Despite being only the size of a cushion, and weighing less than 6kg, Emmanuel growls menacingly when Ollie tries to cosy up on the couch he’s on.
Emmanuel, the cushion sized cat with a loud voice and a ready bite. Different locations, same bickering over who occupies where.
In return, Oliver sneaks up at night on Emmanuel ensconced on the cane chair, and scares the wits out of him.
My counselling falls on deaf ears.
Both cats are loved, have free run of my home and access to food and clean water 24/7.
Once in a while they grudgingly share space.
Furthermore they are also somewhat related, having been born on the grounds of a girls’ school I was teaching in some 14 years ago.
Yet they bicker constantly about who occupies where as much as they can only bodily be in one location at a time.
Perhaps this fear of losing out & needing to own more than what one needs is hardwired into the survival instincts of all living beings.
Oliver posing with a literary magazine from Kinmen Island, a political pawn used by warring parties since the Ming Dynasty. My grandmother was born there in 1914.
Unlike cats, we humans have the advantage of analysis, and perhaps even tame some of our natural inclinations for power and control, and be free from fear and possessiveness to some degree.
As these days we can’t travel on a whim, the things I bought on my trips to Nepal and Kinmen Island in the past have taken on a relic-like significance.
War Hero edition of Kinmen Sorghum Liquor.
In 2019, I visited Kinmen Island, the birthplace of my ancestors for the first time. Kinmen sorghum liquor is well known among wine aficionados. Revenue from its sale world wide plays a huge part in education funding for the island’s children from nursery to university.
The little island between mainland China and Taiwan even has its own ceramic factory dedicated to the creation of sorghum wine receptacles to mark historical and social events.
When I bought these two bottles of sorghum wine during my trips in 2019, I had no idea a pandemic was also brewing.
I got them mainly because the wine came from grains that were grown, harvested and fermented on an island that my grandmother was born, left and pined for all her life. And of course the little glasses that the islanders took their celebrated elixir in had to come home with me!
I love drinking with little glasses and cups. Firstly, they are very very cute. Secondly, they pace my alcohol intake so I can relax without becoming intoxicated. The thimble sized holders of Kinmen Sorghum encourages me to sip and savour, instead of gulp and guzzle.
When I take a sip of this “rocket fuel,” as the liquor is fondly known for its high alcohol content, the sweetness of fermented sorghum caresses my tongue and perfumes my mouth, while heat sashays up my nose, dances my brows and warms my ears.
I don’t know when we’ll be able to visit my grandmother’s beloved birthplace again. So for now I shall drink the precious remaining liquor mindfully, and make every sip count.
A lunch of Vietnamese spring rolls, papaya salad and noodles is augmented by Kinmen liquor.
And through mindful consumption and usage of resources like in the days of our forefathers, may we turn the little that we’ve got to lots, so that we may win the war against the pandemic.
Day after day, Emmanuel the Cat lives the new dawn by the way he looks at the sky as if he’s seeing it for the first time.
His trancelike attention to light descending upon creation to the music of birdsongs shows a timeless appreciation for new beginnings even as he is aging.
The elderly man had been taking drink orders from table to table.
When he came to me I asked for kopi-o, meaning black coffee with added sugar.
Perhaps there were too many orders to hold in his mind so he asked me again. He repeated my order after me like a child willing himself to memorise the multiplication table without understanding.
Sensing his slight panic as he struggled mentally to collate his orders, I casually said, “Don’t worry, uncle. Just bring me what you can remember. I’ll drink it even if it’s the wrong one.”
Upon my words, a look of relief unfolded across his face like a flower blooming.
The peace radiating from his shrunken frame was quite unmistakable. Till this day I can recall that peace at will.
Every encounter is an opportunity to learn to be at ease.
When I rid the elderly coffee shop worker of his anxiety, I also released me from the fixation of having my order obeyed in certain ways.
