The things you keep.

I'm a sentimental person, and people like me tend to keep a lot of stuff.

I've books with poems, a name card, a coin set, hundreds of photos, a few dozen letters, movie tickets, more poems, a few blogs, DVDs, some soft toys and three boxes.

I even have the litter bin and food tray for SPCA.

My friends are going to have a smashing time when they read the letters.

From the Kitchen of Mama Wong - Part 1

Sambal Kang Kong

This one's a favorite of mine whenever I eat out - whether it's a restaurant or a neighborhood eatery. You'll find that the one I'm going to introduce is a slightly drier variety from those served outside my house, but if you dare give it a try I guarantee you'll get a pleasant surprise from the heavenly combination of dried shrimp, garlic, and chilli.

Ingredients -
Kang Kong (1 batch), chilli padi (3), red chilli (1), garlic (3 cloves), dried shrimp (a handful)

Let's start!

Making the Cut
Next we clean the kang kong. I apologize to all those who don't know what a kang kong is; you've not tasted one of the best greens grown by man.

Moving on we'll snip off the edible parts of the kang kong with our fingers and then toss out the roots and the hard lower stem of the vegetable. Once the whole batch is snipped, have them soak in a basin of water to get rid of the soil and snails that may have gathered.

Seven (Hundred) Pounds
And while we wait for the greens to soak, we'll move on to preparing the shrimp floss. We'll begin by pounding the chillies in a mortar and pestle till it's hardly anything. Add in the garlic cloves in a comfortable amount, and then finishing it off my venting your tired forearms on the shrimp. Once they're a consistent dry floss, scoop them up and put them aside in anticipation for frying.

Note: You are able to buy pre-made dried shrimp at markets. Those usually do the trick if you neighbor threatened to burn a hole in your floor just so he can fume you whenever you start on the m&p.

Always Wear Protection
The first time I made Sambal Kang Kong, I did it shirtless. I'll treat that as an initiation ceremony - guys take off your shirts, and gals remember to take a video (my email's on the left frame under PROFILE).

Heat up a good amount of oil (I use Knife brand) because the shrimp floss will soak it all up leaving nothing for the vegs. Once the oils starts to cook, put on your shirts and toss in the shrimp floss. Prepare for a splatter fest (especially if you didn't pound it thoroughly enough coz that'll mean there's still plenty of moisture in them chillies).

Keep the heat up and toss away, not letting the floss char. Once you catch the smell of cooked shrimp floss, toss in the greens.

Throw those around in the wok for about 2-3 minutes and you will notice the greens getting darker. Once they're completely flattened and dark, toss in a pinch of salt (or 2. or 3) to taste.

Whip them around for a minute and you're good to go.

Note: If you're using store-bought floss, be sure to add in a pinch of chopped garlic to the oil (use a lot less than previously mentioned) and fry them till fragtant before throwing in the vegs to fry before ending it off with the floss and then salt.

Mulligan.

Sometimes you wish time would rewind.

This is one of mine.

So many times, but not one correct action.

Come back, and let me try again.

My Purple Box.

I have been pampered by my family these last two days, and it made the whole breakup thing a whole let better.

Thanks to my dear parents, sister, and my brother-in-law. You made my day. Expect to see more of me in your lives - not because of what you've done for me, but because of who you are to me.

Went over to her place to pick up my stuff on Saturday. I asked her to give me the purple box in which she placed all the letters I wrote to her and she did so I took it home.

Looking through the letters I wrote, I found out that although the relationship started off for the wrong reason, somehow down the line I actually loved her. It was a passionate love - one that saw me doing stupid things and writing stupid words I wouldn't have wanted anyone else to read.

There were a bunch of chocolates that I gave to her to take to work. She was working at an insurance firm then. She's kept them in the box, kinda like the way I kept a pack of chocolates she gave me to take to work. I was working with a book distributor then.

She gave the box back, and I took it home.

Looking through the letters I wrote, and the cards I gave, and the movie tickets she kept, I felt strange - like a prisoner awaiting the trap door to open so he might be hung but it never came; the final gush of emotion held up like water in a bursting dam (ok the metaphor might be too literal here).

I couldn't cry.

