Live Performance

Photo credit-  Wimbledon Village Stables

Mascara?  Two coats.  Concealer?  Under the eyes.  Sunblock?  Three layers.

Hair?  Pinned up neatly.  Helmet?  Super-glued all loose, torn bits.  White dressage trousers?  Brand-new, bought from the teenaged boys' section with Bruno patiently waiting.

Patient Bruno.

Belly button?  Un-pierced, sucked towards the spine.  Shoulders?  Soft and held back.  Torso?  Lengthened.  Heels, hips, and ears? In one straight line.  Elbows?  The bane of my equestrian existence, bent.

Horse?  Muddy and Very Alert.

Weather?  Sunny.

Sunny weather.  Oh no.  I have not factored in sun and blue skies.  Dumpling is suddenly invigorated by the sun.  Along the way to the Commons, another horse acts silly, and Dumpling is inspired to buck, and jump, and jump.

Amazing.  I don't get thrown off.

Photo Credit-  Wimbledon Village Stables
Waiting in the Wings...

There are four of us taking the test today.  We do a quick warm-up together, and then we wait our turns.

Dumpling and I go second.  I am thinking- look for the markers, look for the markers!  I am thinking, keep him calm, keep him calm.  And then I am thinking, geez, I haven't lost my stirrups for once, and wow, Dumpling, your right canter lead feels unusually balanced, have we really sorted that out?!  Good boy, good boy!  Surely at this point, choreographically it would make the most kinesthetic sense to do that damn diagonal path, across the arena!  Here I go, and all I need to do next is transition into trotting down the center line into a halt at the G marker, and then the practised bow.  I can't believe it!  Dumpling, we're just about done!  Good boy, Dumpling, good boy, Dumpling!

A loud shout- Tammy, NO!  You are supposed to canter him straight down the long side first! 

And I am awakened from, daydreaming.

Fuck.

Live performance?  A lot of fun!  How not to feel heightened and alive?  Anything can happen, no matter how prepared one gets because the body is the instrument, and the body is human, and the partner is also a living being with mood swings.

Me & my partner.

In dance, we practise religiously.  When dancing, I always think, listen to the music, the music will tell me what to do next.  Because there is the presence of music, there is no need for me to, panic.

Photo Credit-  Ethos Books
'A' is for Achar, 'L' is for Love, Book Launch, all choreography/text/artistic direction by me

My favourite Singaporean dance partner is YW.  We actually listen to the music in the same manner.  And when I get too overwhelmed, and teeter on the edge of daydreaming, YW always catches me; prompting me with a nudge, a clutch of my costume, or a subtle shifting of his eyes as to what step comes next.

(The audience doesn't see all this of course.  The audience sees intimacy, physical skill, and thinks- smoking!)

Photo Credit-  Ethos Books

Today I am grateful that I performed the test with Dumpling.  He is a great little horse.  That same comfort and chemistry YW and I share on stage, I am re-living now with Dumpling.  We just really need to practise more.

Prelim 10

I'm doing a dressage test tomorrow.  I've never done one before.  It's called, Prelim 10.  I hope I remember the choreography.

Prelim 10 (2/3rds through)

I signed up for it because even in hibernation, an artist is a sucker for new experiences and a challenge.

Of course it can be argued that at the prelim level, it is horse-back riding at its most benign.

Transition to free walk, medium walk...

My husband asked why I am doing Prelim 10 and not Prelim 1a, 1 b, 1c- which is what I think my peers do in Singapore, especially as it is my first time.

I have no idea.

A few years ago, an esteemed Singaporean actress and playwright got together to do a play.  They wanted to use "non-actors".  As one of the non-actors casted, I remembered that my biggest worry initially was, how on earth I was going to remember lines, instead of steps.

Photo Credit- Spare Room Productions, The Composer 

How ignorant I was!  As we delved deeper into our characters, plot, and each other, remembering the script was cliche as it sounds, truly, only the tip of the iceberg.

The play received mixed reviews.

Photo Credit-  The Composer, Publicity Shot, Spare Room Productions

                                                     And I had an awesome time.

This morning, I finally got the chance to run through the test once.  Unlike Singapore where we have a covered arena, laid out with the correct boards, and signage, I rode in rain, in mud, and had to imagine a 40m by 20m performance space, along with markers, out at the bottom of the Commons/woods.  I think I did ok with the 20m circles, but I messed up the halt at the end.  2/3rds into the test, I also forgot the choreography.

