Merry Christmas!

Don't Forget Them

Time for a reality check. Medecins sans Frontieres (Doctors without Borders) just published their 10th annual Top 10 Most Underreported Humanitarian Stories report for 2007.

1. Somalia
2. Zimbabwe
3. Tuberculosis
4. Malnutrition
5. Sri Lanka
   
6. Democratic Republic of Congo
7. Colombia
8. Myanmar
9. Central African Republic
10. Chechnya

Check them out, then consider giving, praying, telling others, or otherwise come up with something we can do so that these stories don't remain standing items on this list.

Shot Through the Heart

OMG, she got me tix to the Bon Jovi concert. This 30-something is getting giggly teenager flashbacks. O-M-G.

AT, you rock. And Jon, Richie, David, Tico - see you in April...(as my inner Squeaks goes, "wheeee!!!").

I Smell Like Cookies...and Kalbi

I played Betty Crocker and Ming Tsai yesterday. Started by bustling around my kitchen and baking "goodwill" cookies for the neighbors; then ended the day with a mallet in my hand, tenderizing short ribs for Friday's youth ministry BBQ at church. I need a shower.

Orange Butter Cookies (courtesy of Betty)
2/3 cup butter, softened
3/4 cup sugar
1 egg
Grated peel of 1 large orange
1/2 cup OJ
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt

Heat oven to 350. Mix everything. Drop tablespoons of dough on ungreased cookie sheet, 2" apart. Bake 8-10 minutes. Cool on wire rack. Easy and MMMM, good.

A Second Chance

We picked up a Christmas tree from the guys at Delancey Street the other day. It cost us a few times more than what we would've paid at Home Depot, but we didn't mind since it's for a good cause. When I first entered the lot, though, I headed straight to the cheapest options -- the lopsided or otherwise unhealthy ones in the back for $19.95. I could say I was drawn to them thinking, "hey, these trees deserve a second chance, too, right?", but really,...I'm cheap. After some browsing and pawing at branches to check for needle retention, I fell for a fragrant and symmetrical (full-priced) pine that finally came home with us. Isn't she beautiful?

I Like The Cowardly Lion Best

So who caught the 3-part miniseries of Tin Man on Sci Fi this week? (ooh, I did!) And I wasn't disappointed. So I sacrificed three nights when I could've been doing other things -- like, surfing other channels -- but it was worth it, especially considering I was snuggling with my favorite person for most of it.

A very cool adaptation of the old classic with a gothic twist to the wicked witch, which I appreciated. (Where can I get one of those latex high-collared cloaks??) Okay, so they copied the Minas Tirith-like fortress and the magical door to the Mines of Moria, but I was still impressed.

Favorite quote: "One wrong move and I'll take you on a walk you won't come back from."- Tin Man to Toto
Favorite character: RAW, the cowardly lion. (Loved his matted zip-up fur costume and dreads. Grrrarr.)

To top it off, Sci Fi is partnering with my favorite non-profit, Habitat for Humanity, on the Brick By Brick project. Tin Man rocks.

Blast from the Past

Facebook reunited me with a long-lost childhood friend recently. 11 years ago, I misplaced her address, we both moved long distances, then took on our beaus' last names. I had all but given up hope that we'd ever cross paths again. And suddenly, here we are... 'Tho in new places surrounded by new people and likely with different interests, we're still held together by the enduring, albeit dusty, bond that we shared as best friends in grade school then for over 12 years when oceans separated us. Who knows how close we'll grow in the years to come, but this pleasant reminder of our friendship and those more innocent times stirred something dormant in me,...an appreciation for things that have changed and other things that have remained the same.

YouTube rules

This revelation came to me when I first discovered 80s videos on the site, but I'm reminded each time I visit and randomly click on 5-star amateur footage like this one: Talking Cats.

In Others' Words

"...true power has very little to do with what's on your resume. It's about being true to yourself and finding your own voice and path in the world. The way you come to your power is through your life's experiences and knowing who you are... It's passing on what we have learned and creating meaningful change through these experiences." - Maria Shriver, in a 10/15/2007 Newsweek essay

We Are the Ones We've Been Waiting For

That was the consistent message throughout the Gamaliel national leadership training for community organizers that I attended last week. Barack Obama was trained as a Gamaliel organizer. A tough program -- complete with boot camp-style agitation -- that truly challenged me to devise my plan to make a real impact on this world. Turning mere rhetoric into action. By the end of the week, we were mentally and emotionally exhausted, but grateful for it. Then we were privileged to be "sent out into the world" by a plenary session with Dolores Huerta, who co-founded the National Farm Workers Association (now United Farm Workers) in 1962 with Cesar Chavez and has been fighting for human rights ever since. 77 and still feisty!

As they say in South Africa, "WOZANI!!" - people coming together to fight for justice. Here I come!

Happy Diwali!

...or as we'd say in Singapore, "Deepavali" from Sanskrit (Deepa=light and Avali=row, or "row of lights"). Today is the 3rd of a 5-day festival celebrated by Hindus -- and also Sikhs, Jains, and some Buddhists -- in India and around the world. Folks celebrate this festive day (and new moon night) with special prayers, new clothes, sweets, visits with family and friends, colorful lights, and fireworks. **FUN!!**

Diwali is significant in many ways, including a time to worship Goddess Lakshmi, the Goddess of Wealth, to seek and thank her for blessings and prosperity. One version of the festival's origin tells the story of Lord Rama (an incarnation of Vishnu) returning to the capital of his kingdom, Ayodhya, after slaying the demon king Ravana; and how his people lit oil lamps to welcome and guide him home through the darkness.