And so the box sits on my table, gathering dust and turning into a sickly shade of gray. I wish to open it again someday with someone that I will love then, and hopefully have her tell me how sweet I can be despite all the shit I would have already put her through.

And one day we will show it to our daughter, and she will make fun of it in front of all the relatives.

And I will ground her for that.

I love being in love, and this purple box proves it.

Alone.

This is going to be messy, so bare with me.

My girlfriend cheated on me. I guess it could only come this way, looking at the circumstance on which we met. The first person I wanted to talk to was too far away, and Abel came along like an Orc in level 80 armor.

Thanks buddy, for the support and for dinner. I don't think you can get away with punching her in the face though.

And so I gave the call to Philip, and he gave me the same impression that I had from the start. It's hard to believe that we have lasted as long as I did, and the last thing I'd expect her to do was to stab me in the back, keeping me to pay for her bills.

For the last few months I've been pretty much alone - and that has helped me through this time. I want to head over to her place to grab my stuff (I miss the pair of jeans there) so that I can end it. I guess it's beyond her to say sorry, and I'm not looking for the apology.

Decided to go tomorrow morning. That's a few hours away.

I hate how this is going - I see myself in a slum for the moment, contemplating on where I can go, what I can do, who I can tell my feelings to.

Friends are not like they seem, and you best watch your words. Outside your head, I don't think everyone can be trusted. In fact, there are very little people I trust now; the one I've put my faith in for the last three years have made all that time worthless.

I have not cried, and I don't think I will. I'm still angry, but not in a I'll-punch-your-face way. I guess I'm stuck in the middle. I hate being stuck.

We were at Sentosa on our first date when I started singing "Somewhere in the Middle" by Dishwalla. That's how I felt the day we went out. I had a nice telephone conversation with her the night before, but what she didn't know was what happened before that.

I'll keep that to memory because it doesn't matter.

That's right. Nothing much matters when you're in the middle. It's like the middle child - wearing hand-me-downs from the first born and being stuck to take care of the younger ones. You think you matter, but in the end you're all alone.

That's how I feel now. Alone.

Is there even anyone reading this? I wouldn't know, but I don't expect anyone to.

Anyway back to the story (was there even one to begin with?!).

I plan to clear out my room tomorrow and remove all traces of her existence. She's not called or emailed or messaged back.

I love you too.

Hah. It was actually easy to say that. Goes to show how good actors we all are. Look out world, here I come.

I'm going over tomorrow morning, meeting Adrian and Abel on Monday, gonna have to cancel that meeting with the insurance agent, and waiting for someone to come home so I can maybe finally cry.

I'm sorry Cheryl, I'm actually gonna have to turn Grinch on you.

This is my life, and I'm happy it happened this way.

See, acting's in my blood.

Paranoia...

...is a delusion, an imaginary circumstance of reality that replaces the factual in a perceived order. Often, this leads to involuntary moments of subconscious misbehavior and irrational thoughts that more often than not result in what is most commonly referred to as a "bloody good show".

Of course, most of the time paranoia leans towards the fictional, and when it does come true, we call it a Slap-in-the-Face.

The New Year

It's happened again - the newspapers have reported the increase of pet abandonment as a result of an economic downturn.

And while all the SPCA can do is tell people not to abandon their pets, I still feel that the victims of this ordeal (the pets dammit) owe their fate to the AVA and their allowance of the sale of animals in the neighborhood pet store.

20% of the pets abandoned at the SPCA are pedigree, and not all pedigrees go to the SPCA. Allow me to introduce Kino, my sister's second husky. She was found shivering at the side of the road. Maybe the owner felt the pinch of the economy too, and decided to drop Kino off so that she can find a job and support herself through these trying times.

You can't do that when you're stuck in the SPCA now, can you?

The AVA allows small breed dogs in HDB flats, and there's no restriction of size if you're living in landed property.

When push comes to shove, pets are seen as liabilities and the emotional attachment is fast to be severed.

This is my crying martyr, but it's too silly a problem with too stubborn an authority to do anything about it. Perhaps when someone dumps a bunch of dogs at AVA's head honcho's doorstep, he'll realize that pet stores are to blame for all the strays.

