Things I Miss About New York

I was cleaning out my purse today -- it's been a few weeks since I've done this, and those that know me are probably laughing at the ragtag list of items that I keep in my purse since time immemorial. Disregarding the unsavory bits of tissue or gum wrappers at the bottom, I did find some hilarious things....

1. A taxi receipt with "Call me at XXX-XXX-XXXX, let's chat" scrawled across the fare.
2. 3 dead AAA-size batteries
3. 10 Egyptian cents (is that even legal tender anymore?)
4. My business cards folded into different airplane shapes, presumably when I was really bored one day.
5. A key ring that held spare keys to Kerstin's flat (not anymore)
6. 4 sticks of lip balm (I don't know why there are 4. There just are.)
7. Spare battery for my mobile phone (Finally! Something useful!)

and last, but not least... a Flash Memory Card! At some point I must have taken it out of my camera and didn't put it back in. I wasn't sure how long ago that I acted so absent-mindedly, because, believe me, it happens more often than not. So I launched it today and the memory card contained pictures I took in New York this last trip back. They are not of anything too remarkable, but they were of places and things that were near and dear to me - so I'm going to post these pictures, not just to tell people about them, but to also give them the respect they deserve as bits of life I miss about NYC.

Where I Used To Work


This is a beautiful sunset from where I used to work. It faces the Hudson River, and on the other side in New Jersey is the Harborside Financial Center. My first job was in HFC, where I learned that working through the night on a project I'm committed to is well worth it. I also learned then that OJ was found not guilty by a jury that was not his peers. The financial district is where I witnessed the two planes crashing into the two towers, and other horrors beyond imagination. Across the Hudson is the spot where I watched Ground Zero transform from rubble to gaping hole to two beams of light to a gated construction site. All from the unforgettable experience of living aboard a boat. This is also where I would catch many a spectacular sunset, and my last visit there did not disappoint.


Mornings by City Hall



The confluence point of New York City politics and municipal power is right by this fountain. Within a 50 feet radius of the fountain, you can find: the FBI headquarters, the NY State Supreme Court, City Hall, NY State Family Court, the Department of Motor Vehicles, Social Security Administration, Unemployment Office. The contrast between grand stone columns and high archways, reminiscent of the intellectual politicos of the 19th century, and the ornate Baroque style fountain in front of city hall is quite amusing. It is typical of NYC, this mix and match - elegantly carved building facades that sit contentedly next to a blinking neon sign for J&R Music and Electronics. The $1 bagel and coffee cart, and its immaculately dressed, well-composed and rich customers.

What diet




Forget bagels and coffee, to truly bring your tastebuds back to the NYC flavor, a deli or a diner is a must. The tourist-board-touted NYC slice of pizza notwithstanding, another truly New York experience is the New York diner or deli. Where the wait staff speaks strongly accented broken Noo Yawk English and bring your humungous plate of piping hot food in a brisk and efficient manner, where the bus boys clear away used plates and fill up water glasses in superspeed. Where a sandwich isn't just a sandwich - it's a smorgasboard of coleslaw, sweet and dill pickles, pickled peppers and golden fries, and the rueben sandwich is smothered with dripping melted swiss cheese too abundant for the plate. To top it all off with a steaming mug of diner coffee, refills free of charge, and creamy rich luscious cheesecake.

This is not a sob-story about my desire to return to New York... far from it. But I do remember the good times and they are worth thinking about, chatting about. So if you're in New York now, step out and enjoy what the city is about. It's more than just Wall Street, Madison Avenue and NYU. New York will love you if you love it back, doesn't matter where you end up many years from now.

Be True

What is it about turning 30 that it makes people ask the most questions about themselves, and their lives. Many of my friends are around this age group - 29, 30, 31, etc. Ironically the colloquial "mid-life crisis" used to be a 40's thing -- now it's dropped to a 30's thing. No matter, I've been through some of it myself. And I've had enough chats with friends about these introspective self-examination type issues to realize that they are not easily resolved, sometimes never. And they're not exclusive to before-30's or 30-somethings... so all you older people, watch out!

Some lessons I learned these few months...

1. There is a huge world beyond these four walls. Don't judge your life by the immediate environment around you, but by whether you are living true to yourself.

