*Cue haunting tin whistle melody*
*Cue scene with pan-and-zoom view of old harbour*
Voiceover:
"Her first voyage was her last.
Her first true love went down with the iron maiden (sic).
Their love frozen in time...
Literally....
This summer...
Jack's back.
It was like a day out on the set of Friends, bunch of six people; three guys and three girls meeting up for dinner and coffee. Even the setting was similar - a couch and three armchairs at a caf� (in this case, my
favorite hangout, Starbucks�). It was complete with a very enlightening coffee tasting session, hosted by my friends at Starbucks�.
There was so much to catch up. We haven't been able to sit together in a casual environment and talk about the little stuff that's been going on in our lives; James and his practicum, our final semester and exams and how are all looking forward to our postings to a real school and teaching life.
The things that the so-called experienced teachers tell us about how we will miss our university days just don't seem to apply to us now. Those prophecies either come from false-gods or some other deep, unresolved emotions somewhere in those people. From what I experienced when I was actually teaching, having been thrown into the deep end and survived it, I don't think I will ever miss university days. When I ever do consider going back to school, it will possibly for my Masters and subsequent Doctorate.
That is whenever I choose to consider it. Right now, I am looking forward to having my own cubicle, which is luxury considering what I have at home.
Going back to the evening out with friends. We had dinner at Sakae Sushi at Suntec City, which by the way I do NOT recommend. I made reservations for six persons and they promptly showed us to a table next to the steamer display of Chawanmushi (savory steamed egg).
Just to make matters worse, there was virtually NO air-conditioning in the restaurant. There were vents for the aircon ducts apparently, but they seem more like decorative grilles than air diffusers. In the end, my friends and I ended up sweating profusely in the sweltering heat of our booth.
Service wise, it was worse! We were not offered any cold refreshments despite our complaint to the maitre'd about the heat; instead it was by chance that we discovered that they serve iced water. When we asked for it, the waiter put on a face to glum and reluctant, you thought he wasn't paid to do it. As if that wasn't enough, our subsequent refills were self-serviced!
I seriously do not recommend the restaurant. The next time I arrange for a dinner gathering with my friends, I will arrange it at Caf� Cartel. Definitely Caf� Cartel.
We ended up filling ourselves quickly and leaving as soon as the gang had had our fill of food to venture across the street for coffee and dessert... as well as cool relief from the heat.
I was greeted with a warm and welcoming smile and �Hi, Vincent!� when I entered the caf�. �Why don't you take a seat first and I'll be right with you...� Zun is the store manager of the cafe, together with Su and their crew of 'partners'.
Zun was shorthanded that night, no thanks to the flu bug that's been going around. So those on the nightshift that day were Val, Bryan and herself. The group of us hung round the caf� till when it was quieter and she could peel away from the barista counter. It was worth the wait. The �Muan Jai� (�deep satisfaction� in a Northern Thai-tribe dialect) blend of coffee is a deeply intoxicating brew. An aroma of smoky mist of burnt local woods first hits you, which is followed by a sweet smell reminiscent of butterscotch caramel - thick, smooth and creamy.
The taste of the coffee follows the lead of the aroma and does not disappoint. It's a wonderfully well-bodied brew that is low on the acid and goes down velvety-smooth. When we paired it with almond butter cake, the buttery note of the coffee was pronounced in a creamy redolence. But when we tried it with spicy beef pie, the velvet smooth coffee complemented the spiciness of the beef and the two items synergized into a sexy m�lange that created a sensational experience on the tongue.
Ultimately, I'll have to say, the coffee sits very well with me, a person who loves his coffee bold and complex. The host had very graciously offered a complementary bag of the Muan Jai coffee for my own tasting, unavailable elsewhere, which I should collect on my next visit. But how special is this particular bag of beans?
It was roasted at the grounds of the plantation where they were harvested (as opposed to the imported ones from the States.