Seriously, no one wants a second-hand pup.. it's like I don't want to take care of your parents for you.

Fucking do it yourself. If you leave your pet at the SPCA, the only fate awaiting them is a cold lonesome death.

Happy New Year, you bastards at the pet store.

Fear...

... is when you worry.
... is when you are not sure.
... is when you start thinking of scenarios.
... is when you console yourself over things that already happened.
... is when you sit alone.
... is when you are resigned.
... is when you are lost.
... is when you wish you could go back in time.

... is not knowing.

Harry Potter and the Wonder of Imagination

I just caught Prisoner of Azkaban on the telly, and it brought me back to when I was reading Potter books every day, visiting and revisiting the magic of the imaginary world that is Hogwarts.

What a wonderful thing, our mind - sure our intelligence might've caused the world to crumble beneath our feet, but it also birthed the miracles of art, music, poetry, and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Imagination is a wicked adversary. You let it in to pacify you from the rigors of the every day, but become addicted and you'll be spending the rest of your life looking foggy glasses, never coming to terms with something we call REALITY.

But since it's Sunday, let us all ravel in the wonders of our creative minds. I've an idea for an artwork that I'm going to use for my PSP's wallpaper, and will post it as soon as I'm done.

Right, all together now - Expelliamus!

Midnight comes

I think, when it's become what it is, the best thing to do is to know how to say goodbye.

Degeneration

Feeling the cold touch my skin as the rain fell outside my window, I wonder how it would be if I took a walk outside in the downpour. It's been awhile since I had a nice walk under grey stormy clouds, and it would be a welcome change to the comfort of home.

The melodic rhythm of the falling beads strum chorus after chorus, enchanting the neighborhood with the song of life, taking the dry soils and leaves and displacing them onto their next destinations; flooding the roads like broken dams unleashing its wrath on the river banks; stubborn like the teenager insisting on the newest mobile phone.

And the harsh winds follow - I've already heard the flowerpots outside fall from their towers. I open my window to them them all in, and lie in bed enjoying the evergreen classic.

Rain, shine, rain, then shine again - it's a perfect cycle we live through day after day, hour after hour, moment after insignificant moment. And to counter the mundane we invent drama, the arts, technology, alternate realities; fiction.

You have stayed silent, dear rain, but I know your true potential. In your nature I see creation; in your actions I see provocation; in your being I seek improvement.

It's a pity all we ever talk about are umbrellas or sheltered walkways.

I never though they'd come back to visit.

Three years ago, I remember waving farewell to two old friends. I thought I've seen the last of them, but they often say how we cannot forget our past, however hard we try to lose them.

I'm not one to have a lot of close companions, but these two have certainly followed me through the thick and thin of my earlier life. Always close, they kept me company and gave me the gift of time - the one true indicator of a truthful friend.

The first one came to me a few days ago. I felt him knocking and I thought I'd answer to see how he was. A quick exchange of thoughts brought about the next fiery moment of frantic expression. I was back on to where we left off, throwing ideas upon ideas at him. It felt great, and as the saying goes - you never knew what you had until you leave him standing in the rifts of time. There was a reason I said goodbye, and I know know more than ever how important he had been to me; all the memories came gushing back - torrents of gloom, dementia, and doubt flooded my brain.

In that moment, I took out a pen and wrote. Welcome back, dear friends.

The next returned to me just - or so I noticed. He's always been subtle, not coming onto my face like poetry or words, and I appreciated him for the encapsulating presence. Though not intrusive, his being here always made me feel like I'm a part of what I left behind.

To sense him I have to sit back and keep as quiet as I can, not doing anything that would take my focus away. Then as the world dulls to a muted rumble, I hear the forlorn whisper of his voice - a melody that has sent me to sleep a many times. It is always a sad tune, asking for attention and taunting me for being able to hear him. To a certain extent he resembles a drone - a mechanical symphony that has become ritual to me as I sit alone in the room.

And he is back, reminding me that he has been neglected, that I have not been home often enough; I now find myself home too often, not spending the kind of life I thought I had a few years ago.

My time alone has grown, and to my disgust I find myself asking questions that shouldn't be asked, of a person who shouldn't be doubted, on a subject I would never have thought be possible.