So I learnt that when we allow others to breathe, we can also breathe.❤️
One of the first gifts from my dad when I was a kid were 39 tiny conch shells.
In my late 40s I would learn that the couch plays a very important role in Hindu and Buddhist practices.
When a conch is blown, it makes an OM sound, believed to be the primal sound of creation, and from which other sounds emanate.
The drapes and folds on the saffron robe of this young Thai monk call to mind the twirls & swirls on the conch.
Of late I keep seeing similarities between the curvature of the conch and the fluidity of the drapes on the robes of Buddhist monks and nuns.
So I started reading up on the robes that had been on my mind for sometime.
At Boudha I was always entralled by the waves of maroon robes on monks & nuns as they circumambulated the Stupa.
But only today I learnt that in Buddha’s time, the robes were made from discarded rags found among trash. Monks would pick up rags, wash and dye them before stitching the pieces together to form a robe.
In “Buddha’s Robe” written 26 years ago, Noelle Oxenhandler says, “…the robe made from a discarded rag is the lotus that grows in mud.” ♥️
May tonight’s full moon on Buddha’s Enlightenment Day guide our mind to see the fullness within each being, so that we too may learn to turn the worthless to the priceless.🙏
This is the main entrance to the Boudha Stupa. Yesterday my friends at Street Dog Care posted this picture. Road repair works have begun.
Since 2011, I’ve stood at this entrance to the Boudha Stupa 8 times. I’m so grateful to have visited Nepal at every chance I could before this pandemic.
I’ve stood at this entrance 8 times in my life.
Each time when I looked at the Stupa for the first time, I would feel tears welling at my heart and making their way up my eyes.
At the same time in the midst of the surrounding chaotic traffic & commercial activities, I would also experience a profound quiet that was unshakeable.
“You saw your mind,” my Taiwanese friend who lives at Boudha told me when I narrated my encounter to her.
She went on to elaborate that when the mind is unfettered by judgements or desires, it is clear and free.
So perhaps I had tears in my eyes because at the Stupa entrance I caught a glimpse of how my mind could have been were it not shackled onto fixed patterns of ignorance & pride.
My first stupa dog, Sam, on a full moon evening before the lockdown.
These days I think I learn to suffer less because I try to watch my mind before thoughts become words and deeds.
While the well trodden path to Boudha Stupa is being repaired on this auspicious day of enlightenment, may I take this opportunity to wish my friends and all sentient beings divine guidance as they forge their own paths to liberation. 🌈🙏🐾
The conch produces the sound OM”, believed to be the sound of creation and from which all sounds emanated.
One day the subject of half-siblings and step-siblings came up towards the end of English lesson.
As I wrote down the words’ definitions and the circumstances that gave rise to them on the white board, some students looked really interested.
Even when the bell had sounded for the 14-year-olds to leave my class, a handful took their time to pack their bags and lingered on.
I have been very fortunate to witness such purity of intent among children many times. They give me strength to face the truth.
“Teacher, I have a half-sister,” “I have step brothers,” “My father remarried,” “My mom don’t allow me to see my dad,” and so on came tumbling out of the kids’ mouths as they gathered at my desk in the morning hush.
I was momentarily stunned. For right there in the safety of my homeroom, it felt like some dead weights were being lifted off young shoulders as each kid revealed what they were not supposed to talk about in public.
One boy whose mom left their family when he was in primary school looked almost teary when I taught him the words to say without having to lie about his mom’s absence at school functions. I could tell lying was destroying his young soul.
Words create realities.
I think the kids that day left the room with new words and new found camaraderie to face the new normal brought about by changes in family dynamics.
We do children a great disservice when we project our adult disappointments with life on them, and by denying them a voice we trap them further in our web of lies.
May we have the courage to face our truth so that others can live freely.
Yesterday at the animal shelter, an elderly Persian cat started purring loudly and turning her forehead to meet mine each time I managed to snip off a knot of matted fur that had twirled and tightened around her like barnacles growing on whales.