When I got home, I started thinking about when I first got serious about tasting gourmet coffees. That was more than 10 years ago, when I first got my coffee making kit from an outlet at SOGO, Raffles City (now defunct). Caf� 21 specialised in UCC coffee and I was hooked on their Blue Mountain coffee. I was only 16 then.
I then took out my first Coffee Passport from Starbucks�. I got it from their first outlet when it opened at Liat Towers (below Hermes). I noticed the changes in the illustrations on the various blends of coffee and would you believe it? The previous passport is almost ten years old!
 | This story is a general work of fiction in 7 parts inspired by a reading of Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Although the main characters are fictitious much of this story is based on actual historical figures and events. Reader’s discretion is suggested.
|
| HARRIET'S QUILT - Part III |
| W |
hy didn�t we ever fight them none? Why, it ain�t right, ain�t it? Going against them white folks. We thought it be our unbelievein� that wuz to be blamed for our yokes an� bondages. Why, many of us black folks had gone an� git oursels� baptized with them holy�sprit, thinkin� that oughta git us freed. But it seems we wuz wrong, we wuz born to be slaves, there ain�t disputin� that.
Even the preacher on Sunday said so, standing behind the pulpit. Them preachers always said so. They says it be a God-given right for them God-fearing white folks to own slaves an� it be right there, writ� in the bible. That we niggers oughta know our places an� keep to them, keeping our heads bowed an� voices low in servitude. An� if the Almighty says it, there ain�t gonna be no disputin� it none!
We can�t fight them, it ain�t right. But some of us, we try to run away. When we can�t suffer the pain no more, we run away, even though our backs may be hurtin� with them chokecherry trees an� them bitter fruits, we ran as far an� as fast as our nekkid, blisterin� feet can carry us, followin� that drinkin� gourd to our freedom. I darn� run away at all. I darn, I wuz always too scared, without my Jim wit�me. So I just git on with the pain each day, hoping for my sweet lord Jeezus to come an� take it all away, in them sweet ol� chariot.
Once, though, Mister Jones came to the barn in a stupor. There�sa been some partyin� an� dancin� in the big house an� Mister Jones had gone an� drunk too many. He came into the barn when them boys an� men wuz cleaning theysels� out in the back an� he touched me, he touched me deep, Missy, an� I wuz scared. I juz closed my eyes an� wished the bad dream away.
When I open my eyes again, Mister Jones wuz gone. I gets up an� started running outta the barn, I ran so fast I couldn�t see what wuz coming at me an� what wuz getting pass me. I just ran, Missy, I wuz scared an� kinfused. But the road could see me an� threw a rock somewheres an� tripped me. I fell an� had gone hit my head on a hard thing an� fainted, feverish an� passed out.
I musta ran very far that night, cos� when I wakes up, I wuz in a nice room. I wuz more kinfused, thinkin� I�d gone an� died an� went straight to sweet Jeezus. Thas� when I sees another nigger, calls hissel� Bill Still, smiled at me an� darn tol� me not to worry, cos� I be his cargo an� findin� mysel� a friend wit� friends. He said I�d be resting here at this station, tha� it�s aw�right since he be a conductor or stationmaster or somesuch.
I had gone an� thot� he be talkin� crazies since he callin� his house a station an� bringin� them nonsense words asa� underground railroad. There be no such thing asa� underground railroad, I thot to mysel�. How tha� train gone move through under the ground? But I be so tired then, I juz fell sleep.
Shor� enuf� I wakes up sitting in some ol� coach an� I wuz scared again. But there wuz another nigger wumen next to me an� she wuz smiling. I wuz reliev�d some, seeing another of my kin� smilin�, but I ax� her why she be smilin� anyways. �Why, you be smilin� too girl! We heddin� up north with the gourd, up the free north with�em drinkin� gourd girl!�
 | The warmth of the brightness of day The cool in the breeze of the night The familiar love of a rekindled past The fiery passion of a stirring present One has to give for the other to live. - Vincent Immanuel Pang |
A few days later a new shoot reared its head above the ground near the spot where the old flower 'disappeared'. As grandma rightly pointed, a new flower soon sprang up and blossomed into another brightly colored bloom. I thought its color was more vivid and vibrant.
