Jingle Bells

                                              Jingle bells, jingle bells, husband's on his way-
                                                                 Oh what fun it is to walk,

                                                                through winter and

                                                               the V & A- hey!

Jingle bells, jingle bells...

I've moved again today!

Oh what joy to finally be

in a space that feels, 

like ME!!!!

Away in a Manger

Last night was spent away in a manger, in the company of best friends.

SF and TJ humoured me, as did Bruno, and I had the added pleasure of Dumpling's company.

We attended a carolling service by candle-light, in celebration of Christmas, and to fund-raise for The Royal Marsden Hospital.

The weather was cold and dry.  Mulled wine and minced pies were served, the village vicar and Santa made appearances.

For me though, the highlight was just being in the company of loved ones, and enjoying service from a different perspective.

For although I am rather uncomfortable with organised religion these days, something about being with the horse, with the dog, with friends, and the crisp cold, felt just right. 

 For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel as conflicted with the concept of a colonising, "non-Asian" god.  The songs I sang repeatedly in childhood, came rushing back.

Away in the manger, no crib for a bed,

the little Lord Jesus laid down His sweet head.

The stars in the bright sky looked down where he laid,

the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay...

Crazy Rich Asians (Kevin Kwan)

En route back to London, I read a wonderful book.

The book kept me laughing and laughing.  When I finished reading, 5 hours had passed.

I don't know Kevin Kwan.  I suspect that if he or I made an attempt to connect some dots, we might just "know" each other, in the way that only Singapore can link two strangers.

I sent him a congratulatory note via his Facebook page. I'm re-reading the book while nursing my concussion, and it still makes me laugh!  Here's what I love most about the book- finally a Singaporean writer that is not writing with tedious angst, but one spinning a tale in a voice so unabashedly confident, and with so much humour!  Finally a writer from Singapore, with a book inspired by Singapore, yet one that easily transcends geographical and cultural barriers!  And finally, a book that satirises so many people I recognise, love and dread, and sheds more light on...my mother-in-law!

The storyline is simple, and in its simplicity, brilliant.  ABC girl meets Singapore boy who then invites her home for the summer.  On home ground, Singapore boy is not who she thought he was, and thus begins the drama of conflicting cultures- old world and new, old money and new money, the Overseas Chinese and Mainland Chinese etc.

The book is an international bestseller, and word is, it may be turned into a movie.  If you enjoyed The Joy Luck Club (I didn't), Crazy Rich Asians is a tour de force- satire, voyeurism, just plain good fun.

Falling

Funny how the dancer body reacts, when you know, falling is inevitable.

photo credit- Dramaplus Arts

Surrender to gravity, kick away/push off from careening, speeding object, tuck and roll, tuck and roll.

There's a choreographer whom I admire quite a bit- we've worked together in the past.  He's known for moving with flight, as well as his number of turns.  My turning sucks, but I can move as fast.  The secret to moving rapidly is really being able to center yourself within, and keeping very relaxed.  Long achilles tendons help as well.  To be able to react quickly, you need to be able to spring.

Juxtaposing the speed of a fall, is the way the mind processes things.  On the one hand, my mind is already looking for a safe place to land, but on the other, I can see other thoughts unfold in slow motion.  Thoughts like- (fuck) here we go again, is this really necessary, what was the 1st refrain from Janacek's..., Dumpling, you silly horse!!! Dumpling, don't trample me!!!  Dear God, please can Jon be in a good mood when I 'fess up about falling?

Tuck and roll, tuck and roll.  The moment I dread the most is when there is no preventing the head from hitting the ground- THUD.

Thud, tuck and roll, tuck and roll, and for a quick second my eyes shut, my arms cross over my face.  I don't know where Dumpling is, and if he is going to stomp on me, I would like to minimise damage and pain.

Bushes, as I have learnt before, come in handy.  They stop one from rolling farther, downhill.

