Between the ages of 7 and 15, I always ate homemade murukus, especially during Deepavali season.
The fragrance of cumin and carom seeds in these deep fried dhal delights are unique to my chinese nose. In fact muruku and pappadum preceded pringles potato chips in my introduction to snacks beyond my culture.
3 distinct cultures bonded by English Language, Curry and Rice.
Last week 40 plus years later, I had the chance to taste homemade muruku again. My host even insisted that we took bags of my childhood snacks home! Of course I was more than happy to oblige.
Here’s giving thanks for the aromas of homemade snacks and massala tea as they perfume all gatherings of diversity. 🙏🌈🐾
When 84-year-old Granny Weng (翁奶奶)knew that we were coming to Kinmen Island the next day, she hopped on the bus to do some shopping in the city.
Among the gifts she bought us were little round biscuits called “Kao So,” (口酥) which means crispy in the local Kinmen dialect.
Granny Weng put on this dress called qipao for this picture taking.
Over tea by the doorway of her ancient courtyard she offered us the treats which my grandmother would have eaten during her childhood more than a 100 years ago.
El sharing a joke with Granny Weng at the ancient doorway of her home. We saw the full moon together the next day.
As she eagerly removed the packaging, the hardy grandmother explained in our dialect, “kao so si lin ah ma zou gin na eh si zun siang si kiah.” (Rough translation: This biscuit was popular during your grandma’s childhood).
Granny Weng (翁奶奶) went to town to buy us the biscuits the day before we arrived. She married at 17 and raised 10 children with her husband through the war. She is now a great-grandmother of 6. The next day we watched the full moon rise together, not knowing that in a few months’ time cross border traveling would become impossible because of the pandemic.
November is a month of harvesting, uprooting & stock taking. The biscuit episode happened last June, months before border closures because of the pandemic.
Some of us may not have pedigree lineage to speak of, nor scholars or high fliers among our forefathers. But as ordinary as some origins may be, they are worth remembering.
Biting on a “Kao So” biscuit that day felt like breaking bread to renew a shared heritage that had been quietly waiting for me all these years.
And I have an octogenarian’s affection and efforts to thank for this realisation.
On full moon morning just 2 days ago, I placed a gift of chrysanthemum tea to quench thirst and groundnuts to give energy, on a basket outside my kitchen window.
The workers painting the outer walls of our block were in the gondola on their way up to the 40th floor. From there they would descend & paint unit by unit till they reached the ground.
The items had to be packed compactly to occupy minimum space in their gondola and not to compromise their safety.
I wrote a note to express my intention and most importantly to prevent any misunderstandings with their supervisor/employer.
SALAM means “Peace be Upon You,” and NAMASTE means,”The Light in me greets the Light in you.”
And so it was on the morning of the full moon, an exchange of offerings and blessings took place 30 plus floors above ground outside a kitchen window.
When I recalled how I placed my palms together and bowed wordlessly to the two painters while their joyful Thank Yous filled the air, I felt God visiting me. 😄
Years back through an English assignment, a young boy revealed that he came from a single parent household. His father had been incarcerated for various offences.
“Are you sure you want to read your story to the class?“ I asked him to consider some of the more specific details he had written.
The boy who identified strongly with American gymnast, Simone Biles’ childhood said he wanted to go ahead. The class was very quiet after listening to him.
When everyone had left the room, the 13 year old boy smiled gently. His eyes glowed softly as he said quietly, “Now I don’t have to lie about my mother’s divorce and make up stories about my father anymore. And people can stop asking about my father during PTM (parent-teacher meeting).”
He also revealed that his father used to burn him with lighted cigarettes. The mother’s shame did not allow her abused child to speak ill of his abuser.It was their neighbour who called the police.
The boy and I agreed that because he could share the truth of his background, he wouldn’t have to be constantly on the lookout for people finding out.
After that episode, he put in extra effort in his writing, and often came up with new words to express his thoughts. Free from the fetters of shame and secrets, the boy’s mind flourished with new energy and he found his voice.
It was as if fragments of his fractured psyche were coming together. One of the words he “die die also must write” in all his essays and reflections regardless of its appropriateness and context is “beatific.”