2. Don't let your soul die. Keep it nourished, excited, happy, fulfilled.

3. There is a big difference between being accomplished and being fulfilled.

4. Sometimes life takes a big U-turn from what you set out in mind - and it may not be a bad thing.

5. Oolong tea is best drunk cold.

6. Regret is a wasted emotion. Feeling sorry for yourself is wasting time.

7. Nothing beats a New York slice of pizza when you have the munchies.

I suppose it's serendipity that I have also re-discovered Walt Whitman, and it's not surprising that his frank and honest depiction of truest conflicts and convictions facing our most inner souls, resonate strongly with me right now. Here is an extract that reminds me of what's important:

{extract from "Song of Myself", Walt Whitman}

Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward
and city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and
new
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or
lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news,
the fitful events;
These come to me days and night and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain
rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with
linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.

I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to
you,
And you must not be abased to the other.

Nanny For A Day

One of my best friends from New York teaches 2nd Grade in Elementary School. For the non-Americans, this is roughly equivalent to 2nd year in Primary School, or generally speaking, 8-year-olds. After this past Saturday, I humbly pay homage to all teachers, caretakers, mommies and daddies and any other assorted nanny-types that care for these little terrors. I can acknowledge this now because I had to watch over several 8-year-olds on Saturday.

After a grueling few weeks overseas on a work assignment, a cramped and uncomfortable flight and only two hours of sleep, I woke up on Saturday morning all prepared for a day of laziness and relaxation. Then I remembered that I had promised to take my 8-year-old cousin out to her school’s Family Day. This year’s event was organized on the beautiful Shek-O beach on the northeastern coast of Hong Kong Island.

The day started off on an odd note as I climbed aboard the school bus picking us up from the meeting point. The last time I stepped into one was when I was – well, in school. The first wave of childish squeals and overexuberance about a rare field trip was refreshing – boundless childish energy and the promise of youthful frolicking was infectious. The kids started talking to me –
- Hey, are you a cousin? You don’t look like a parent.
- Why is there a tiger on your back? (I have a tattoo)
- Are you going to swim?
- Do you like the teachers?
- What’s in your bag? Can I open this thing that says “MP3”?

These kids were more thorough than custom inspectors! Between touching the tiger tattoo on the back of my shoulder, rummaging through my purse, pulling on my hair, sitting on my lap and screaming in my ears, I was tired even before we got to the beach.


As much as the bus was already an alternate universe filled with Barbies and Blu's Clues and Pokemon, the beach was pandemonium. Kids and parents were running wild -- the children screaming and chasing after each other’s friends, the parents screaming and chasing after the kids. Teachers were vainly trying to keep things organized, holding out programs with futile effort. The administrator held responsible for dispensing snack kits to the children gave up counting several hours ago – those little grubby hands reaching for the chocolate bars were no longer distinguishable from each other, each round face or mischievous grin had started to blend in with the next.

I kept my eye on my cousin’s black and neon pink suit – if all else fails, look out for the one that’s dressed like a walking traffic-light. She made a bee-line for her best friends – six other 7- and 8-year old girls, their colorful bathing suits and sand toys at the ready.


A bit of calm (well, sort of) descended when the teacher’s shrill whistle sounded the beginning of water games. Sigh, I finally get to sit down on the sand and read a book while the kids madly run around forming teams of boys against girls. I smiled to myself as the chanting refrain grew in volume – “Boys Beat Girls!” “Girls Beat Boys!”





The weather was sunny but not too hot, breezy but not too windy, perfect for a day on the beach. The beach blanket beckoned, the lounging chair looked too empty without a lazy butt like mine sitting in it. I dragged the bag of kids’ gear towards the chair with every single cell of my being yearning for a little peace and quiet, to sleep off my jet-lag. Surely the kids were in good hands with the teachers they spend 5 days out of a week with?

Oh no. Teachers were taking their revenge – for this one day, the parents must get a taste of what they deal with during the week. Parents were called in to supervise, take pictures, coach, lead cheers, become audience, and generally take part in the games. Looking around at the parents standing at the ready with their video cameras and shouting attack strategies at their young with water bombs in hand, I thought it may be a good time to take some pictures.

