uncle and his new house (old sketch)

We got into Cousin’s car and Cousin and Dad started talking.

‘He started it again this morning. In fact, he started it yesterday morning the minute I got off my car.’

‘What happened?’ Dad asked.

‘God knows what got into him. He’s a possessed madman of some sort. I was so pissed off I told him that I am back to celebrate Chinese New year, not to get scolded. In fact, I was very tempted to leave.’

I listened to the conversation quietly. It was not my nature to talk to my relatives. Cousin continued to talk about Uncle while his daughter, Han, sat quietly beside him. She fidgeted a little because the sun was glaring through the windscreen and shining into her eyes.

‘That impossible old man – do you know how ridiculous he was? Once, someone’s Indian worker came to deliver something. He shouted at the poor Indian worker for no reason. I believe even the poor man’s boss would not have scolded him so badly. But that’s not the only ridiculous thing he did. He also scolded neighbours who refused to do business with him.’

‘Well, you know your Dad’s temper. When he’s in a bad mood, he scolds anyone without a reason.’ Dad interrupted.

‘Let me tell you what happened the other day.’ Cousin continued. ‘He and I went to a Malay kampong. Now, this is Malaysia, dammit. At least even if you want to be king, you do not do it in a Malay kampong. Guess what? He cursed and swore at a Malay chap in the Malay kampong, as if he were ready to pick a fight anytime. I say again – in a fucking Malay kampong! Those people must have thought him a crazy old man. If he were in his thirties – now you know the Malay gangsters here are far worse than those in Singapore – he would have been hospitalized or lost his life there and then. I told him if he wanted to throw such foolish tempers again, don’t do it in a Malay kampong. And above all, if he’s keen to die, go alone. Don’t bring me along.’ Cousin was apparently exasperated as he recounted Uncle’s utter foolishness.

The conversation topic shifted to the new house.

‘So is he pleased with the new house?’ Dad asked.

‘Oh, of course he’s happy and proud of it. We’ve told him to save the money and not to build it, but he insisted. I guess it is his own wish, though he keeps saying that the old neighbour has been asking him. It’s not as if we borrowed any money from our old neighbour or owe him anything. Why should he bother if our family builds a new house with my dad’s savings? Ultimately, I think it’s the old man himself. It’s his pride… … It’s a joke really, if you think about it. The old man saved every single cent he earned. What’s the big deal about building a three-hundred-thousand-dollar house, if one does not even sit at a roadside stall for coffee with a friend? If anyone had been a miser like him, anyone could have built a three-hundred-thousand-dollar house in Malaysia.’

The car turned into Sungei Renggit.

Johore had not changed the least bit since I last visited the place some eight or nine years ago. The roads were still narrow and sandy, flanked by old houses with weathered walls and rusty zinc roofs. The vehicles looked worn out and more than a decade old. Like eight or nine years ago, children were playing in the porches of the houses. Dogs barked as bicycles and motorcycles went by. Roadside stalls and peddlers were still a common sight when I thought they would have become obsolete.

***

The car turned into the car park of an unfamiliar house.

‘Welcome to our million-dollar mansion.’ Cousin said to me half-sarcastically. I got off the car and Cousin ushered me up a flight of stairs on my right. All this while, I thought we were going to put up at the old house, but I was wrong. We were going to put up at Uncle’s new house. No more creaking wooden steps that made a thumping sound. No more old well with a metal bucket. I suddenly felt a sense of loss and nostalgia.

We soon reached the second floor. The floor of the new house was tiled with marble and there was a balcony at the hall overlooking the road and houses. Forty-five degrees to our right was a true million-dollar mansion fashioned in modern architectural design. There was a rooftop dining area and a huge plasma TV (or LCD TV ) visible even from our side of the road. There was a gym and swimming pool too.

‘My dad often says that the guy across the road shouldn’t have built such an expensive house. That way, our house would seem like the finest and most expensive house along this stretch of the road.’ Cousin said. ‘Anyway, my dad would give you a more comprehensive guided tour of the house. He would put his hand on this railing and say “this is real steel”, and hopefully you’d say a word of praise or two to please him. As if any idiot would mistake it for iron or aluminum…’

I thought it was a good thing that Uncle was not in when we arrived, for I thought he would scold me for not having visited him at his place for eight or nine years.