And beatific means “rapturous joy” and “divine bliss”, his rewards for having the courage to make peace with the good and bad bits of his life.
To this day I remember the shine in the eyes of Beatific Boy as he was relieved of the baggage of lies.
May we adults try to live responsibly & truthfully to the best of our ability, so as not to burden children with our broken dreams, unfinished business and unceasing neuroses.
Incense offering to the Sunrise at Nagarkot (Dec 2017)
I took 2 hardboiled eggs from the breakfast buffet and slipped them into the pocket of my winter top.
We were travelling down the hills of Nargakot to stay one night at the Airport Hotel in Kathmandu. It was 2017 and Nepal’s election year. All roads would be close to vehicles on the day we were flying back to Singapore.
I kept the eggs in case I came across a hungry dog or cat, or even a child. It can be traumatic for some of us to meet a hungry animal and have nothing to give. But instead of feeling sorry and helpless, I decided to fortify myself with food. Eggs in their shells proved to be most hygienic and practical in a situation like this.
Down the valley, the hotel check-in went smoothly. Then I rested while my travel mates headed out to Patan for some last minute exploration.
We would meet for dinner.
Dinner was still some time away when I woke up from my nap in the Nepalese winter.
The eggs I brought with me in the morning had become my sustenance till dinner time.
As I sat by the window gazing out at Tribhuvan Airport in the setting sun, it became clear to me that “what we do unto others, we do unto ourselves.”
Thus have I experienced that the giver is also the receiver.
Handprinted Boudha Stupa on handcrafted lokta paper.
Yesterday 4 Oct was World Animal Day. In the morning I dedicated prayers for more kindness and care to animals. I offered flower & light to St Francis of Assisi, the Patron Saint of Ecology & Animals.
In the afternoon I had the good fortune of presenting a set of new prayer flags to a friend who loves his adopted cats dearly.
Shortly after he got home, my friend unrolled the prayer flags. His cat, Sage, showed great interest in them.
After my friend had raised the prayer flags, Sage continued to show her fascination with the carriers of blessings.
Years ago, I took a picture of my dog contemplating the inscription bearing squares of blue, white, red, green and yellow, like this lovely ginger girl did on yesterday evening
This morning, much to my amazement, the same picture I was hoping to locate popped up on my FB memories.
My dog, Shoya, contemplating the prayer flags 6 years ago.
Ollie gives the mooncakes a final QC before the send off.
I was sending a parcel of mooncakes that might cheer up a friend who hadn’t been home to Singapore for some time.
The courier company was located in the Big Box Mall which was now deserted as many businesses had closed and vacated.
The island wide safe entry requirements had closed off a number of exits and entrances in the cavernous building. Coupled with a lack of signages, and with the premises boarded all around, I couldn’t tell which was the correct drop off that would lead me to the courier office.
My Grab ride was only $ 7. And for that little sum, the Grab driver drove me around the circumference of Big Box compound 3 times, and once up into the multi-story car park, hoping to find someone who could direct us to the correct door so that I wouldn’t have to walk too much.
“No, no, no! We have to find the right entrance,” he insisted, his hands clutching the steering wheel firmly.
Boudha Stupa of Compassion & Wisdom in on 8 Dec 2018.
While we were circumambulating the expo-like compound in his car, he told me about the ridiculous lengths he had to cover during his recent medical visit because the usual access routes in the hospital were blocked off for safe entry/ exit purposes.
He didn’t want the same thing to happen to me.
When I pointed out a possible drop off, he kept asking incredulously,”Are you sure?”
Actually I wasn’t sure, but I felt it wasn’t fair of me to use up his time and energy like that.
I had to practically assure him that I would be alright, before he would let me alight. And for a brief moment, I thought I saw him calibrating in his mind if he could defy the rules and drive beyond the barricades just to ease my journey.
May my friend who asked for these mooncakes and gave me the chance to experience such uncommon compassion of a Grab driver be protected in all her journeys overseas.
And may the Grab driver be restored to good health. 🙏
May the full moon energise all sentient beings with the attributes of Mother Tara, so that we may make the crossing from ignorance to light, from fear to faith and from scarcity to abundance.
Lisa Ong 