While I sit here in front of my computer, I wonder.

And they say a many things about letting your mind roam.

Pets are People too.

Yet another slew of slew of animal movies hit the streets - a result of movie-makers' greed to take advantage of the appeal 'cuteness' has on the naive people of the world.

I speak this with full knowledge that I am among one of those people. I think baby animals are lovely and are a symbol of all that's good in the world.

BUT I am not stupid enough to go out and buy a dog after seeing a movie.

UNFORTUNATELY, some people are.

As much as I would like to side with the SPCA with this and kill all pets that are abandoned and can't find a home, I think that the only way this problem can be dealt with is when the authorities are willing to play a part. Having an NPO like SPCA trying it heart out is no way to handle such a serious social problem.

You see people walking their dogs every time, but do you place yourself outside the pet home watching heartless owners abandon their pets? Imagine how the animals would feel when the person they'e put all their trust in brings them to a cold dark cage in the middle of nowhere (the SPCA doesn't have the best location here).

Cmon, you watched the movies! Animals have hearts too! If you've learnt anything from the movies, it that ANIMALS HAVE SOULS TOO!

So while the AVA spends loads of money on advertising awareness to the people on pet responsibility, it is them who propagate the sale of animals in pet stores, allowing easy access to an idiot with a fat wallet and a selfish kid.

When you buy an animal, it's more that fur and fun. You have to look beyond the obviously shallow and see the responsibilities of taking on another life into yours.

It's like getting married, only worse.

Here's what you sign for when you place that leash on the puppy:

- feeding the pooch
- washing the pooch
- smelling his poo
- smelling his pee
- cleaning them up
- hearing him whine while you're trying to do something important
- hearing him whine while you're trying to do something not important
- smelling him wherever you go because you probably bought a big dog (Marley and Me)
- hearing him wherever you go because you probably bought a small dog (Beverly Hills Chihuahua; Bolt)
- hearing him scratch the door because he wants to go out
- hearing him scratch the door because he wants to come in
- and many many more annoy things that come with having a personality

There are more perks than pukes when it comes to owning a pet, but if just reading the above have rattled your cage, then I suggest a goldfish.

Even then, I'd bet the poor fella won't last a week in an unloved environment. Just that fish survive when they get flushed down a toilet.

To the sons in the world

I sat down beside my mum tonight. She was ready for bed, lying down with the blanket over her because it was a little cold tonight.

We got talking - I told her how my leg itched and that she made too much for dinner again. David said my face got fatter since he last saw me and I blame it on my mum's fabulous cooking; she told me about how she went to a chinese sinseh today and there was a blackout and the assistant was helping told a torch light to the doctor's keyboard so he could see what the hell he was typing.

Then my mum got up from bed and went to the bathroom. She took a small bottle of cream and asked me where it itched.

When I was back in the army, I remember I had to leave on assignment on a sudden notice to the then-tsunami aftermath of Bandah Aceh. They told me at get ready at 3pm and there was noone at home so I called my dad and told him I had to fly for a few days and to tell mum coz I can't get her at her workplace.

I was gone for a week.

When I came home, it was at around 1am, I think. I opened the door and dropped my bags. First thing I did was go to my mum's room and say hi. I woke her up, but she immediately sat up and asked me where the hell I went. Then she got up and made dinner for me coz I told her I was a little hungry.

We talked a little before she had to go back to bed since she was working the morning shift the next day.

Since that day, I made sure I had a talk to her everytime I can. Because you'll never know. You can see it - the illnesses get longer to heal, the fatigue makes her sleep more often, the legs can't stand as long as she used to.

I love cooking because of my mum. She gave me this love of making things in a chinese wok. I dread "western" cooking and adore frying things in the black oily thing under the stove. I've got a list of recipes that I've managed to write down as she cooked in the background, telling me to just watch.

One day, I want to be as good as she is, but it's going to be a long time before I can do that. And when I do, I want to make her the best dinner she's ever eaten.

You can call me a momma's boy, and I'll love you for it. I've been away from her too much in my life, and even made her cry once, but for all the time we've got left, I'll be all the son she wants me to be.

Because when I look at it, there's no family better than mine, and there's no gift better than of the life my mother gave me.