After Auntie served drinks to Dad and myself, Cousin and I went to sit at the rooftop to chat.

‘Sigh, I could talk about that old man for three months,’ Cousin said. ‘How’s your brother?’

‘My brother? Still in Thailand.’ I answered somewhat absent-mindedly, for I was not keen to start talking about my brother.

‘Why are the two of you so different? Was he like that when he was young?’ Cousin asked.

‘Well, how shall I put it…it’s not just your dad that’s problematic. My dad’s problematic too. And my brother is what he is today largely due to my dad…’

At this point, Dad joined us at the rooftop.

‘Whoa, the house is larger than I thought. When it was still under construction, I didn’t think it would be this large.’ Dad remarked. I thought Uncle would have been pleased if Dad were to speak these very words to him.

Cousin continued to talk about Uncle.

‘You should have seen my dad when he’s looking for something. The whole family would be flustered and busy even if he were to lose something as small as a pen or nail-clipper. Once he misplaced a pen and he started to slam the cupboards and drawers in the house and started scolding everyone in the house, so we all helped him look for it. I even went to get a new one for him, but that old moron insisted that he wanted back the very same pen. That is what a miser he is. I wanted to tell him to stop being an asshole. A millionaire like Li Jiacheng would not even bother to pick up money if he indeed dropped some, for the time he would spend to pick up the money would cost him more than the money he dropped.’

I tried to imagine Uncle upsetting the whole family over a pen that might cost less than thirty cents in Singapore currency, and wondered how such people find joy and meaning in their lives. I wished I could tell Cousin that my dad was not too different from Uncle in this aspect.

‘He’s back,’ Auntie came up and announced Uncle’s return. He probably went out to get the papers.

‘Remember to wish him health and pass him the hundred-dollar ang-pow I told you to prepare,’ Dad reminded me. I was somewhat apprehensive.

***

‘Ah, Ah Ming, I see you’ve come.’ Uncle muttered.

He was old, a sixty-six year old man with thinning grey hair and a tanned lean body from decades of toil and labour. His skin was all wrinkled and dry.

‘Uncle, Happy New Year.’ I passed him the hundred-dollar ang-pow I had prepared, but he took it and just carelessly placed it near the kitchen sink. For a while, I was at a loss of what to do.

Cousin’s wife, Jingyi, was preparing lunch in the kitchen. I wanted to pick up the ang-pow and pass it to Uncle again, but Jingyi gave me a look to tell me to wait.

Uncle finished his drink and started to reprimand Jingyi.

‘In many families, sons and daughter-in-laws bring their fathers out to restaurants to dine or travel to other places, but my own son and daughter-in-law avoid me and treat me as if I were less than a dog in their eyes.’

Jingyi and I started to feel tense. Someone please come to our rescue, I thought to myself quietly.

‘Uncle, this is for you,’ I picked the red packet from the sink area and passed it to him again, hoping that perhaps money would cheer him up a little.

‘Uh…oh,’ he took a glance at it. ‘Never mind, it’s okay, you’re still young and have not started to earn money.’ He said.

‘I’m working,’ I tried to push the red packet to him.

He took it and left it on the dining table while he sat down and started to drink his coffee. At least Jingyi could now prepare the lunch in peace.

‘Sit down,’ Uncle said, as he lit a cigarette. ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘The new house is very big and nice,’ I tried to appease him.

Uncle took a puff and began his story, his eyes looking into the distance.

‘When I was twenty-four, I married your auntie. I worked very hard for this family… You know I have four children. I worked tirelessly every day, collecting junk and odds-and-ends to sell. I brought up my four children. You know the old shed where I dumped my things? Do you still remember our old house further down the road? I built two houses. Now we are here…I built this fine house too. Three houses in all. It’s not easy…’

I nodded silently.

‘I heard from your father that you are always very busy. I understand that teaching is not an easy job, but you must still have time for relatives.’

There was momentary silence. My eyes looked away from his.

‘I also heard from your father that you do not have much savings or money. You must learn to save. Of course I’m not asking you to be a miser or a slave to money. Spend on what is necessary, but save up for the future too. Do you think that I’d be able to build this house if I didn’t save?’ He looked around him with some pride and dignity as he spoke, and I remembered Cousin saying that Uncle only brought bread and plain water out with him when he worked. But of course, Uncle did not know that I had been supporting Brother.