A special shout out my buddies SKrish, GBK, and your families!

Heroes / Transformers

And I'm not referring to the popular NBC show or the warring robot blockbuster. I'm talking about true, real-life heroes and life transformers -- the founders, supporters, and workers of groups that are making a tangible difference in this world. Check these out:

Parikrma Humanity Foundation, providing schooling for children living in urban Indian slums.

The Carter Center, virtually eliminating guinea-worm disease in central Africa (among many other projects).

Nothing But Nets, combating malaria in Africa with insecticide-treated bed nets.

GAVI Alliance, improving child health in the poorest countries through immunizations.

Habitat for Humanity International, providing simple, decent places to live worldwide.

Others?

Pagolac

I broke my own rule, and now I'm paying for it. Should've stopped after that 3rd cup of tea, but did I? Noooo, 'tho it was past 7PM, I kept inviting more refills until I had to stop, when my fingers started drumming the table on their own. Now here I am,...helloooo 2AM!

Okay, focus... AT, KH, and I (a.k.a. Wednesday Whine & Diners) tried Pagolac (at 655 Larkin Street) tonight. My two shaky thumbs are pointing way up! This unassuming place blends cleverly into the surrounding Tenderloin with its dirt-stained awning, but gave us a pleasant surprise when we stepped into its trendy high-ceilinged interior accented with demi-bamboo molding.

We ordered Bo Tai Chanh to start (thin slices of rare beef marinated in lemon juice, served with a generous heap of leafy greens and a dipping sauce); followed by Bun Chao Tom (grilled shrimp balls and sugarcane over vermicelli noodles, again with lotsa veggies) and DIY grilled beef, squid, and shrimp, which we wrapped in rice paper (softened by dunking in warm water). AT and I could only aspire to create wraps as "whole" and unexploded as KH's! For Round 2, we shared Gabotom Xao Lang (curry chicken) and washed it all down with Lau Canh Chua Ca (catfish hot & sour soup),...oh, and also more TEA.

They're open only for dinner on Tuesday through Sunday, 5-10 PM (tho' they let us linger 'til almost 11), and it's a cash-only place. Check it out,...and bring me along, too!

A Whole New Meaning of "Open Book"

As I tilt back on my proverbial rocking chair, I marvel at social interactions today... 15 years ago, the only ways I knew to contact someone was to call, write a letter, or walk up to their door. Chances are, considering my personality, I met them one-on-one or in small groups. Today, e-mail is my main social arm. But I've also extended my reach and joined Linked In and Facebook, and am amazed by this extensive cyberworld of social networks. And in the case of Facebook, the phenomenon of uninhibited posts.

I've discovered that, on Facebook, I can view profile photos of anyone who may show up in my random searches, incl. provocative poses of those (mostly women) who really don't care who sees them or know that they live in e.g., Tampa Bay. (Who knew some of my friends share the same names as dozens of others?!) It makes me realize that this age and rampant popularity of reality shows, You Tube, Facebook, MySpace, and personal blogs (ahem) really reveals that we are truly social beings. We need to associate with others, and in some cases, crave affirmation from them. Cyberspace allows everyone -- well, everyone with access -- to be part of an open society, whether you're gregarious, shy, popular, or awkward in the "real world".

But are really we anymore "connected" to others than we were, say, 15 years ago? I can still count on one hand the number of people who really know my life story. But many others can now claim to know more bits and pieces of it than I would have ever imagined before.

C-c-cold...

But I can take it! *gritting teeth* To save energy, we have our thermostat turned down to 55 during the day, whether we're home or not. Well, today's a "work at home" day, so I'm padding around in my furry boots and completely wrapped in fleece except for my head and hands ('tho the latter pair will be retreating into my long sleeves shortly, when I switch to using the headset and voice recognition software to dictate a report). And to save water, I'm now immersing my hands right when I turn on the faucet and finishing the wash before the hot water even starts running. Pretty chilly, but here's to hoping every bit helps.

Pencils Down

That's one of the slogans I saw on a Writers Guild of America picket sign on some news footage. As a fan of a couple of evening talk shows, I'm certainly going to miss the witty commentaries on the day's news for awhile, but I also support the writers' concerns. Plus that extra hour gave me a chance to bury my nose in an outdated Newsweek.

Tobey's New Trick!

I just saw the FUNNIEST commercial:
Mom reading newspaper on couch. Son yells, "Hey, Mom! Check out Tobey's new trick!" Cut to a yellow lab, using his forelegs to drag his butt across the carpet. "TOBEY!!!" Enter Stanley Steemer carpet cleaner.

A Pile of Newsweeks

The current household bane of my guy's existence is the fast-growing pile of Newsweeks that I'm refusing to recycle until I at least speed-read through every page. I admit, I didn't learn the lesson from previous years, when our KQED pledge brought the weekly periodical to our mailbox faster than I could get through them, so I forgot once again to tell the operator-standing-by, "no, thanks, I'll pass on the free subscription". Next time! In the meantime, my personal goal this week is to get caught up,...at least through the September 24th (Greenspan) issue. That means one issue each day for the rest of the week. Ready...set...GO!

