Of dreams, of hopes, of wants and needs. It's quite one thing to not like what you see in the mirror, it's quite another to dislike that and what you see reflected in the eyes of people around you. 24 years, and I'm an uglier person than I have ever been.
Die, self. There is a frustration of what, of who I could have been, and still can but dare not expect to be any more. Stuck in a rut is an accurate description of events. So is chronically tired, and constantly unhappy.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Sounds of joy
I could explain it, but I don't think one who hasn't lived away from Singapore could understand. It's far too past a decent bedtime, and I blame my new friends, but the sound of rain gently falling on the glass windows is bringing a smile to my face. A little reminder that I am home again.
The corny way to put it would be that it's 2 a.m. and the rain is falling, but we'll just pretend I never said that.
The corny way to put it would be that it's 2 a.m. and the rain is falling, but we'll just pretend I never said that.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Et voila, ré-bonjour
Ta Celest, Grace for secretly reading my blog. (Grace, where do I know you from?)
Home is strange and familiar after 6 months, as was to be expected. I know where all the furniture is, where each light switch is, and where my dog curls up to sleep for the better part of the lazy day. But the new cordless phone makes beeping sounds more commonly found on a microwave oven, my room is very tidy (I'll soon fix that), and there is an empty space in my TV cabinet where the Xbox 360 should be (Gabe should soon rectify that ahem). And Por is more frail and hard of seeing than before. And Bear just looks old and tired. And while the new car is pretty spiffy with its GPS and Bluetooth and whatnot, it can't hold my attention more than my family; not this time, no, it just wouldn't be right. 6 months living and traveling with someone who was once a complete stranger, and the apartment was a real home before the end of it all. The onus is on me to not make my actual home merely a bed and a shower.
Home is strange and familiar after 6 months, as was to be expected. I know where all the furniture is, where each light switch is, and where my dog curls up to sleep for the better part of the lazy day. But the new cordless phone makes beeping sounds more commonly found on a microwave oven, my room is very tidy (I'll soon fix that), and there is an empty space in my TV cabinet where the Xbox 360 should be (Gabe should soon rectify that ahem). And Por is more frail and hard of seeing than before. And Bear just looks old and tired. And while the new car is pretty spiffy with its GPS and Bluetooth and whatnot, it can't hold my attention more than my family; not this time, no, it just wouldn't be right. 6 months living and traveling with someone who was once a complete stranger, and the apartment was a real home before the end of it all. The onus is on me to not make my actual home merely a bed and a shower.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Here goes,
Perhaps infinitely more terrifying than leaving Singapore for exchange is the prospect of going on a 3-week Eurotrip, starting tomorrow. I don't feel quite as nervous as I did on 2 January, but I do feel tentative. Whatever will I do without my laptop? It's not as trivial as it sounds when you've become quite the Netizen.
The fact that I'm just a little edgy about gallivanting is made worse when I realise that I've already "toughed" it out on exchange. For 5 months. I'm still thinking, "Ahhhhh what if I need to use my computer for something? What if I forget to pack something that's really hard to find?" Oh, crikey. But there's no time for excuses, and barely enough to finish packing. Time to shut this laptop down and tuck it away.
The fact that I'm just a little edgy about gallivanting is made worse when I realise that I've already "toughed" it out on exchange. For 5 months. I'm still thinking, "Ahhhhh what if I need to use my computer for something? What if I forget to pack something that's really hard to find?" Oh, crikey. But there's no time for excuses, and barely enough to finish packing. Time to shut this laptop down and tuck it away.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Lessen.
My academic semester in Grenoble is all but over now. The classes are over, the teachers are done teaching, and but 3 exams are left. I am tired of learning.
Where I learned most was not in the classrooms, though, but everywhere outside the school. I didn't pay much attention to the modules anyway--it was not my intention to achieve more than a passing grade for everything--but in living here, I have been exposed to a level of discrimination that was hitherto alien to me. Racism, such an ugly mask to wear.
I have no document to support it, but a friend of mine says Grenoble has the dubious honour of being France's 2nd most dangerous city. It may rank as one of the most racist too, and I am tired of learning and relearning that fact. The ghetto boys here regularly say things like, "Ching ching chong" in a vain effort to speak "Mandarin"--and they say it to quite nearly any student who looks Oriental. People stare at us (Amanda and I) when we board trains, and we know that it's because we're Chinese since the same people never stare at anybody else who comes aboard. I'm so tired of even talking about it, I won't bother citing more examples.