‘Three decades…time flies…’ Uncle took another puff. ‘If this house had been built in Singapore it would have been worth millions.’ He wouldn’t be able to afford a house like this in Singapore, I thought. That amount of money would probably amount to a tiny condominium in Singapore at most.

‘I might not be very educated, but there are many people who respect me,’ he said. I thought he just complained that his own son and daughter-in-law treated him like a dog. ‘That old neighbour of mine – he did not even invite me to his son’s wedding. Why, does he think he can match me in terms of wealth, or in terms of capabilities and intelligence? I am part of the committee of a Chinese school here. I know about politics and education very well…’

I had to agree that Uncle is better versed in politics than I am. He reminded me of those uncles sitting in kopi-tiams complaining about the PAP policies and cursing Old Lee. I would very much prefer to live in my own little world of books and pictures and be ignorant of these things, though many might call me apathetic.

‘Respect,’ Uncle continued with great deliberateness. ‘You are a Chinese, you are educated, and you are already a teacher. How can you not find time to visit an uncle? No matter what, I’m still your father’s elder brother. How can you teach your students if you cannot even live by such a simple principle? … … Respect… I am not a dog. Neither am I invisible or dead. I may be uneducated, but I brought up four children and built this house. It is not easy. I wonder why so many people are avoiding me as if I were a dog…’

‘Well, if you stop barking around at everyone as if you were one, you would have a lot more people around you,’ I thought to myself, but I said nothing.

***

‘Lunch is ready…’ Jingyi announced as she laid out the dishes on the table. Cousin Sen (whom I have addressed simply as Cousin up to this point) came into the kitchen with little Han-girl.

‘Grandpa, eat,’ little Han called and Uncle looked at her and smiled. Little Han was very adorable and pretty. She was merely two years old, and I would dare say that of all the children I had known, she was the only child cuter than my brother’s daughter Serene. She would be our saviour angel to keep the family peaceful for the next few days, I thought.

‘Whoa, you are so pretty,’ Dad said to little Han. Then he turned to Jingyi and said, ‘You are becoming the mother of a celebrity!’

‘Ming, you are only eating the vegetables,’ Jingyi noticed.

‘Oh, I heard from your father that you are not eating fish or meat or chicken, or even eggs. What are we going to cook for you?’ Auntie asked.

‘Huh? You do not eat so many things? Is it true?’ Uncle looked at me. ‘You cannot not eat so many things. In fact, you must eat a little of everything so that you have a balanced diet.’

The atmosphere got a little tense, and I decided I should just stop my vegetarian diet for two or three days to avoid a confrontation or conflict of any sort.

‘Just ignore him and make him eat,’ Dad said.

I said nothing and took some fish quietly. I decided that the next best thing to do was to finish my meal and leave the table quickly, but that would be very rude.

‘Aiyah, even though I’m a Buddhist, I do not observe such a strict diet as you do,’ Auntie sort of lamented.

It was useless to explain anything to these people. Nevertheless, unlike Uncle, Auntie was someone whom I greatly respected.

‘Try these too,’ Jingyi passed me some scallops. ‘This is my best dish.’

‘Yeah yeah,’ Cousin Sen sneered. ‘Four years ago it was this dish. Four years later it’s still the same dish. But I have to admit you’ve not lost the touch.’ Cousin then turned and smiled at his wife.

At that moment, I suddenly thought about how difficult life was for the women who were married into our family. So Jingyi had been preparing New Year dishes for many years now. She would probably help Auntie wash the dishes later too. I was extremely thankful that I was neither married nor attached. And Auntie… how difficult it must had been on her, to live with my uncle all these years and to help bring up the four children. Jingyi was more fortunate because Cousin Sen was at least a decent and reasonable man. I suddenly felt very sorry for the women, and I hated my very own family and surname.

‘The fish doesn’t taste good,’ Uncle’s face twisted into a scowl and laid down his chopsticks. ‘The sea cucumber isn’t very fresh too.’

‘Ma, you shouldn’t buy things for the sake of buying,’ said Cousin Sen. ‘I know things are hard to find and they are costly around this time, but if you know that the things are not fresh, do not buy them for the sake of buying them. We can settle for a simple meal.’ Cousin Sen spoke truth in a cool rational manner, paying no regard to what Uncle said earlier.