Did It!

Uh, Okay Thanks, FB...

Thoroughly amused by Facebook's "unsolicited suggestions" feature in the top right margin of my Home Page. Recent highlights...

"[friend's name]
He only has 13 friends on Facebook.

Suggest Friends for Him"

Leave him alone, I say!

"[friend's name]

Poke Him"

Nevermind that this person is my former Pastor. *awkward*

3740 steps, 6260 to go...

I've decided to hitch a ride on the 10,000-steps-a-day bandwagon to see how I measure up. Bought a cheap ($4.99) pedometer from Target last night and have it clipped to my waistband. This is one of those products where you do get what you pay for, 'cos it counted a violent coughing fit as 5 steps,...(though that may be equivalent in terms of expended calories). To offset the extra "steps" associated with each jarring move, though, I'll subtract about 100 steps each day and take off the pedometer when I'm sitting at my desk. Two hours into my waking day and after tooling around the house and a morning walk, I'm up to 3,740 steps. As I launch into another relatively sedentary workday, let's see if I can complete the remaining 2/3's of my goal in the next 14 hours...

Today, I saw...

...a baby nestled in a furry pink sheep outfit in his stroller, Wonder Woman with big unmuscular thighs, and a brown bear holding hands with a magician in a tophat. Not too many dressed up for the occasion today, at least on BART and in downtown Oakland. Maybe when evening falls...

Shiver Me Timbers

I felt my first earthquake since we moved here 6 1/2 years ago! The 5.6 magnitude trembler found us lounging on the couch a little after 8PM last night, while watching The Daily Show. It took me a moment to realize that the shaking of my body from a Jon Stewart-induced laugh continued even after I had stopped laughing 'cos the entire house was moving. The sensation reminded me of sitting in a Sharper Image massage chair set to full body wave mode. And we felt it even though we're on bedrock, so it must have really rattled the rest of the Bay Area! Fortunately, no serious injuries.

Where's Abraham?

...Lincoln, that is. Some of you may be familiar with the Currency Tracking Project (a.k.a. "Where's George?"), which poses the question, "Do you ever wonder where that paper money in your pocket has been, or where it will go next?"

Well, I received a $5 bill as change at Cafe Lombard this morning, and was delighted to read "This bill is registered with www.WheresGeorge.com" next to Abe Lincoln's stoic face. This is the third Project bill that I've encountered; the other two were Georgies. After I entered the serial number on the site and described where I got it, I learned that it was in North Richland Hills, TX -- 1457 miles away -- just yesterday! The person who logged it then said, "This bill was used to make change at my bar in DFW Airport in Dallas, TX." Wild, huh?

Let's see where it goes from here...

Let's Head Upstream

ML and I had an awesome time at the awesome David Crowder Band concert tonight at the Fillmore. Did I say it was awesome? It was awesome. And their opening acts, The Myriad and Phil Wickham kicked a$% as well. (pardon the limited vocab; sleepy...)

I can easily dwell on how I was temporarily hypnotized when The Myriad's Jonathan Young started bowing his guitar, or when the house literally shook each time percussionist Randy Miller let his bass drumsticks fall,...but instead, I'll share with you some wisdom that David Crowder left us with.

The difference between compassion and justice is this: Compassion is when people flock to the banks, ready to rescue the people who are drowning in the river. Justice is when someone heads upstream to stop whoever is throwing the people in the river.

We need loads of people to help those who are drowning, but we need folks to go upstream, too. So,...are you with me?

I'll Be Back!

A and I share the same appreciation for good customer service, and for me, especially when it promotes a sense of community. Today I stumbled upon a warm and hospitable place that I'll likely revisit, even though the food wasn’t spectacular. New Filipinas Restaurant (953 Mission St), where I was greeted by three cheerful titas (Tagalog for "aunties") who, upon learning that I'm also from SE Asia and only had enough cash on me for a one-item lunch order, chorused for me to add their "popular beef soup" to my tray. "For you, it's free," one of them beamed. I wanted to throw my arms around her like a little girl, as if I'd known her all my life.

My one-item, Adobo Pork, which I ate with white rice, was "okay", but I must say the soup was good-to-the-last-drop delicious. I soaked in my surroundings as I took my time over this simple meal -- two of San Francisco's finest, looking sharp in their dark blue uniforms and pausing between mouthfuls each time a woman's alto voice crackled on their walkie talkies; a group of Hispanic construction workers wearing t-shirts that read "Bay Area Surfaces"; and several other small groups of diners, all tradesmen, chatting in Tagalog.

Noone left the place without exchanging a few friendly words with the titas, most of them promising to "See you again!" before heading back out to the rain-soaked streets. I think I'll try the tilapia next time.

You Tarzan

"You are a freakishly strong man." Something that I never thought I'd hear my guy say to another guy, specifically the appliance installer who single-handedly carried our new dishwasher across the room today. And for my guy to say it? Now that's strong!

One To Watch

I'm launching this series to recommend new "stuff" that I think are destined to hit it big. Since this is the kick-off, here are TWO to watch. Lucky you!