Motion arrested, I get back on my feet, climb up the hill, climb back on the silly horse.  The instructor leading the ride asks if I'm ok.  Yes, I say, I'm good.  I don't tell her about the stiffening I feel on the left side of my body, and the dull pain in my head.

Shall we canter on?  She asks.  Yes, I say, Let's go, I'm good.

Skincare!

Monday afternoon, good hair on its last legs, my body supine.

Therapist:  How old is your daughter?

Me:  18.

Therapist:  18 months?

Me:  18 years.

Therapist:




                                                                            ***

(18 months was last century, crossing the Hudson on the Staten Island Ferry.)

(The suddenly speechless therapist with healing hands and all things organic, can be contacted at 6337-6411.)

The Mistress

Poor Mrs Chan.  It began this summer.  He'd take me to his favourite haunts.  Some of these places, I've been with him before.  The staff is always welcoming.  We know them by name.

Perhaps it's the long absences.  Or my tendency to keep cutting, re-styling my hair.  Something changed this summer.  

This week, I observed, that change rear its head again, the moment we sat down for Thanksgiving dinner.

He tells me I am being over-sensitive.  But as an artist, I really see stories unfold before words are even exchanged.

It's what's not said.  The stealing glances.  The initial surprise that is then followed by a quick, professional, pleasant mask.  It is to Dr Chan that the warmest of welcomes are now solely directed at, and then with utmost discretion, we are always led to the most private of tables.

At lunch today, we were even offered, the private dining room!

On Friday night, the hostess realised her genuine mistake.  She rushed back to our table staring at me openly this time, excited and familiar.  

Mrs Chan, Mrs Chan!  Ni hao, ni hao!

I suspect it has also to do with the way he is so indulgent, doting.

  You can't quite fake intimacy, tenderness.  You can't fake, laughter.

Daughter, granddaughter, sister, cousin, wife, mother, daughter-in-law, sister-in-law, friend-  

the gamut of roles I inhabit.

Now, a new one has been tossed my way.

I'm no longer just the Starter Wife, nor the Trophy Wife.

In this city?  They think I'm, The Mistress!

Mickey Mouse

There once was a dog named, Mickey Mouse.

I used the credit card the Architect had given me for emergency situations, and purchased him.  The Architect was livid, understandably so.

And like Mary's Lamb and Bruno Chan, everywhere that Tammy went, Mickey would surely go.

I'd get dressed for school, scoop him up, and off we'd go.

In Chinese Literature in Translation, he sat on my desk.  Professor Lee praised his attentiveness and good behaviour.

Sometimes I'd skip school, drive north, north, north.

We've made it to Vegas once,

explored the shores of Lake Tahoe.

We've crossed the Bay Bridge many times.

(The views are much better from this other end- you see the whole city light up.)

In Los Angeles, we did groceries, ate on Sawtelle Boulevard.

(I believe Sawtelle Kitchen still exits, and it's BYOB.)

If we had visitors, we'd take them on a drive along Pacific 1, catch the sun set from the campus in Malibu.

Or we'd head out to Venice Beach.

I think because Mickey was there as I journeyed into adulthood, my steps were not tentative, but bold.

The First Forever Love, loved Mickey and loved me.  But one day, we both learnt, love was not enough.

The First Forever Love flew to LA to say goodbye to us.  

My heart broke.  

Then it was time to pack up and get on with dancing.

We learnt it's not difficult meeting people in New York.

By Thanksgiving, I could cook and throw a party.

That Thanksgiving, I drank too much.  I made a call, long-distance.  A friend had a brother who had a friend, whom she felt would truly get on with me.  She gave me his number.  I called him.  He wasn't home.  I went to bed thinking, I need to curb my self-destructive tendencies.

He returned my call the day after.  Unbeknownst to me, he had applied for a job in the city, and thought I was the job, calling him back.

Six weeks later, he arrived in the Big Apple.  Mickey and I met him at JFK, and took him home.

Since then, he's not left.