Grandma said the old flower went away into the soil and made sure of that.
 | | |
| This story is a general work of fiction in 7 parts inspired by a reading of Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Although the main characters are fictitious much of this story is based on actual historical figures and events. Reader’s discretion is suggested. |
| HARRIET'S QUILT - Part II |
| J |
im wuz there when I came outta my mamma's belly. He helped to cut the cord an' wash me clean, cos' mamma wuz too weak to carry me still. Then he went an' tole' mamma I wuz the prettiest baby he'd ever laid eyes on. That's when mamma smiled an' said, �Then you should help take care of my pretty baby for me, Jim�.
Then Jim, my Jim looked up at her an' smiled. �I think I just might, m'am�.
My Jim took care of me good; I wuz his to protect. He made sure I wuz fed. Even when mama wuz too done tired to feed me, Jim would steal them cow's milk for me. It woulda been crazy if Mister Douglas had gone an' caught him doin' the deed. But ol' Jim wuz a clever'un an' he never gone an' got hisself caught.
As we grew together, Jim had to fight them other slave boys. Yea, my Jim always had to show that I be his an' no one else's. It wuz when I wuz sixteen that I had gone the mutherin' way an' be heavy with child. Jim felt my belly an' tole' me, �we are gonna git ourselves a pair of boys, Harriet,� then he frowned, but I ain't sure if I am goin' to be there when they are born...�
Shor' enuf', the next week Mister Jones from the plantation down the road, offa' Missus Douglas' own farm. Mister Douglas had just gone an' died on her an' she wuz left with no money to run the farm on her own. Us s'pectin' slaves are always wirth mo'money an' so Missus Douglas thought I should go with Mister Jones.
Mister Jones handled me kindly at first. But them white folks always treated us kindly, they'd sooner killed theysels' off fightin' an' warrin' than hazard damaging them there goods by harming us. �My Black Beauty�, he'd call me, �my Black Beauty' like I be an object for him to possess an' own, a plaything for him to observe an' admire as he wishes.
But I ain't sure, cos' he might be right though. All my life, I've only been known to work an' work an' work to the skin of ma' bones. Nothing I have is mine to own. Even them twins, of Jim an' myself, were taken from me the day after I'd stopped nursing'em an' sold further down south to some other plantation. They were not the only ones, a'course - others, from my belly an' other bellies, were sold off by Mister Jones too. All I could do wuz just produce more slaves to be sold off. I had no children none like my master's, we wuz just be producin' more workers for them plantations.
We darn' seemed no better than them animals truly. Even them horses on the plantation, they gets to rest some, in the evening. We merely be there to work when the rooster calls an' when the sun shines no mo' at the end of the day, we go back to the barn an' rest in fear of our master. If they come back unhappy, for whatsoever reason, they might well tie you up an' give you a sound whuppin' till your back split open for some chokecherry tree.
I've been telling my friends about THAT particular Carl's Jr. ad that features Paris Hilton - it's sizzling, it's hot, it's barbecued and it promises to get messy. It's got a scantily clad blonde in leather/pleather/vinyl (gees, who can tell?), it's got car washing, a giant hose and food. Messy and sexy was never this scandalously delicious. Okay, maybe with Monica Lewinsky and Bill Clinton, but that's another story.
I was browsing through the net when I discovered an online version of the director's cut of the ad and surprise, surprise, from the land of Weird Al Yankovic, comes a parody version of the same... well, how is the video like? Why don't you see it for yourself?
Compare that with the original version, director's cut:
 | Applause everyone! Here's Pink (aka Alicia Moore) and she's back with an acerbic jibe at a certain part of (American? Global?) society at large. Again. |
 | Dear baby, we've never met, but I already love you...