K-Ville
New Orleans will always hold a special place in my heart because of the hurricane relief work and the wonderful people we've met over there. The fact that K-Ville (or Katrina-Ville) incorporates the complexities of a town and society making sense of it all after such a huge disaster makes it different from other cop shows. Plus it stars Anthony Anderson, who has been climbing the ranks on my pre-blog "One To Watch" list for years now.

Noah McCullough
This amazing 12-year old prodigy was interviewed during last week's Catalyst conference I attended. So poised and articulate, he's already a published author and plans to run for President (on the Republican ticket, he emphasizes) in 2032. Political differences aside, this kid's gonna be a force to reckon with. Let's see, when I was 12, I was hopping the fence at Spartan Stadium with Tina T. and "banking" whatever cash we found under the bleachers at the Pete Stop in exchange for (almost) unlimited rights to gummy worms.

In Others' Words

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."
- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

"I have worked day and night to make sure that a concern for human rights is woven through everything our government does, at home and abroad."
- President Jimmy Carter

Return to Hot-lanta

...though it wasn't quite as hot this time around, compared to last time. We arrived a day and a half before the Catalyst conference last week, which gave us a chance to do some exploring. Enjoyed lunch at Sweet Auburn Market, where the only other Asians we saw in this otherwise black neighborhood were all behind the meat and veggie counters, taking orders next to signs that read, "Buy your whole pig here". Then we visited the Martin Luther King Historic Site, Jimmy Carter Center, and World Of Coca-Cola -- three worthwhile stops that took me on an emotional roller coaster ride...from the literal feeling of a "heavy heart" as I roamed through multimedia exhibits that described vividly the events of the Civil Rights Movement; to marveling at the ambitious humanitarian projects undertaken by the Carter Center; and finally reaching a "high" at day's end with a lively and bubbly tour of Cokeland.

Hey, A and I created this Pop Art!

The Good Life

Working on my Macbook, grooving to Colbie Callait, popping delicious red globe grapes,...and counting my blessings.

Runaway Alarm Clock

How do people come up with this stuff? Found this while flipping through the Skymall catalog en route to Atlanta last week. It rolls away and hides when you hit snooze and continues to flash and beep until you ambush it. Maybe I should patent those windshield wipers for spectacles after all. What I really want someone to invent are picture frames (a la Harry Potter) that loop 3-second videos. I'd buy those!

Happy Birthday, GCF!

A shout out to my girl from Naperville, who is embarking on her 33rd 365-day journey around the sun today!

Ch-Check It Out

Bush's Climate Change Conference (Sep 27-28). An oxymoron?

Women's World Cup 2007 in China (Sep 10-30). Go Marta!

Save 2nd Base. A little humor in support of a tough fight.

Culturally-conscious Nikes. Hey, I know some 'bear paw'd Asians who could use these, too.

In Others' Words

Occasionally, I stumble upon or overhear interesting quotes that make me pause...

"I've always been fascinated by American points of view toward violence. The death penalty in the U.S. is a kind of legalized revenge, isn't it? You've even kind of admitted to that fact, too, the way that families of the victim can attend the execution."
-- Film Director Neil Jordan ("The Crying Game", "The Brave One"), an Irishman.

In Squeaks' Kitchen

Here's one of my favorite Korean recipes. Quick and easy, and gives my boy at home a happy tummy. Ironically, our kitchen was demo'd this morning -- to make room for new cabinets, counter, and sink -- so my next chance to make this (or cook at all) probably won't be for another couple of weeks!

Kimchee Chigae (or kimchee stew)
Source:Recipe Zaar


Ingredients:
1-2 lb lean pork
2-3 cups "ripe" kimchee
1/4 cup juice, from kimchee (optional)
1 box tofu, cubed
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1/4 cup water
1 dash salt and pepper
2 tablespoons crushed red hot peppers
2 cloves crushed garlic

Directions:
1. Cut pork in bite-size chunks.
2. Combine all ingredients into saucepan and bring to boil.
3. Stir occasionally.
4. Simmer over medium heat until kimchee is tender.
5. Serve with steamed brown rice.

Notes:
This recipe is not as liquidy as traditional chigae.
Open windows to share the intense kimchee aroma with your neighbors! (advisable to avoid suffocation)

Bon appetit. Or as the Koreans say, 잘 먹겠습니다 (chal-meok-kes-seum-ni-da)!

Blattella asahinai

I find phobias fascinating - the psychology of the condition; the fact that it can be all-consuming, uncontrollable, and evoke such extreme feelings of terror and dread, even when the perceived threats are not real. It's also interesting how certain phobias can be overcome, while others cannot.

I may be setting myself up for the worst unfunny practical joke from my meanest enemy, but I will entrust you with this: The one thing that instills the greatest fear and panic in me, above all else in this world,...which may make me pause if I had to choose between rescuing my loved ones from uncertain death and facing this nemesis, is...the dreaded cucaracha. I harbor such an intense abhorrence for this species that even writing the word in my first language makes me shudder.

While I'm pleased to have successfully overcome other phobias by facing them head-on -- E.G., conquered my fear of heights (acrophobia) at age 16 by "bravely" climbing 668 steps to the Eiffel Tower's 2nd observation deck via metal stairs that vibrated with every step and gust of wind (okay, to impress a cute boy, but hey, it worked); and triumphed over claustrophobia after a summer of studying bats in narrow and low-ceilinged lava tube caves -- my distress over "le crancelat" (in French) lingers.