*SPLASH* and a water bomb hit me in the crotch. I looked like I peed myself. Oh well, I think, I’m going into the sea anyway and the sun will dry this. *SPLAT* another water bomb hit me on the chest and my camera was wet. A quick dry saved it, but that reminded me to start taking snaps of my cousin at play in case 20 years from now, she forgets that she was once part of this exciting day in her life.


What force! Such aggression! Younger and smaller kids were taking revenge on the bigger ones with water bombs that zip with incredible precision. Older kids that ran out of water bombs started flinging sand. The kindergarteners who had no idea what to do were entranced by squirts of water from a damaged “weapon”.


The kids ran around, circling, doubling-back, no particular direction except looking for an exposed back to fling a wet plastic bag at. They milled around and bumped into each other like so many electrons in an atom, bouncing off each other into the other direction, searching for the next target. I bet from a birds’-eye view, this would have looked like chaos theory in effect.


The games ended with the inevitable kid with a scratch on his knee, the crybaby who bawled when his water bomb burst without even being flung at someone, the parent who bumped into another parent and started a video cam row. My cousin started to look bored so I thought it was time to take charge and I shepherded her out to the surf.

To all parents/nannies/caretakers/domestic engineers out there, how many ways can you play on the surf? Over the next few hours, in between slathering on sunblock on pink baby-cheeks in case an irate parent accused me of encouraging melanoma, we came up with:

1. Who can jump the highest over the next breaking wave?
2. Who can jump the fastest over the next breaking wave?
3. Who can jump like their favorite animal over the next breaking wave?
4. Who can stand still against the next breaking wave?
5. Who can push their butt up against the next breaking wave?
6. Who can use their arms to block the next breaking wave?

All this was done in knee deep water, my back burning from the sun and my brain running out of ideas. In between, I was keeping up a running commentary on why waves were not scary, why seashells were broken, why there was sand in our bathing suits, and why I have a tiger on my back.

Disney, I thought. When all else fails, think Disney. Beach – Water – Sea – Mermaid! Inspiration strikes and I seat everyone down on the sand.

So kids, what do mermaids have?
Tails! Fins! Red Hair! Boobies! {Who said that? Who said Boobies? Where’s your mother?}

So make your legs like a mermaid’s tail… and what does she do when a wave comes?
She swims! {And a 7-year old without floaties promptly makes off towards deeper water. I grab her and am silently thankful her mother is gossiping with another mother}

Well, when she is sitting on the beach, does she flap her tail when the waves come in?
Yes!

Okay then! So what mermaid names will you give yourselves?
Ariel! Ariel! Ariel! Ariel! Ariel! Ariel!

Okay then! You are all little Ariels! Ready? Here comes one… everyone FLAP!

And I get sandy water splashed in my mouth, nose, eyes…. Oh well. The kids were having fun. But I was getting exhausted from chasing down the ones that get distracted by a little sand crab. From stopping the bold ones who pointedly ignored my direction that “no one goes further than me into the water”. Consoling the sensitive one who cried when her “mermaid tail” couldn’t flap fast enough. Assuring the fussy one that of course I named her Ariel first before the others. Cajoling the quiet one to play along with everyone else. Ignoring the questions from the curious one about why I have a tiger on my back. Smiling reassuringly to the parents on their lounging chairs to show that I had their kids under control.

The shrill whistle went off again. A teacher triumphantly announced the end of Family Day, will all children and their parents please make their way to the local restaurant for lunch. Mention Family Day and you’ll get a 10% discount off your bill!

In a vacuum rush the beach emptied and I was left standing alone by the surf, dripping wet, back sunburnt, throat hoarse from shouting over the din, bathing suit full of sand, arms tired from hauling kids back from the deep water, face numb from keeping a smile plastered on. I watched the little munchkins swarm around their parents and teachers, jumping up and down for their goodies, their parents like immovable mountains of discipline and patience, calm among the storm.

So to the teachers/parents/ nannies/other assorted caretaker types: kudos to you, and I kowtow until my forehead touches the floor. You deal with these little terrors every day and still keep it up, I had them for 6 hours and at the end I wanted to string them up by their toes. Thank you for keeping the faith, and finding at the bottom of your personal barrel that extra ration of patience and love that keeps this going for the rest of your child’s life.

