing, in tones and hues, shades and colors. Nothing was ever black or white. Her grey concrete path had always been rife with twists and turns, with various sights and sounds. It is just that for now, the searing sun and looming clouds in front seemed to blind her from the nuances.

—

It felt like time had stopped while she was thinking. The rustling of the grass held its breath as she decided what to do next. The searing heat relentlessly pressured her for an answer.

She took a look around. First left. Then right. She squinted in search for a sign in the distance. But there was nothing, except for the grey pavement yielding her to take another step forward.

What if it rains? What if the path ends? What if this sun never stops? What if I do not meet anyone? What if…

…she just took one more step to find out.

Oriole On My Own

Right smack outside Somerset MRT station, Oriole has the best flat white. Although one cup is about $5.50, it is really worth it. In fact, a cuppa is cheaper than a tall latte at Starbucks, and it is the best flat white…

….the best, truly. Thick, creamy, frothy milk + freshly roasted beans + a punch of acidity + earthy aroma + pretty coffee art = Oriole flat white coffee.

Besides the coffee (they sell other coffees and teas, if you do not fancy a flat white. They also have lunch sets and meals), the sophisticated cafe is dolled in wooden furniture, soft and orange lighting, and stylish interior design; which makes for a cozy and comfy location for a slightly more cultured coffee experience (compared to the usual Kopitiams). I often come here for long chats with girlfriends – it’s quiet, with enough ambience to keep wishful dreaming and carefree conversations flowing.

So today, after an inspiring meeting, I decided to pop by Oriole for a cuppa. As usual, whether I’m with friends or just needing alone-time, I’m never disappointed with my flat white.

What a Beachfull Day!

“I think we have enjoyed the house for a year, it is time we get out of the house,” said my father. So, we all popped into the car, and headed to East Coast Park for a family outing – something we have not done ever since we moved into our spacious, new home.

I visited both West Coast and East Coast in the span of two weeks, and I still think East Coast would be the place for a stroll, kite flying, picnic, barbeque, fishing, sandcastles and everything else that rocks your boat… literally.

Of utmost importance, I found that there were new and clean toilets. Getting sand between the toes will be a total bliss, rather than blister. Just enjoy the sand and sea, and the toilet makes washing convenient.

Another new thing I discovered: tandem bicycles are not so cool anymore. Instead, there are these cute 5-paddeller-trishaw-looking bicycles. Families from young to old are just having so much fun on them. Even the littlest children are having fun, especially since they are the ones with legs so short, they cannot reach the paddle. Apart from that East Coast is good ol’ East Coast. This one beach carries memories – from jog-a-thons, to bicycle outings, and barbeques. It’s every Singaporean’s beach. That is why it was so heartwarming to see families hang out together on National Day, decorating the shore with waves of red and white.

It is a good place to drop by, whether or not we need the reassuring sound of the crashing waves.