It's odd that I've never felt as discriminated against as I have here. It wasn't like that in any other European city I've traveled to in the past 5 months, and there were a lot: (in chronological order) Madrid, Geneva, Annecy, Chambéry, London, Lyon, Barcelona, Porto, Lisbon, Fátima, Paris, Avignon, Monaco, Nice. Possibly only Nice comes close to making me feel as uncomfortable in my Chinese skin as Grenoble, but my point is discrimination on the whole is what I've had to deal with here. For being Asian. For speaking English. I'm tired of it.
The distressing fact is that I am supposedly a Christian. The theology I subscribe to points to God as creator of all mankind, past, present and future, and He loves all of us. That's a happy fact when applied to oneself, but then comes the imperative to love my enemy. The bigots who walk the same streets as I do, are mine. It's hard to love them. I'm tired of learning how hateful I am.
Most of all, I am tired of seeing how messed up this world can be. It wears me out; it's hard to live like this, it's harder to admit that I wish I could change it but I haven't a clue how. I can't hope to change a broken world if I can't change my hardened heart. Some days it makes me so pissed off, I even wish that for the 6 months here, I could be Caucasian just so I wouldn't have to deal with all this.
Where I learned most was not in the classrooms, though, but everywhere outside the school. I didn't pay much attention to the modules anyway--it was not my intention to achieve more than a passing grade for everything--but in living here, I have been exposed to a level of discrimination that was hitherto alien to me. Racism, such an ugly mask to wear.
I have no document to support it, but a friend of mine says Grenoble has the dubious honour of being France's 2nd most dangerous city. It may rank as one of the most racist too, and I am tired of learning and relearning that fact. The ghetto boys here regularly say things like, "Ching ching chong" in a vain effort to speak "Mandarin"--and they say it to quite nearly any student who looks Oriental. People stare at us (Amanda and I) when we board trains, and we know that it's because we're Chinese since the same people never stare at anybody else who comes aboard. I'm so tired of even talking about it, I won't bother citing more examples.
It's odd that I've never felt as discriminated against as I have here. It wasn't like that in any other European city I've traveled to in the past 5 months, and there were a lot: (in chronological order) Madrid, Geneva, Annecy, Chambéry, London, Lyon, Barcelona, Porto, Lisbon, Fátima, Paris, Avignon, Monaco, Nice. Possibly only Nice comes close to making me feel as uncomfortable in my Chinese skin as Grenoble, but my point is discrimination on the whole is what I've had to deal with here. For being Asian. For speaking English. I'm tired of it.
The distressing fact is that I am supposedly a Christian. The theology I subscribe to points to God as creator of all mankind, past, present and future, and He loves all of us. That's a happy fact when applied to oneself, but then comes the imperative to love my enemy. The bigots who walk the same streets as I do, are mine. It's hard to love them. I'm tired of learning how hateful I am.
Most of all, I am tired of seeing how messed up this world can be. It wears me out; it's hard to live like this, it's harder to admit that I wish I could change it but I haven't a clue how. I can't hope to change a broken world if I can't change my hardened heart. Some days it makes me so pissed off, I even wish that for the 6 months here, I could be Caucasian just so I wouldn't have to deal with all this.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Paris? Pas de mal.
Hello, my foodie friends. I think those of you who still stop by do appreciate good food, and I've just gotten back from a 4-day trip to Paris which had only one real objective: manger des bonne nourritures. (Fr. gr?) Amanda and I followed recommendations from food blogs, especially ChubbyHubby and FoodBeam, but it was a bit of a hit-and-miss, mostly due to our bumbling nature.
Baguette
Béchu came highly recommended as a boulangerie; ChubbyHubby wrote in March 2007 that the store won the Grand Prix for Paris' best baguette. Can't say I'm impressed, though; we shared a demi baguette and concluded that it was good, but not great. I think we ordered the wrong thing from Béchu, though, as it's apparently its pain au chocolat orange that keep garnering rave reviews. The current winner of the Grand Prix of baguettes is a place called Philippe Gosselin, but it was closed on Saturdays and that's precisely when I showed up at its doorstep, so I guess I can't say if that's any better. Oh well, I'll be back in Paris 2 more times anyway.
