May the rays of the auspicious star shine brightly upon you.
18 Feb 2021 (Day 7 of Ox Year)
My affinity with auspicious Chinese sayings started in the temple days of my childhood half a century ago.
I did my English homework on the very table that my maternal grandpa wrote out words of blessings for people and for the gods.
It is always a delight to see this ancient tradition of displaying sacred words in black ink on vermillion papers alive in the modern homes of friends who are educated in the English medium.
So in the spirit of heritage, and in honour of our South East Asian birthplaces, may the aspiration of this beautiful calligraphy come true for you and all sentient beings.
Each year on the 9th Day of the Chinese New Year, old folks turn up at the temple to observe the birthday of the Heavenly Deity.
They come from the neighbouring housing estates. Like members of a spent army which has braved too many wars, these silver haired devotees trudge on unsteadily and sometimes painfully, to celebrate and to give thanks.
Their uncompromising grit inspires younger devotees to rush to their aid. Someone offers to steady a tottering grandpa, and another helps a granny too shrunken to reach the urn to place her incense sticks.
This pair of Father and Son has been celebrating the Heavenly Deity’s birthday yearly. This year, the son has become a first time dad, making his own father a grandpa!
We are familiar with the adage that children are our future. However, it has to be the enduring presence of older folks who have lived through life’s every imaginable challenge and still remain thankful, that gives the younger generation guts to flourish in the future.
I welcomed 1 Feb 2021 by bringing home a pot of Desert Rose. This is one of my late father’s favourite plants. He was hugely successful in growing them. Till this day, the balcony of my mom’s little flat is a hanging garden of “Flowers of Abundance,” (Fu Gui Hua 富贵花）as the Desert Rose is known in chinese.
I was born in the Year of the Water Rabbit. This year my lunar birthday fell on 22nd Jan 2021.
My paternal Kinmen grandmother was 50 years old when I was born. I was her first grandchild. As a mother who had lost two daughters even before they turned 5 years old, my arrival must have felt as if one of her little girls was being returned to her.
Thus I was raised with much care, and given every chance to wear whatever beautiful clothes available to children of my neighbourhood.
On the same day as I gave thanks for my birth, I was happy to see a Facebook feed from Kinmen Blog explaining the origin of my grandmother’s surname, 翁 (pronounced as “weng.”)
One of my dominant childhood memories was of her pointing out the chinese character of her surname on her citizenship document, and getting me to pronounce it accurately. That could have been the first chinese word I laid eyes on.
Full Moon rising on the old city of Houpu, Kinmen Island, Taiwan.
I made my first trip to my grandmother’s birthplace on her behalf in 2019 and walked the streets she might have played on in her childhood.
At the doorway of an ancestral shrine belonging to the descendants who share the same family name as my grandmother.
As I stood under the golden brush strokes bearing my grandmother’s family name above the entrance of one of the many ancestral shrines that dotted the island, I felt energised.
Perhaps there’s a reason for my deep affinity with black ink strokes against vermillion & scarlet, and gold characters against black. What may appear tacky to some feels like home to me.
I think when ancestor veneration is forbidden or discouraged in the name of progress, religion or politics, we lose our connection to the wisdom and protection of our forebears.
And for me this loss can never be compensated by promises of power or paradise.
On the morning of the final full moon of the Year of the Rat, Emmanuel the Cat slumbers on.
He dreams of Sumerian cuneiforms, Egyptian hieroglyphs and pictographs of the past as he tallies up his lives’ scores.
The distinct letter ‘M’ marking on his velvety forehead that extends all the way to the top of his head and separates into wispy lines down the back of his neck like some elaborate headdress lends the sleeping cat a majestic air.
Perhaps Emmanuel had been a prince.
Emmanuel’s kohl lined eyes, bib of pristine white, ringed limbs and white socks also evoke a priestly presence.
Perhaps this cat was a priest before, and all the ring markings on his furry limbs were bangles he wore for ritual purposes in a bygone era.
Or perhaps this now portly feline had been a prisoner, and the ring markings were once ropes that bound him to suffering.
As I look at the blissful form breathing in the morning breeze, I get the feeling that whether Emmanuel had been a prince, a priest or a prisoner in the past, one thing is for sure.
And that is, someone from his past must have loved him & did all that was required that have resulted in his current life of relative ease.
Gold letterings say “Happy Birthday” in mandarin on my 57th Birthday yesterday. (24 Jan 2021). Ollie is not impressed.
Yesterday and today, I felt all the love and birthday wishes from near and far. There were texts, fb messages and even a voice mail from the desert.
This time last year I celebrated my birthday with caution. We were facing a world wide health threat and closer to home in Singapore, a family was grieving over the loss of their son in the military.
Birthday in my 20s with my first batch of students. We were staying in a bungalow in a remote part of Changi so I don’t know how the cake got there.
Sagging body parts and pigmentation spots or not, aging allows us to reflect on our thoughts and actions, to give thanks for mercies shown and to atone for offenses made.