I trace the original trauma back to my childhood, when I was a mere 6-year old, rinsing dishes on my tip toes at the kitchen sink. When I sensed someone...or something...watching me from across the room, I spun around just in time to see the brown 3-inch long-legged winged menace dashing towards me. It (brace yourself) made it half way up my exposed leg before my screams and violent flailing made it drop to the floor. I honestly can't remember what happened immediately afterwards, which I attribute to shock, but my next conscious moment found me curled up in my upstairs bedroom floor, crying and rocking.

I've come face-to-face with this adversary many times since then, in university housing, basement apartments, and most recently, during my Katrina relief work in New Orleans, where they get as big and fly with as much agility as the ones I grew up with. And to make things worse, they seem drawn to me! My teammates nicknamed me "Roach Landing Pad" after my second hurricane recovery trip for a reason. Needless to say, facing this phobia head-on has not helped me overcome it, but has instead intensified it. And I am ready to admit defeat. Damn you, little beast, damn you!

Fed Up

A Momentary Lapse

I turned up the volume on the car radio and glanced in the rearview mirror. There she was, mouthing the words to the same song -- JT's Summer Love. As she lip-synched "...tell me how they got that pretty little face on that pretty little frame, girl", her face grimaced dramatically as she rocked it out, relishing the heavy bass pounding in her chest. I chuckled at the pseudo rocker in the mirror - me - tousled my hair, and returned my eyes to the road.

Inspiration out of Desperation

A couple of months back, I made a pledge to only write when I'm inspired. I seem to have hit a slump this week, possibly due to jetlag from my trip or perhaps a lack of exciting things happening relative to the flood of activities during my travels. I recall fondly how writing themes often come to me fairly easily, finding me like Slim in 8 Mile, jotting down observations in a little notebook on my various commutes. I used to confine my musings to a personal journal -- for noone else's eyes but mine and whomever I will it to -- but now that I have this blog and at least a few loyal readers, I find myself more aware of my surroundings, constantly seeking nuggets of inspiration while being careful not to force anything. Interestingly, this entry was inspired while I desperately pondered my lack of inspiration!

Tidbit you may not know: I used to belong to an acapella singing group called Inspiration. By invitation, we lifted our voices at weddings, funerals, and on visits with folks who were ill. I found loads of inspiration for writing during my time with that usually-all-male group. Those thoughts are confined to my journal, though, so consider yourself deprived,...unless you give me good reason to adopt you!

In Pictures: S'pore and Phuket

A few photos from my recent trip to southeast Asia...

SingaporeColorful monorail cars traveling between the main island and the resort island of Sentosa, against the backdrop of Singapore's downtown skyline and the world's busiest port.

Mmm, breakfast! Roti prata and mutton curry for dipping.

Wide assortment of tropical fruits for sale at a Chinatown stall - bananas, rambutans, mangos, logans, mangosteen, langsat,...

Rearshot of a 70+ Eurasian busker singing "golden oldies" at the Tampines MRT (mass rapid transit) train station. Mum smiled nostalgically, recognizing every song as being from "her time".

An indo-Pacific humpback dolphin (a.k.a. pink dolphin 'cos it turns pink as it ages) at Sentosa island. Native to the waters of Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam, and China. Cha and I swam with 5-year old Splash!

Two cockatoos perched on a palm tree near my childhood home. Non-native to Singapore, they probably relocated from Indonesia where intense logging and slash-and-burn practices are decimating natural habitat. (click on photo to zoom in)

Phuket
View of Phuket from above as our plane makes its descent.

A roadside butcher selling fresh meat from his stall.

1 1/2-year old Jumbo relieving an itch on his butt.

Jumbo's 6-year old sister frolicking in the Andaman Sea with her mahute (handler and constant companion).

Hunched worker at a cashew nut factory, painstakingly shelling the nuts, one at a time.

A monument to Chan, the widow of a former governor, and her sister Muk, heroines who successfully frightened away invading Burmese in 1785 by having women cut their hair and follow the men in battle with rolled-up banana leaves that looked like muskets.

Parking spaces outside a grocery store are sheltered with cool blue roofs, to shield from the tropical heat.

Dusk along the Phuket coast.

A "Rojak" of Emotions

"Rojak" = Singaporean for "mixture", referring to a salad of local ingredients, each with its own distinct flavor.

I'm home. I wrote the following during the first leg of my flight back, en route from Singapore to Hong Kong:

"SQ2 is shooting through the cloudless blue sky, away from the tropical island that is my childhood home. I am overcome by an emptiness in the pit of my stomach and a slight ache in my heart as the distance grows between this plane and the loving company of my relatives whom I'm leaving behind. But wait, another emotion, a comforting one, is trying to relieve the melancholic weight in my chest, as my pulse quickens in anticipation of returning to the place I now call home, where my guy awaits. In the midst of heartache mingled with excitement, I'm counting my blessings for having folks in my life who evoke this 'rojak' of emotions in me."