Ironically, my favourite baguettes are still baked right here in Grenoble, at a little place called Moulin Gourmand. They're crispy on the outside, never a hint of being burnt (unlike the one from Béchu), and have soft, chewy insides--in other words, like the way the cartoon Ratatouille described a perfect baguette.
Macarons and...stuff
Paris' pâtissieries are ruled by a triumvirate, as far as I'm concerned, and it comprises big boys Ladurée, Pierre Hermé and Sadaharu Aoki.
Pierre Hermé is perhaps familiar to most Singaporeans, so let's start with them. I sampled their macarons, and I think they're...nice. Sorry folks, I guess I'm not a macaron lover. Therefore, let me allow Amanda to say her peace on the matter. They don't stock as many flavours as Ladurée, but they do release new ones on a regular basis, so you can be assured of variety on every visit, and the pairings of flavours can be quite unexpected. Currently, PH is big on Montbello, a raspberry and pistachio combination that they apply to everything, from macarons to millefeuille, and the red-and-green coloured creations show how 2 unlikely ingredients can go well together. Aside from the more fanciful pastries, Pierre Hermé also sells fantastic croissant and pain au chocolat. Don't laugh, and don't balk at the price (€1.50 and €1.80 respectively--stop screaming in the back there, I can hear you)--these are by far the best renditions of both French staples that we have ever tried. In our lives. The croissant is crispy and golden brown on the outside, flakes just enough when you bite, and its interior has countless layers of wonderfully aromatic buttery goodness. You will smile when you put this in your mouth. The pain au chocolat is no pushover either, and I mean, the name basically translates into "chocolate bread", so what could be so good about it? The chocolate, obviously. In this case, Pierre Hermé uses Gianduja chocolate, which is absolutely scrummylicious. Don't argue with me, just get thee hence to an outlet and buy both. Leave Paris without eating either (at LEAST), and you ought to be ashamed to call yourself Singaporean.
Ladurée has multiple outlets, and the biggest one is right along Champs-Elysées, which probably helps make it so famous among tourists. They are, of course, far from terrible with any of their pastries, and their macarons often come highly recommended. However, I must state with all humility that Amanda and I have become food snobs. We don't know much about all foods, but by golly do we know when we bite into good baguette, croissant, pain au chocolat, and macaron. So, what's the verdict on crowd favourite Ladurée? Their macarons are akin to the interior of their Champs-Elysées outlet: fairly traditional, but not the most exciting. They are good, to be sure, and the long queues for them are somewhat justified, but what you'll find here are standard flavours. Save for a few unique offerings such as orange blossom and Lily of the Valley (ooh la), the rest are the usual suspects--pistache, framboise, café, chocolat, vanille, blah blah blah. We sat there for a light breakfast, and shared a few mini viennoiseries: croissant, pain au chocolat, croissant with filling. Again, good, but we've had better (hello, Pierre).
Sadaharu Aoki is a Japanese pâtissier who must have considered being a painter at some point. It's like he takes the cake as his canvas, and cream and powder are his paints. Here, you will find creations that are both unique in flavour and beautiful to behold. I suppose its half borne of a need to pander to a non-Japanese crowd, but a good many pastries at Sadaharu Aoki are of the green tea variety. Not that it's a bad thing, mind you. His millefeuille macha was a winning combination of green tea and caramel, neither flavour overpowering each other or my senses, and both of them just subtle enough to make the delicate pastry the best thing I ate in Paris. As is stereotypical (though not in a bad way) of the Japanese, the millefeuille was gorgeous in its arrangement as well: a glazed brown top layer half-peppered with fine macha powder, and hiding just below, a 'thousand' layers of caramel puff-pastry and green tea cream. I felt bad to even bring my fork near it. Save for the branch in Galeries Lafayette, his outlets offer seating space so you can dine in minimalist pleasure, taking sips of Japanese tea while struggling to decide where to fix your gaze--on the vibrantly-coloured macha and yuzu éclairs on your plate, or the elegantly crafted pastries on display, each one so beautiful it could bring a man to tears.
Baguette
Béchu came highly recommended as a boulangerie; ChubbyHubby wrote in March 2007 that the store won the Grand Prix for Paris' best baguette. Can't say I'm impressed, though; we shared a demi baguette and concluded that it was good, but not great. I think we ordered the wrong thing from Béchu, though, as it's apparently its pain au chocolat orange that keep garnering rave reviews. The current winner of the Grand Prix of baguettes is a place called Philippe Gosselin, but it was closed on Saturdays and that's precisely when I showed up at its doorstep, so I guess I can't say if that's any better. Oh well, I'll be back in Paris 2 more times anyway.
