36 Hours- Singapore

Last Tuesday afternoon, before I could rid myself fully of jet lag, Summie handed the phone to me.

What's wrong?  I asked.  It's Daddy?  I just spoke with him...

The rest of the afternoon passed by in a blur.  I needed to find a flight ASAP back to Singapore.  I had to re-organise for Bruno to not come back just yet.  With Summie's help, we packed, unpacked, packed again.  We changed rooms at Citadines, taking with us, a standing lamp.

At the same time, in Singapore, there were more pressing matters my cousins and brother, in their sorrow, had to decide on.  Certification of death, an obituary, moving Popo from her wheelchair to laying her on her bed before rigor mortis sets in.  Venue of the wake, cremation service, transport, the filing of a police report, flowers, re-arranging of the furniture in her living room, and honoring her wish for her ashes to be mixed with her husband's, and then scattered at sea.

I stayed awake the whole 13 hours back.  I stepped off the plane, into Jon's arms, and went straight to Popo's house.  My brother hugged me forever.  My cousin B hugged me for as long.

The next morning, I got help with braiding my hair, before returning to Popo's house.

Every morning before school, all through the growing up years, Popo's fingers sifted through my hair, french braid on some days, ballet bun on others.  Her voice gentling- Your hair is too thick!  Stubborn girl!

Grief slices and silences, rendering one mute.  Popo?  How do you say, goodbye?

On Friday night I watched throngs of people enter and leave her house.

My cousins G and M led a simple service.  My mom, cousin I, and niece S delivered eulogies.  Somewhere in the middle of singing Jesus Loves Me This I know, I turned around and saw the bent head of my father and his wife, hovering close.

If Friday night felt like a celebration,

Saturday was merciless and mournful.

We waited in an orderly fashion for each our turn, before Popo's coffin was sealed, and then followed her as the hearse drove to the end of Cheviot Hill.

At Mandai, cousin G led us again in prayer and song.  By this time, grief became like quicksand, sucking and sinking.

Still to come, a boat ride, out on choppy waters!

Oh, Popo, how do you say, Goodbye?

The end of her journey, the end of one journey.

Another plane ride.  Now I am back in London, admiring her.

Bruno is also home.

Popo?  I am sad.  But I'm going to be alright.  You rest easy now; sleep, sleep tight.

Madame Tham Fong Kwan, October 21 1916- March 24 2015.

*  photo credit-  Audra Huang, Simon Wong, the Singapore Women's Weekly

Absence

My therapist asked me, how we do it- live apart, say goodbye.

The packing again.  Angel's least favourite activity.

The parting is terrible.  By the time I get on board SQ318, my eyes are so puffy, all I can think of is how very much I need a drink.

Then the plane lands, the door lifts open, and all around me, the pace of walking speeds up.  Ah, London Town...

Richard Diebenkorn (March 14- June 7), The Royal Academy

She flings herself at me, catching me, before I catch her.  Like her father, the tears spill forth quietly.

Absence has made her heart grow larger with fondness.  Every evening, as he had done, she now lovingly massages and manipulates my arm.

Just like him, her voice gentles- Good Job, Mom!  

Sometimes while forcing my arm to remain, she counts in Spanish.

Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete, ocho, nueve, diez!  Wow, Mom!  Good Job! 

Look at you!

(The next morning, my elbow stiffened fully, and I've not been able to touch the back of my head again.)

I felt so alone without you, Mom!  The worst part was I couldn't ask you, what's for dinner!

Arigato Japanese Supermarket, 48-50 Brewer Street

Mom?  What's for dinner?  Is TJ coming over?  

(Summie, please help Mom move the furniture around.  I think we need to create a dining space...)

Mom!  You really like putting things together don't you?  You're good at it!

Mom!  Your face got chubby, but your arm became so thin!

Mom!  Don't give up!  You're amazing!

Mom!  Are you happy?  I'm so happy!  I'm so happy you are here!

Mom?  You don't have a pig's trotter anymore.

Trotter- late January, 2015

36 Hours- Hanoi

FLY:  Direct, via Singapore Airlines (so I can claim miles)/SilkAir (plane was a tad beat up, but service was even better than on SQ).

STAY:  Sofitel Legend Metropole Hanoi

Centrally located in the French Quarter, it's Hanoi's grand dame, her expression of what the Raffles Hotel is to Singapore, the Peninsular to Hong Kong. 

Initially I was unsure about its size (too many rooms) and the bathrooms tiled in red, when studying its pictures on-line.

Once we got there however, I was instantly relieved!  There was much attention paid to service, to ambience.  Relief!  Colonial charm at its very best.

The red used in the bathroom also turned out to be more attractive when encountered in the flesh.

Relief!  A well-dressed bathroom!

EAT:  Pho.  Hanoi is pho capital.

Quan Pho Thin, 13 Lo Duc, is supposedly the place to go for pho.  We didn't have that much time, so opted to just eat at the hotel/ordered room service.

DO:  (only if you enjoy the sort of things I do)

1.  Binh Minh Jazz Club, in the alley right behind the Opera (below)

Just cross the road- if you make it across in one piece, simply follow the music!

2.  Manzi Gallery, 14 Phan Huy Ich

Non-tourist spot!  "Restored" period crumbly housing a simple cafe and contemporary art.  My heart got thumping!

3.  St Joseph's Cathedral, Nha Tho Street/ Old Quarter

I watched a documentary where a young artist compared the streets behind this church to the Marais, so thought it would be a good starting point for walking and feeling. 

Quite frankly I didn't get the Marais feel, but the cathedral itself, called to mind, Bruno at Notre Dame, exactly a year ago, last March!

4.  Walk & Walk

I really love walking a city to feel its pulse and observe the world around me.

Woah.  Imaginative, urban dwellings.

Woah.  Spotted- one dog being walked along Hoan Kiam Lake.

Woah.  A group of young artists preparing for an exhibition of anarchistic work in an abandoned office.

***

Walking through the Old Quarter, I repeatedly heard Jon behind me, saying- No, No, thank you.  After successfully crossing the 3rd street, I turned around- Who's harassing you, Baby?

Some guy wanting to shine my shoes!  

Huh?!  Tell him to leave you alone! Never mind, I'll tell him for you!

Baby, walk beside me, it's safer that way...

***

5.  Tea/Drink Poolside at the Sofitel

Perfect reprieve from the bustle of the city, potential shoe-shiners/cobblers, and resting one's feet.

TAM'S TIPS:  1.  To cross any street, you are going to have to jay walk briskly with respect to the motorists, and with calm confidence.  The alternative sucks- you will either never get anywhere, rooted to one spot, or be knocked over, even while rooted at said spot.

2.  Carry American dollars (small notes).  Many street vendors/stores only accept payment in American dollars.

3.  When getting hair done at a local beauty parlour, remember that beauty can also be lost in translation.

"Please blow my hair curling the ends inwards, with some volume at the crown of my head", even when said with choreography, could easily be re-interpreted as "Please blow my hair out making it look as large as a wedding cake with tiers at its ends, thank you!"

4.  And when the eager stylist has spent the morning ripping hair away from scalp, forcing your naturally straight hair to yield and curl into bread roll-like shapes, remember to smile and nod, smile and nod, and tip.  In American dollars.

***

LAST THOUGHTS:  A gently seductive city, with a complex history echoed through its streets and walls, if only we care to listen.