I still haven’t told those kids why there is a tiger on my back.

P.S. I had packed an MP3 player and climbing shoes in the vain hope of bouldering at Shek-O, but that hope vanished when I became the mermaid coach.

Full Moon

A 'dawn' she has both beautiful and bright,
When the East kindles with the full moon's light;
Not like the rising sun's impatient glow
Dazzling the mountains, but an overflow
Of solemn splendour, in mutation slow.
-- "By the side of Rydal Mere", William Wordsworth


September 29 is the day when the moon is at its fullest this year, according to the Chinese calendar. This date would be the 15th day of the 8th month of the Year of the Monkey. Otherwise known as "Full Moon Festival" or "Mid-Autumn Festival", it celebrates the full moon and what it stands for.

This festival revolves around the basic concepts of the moon -- the Beauty of a Full Circle; and the Cloak of Darkness. Seemingly disjointed, this is typical of Chinese sensibility - all is duality, yin-yang, action-reaction, positive/negative.

As such, a Full Moon is always the roundest, brightest and most beautiful when the rest of the dark night is at its blackest. I do think the Full Moon watched over me during my time spent in Singapore, Tokyo, New York and Boston these past few weeks.

For the Chinese, circles represent completion, unification, repetition and closeness. Reunions between family and friends are known as tuan yuan, which literally translates to "collective circle". Aptly I circled back with friends in all these places, trading dumb questions and experiences and dirty jokes over beers, pasta, water, coffee, into all hours of the night. On our best days, we can't imagine a more enjoyable time than laughing over nothing and everything with our friends, old and new. There is very little that is more important to me than a friendship - and I hope I get to keep these ones for many more full moons to come.

Celebrating the moon inevitably means celebrating the night. Mid-autumn provides the most comfortable night-time weather, slight breeze, the barest chill to remind you of the darkness, yet the air clear and sweet enough to entice you outdoors. Autumn nights are seductive - the perfect temperature to stare at the moon with a warm blanket about the shoulders (or, for the lucky ones, a warm arm about the shoulder?). The night is not threatening or confining, it hums with a seductive song that tempts you to put out the flame and walk into the darkness with only the full moon to light your way.

I walked many miles on this trip during nightime. In Singapore, I walked along quiet highways after midnight, letting the night air wash out the anger and frustration at my grandmother's illness, the full moon my only guardian.

In New York, I walked up Broadway with friends, animated over a new movie we had just seen, exchanging gossip and tips and updating each other on lives in general, the moon energizing us to walk over a hundred street blocks.

In Tokyo, we walked haltingly along the main Roppongi thoroughfare, the moon muted by the multitudes of blinking pink neon signs. Lady Luck Bar, Rocking All Night Cafe, Chill Joint, Cyberock Club.. in the night, we were looking for another dark room to dance and drink and forget about the open sky. In Roppongi, night does not exist - the tourism engine raises its head the highest, during the darkest hours.

In Boston, Faneiul Hall and Quincy Market were dotted with quaint lamps, the walk accompanied by the soothing strains of street violin and not much else, the tourist crowd having receded into their posh hotel rooms. After a scrumptious seafood dinner, the slow stroll on quiet cobbled streets has its own charm.



It takes nights like these to see the beauty in mid-autumn, and not just from the full moon. Perhaps from the spell cast by the season - perhaps from luck. There was beauty in a way a waitress poured water into my glass. When a grandmother picks out a lantern for her grandchild. Off the gleam of office windows reflecting streetlights. Leaping from a dog's joyful pounce when its master comes out of a grocery store. Radiating from a boy's smile when his father shares his pink bandung drink.





In another two days, the full moon would have lost its perfect edge - slivers of silver orb will be slowly swallowed by the dark sky and the circle will no longer be perfect - I am flying back to Hong Kong in a few days. But the spell may not be broken - I will be seeing the same moon, with the same fullness and content in its circle, in a few more weeks, in a different place, with different friends, with a different kind of beauty.

A lunar cycle repeated, a spirit refreshed, my moon-lit night-time story continues.