In an ideal world, I would have my own horse whom I could build a true relationship with, be gifted with the correct teacher and train every day, yes, even for Prelim 10.  In general, performing artists and professional athletes truly like the preparation and endless repetition work involved.  We also like that brief 5 minute moment on stage, on the ice, in the arena.  That hypnotic, fleeting moment is possibly when we feel most alive, a sensation akin to flight.  

I live in reality.  So I don't have my own horse, and get to ride Dumpling only when his kid is not busy with him.  Reality is also rain, sleet, arctic wind, the worst winter storm.  

Reality is not having the luxury of repetition.

Reality is using super glue to hold the minor bits of my helmet together.

It actually works!

Reality is hogging youtube and watching better riders ride the test, over and over again.  And reality is drawing the test over and over again, visualising myself move through the sequences in my head.

Because for me, reality is being inventive in my preparation, in order to get on stage, re-direct nerves, and have a jolly good time.

Photo Credit-  Spare Room Productions/ The Esplanade Theatres on The Bay
Wendall:  Sonia, If I told you that M and I were going to have a baby, would you leave me?
Sonia:  Yes...
( I still remember my lines!!!)

My Valentine & Me

Ordinarily, I don't celebrate Valentine's Day.  It's just a tad too cliched for my liking.  My husband is also the sort that hates fuss, pomp and ceremony.  Getting him to celebrate his birthday is hard enough, although this year, he did say he had the best time ever.

Happy Birthday!

He enjoyed himself so much, he opened a number of his better bottles, including something from his birth-year.

Crazy- 1966, photo credit CW

In the midst of this merriment, I received a text that led to my leaving the party and spending the wee hours of Saturday morning, at the Singapore General Hospital.

The weekend that followed passed in a blinding sort of sorrow.  On Tuesday morning when I left Singapore, my husband held me, but the tears that usually fill with every goodbye were spent.  There was nothing left for him.  I returned to London, emotionally exhausted, mentally calm.

Today is Valentine's Day.  I tell him, Be My Valentine!  He says, Sure!

During this last trip back to Singapore, I was asked a lot of questions from well-intentioned friends.  One sweet man asked- how can this work, with the distance, what if Jon needs you now, what is in it for Jon?  Another man said- Jon is merely going through the motions, lost without you.  Someone (also male!) asked tentatively- Are Jon and you... divorced?

The last question made me laugh!

I thought of Mr M, one of my dance mentors, who is very married to another dance artist.  I think they have been married for possibly fifty years.  She lives in Israel, he in California.  He told me once, she will never move and that when they fell in love, she explained, that hers is a spirit bound firstly to her land.

To my first male friend, I said- you don't understand, believe it or not, Jon wants to be with me, and he understands, what an artist needs.

It's really quite a traditional marriage these days.  The structure of "tradition" seems to work for us.  Tradition of course, defies logic at times, and at all times, is malleable enough to weather changes and the unforeseen.

For the record, Jon says he is not lost without me, because he knows I am right here, doing what he needs me to do for us, and doing what I need to do for me.  (Jon's words, not mine!)

I try really hard not to take Jon for granted.  I also never ever think we have all the answers.  It's a lot of work, this thing called, Love.  It's a lot more work, this other thing called, Marriage.

I've been reading Mohsin Hamid.  In his wonderful book, How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia, he writes-  "For there was a moment when anything was possible and there will be a moment when nothing is possible.  But in between we can create." (p. 220)

I think that best sums up, my Valentine and me.

A Good Man

They wheeled him past us.  We stood together, apart, in that corridor.  This moment I have buried within me for all my life.  The moment our hearts broke, a collective sound.

*
My brother told me he got wind of the graffiti on the bus-stop seat.  He sat there and using a coin, patiently scratched away all the slander that held my name.

*
When my phone vibrates, my hands are full of soap and dirty dishes.  I think to myself, it's him, my friend, saying he won't make it to the party.  But it's not him, nor him, it's her, my forever friend, my sister, my family.  I call her back immediately.

*
His mother leans her head against the glass separating them.  She tells him, I love you, I love you.  She wills him back, her body shuddering in sorrow.  One of us steps out of the room.  I step further behind.  We fold our arms tightly as if trying to contain all our grief.  A terrible, terrible thing has happened, and there is nothing anyone can say or do to make things better, or right again.