A Week in Phuket

We’re back in S’pore after a relaxing holiday in Mai Khao on Phuket island, southern Thailand. A few highlights and observations from our trip:

• ‘Tho the Mai Khao coast wasn’t hit as hard as other parts of the island by the Tsunami, there was evidence of increased preparedness, like shiny new signs designating tsunami evacuation routes to assembly areas on higher ground. One of these areas, a large plot of land that doubled as a coconut plantation, was just behind our suite.
  
  
• Majestic domed mosques and ornate templates are a common sight along the main roads. The social unrest associated with regions further south doesn’t seem to have tainted the harmony among the Muslim and Buddhist locals who almost equally comprise the Phuket population.
  
  
• They drive on the left, with the left-most narrower lane reserved for motorcycles and bicycles. I dare say there may be more motorcycles than cars, many with side carts covered with umbrellas, some carrying additional passengers or laden with hawker wares.
  
  
• We learned to greet with “Sawatdee-ka” (or “-krap” if you’re a dude), accompanied by a sweet smile and a respectful nod, in imitation of our gracious hosts.
  
  
• We rode a 6-year old elephant on the beach, bareback! A real gentle giant, which we watched, amazed, as it frolicked in the Andaman Sea. Imagine a 1-ton beast allowing itself to be swept off its feet by the heavy pounding waves and rolling playfully in the sand. The bond between the elephant and her human companion (“mah-hute”) was also magical and touching, with him rubbing her face as she wrapped her swinging trunk around his arm.
  
  
• We “kids” went kayaking in Phang Nam and Krabi bays with Paddle Asia.Com and got quite a workout! The numerous karst islands resembled grazing and slumbering elephants, covered with dense forests except for the sheer cliffs. Vibrantly-colored herons, frenetically-pecking sandpipers, and a lizard as long and twice as thick as my arm greeted us as we paddled past them.
  

The ultimate highlight of the past week has been QT with my aged Aunts. I cherish those afternoons (during our escapes from the midday heat) when Eema and Auntie R reminisced about “war time” during the Japanese Occupation of Singapore and shared fond and still-vivid memories of family members who have since left us. I will never forget those moments.

Karung Guni Man

The "toot toot" of his klaxon horn echoes through the neighborhood as his drives his lorry down our street, inviting residents to bring out their newspapers, appliances, and other unwanted items, which he buys and reconditions for resale. Our affectionate name for the fellow comes from the Malay words "karung" for "sack", and "guni", referring to the hemp (or jute) material used to contain rice in the old days -- the southeast Asian origin of the term "gunny sack". What may be junk to us is a living for our neighborhood Karung Guni Man.

Tropical Dawn

"Did you hear the cock crow?" Mum asked as I emerged from the air-conditioned bedroom. I shook my head as I breathed in the balmy air that permeated the rest of the un-climate-controlled house. I had been listening intently to Amy Tan and Joan Chen dramatically reading the former's book, "The Bonesetter's Daughter", on my iPOD. At that moment, I felt somewhat sheepish about forgetting to listen for the "welcome home" greeting of our neighbor's fiesty chicken. In an attempt to redeem what I had missed, I paused to discern the familiar sounds of dawn in the tropical suburban neighborhood. The trills, chirps, and hollow "coke coke coke" of resident early-morning birds suddenly filled the air, punctuated with the playful "cak cak cak!" of a house gecko -- or "zee-zak", as we call them in Malay -- roaming the walls of my childhood home.

The Giantess Comes Home

I marvel at how much I feel like a giant each time I return to this house. I've been back almost a dozen times since we moved to the States over a quarter of a century ago, but I still vividly remember views of this place from a much lower vantage point!

Taxi Dancer 44

As we wait to board our 2-legged flight from SF to Singapore, Mum reminisces about my grandmother's best friend's stint as a "taxi dancer". (I'm not sure how it came up, but that's what I appreciate about unpredictable streams of consciousness.) "44", as we all called her, after her street address, and "Ah Fong" -- granny's two closest friends -- both worked in a cabaret as dancers for-hire in Singapore during the 1930s. According to Mum, the service was limited to just dancing. I'd like to read up more about this profession during that era...

Two Year Anniversary

We sent the following (excerpted) message to the 54 hurricane relief volunteers from Sunset Church who comprised the 7 teams dispatched to St. Bernard Parish LA, and Pascagoula MS over the past year. Each volunteer put in at least a week's worth of hard physical labor in gutting and/or rebuilding homes for disadvantaged members of those communities (e.g., disabled, elderly). If you had contributed to this effort, a heartfelt thank you again for helping make it possible.

"Next Wednesday, August 29, will mark the 2-year anniversary since Hurricane Katrina made landfall and wreaked havoc along the U.S. Gulf Coast. You've seen the devastation first-hand. St. Bernard Parish and Pascagoula are just two of many communities along the Gulf Coast that are still rebuilding, 2 years later. You'll probably see a surge in news coverage around this anniversary in the coming days.

We'd like thank each and every one of you again for serving our Lord and living out your faith within the past year by participating in this project. Sunset Church's 8th team of hurricane relief volunteers (Team H) will be in St. Bernard Parish from September 30 to October 6. Please keep [them] in your prayers.

Please also pray for the residents, organizations, and volunteers who are continuing to work hard to get the region back on its feet. Let's not forget them, even when the news coverage ends."