I hope Divina will still be around in my next visit. I hope to give her a bath and dry her properly.
Shelter trips are sobering reminders of abandonment, broken promises and vulnerabilities.
Shelter people are stretched to their limits to compensate the animals for the suffering in the hands of fellow humans.
This morning I came across a picture of a doctor holding a patient to comfort him. I thought of my encounter with the ageing Persian whom I had named Divina.
Different species, same loneliness.
Different contexts, same gestures.
Different professions, similar offerings.
At the risk of sounding melodramatic, cutting off the knots for the shelter cat felt akin to making a liberation gesture for me.
For some time as I leant against the plastic shelf with Divina purring loudly, I had an idea of the elation divers must have felt when they cut off fishing lines that have trapped marine lives.
Divina leaning towards me each time I snipped off a knot of matted fur from her body.
And today I learnt that some communities celebrated the birth of Buddha yesterday.
May we be free to offer relief to others with all the skillsets we have and in whatever situations we come across. 🌈🙏🐾
My grandma was traumatised, while I was more concerned about having blood on my candy.
After that blood letting episode, it would be a long time before I would see my beloved candies again.
My maternal grandparents raised 10 children on their meagre combined incomes. Money was always short, but they never made their children or grandchildren feel poor.
I remember one night when I was in primary 2, my grandma told me she would buy me a new box of colour pencils on her way home from work the next day.
Those words would become her last words to me. That night she woke up in the middle of sleep with a terrible headache, and passed on of stroke. She was only 50 years old.
Although I only knew my maternal grandma for just a few years, she is present in every candy & colour that I see these days.
Candies and Colours are what childhood is made of. My maternal grandma tried to give me both.
So I believe regardless of our financial constraints or length of life span, every gesture performed in the spirit of love & generosity continues to live on, long after the giver is gone.
“Door gifts for you!” The officer announced cheerfully after he had confirmed that I was fit to be discharged.
Vaccination issues dredge up old memories of regret & guilt about missing the one that was supposed to protect me from contracting childhood poliomyelitis.
In Singapore, many who are fit for vaccination are showing up for the jab to protect themselves and keep others from covid-19. I felt had to do my part too.
After reading up and consulting with my doctor on whether there were risks for post-polio patients, I registered to receive the vaccination.
I took a cab to the Yuhua Community Club for my first dose of vaccine.
I had lots of practice with medical appointments since I was a kid. As an adult, making them alone when I still can, is good training for old age.
Of course I had the good sense to arrange for someone to come & get me if I needed help in going home after the vaccination.
However, despite all that preparation, I still approached the vaccination venue with some trepidation.
As I trudged along the corridor leading to the registration counter, a man appeared in the opposite direction. He was wiping his face as he walked towards me.
And his built and gait looked strangely familiar. Is that my youngest uncle walking towards me? Or am I so stressed that I’m hallucinating about having a family member meet me at the centre?
Better not make a fool of myself, and go around calling strangers ‘uncle,’ I warned, even as I wished hopefully to be right. 😆
As it turned out, that man was indeed my youngest uncle! He was there to collect his safe entry token.
He was very surprised to see me in his neighbourhood. He thought I would have opted to go somewhere closer to my home for the vaccination.
My uncle showing the wood block carvings which he keeps carefully after digitization rendered them obsolete.
My uncle walked with me to the vaccination registration counter and my unease disappeared as we chatted.
Before seeing me off at the waiting area, he gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Looking back I now realised I am never alone. And the reason why someone’s built and gait could exude such strong vibes of familiarity and peace even at a distance, and even before I could ascertain his identity, was that they reminded me of my late grandfather, my uncle’s dad. ♥️
An encounter such as this is never merely just a coincidence for me. I hope by sharing this episode, those who have to do things on their own for whatever reason, will never feel alone.
Someone’s always watching over us. 🙏😊
Second flowering of orchids on Vaccination Day (eve of new moon).
Lisa Ong 