Surprise Birthday in my 30s. A lovely child brought a cake to school and kept it in the refrigerator of the school canteen operator till we could eat it during recess.
Through their words and deeds, students, friends and family have indulged in my many whims and flaws, and point me the way to generosity & forgiveness.
So here’s wishing them back all the good that they’ve been to me, while I shall try not to disappoint, but do my very best to grow into a gracious old lady.
Hard boiled eggs dyed red given by my 77 year old mother to celebrate my 57th birthday this time.
May All meet Wisdom and Compassion in all stages of Life, so that every encounter may become a doorway to Grace.
40th Birthday celebration with Peaches, symbol of longevity and aspirations for divinity.
Susana Robledo shared the following words in “Flamenco at 5:15,” with her students:
On position:
“Stand still and feel the earth’s support coming through your legs even if you don’t dance.”
On finger work:
“Reach out as if to take something, and then give it back.”
On dancing solo:
“Have the courage to dance alone.”
Two words that sum up 2020 for me are “mutation” and “isolation,” courtesy of Covid-19.
The virus’ ability to mutate in order to thrive shows that to transform, to morph, to shape-shift and to change is really part of the circle of life.
As a planning species, we think we can dictate what to change and what to keep. But Nature doesn’t discriminate.
Covid-19’s medical protocols also change my understanding of isolation.
While fretting over the inconveniences, financial & time losses brought on by quarantine requirements & stay home notices, we’re also forced to confront the reality that in matters of life & death, we’re naturally on our own.
And that no matter how loved, how popular and how powerful we think we are, no one can take the swap test on our behalf.
Perhaps if we try to dance through change and isolation, instead of staying frozen by fear, we might be able to weave a path through obstacles that lie in wait for us, like the way gypsies & displaced people stamp and twirl off all that dust.
Susana Robledo demonstrates Spanish dance at the St. Lawrence Centre for the Arts, February 1979.
Incidentally as I was wrapping up this post, I learnt that Susan Robledo passed away at 93 years old on 1 January 2010.
May the wisdom of all who have gone before us and lessons learnt in 2020, guide our steps through 2021 and beyond.
The mandala seal on the box holding a bottle of perfume.
Away from classroom teaching and having my commitment to impart knowledge reduced to just twice a week at a tuition centre, I find myself growing quieter over the months.
Unless it’s life threatening, I’m learning to resist the compulsion to explain, to justify or to convince. After all, when it comes to issues that truly matter, words are just not enough.
That said, I did wonder if aging has made me anti-social, indifferent or worse still, turned me into a subaltern?
Apart from the increased silence, I’ve also started wearing the pearl trinkets I bought during my 30s. I had forgotten how pearls brighten up against black.
With Marcus’ orange cat, Sage, on this winter solstice. (22/12/2020)
And each time someone smiles or says something nice at the sight of pearls around my neck, I’m reminded to heed the “Pearls of Wisdom.”
While growing silent and wearing faux pearls I also revisit my cache of oils, incense and perfumes.
Since my last trip to Nepal in 2019, I’ve been lighting palo santo wood to give thanks to the sun and to dedicate light to the living and the dead each morning.
Memories of my grandma dabbing scented oils on us surface regularly.
A few days ago I was rubbing Moroccan argan oil mixed with lavender & patchouli on a coconut shell necklace.
“It would be good to be a quiet old lady who also smells nice,” a voice in my head went.
Two days ago a former student and his wife took me out to lunch.
At Jinjio with Jonathan & Jeneen, on the eve of the final full moon of December 2020. (28/12/2020)
It was our first meet up in 2020. Unsure of how gathering rules might change in the coming new year, , they also took the opportunity to mark my birthday in 2021 in advance.
At that lunch I received a book gift from the husband, and a perfume gift from the wife.
The book was a copy of “Quiet” by Susan Cain.
Receiving “Quiet,” from my former student felt like I was given the permission to be quiet without the fear of withdrawing from life, or becoming forgotten.
From his wife, I received perfume from Korea that came in a bottle most exquisitely crafted.
As soon as Jeneen showed me the gift she got me, Goddess Tara came to mind.
Its hues, gold and crystal details immediately reminded me of Goddess Tara as envisioned by the artist who drew it for Street Dog Care in Nepal a few years back.
And I felt so honoured that the giver thought of me the moment she saw the lovely bottle that held the peony fragrance.
Peony Perfume and Goddess Tara.
And thus my aspiration to grow into a quiet old lady who speaks words of wisdom when necessary while smelling good was facilitated at the lunch hosted by a young couple on 28th December, the eve of the full moon.
May we trust that our aspirations to be the best that we can be as age catches up will be graciously provided for through those who are born after us.
Their uncompromising grit inspires younger devotees to rush to their aid. Someone offers to steady a tottering grandpa, and another helps a granny too shrunken to reach the urn to place her incense sticks.
Lisa Ong 