Happy Birthday, Erica!

I don't know who she is, but I just joined a roomful of strangers in singing "Happy Birthday" to her. The glassy-eyed goateed fellow behind the counter who rallied our support conducted our harmony with metronomic fingers, here at Zocalo Coffeehouse in San Leandro, a nice spacious café with dark oak furniture, comfy-looking couches, and (most importantly) free wi-fi. Mmm, smells good in here!

Damn Strawberries...sorry

Eddie Izzard has this hilarious bit about rotting pears.

"So f@$% pears… Pears are like a rock, so you think, “I’ll take them home and they’ll ripen up,” and you put them in a bowl, and they sit there going, “No! No! Don’t ripen yet! Don’t ripen yet! Wait till he goes out of the room! Ripen now! Now! Now!” (mimes pears ripening fast) And you come back in, and you go, “I’ll just have one of these…” (mimes touching a rotten fruit) “Hey, these pears are dead! These are dead pears, man. Hey, what happened, guys?” They’re all going… (laughs like Muttley)." (from Eddie's "Cake or Death" transcript site)

That's what happened to my strawberries, dammit. I prodded them just yesterday, thinking, "They'll last another day, right? Yeah, I'll have them with breakfast tomorrow." Today, I open the fridge, and there they were, covered with white fuzz. I should have guessed they would take revenge, with the ones on top -- the ones I had poked -- donning the thickest fur coats, some of which overflowed to the innocent ones beneath.

In the midst of my fist-shaking, I also can't help but feel some remorse and guilt about the tragedy. They didn't have the chance to live out their purpose in life. Sorry, guys.

In Their Backyard

I attended a community meeting about diesel emissions in West Oakland yesterday. It was fairly well-attended; the air regulators did their best to present dry voluminous data as attractively and succinctly as they could; and good questions were raised by the audience, with environmental scientists clarifying technical issues and community advocates injecting the role of checks-and-balances into the process with their emphatic comments.

On the surface, it seemed like a typical community meeting, with people networking in whispers in the shadows, a presenter trying to connect with the audience by laughingly disparaging herself when a mistake was identified on her slide,…but then a small-framed elderly woman opened her mouth to speak.

I’ve seen Ms. P at most of the town hall meetings I’ve been to in this neighborhood. I dare say she’s one of the matriarchs of West Oakland, having lived there for almost a century. She looks in her 80s, her gentle face dusted with light powder, her wavy curls kept neatly in place with a long hair pin. On this night, her stockinged feet braced themselves in open-toed pumps as she called us out. In a frail but stern voice, she announced that this was not a “community meeting”, as there were hardly any “community folk” there. She calmly snipped at the presenters’ defenses with, “I didn’t receive any postcard” and “No, I don’t want to talk with you one-on-one at the end. Maybe that’s the problem. Explain this now, in front of everyone.”

I scanned my gaze around the room. Sure enough, I was among the 45 of 50 or so participants who would leave West Oakland that night and drive home – home, where our neighborhoods don’t have the distinctions that children are 7 times more likely to be hospitalized for asthma than the average child in the state of California; nearly 82% of the population live within 1/8 mile of an industrial area; 31% of residents are not able to afford the median rent on available housing units (Pacific Institute). Our backyards certainly don’t look much like theirs.

A Googol of Coolness (sort of)

I played chaperone and driver for the College Trak team's field trip to the Google campus in Mountain View recently. I think we adults were more wide-eyed and excited about it than the dozen 13- to 18-year olds whom we were accompanying!

As we traversed the high-tech campus on foot, we caught glimpses of riders coasting by on blue bicycles with orange flags and figures leaning to make their segway scooters go. Employees share these alternative modes of transportation to travel between the nine buildings, just a couple of many examples of how Google is working towards its goal of achieving carbon neutrality by the end of the year. And the facilities and services! Huge gym, endless pools (a.k.a. swimmer's treadmills), mini arcades, masseuses,...and cafes with an incredible variety of foods. My lunch consisted of Indian, Italian, Mexican, and Chinese fare. *burp*

En route to and from Google, my apprehension about not being able to "connect" with my assigned teens was at least temporarily relieved by music and a brief crisis -- universal themes that can often bring people together. My inbound ride with the three guys began with the usual boring questions about how their summer was going, when does school start again, blah blah, followed by awkward silence interrupted occasionally by fast-fingered texting and occasional grunts that accompanied butts shifting in their seats. Then my Roadtrip Mix 2006 CD pumped out Eminem's "Lose Yourself", awakening the stoic young men from their torpid state. I wonder if my Hyundai will ever experience such kickin' rap grooves in its backseat again. The Chili Peppers also bridged the generation gap during the heavy guitar bit in "By the Way", which elicited some impressive head banging. Then an 80s big-hair ballad came on, and I resumed my state of uncool (at least in their minds). But how I reveled in those few preceding moments!

My young carpoolers and I shared a few special moments again on our way home, when I got a flat tire. They seemed to feel empowered when guiding me through rush hour traffic as I flip flopped to the next freeway exit. I was touched by how they yelled, "yaa, shaddup!" at the impatient cars who honked and tailed us as we limped to the gas station, and kept repeating, "you're good" over my shoulder in encouragement. Aw shucks...