... and I always will. - Mummy and Daddy |
| This story is a general work of fiction in 7 parts inspired by a reading of Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Although the main characters are fictitious much of this story is based on actual historical figures and events. Reader’s discretion is suggested. |
| HARRIET'S QUILT - Part I |
| I |
had just come back from Sunday Service and thought I should visit with her today. My dear sweet friend, I had missed her. I had decided to go to her house down the road at the foot of the knoll right after I slipped out of my Sunday best into something more comfortable.
I saw her at the threshold of her kitchen’s screen door. She was a big, black woman and had her full head of silver hair tucked into a turban. Wearing a giant blue apron, she was craning her neck, looking for something... or someone.
“Awright now, come back in for yer tea ya hear, Louise?” she hollered for her granddaughter in a general direction. In the streaming light of the late afternoon sun, Harriet thought she saw a figure in the distant. She squinted and shielded her eyes from the glare. Her eyes rounded and her lips cracked into a smile.
“Why, Missy Norma! Is that you?” She stepped over the threshold of her screen door to welcome. “Why it really is you! You’ve come down from that big housa’ yours for visit haven’t you?” she beckoned towards me, “And just in time for tea!”
My eyes had not adjusted to the darkness when I stepped into her kitchen, but in the sparsity of the relative darkness, I could make out the usual furniture; a large wooden table with woodturning legs with a crockery cabinet next to a wood fire stove, its stovepipe chimney cutting the space of the asymmetrical room.
“You just sit yo’sel right here,” she commandeered, patting on a stool, “an’ lemme cut up some fast bread for tea”. She began to busy herself in the kitchen, slicing up the loaf, parting up the churned butter and pouring cups of coffee into chipped enamel mugs. Little Louise sat across the table, her eyes round as she gazed over me, observing my milky white skin – a rarity in this house.
I in turn, moved my gaze over to the half completed patchwork quilt on the other side of the table. My eyes ran down the segments of soft ceruleans and azures meandering from the top of the quilt to the bottom, parting other segments of ochres, tans and blacks. My lips parted and gasped, “it’s beautiful...”
“Oh that?” Harriet smiled as she served up the platter for tea, “it’s nuthin, Missy Norma, it ain’t completed yet... I hope you dun be mindin’ these simple morsels for tea.”
I ran my fingers down the winding parts of blue and little Louise had already made off with a few slices of buttered fast bread. There was a commotion in the other room. I could only make out peaks of “it’s mine!” that crescendoed with little Louise screeching, “NA~NA!”.
Harriet rolled her eyes, “You dun be takin’ nuthin’ from ya sister ya hear me, Ruth? Dun make me come there, ya gonna regrit’it...!” And there was a silence. A few moments later, Louise came back to the table her mouth smothered with butter.
“Nana, I’m done wit’ma tea, can you tell me a story now? Tell me the story of this quilt here, nana, please?” little Louise compelled with her childish request, “Tell me the story of you and Pappy Jim...”
“Why, Missy Norma, would you be interested too? Why dun I just tell you the story to you too...?”. She picked up her quilt to start on her stitiching.
Harriet pointed to a little red house in the lower part of the quilt on a reddish-brown patch of the quilt. My eyes trailed the big, winding body of watery blue down to where she was stitching the last threads to fasten a roof on the house.
“See this house here? This here be where nana wuz born. This where I wuz born, Missy Norma. Just a few hours before I be hurtin’ to come outta my mamma’s belly, Jim came and told her, “you should sit down, m’am, yo’ baby’s goin’ bust outta yo’ belly soon...”. My mamma laughed of course, but then she started to feel pain in her belly and she knew Jim wuz right. My Jim wuz always special like that. He always knew things before others did.”
She looked at me dreamily in deliberation and understanding. I nodded and smiled back at her as she continued her tale to me... and her granddaughter.
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