I understood Auntie’s position very well. After all, Chinese New Year is nothing more than going through the motion for unhappy families. You buy New Year goodies because everyone else does the same, not because you like or enjoy them. You put up New Year decorations even though your family has three quarrels or more on the same day. You give and collect ang pows because the Chinese had been doing so for thousands of years. Everything has nothing to do with joy or meaning.

My heart bled and ached a lot over that simple lunch. I felt very sorry for Auntie.

***

It was a hot sultry afternoon after lunch. I stayed quietly in my room, reading Natsume Soseki’s ‘Grass On The Wayside’. All the bedrooms in the house had air-conditioners, but being a person who was used to the tropical heat and climate I only switched on the ceiling fan. The bedroom window overlooked a dense patchwork of rusty zinc rooftops, and one could see trees and the sea in the distance. As I read, I thought that Soseki’s ‘Grass On The Wayside’ could be interpreted as a study of an unimportant or insignificant life.

Untitled (words in progress)

I had painted by the roadside, under an orange sky, while the joss papers burnt and smoke continued to rise. I had drawn the old banyan tree in the graveyard and urinated into the drain beside it, without a thought for the dead...
Let me talk about that eventful night, or morning, since it was already past twelve. The street was dark and deserted; there was no one around. I knelt under the street lamp, my drawing block and Chinese ink laid out on the ground, a stick or leaf in my hand. I had not brought my brushes, so I had to draw with whatever I could find. At a nearby coffee shop, Adrian and Liang Zhu were having coffee and prata. "Come back one and a half or two hours later," I told Adrian. He was driving that night... The moon shone through the ghostly roots and branches. The tree had probably stood for more than a century. I thought about the famous novel by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, "One Hundred Years of Solitude", and imagined an illustration of the banyan tree as its cover...

Just like that i reach pandan already!

A 97 went by.
And then a 10.
Followed by a 100.
And then a 57.
A stick of djarum finished.
A 80 that doesn't stop here.
A rws8.
A 145.
And oh yes, 30 is right behind it.

And behind its probably a 143 but the 30 came first.
30 seats empty on the upper deck.

Soccer was being played on the phablet in front, and a hard time was had trying to figure out who's on which side. But soon the whistle blew. And then it alighted before play resumed.

Its already the haw par villa.

A noisy menage a trois across the aisle, a banter between patchy singlish and monosyllabic 'hur'; theirs the only punctuation in the 'rawr' of the air conditioning, the only couple seeming not to mind either in their silent contented huddle.

The others,we wait solemnly our turn,to reach our bath,the bed; and beyond that more djarums at bus stops, more waiting our turns to, rehash,replay,redo, re-each,every day,month,year until finally the clock stops.

30 on the way back

A couple sits in front.

And in front of them another couple.
And another.

Ignoring the foreign workers half the people on this upper deck are coupled.

They smile at each other. They snuggle against the roaring air conditioning. They talk in low voices beyond the air conditioned roar.

How did they meet? Or decide to couple? Have they coupled? Did they start there? How young were they then? How long more will they go at it? Why couple? Will it hold true?

How short is a scholarship bond or handphone contract against the til death do us part of coupling; he won't change,she changed. A year may be all it takes. A new iphone. A new couple. Its faster to give her the house and stop seeing her right away.

And cheaper by far,cash on delivery. What do amateurs know? Hire professionals that will do a good job of it. After all, bus drivers and air conditioning servicemen are,too.

Dead Cat

Dead Cat
After my meditation session last Sunday, I saw a dead cat under a tree with all its entrails. I was shocked and horrified...I wanted to take a photograph of it to do art, but I did not, partly because I was scared for some unknown reason, and partly because I thought I had given up on drawing dead animals and had moved on to art that is more life-affirming and less depressing. The image haunted me for a week. Of course, when I walked past the tree this afternoon, the dead cat was no longer there.

Earlier this year, I was working on a series of dead birds, which turned out to be rather unsucessful. The works were based on the same photograph of a dead bird which had mysteriously lost its head. My works have often been labelled as morbid or depressing because they are black and they dwell on the darker side of life. Nonetheless, the dead cat screamed out at me 'This is art! This is the very substance of life itself!' I regretted not taking photographs of the dead cat, though I must admit that the entrails were too gory and revolting for anyone to bear. I wonder if the cat had died as a result of human cruelty or simply a case of bad labour. I suspect it was the latter, for who in the right mind would dissect a cat like this, except for the purpose of demon-worship?