Ironically, my favourite baguettes are still baked right here in Grenoble, at a little place called Moulin Gourmand. They're crispy on the outside, never a hint of being burnt (unlike the one from Béchu), and have soft, chewy insides--in other words, like the way the cartoon Ratatouille described a perfect baguette.
Macarons and...stuff
Paris' pâtissieries are ruled by a triumvirate, as far as I'm concerned, and it comprises big boys Ladurée, Pierre Hermé and Sadaharu Aoki.
Pierre Hermé is perhaps familiar to most Singaporeans, so let's start with them. I sampled their macarons, and I think they're...nice. Sorry folks, I guess I'm not a macaron lover. Therefore, let me allow Amanda to say her peace on the matter. They don't stock as many flavours as Ladurée, but they do release new ones on a regular basis, so you can be assured of variety on every visit, and the pairings of flavours can be quite unexpected. Currently, PH is big on Montbello, a raspberry and pistachio combination that they apply to everything, from macarons to millefeuille, and the red-and-green coloured creations show how 2 unlikely ingredients can go well together. Aside from the more fanciful pastries, Pierre Hermé also sells fantastic croissant and pain au chocolat. Don't laugh, and don't balk at the price (€1.50 and €1.80 respectively--stop screaming in the back there, I can hear you)--these are by far the best renditions of both French staples that we have ever tried. In our lives. The croissant is crispy and golden brown on the outside, flakes just enough when you bite, and its interior has countless layers of wonderfully aromatic buttery goodness. You will smile when you put this in your mouth. The pain au chocolat is no pushover either, and I mean, the name basically translates into "chocolate bread", so what could be so good about it? The chocolate, obviously. In this case, Pierre Hermé uses Gianduja chocolate, which is absolutely scrummylicious. Don't argue with me, just get thee hence to an outlet and buy both. Leave Paris without eating either (at LEAST), and you ought to be ashamed to call yourself Singaporean.
Ladurée has multiple outlets, and the biggest one is right along Champs-Elysées, which probably helps make it so famous among tourists. They are, of course, far from terrible with any of their pastries, and their macarons often come highly recommended. However, I must state with all humility that Amanda and I have become food snobs. We don't know much about all foods, but by golly do we know when we bite into good baguette, croissant, pain au chocolat, and macaron. So, what's the verdict on crowd favourite Ladurée? Their macarons are akin to the interior of their Champs-Elysées outlet: fairly traditional, but not the most exciting. They are good, to be sure, and the long queues for them are somewhat justified, but what you'll find here are standard flavours. Save for a few unique offerings such as orange blossom and Lily of the Valley (ooh la), the rest are the usual suspects--pistache, framboise, café, chocolat, vanille, blah blah blah. We sat there for a light breakfast, and shared a few mini viennoiseries: croissant, pain au chocolat, croissant with filling. Again, good, but we've had better (hello, Pierre).
Sadaharu Aoki is a Japanese pâtissier who must have considered being a painter at some point. It's like he takes the cake as his canvas, and cream and powder are his paints. Here, you will find creations that are both unique in flavour and beautiful to behold. I suppose its half borne of a need to pander to a non-Japanese crowd, but a good many pastries at Sadaharu Aoki are of the green tea variety. Not that it's a bad thing, mind you. His millefeuille macha was a winning combination of green tea and caramel, neither flavour overpowering each other or my senses, and both of them just subtle enough to make the delicate pastry the best thing I ate in Paris. As is stereotypical (though not in a bad way) of the Japanese, the millefeuille was gorgeous in its arrangement as well: a glazed brown top layer half-peppered with fine macha powder, and hiding just below, a 'thousand' layers of caramel puff-pastry and green tea cream. I felt bad to even bring my fork near it. Save for the branch in Galeries Lafayette, his outlets offer seating space so you can dine in minimalist pleasure, taking sips of Japanese tea while struggling to decide where to fix your gaze--on the vibrantly-coloured macha and yuzu éclairs on your plate, or the elegantly crafted pastries on display, each one so beautiful it could bring a man to tears.
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