BART Ride

• The aged grandfather nods gratefully at the young man with the Don Johnson shadow, his smile deepening the creases on his worn and chiseled Asian face. He falls into the vacated seat as the train picks up speed, pulling a writhing 4-year old onto his lap.
  
  
• An attractive youthful girl grins at herself in a compact mirror as she brushes blush on her raised cheeks, occasionally flashing seductive glances at her reflection and sweeping a bouncy orange curl from her face.
  
  
• A gay multi-racial couple engages in light-hearted conversation, leaning into each other and playfully brushing fingers across the other's arm as they share a laugh.
  
  
• A brawny Latin man with black cords running from his ears to a turquoise MP3 player tightens his grip on the ceiling rail as the train lurches, revealing a fierce tattoo of intertwined sea monsters resembling those on ancient maritime maps beneath his wide leather cuffed wristwatch.
  
  
• An elderly couple with snow white hair shuffle in tentatively and are immediately offered seats. The lady, looking snug in her wispy pink rabbit fur cardigan and wearing ruby red loafers reminiscent of Dorothy’s slippers, clutches her partner’s bent arm and joins him in staring, bewildered, at the train map across the aisle.
  
  
• We know we’ve arrived downtown when passengers adopt “I, Robot” behavior, where as each batch of commuters steps off the train, another group files into position at the door entrance, evenly-spaced and ready to disembark at the next stop.
  
  
• Ads plastered next to the doors and at the far ends of the train car read:
  
  • “Get Metro PCS for $35 per month, unlimited long distance and local wireless.”
    
  • “Flex Your Power: Saving energy. It’s a Way of Life”
    
  • “Burger King:: Now you can pay rent and eat. BK breakfast value menu, 10 items starting at $1 each.”
    
  • “Whose bag? If you see something unusual, say something. Trust your instincts. Report unattended items.”
    
  
  Signs of the times.
  

Happy Birthday, Eema!

Today is my Mum's older sister's 80th birthday.
I hope I'm as wise, spunky, and inspiring as she is when I reach her age!

IMAX + 3D = WHOA!!

We watched “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” on IMAX the other day. Did you know it features 20 minutes of the most exciting scenes in 3D?? Oh my goodness…UNbelievable. And to see 150 hard-core fans donned with oversized glasses and goofy grins on our wide-eyed faces must have been priceless. “A” commented that the auditorium was a perfect setting for a groupthink study. When the row of green glasses flashed across the bottom of the screen, indicating that it was time to put on our funny shades, a murmuring hum traveled across the room, with folks gasping “Oh, it’s time” to one another while putting on their own, as if making sure that no one was left out. And for us, 3D meant an increase in intensity of flinching and tight grips on neighbors' arms. (Sweetie, are the bruises gone yet...?)

Dawn Phenomenon

I originally started writing this post with the intention of using the phrase, “Dawn Phenomenon”, in a humorous way to refer to my tendency to wake up feeling “high”, as if the mere opening of my eyelids flips on a switch that fires up my synapses all at once. As my guy has observed, usually with a bemused smirk, it is during these first few moments of the day that I’m bustling about, accomplishing more than I would in several hours and talking a mile a minute about how we can save the world.

But on a more serious note, “Dawn Phenomenon” is also a condition experienced by some diabetics whose blood sugar levels spike overnight. A quick Google search reveals that it results from the release of certain hormones during the early morning hours that causes an increase in insulin resistance, and other hormones that add stored or new glucose to the bloodstream. This especially sucks for diabetics, who lack the ability to produce or properly use insulin to convert sugar, starches and other food into energy.

For a personal perspective on DP and managing diabetes, check out the blog by Mr. Dawn Phenomenon, who gives the humbling statistic: “If all the diabetics were in one country, it would be the eighth largest nation in the world.”

Transform Our Communities

My community work has proven time and time again the truism of the adage, “it takes a village to raise a child.” From another angle, “nobody is an island”. And ironically, in this day in age of rampant distrust – of faltering political leadership, of “bad people” who might want to do us harm – this piece of wisdom needs to shine. I believe that the “village” concept can be the foundation of a movement to transform our communities and our society to one where we can band together in trust and to challenge social injustices.

I know that there are many reasons for a wise person to glance over his shoulder, furrow a skeptical brow at mere rhetoric, double-lock his front door and avoid eye-contact with strangers. I don’t claim to be naïve about that and know that there are many things over which we have no control and therefore must be cautious. But I refuse to accept that gone are the days of trusting others to watch out for us, the days when we could assume that people are doing good for each other for good’s sake and not for personal gain. I believe that community can be revived and fostered, and that this renewed trust can be the basis for efforts to defend each other from harm.

It starts in our own homes and how we treat the ones who are closest to us. Show graciousness and kindness to those who put up with us. Then, over time, allow this graciousness to overflow outside our home, to our neighbors, our co-workers, even strangers on the streets. (Ever smiled at a grim-looking passer-by and watch their face light up?)

Social injustices abound, but they don’t have to. They can be challenged, opposed by those who will not tolerate them. The community can stand up for the rights of the alienated, the down-trodden, the disadvantaged. I believe that community can make a difference. We can move towards fostering a good neighborhood by being good neighbors ourselves.

It's Over

I just finished reading the culmination of the Harry Potter adventure.



Blimey!!!!