Jeans

Jeans (Dec 2011, edited August 2012)
A pair of legs wearing a pair of dirty worn-out jeans -- blue, brown and grey. The jeans must have survived a war or years of toil at a construction site. They must have survived barbed wires and bullets, knives and nails, thorns and teeth. They must have been soiled in mud and washed in rain. They must have seen labourers and soldiers, vagabonds and artists, prostitutes and beggars. Stained with grease and paint, torn and ripped apart at various places, stitches and patches here and there with strands of loose thread hanging, they seem to have a story to tell. The stitches remind one of wounds and scars, as well as poverty and a violent history. Never have I seen a pair of jeans so beautiful, so alive...

A pair

A pair boarded the bus. And they're seated across the isle.

Chitter,chatter, about some flim flam or the other.

The kid some rows behind still emanating glassy crashes and now this pair.

Steals a sideways glance.

Spaghetti top,blue straps,low slung,chilly in strong air conditioning,well stacked. Too bad the view to the other one is blocked;the nearer one well stacked. Not too bad then.

Then they get off.
Aw shucks.

But the kid's also gone.
Peace and quiet at last,in the gripping hand.
Not too bad then.

bus 51

A bill board that said "help save the fridge".

A constant stream of breaking glass sounds. Probably a kid playing angry birds or..dare i imagine? an adult playing tetris on his phone or tablet(phablet?) without the benefit of earphones. The idea that others may not find his game as entertaining as he(especially when not the player,not even observing the game being played) not even occurring. Likely a kid then. Adulthood. It supposedly manifests somewhen between the early twenties and late thirties. And then you get all concerned about other people.

Ah. That took us quite a ways down along the path. From city hall to zion road. Past a temple and some urns along the road.

Never ceases to amuse me. The Chinese ghost month. Or festival as some put it.

Yes it is festive. Maybe even more so than the new year. We're a ghost fearing people. Gods,we ask them to protect us from ghosts. Ghosts,we hold banquets in their honour. Getai to entertain them. Traditional Chinese theatre may yet become a lost art,but not while we still fear our ancestors.

But back to amusing. Nowadays they provide urns,pots or whatever they're called in public spaces to facilitate burning joss. It(along with the getais) probably irked the other races,this yearly joss burning festival;its like the Indonesian haze but made by your neighbour and perhaps smellier. It probably motivated more than a few policy scholars to write policy proposals to fine it. It may have even been passed into law or regulation at some point. But you can change laws and even governments; not ancestors, certainly not their cultural and dietary habits. And so mohamed went to the mountain and tried to encourage his people to burn joss in an adult manner.

Why don't whatever parent that belongs to that kid buy it a pair of earphones?

What is your ranking?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AY5zLvBengQ

1. Cristina Deutekom
2. Sumi Jo
3. Natalie Dessay

Next few not in order of merit:

Lucia Popp
Clara Polito
Beverley Sills
Edda Mosser
Ingeborg Hallstein

General comments:
1. Start seems strange, a bit shriekish-sharp? Seems to have a voice break at about 0.43 - 0.47

2. Starts not so good, but 1.08 onwards is okay. Helps that she smiles :)

3. Good

4. Can't pinpoint what's wrong, but she's just weird. First few lines her volume just suddenly went up at the end of each line...

5. Okay until highest note went off at 2.40

6. Similar to No. 1

7. Good

8. Similar to No. 1, 4.03 part a bit strange

9. Good

10. Good

11. Very good, seems effortless!

12. Good

*13. Excellent, sounds almost like an instrument esp. at 6.22 onwards

14. Seems to be worst of the lot, or I just can't appreciate her style.

15. Good

16. Highest note seems a LITTLE bit off at 7.48 - 7.49

17. There's a break at 8.15 which shouldn't be there

**18. Perfect control. In terms of technique the only one that can match No. 13.

***19. Sounds effortless! Helps that she's graceful and her performance is pleasant to watch.

20. Just downright irritating.

Sumi Jo, Queen of Opera

Is this even human??????
I like this comment: I think Mozart was tired and took wrong order for Soprano part and Flute part

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YTx1BeHiyvw