*
Many years passed.  One day he came searching for me in Los Angeles.  He said he needed to ask me something, that he had given much thought.

*
I am not the person he had imagined.  I tell him, you don't know me any more.  He hides the gift.  Childhood friendships allow for misjudgement, for forgiveness, for loss.  We stay friends.

*
Yesterday I asked my husband to come with me, to speak with his mother and his wife.  My husband has a kind, calm voice.  He can read charts and scans and translate them to all of us, gently.  We need to know, so we know what else can be done, or how to be, or for me, what exactly to pray for.

*
When he had trouble speaking, he told his friend who was with him to tell his wife that he loved her.  Tell her I love her.  I love her.

*
She tells me she does not know if she has made the right decision the day before.  She adds that the decision she made has however, given her one more day with him.  We hold each other and we cry and we laugh, and we cry.  We say everything and we say nothing.  She tells me, she wants to take him home so that she can take care of him for the rest of their lives.

*
I want to remember you the way we all remember you- happy, full of mirth, besotted with your wife and family.  All of us who grew up with you, each have our own story to tell.  Yours is too bright, too original a presence to ever be blown away.  Your wife says it best.  She says- you are a good man.  You truly are a good man.

Birthday Gift

Tomorrow is his birthday.

He doesn't like making a fuss.  A few years ago, I threw him a surprise party.  When the first guest arrived, he looked at me in shock and horror- What is R doing here at this time in the afternoon?

Oops.

This year, especially with distance, I thought I had best cement myself deeper into his consciousness, by cooking the mother of all Peranakan dishes, the Ayam Buah Keluak, for him.

Every Peranakan family cooks it their own way.  I am cooking in my Popo's shadow. The recipe can be found on pages 23-25 of my first book, A is for Achar, L is for Love (publisher- Ethos Books,
http://www.ethosbooks.com.sg )

My cousin B kept some nuts (buah keluak) for me.  She also gave me a packet of a tamarind paste (assam) to make the tamarind juice.

So the journey into Buah Keluak land needs to begin with first soaking the nuts for at least 2 days to rid it of soil/dirt.

1.  After 2 days, scrub them nuts, break them open with a small hammer, scoop out the meat, put aside.

I strategically chose to do this on the night that he was home.

This sight of his wife put him in a very good mood.  I was interrupted with hugs and declarations of love.  He then asked me to make him my curry as well.  

My Curry?  No problem.  Advantages of being jet lagged & availability of fresh coconut shavings!

2.  Add sugar and salt to the nut mixture and pound it up.  Then roll it into a ball shape, cover it with cling wrap and store away in the refrigerator.

 3.  One or 2 days before the actual meal, re-fill the nuts with the mixture.

4.  Prepare the rempah (spice paste)- this is the bit I dread the most.  It requires a lot of slicing and pounding, which ruins my manicure, hurts my hands and my back.

I think of the rempah as the foundation for the dish.  You can't exactly cheat on this.  The finer you cut the ingredients up, the easier it will be to pound.

(Rempah-  chillies, blue ginger, turmeric, shallots, buah keras, and lemon grass (use only the white bits).

The packet on the bottom left corner is tamarind.  You need to sift it through water to create tamarind juice.

Many prefer using a blender to prepare the rempah. But the archaic pounding way is the only way that draws out juices.  The blender can be employed later.

5.  Marinate a chopped chicken and some pork ribs while doing the above.

6.  Start cooking.  Fry up the rempah.  

7.  Add the chicken and pork ribs, add the assam/tamarind juice, add salt and sugar to taste.

8.  Add a dash of belachan, add all the nuts, keep on cooking.  

9.  After cooking on high heat, and just as the meats are about done, lower the heat, and allow to simmer for about 3-5 minutes.

10.  Once everything is cooked, allow to stand untouched for a while.

11.  And then I remove the meats and nuts, and I pour all the stew/broth into my blender to whip every bit of remaining spice into sheer liquid form.

12.  Next I return the meats, nuts and broth back into my pot.

13.  Allow it to cool, store in refrigerator, only to be served, tomorrow.

The dish looks like this.

There is a tangy, sweet-sour spiciness to it, as well as an underlying rich flavour.  I think the Japanese word is umami.  It tastes of distant lands.  It tastes of memory.  It tastes of time.