2 cheek kiss

This is the custom in Montréal. To know when is an appropriate time to exercise the custom - to know the speed, duration, intensity that would send the appropriate message...Its sort of an art.

I miss it. To me, it's classy and familiar.

Just like I miss watching a hockey game with my father at the Forum or Molson stadium (I believe they call it the Bell Amphitheatre now...)

Tonite - I saw a Leafs game in a box. Probably the highlight of my career cause we were handpicked by senior management to go schmooze with the execs. A nite of free booze and food and fun. But I was bitterly disappointed.

WHERE WAS THE SPIRIT??? There was no GO HABS GO (or go l--s go in this particular situation). The fans didn't do the wave - NOT ONCE! and finally - no dancing or singing "AH OUAAAIS AH OUAIS AH OUAIS AH OUAIS" song.

Only a Montreal Canadiens game could make an Asian man show emotion in public. I miss watching hockey on the TV with my paternal grand-father. Going to games with my dad - cheering, singing, being rowdy and feisty. I miss hockey - Montreal style.

Song of Songs

While visiting last week, I saw the Salvador Dali exhibit. One of my favourite pieces is the Song of Songs series of paintings. Dali interpreted this book of the Bible formidably.

"for your love is more delightful than wine." chapter 1 verse1

I suppose this 12-panel of paintings spoke to me the most because I am currently co-teaching a class at church on this book. Song of Songs is probably one of the most under appreciated book throughout biblical history. It is said that the Catholic church used to forbid women to read this book and men could only read it after the age of 30.

"My lover is to me a sachet of myrrh resting between my breasts." ch 1 vs 13

The language is graphic as it is beautiful - telling the love story of King Solomon & the Shulammite woman. As we discuss topics such as intimacy between husband and wife, God and man/woman - I think of my own life.

"My lover is mine and I am his;" - Ch. 2 vs. 16

In love, there is an element of exclusivity which occurs between the husband and wife. And I am inspired to think of my relationship with God. How exclusive is it - how faithful, eager and honest is my pursuit? Sundays is my favourite day of the week because it is the day I can be quiet and reflect. But how lovely it would be to make every day a sunday - perhaps it would relieve me of some of the madness.

Since I have only taught until chapter 2, I'll have to stop now and resume when more has been learned.

By the way - anyone remember Dylan from 90210? Well if you were wondering what Luke Perry is up to these days - he's in a London Theatre show called "When Harry Met Sally". Bizarre.

So who is the guy on your back?

Think back - way back - circa 1984. My parents sent me to a primary school in my neighbourhood of upper middle class white Canadians. I was the only Chinese kid in my year/school. The kids were cruel - especially the older ones. The daily abuse ranged from verbal put downs, sing-song chanting on the bus "me chinese - me don't care - me pull down my underwear", and once the older kids took off my coat and tied me to the school flag pole in the middle of winter. I hated being Chinese.

I remember this one brat who kept harrassing me and pushing me around. One day he asked me the ridiculous question - "Hey do you know karate?" Then by the grace of God - an idea came to mind. The Lord did not bless my ethnicity with braun - but he sure did bless us with brain! I just answered "Of course I know karate." To which the brat replied "No YOU DON'T - then SHOW ME!!" I just put my body into fighting karate stance - CHOP CHOP! and screamed "You know Bruce Lee? Well he's Chinese and so am I - so of course I know karate!!!!" HAI YA!! CHOP CHOP!

To my surprise, the brat was satisfied with the answer and never bothered me again from that day forward. In fact, by the end of that week, the whole school left me alone because I was Bruce Lee's daughter after-all.

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Now fast forward 20 years. I have a Bruce Lee shirt that has been with me for a few years now. It's more a discreet patch on the back of one of my black t-shirts. More notable places I've taken Bruce Lee are:
- a rave in Hong Kong
- NYC a few times
- a sushi gourging incident in Vancouver
- and more recently, mad shopping on Carnaby Street and Picadilly Circus.
Needless to say - I HEART this shirt and take it with me whereever I go.
I suppose the more notable fact about this shirt is that it was given to me by someone who loved me a lot. I don't think anyone has loved me romantically that much before and since.

So when I'm wearing that shirt and random people ask me "who is that guy on your back" - I answer much more plainly than they will ever know.

Bar.

Notice the word bar is pretty useful. Bar-none, No holds bar, bar-hopping. Well in the lovely london, there's bar-beautiful. Looking around, there was not a single ugly person - I swear I have never seen this many gorgeous women in one room. £50 cover, £175 bottles. Made me wonder whether or not the lovely ladies were trust-fund babies or high class whores?

There's also bar-universe. I've been to clubs around the world now and its the same genre of music - same people.

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Latin fever.

The minute I make a promise to God, temptation rears its ugly head around the corner.

So my best friend's colleague is ....Ecuadorian - Columbian born - Ivy League Educated - Intellectual - Well travelled - Tall - Latin - Hot. CRAAAPPP...it hurt to just walk away.

So whomever my Mr. Right is...he better be freakin fabulous.

The Bowl

A few weeks ago, I purchased a beautiful ceramic jumbo soup bowl from Chinatown. My immediate impulse to make this purchase came from a memory of a short story read to me almost 10 years ago. I had romantic notions of being the very protagonist who had an odd relationship with a bowl.

Ann Beattie’s “Janus” described elegantly how a real-estate agent would take this lovely white, oversized ceramic bowl with her to open houses and place it deliberately on a coffee table believing that people would buy the home because of the bowl. Her attraction and attachment to the bowl was so interesting and psychotic. She carried it from place to place admiring the beauty of the bowl as well as its imperfections and often found herself subconsciously caressing its contours. She struggled about whether or not to tell her husband about the bowl.

If I recall correctly, the story concludes by revealing that the bowl was a gift from the woman’s lover. The allegory in this story was so powerful that it stayed with me for a good nine years. So impactful, that I started writing my own stories and made my decision to be a writer. I was inspired by the oddity of a woman caressing a ceramic bowl (some believe the bowl represents the shape of a woman’s pregnant stomach), the beauty of the language, the story, and the truth – we are all more tragic, sordid, and complicated than what appears on the surface.

And so, I purchased my own bowl. Not only is its size perfection for holding my instant noodles, but as I caress its contours and begin my odd relationship with this bowl, I am reminded of Janus – the Greek god of two-facedness.

"Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver
Mon refrain ce n'est pas un refrain, c'est rafale"
G. Vigneault

My country is not a country, it's winter
My chorus is not a chorus, it's a storm

This is one of my favourite poems. On days like this ~ messy, snowy, and grey ~ I think of home. I think of slushy St. Catherine's street - people slushing back and forth and about the streets near Mcgill campus. People spilling out of taxis onto the snow filled streets of St. Laurent & St. Urbain. I dream of the slopes and I miss the chalet in the countryside.

Le Québec - tu me manques infiniement.

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I read this blog earlier last week and the subject was about blogs being unfair because it lacked reciprocity.

To me, writing is about one person revealing their thoughts - a monologue of sorts. I never really considered the consequences too much fearing the moment I believed myself too vulnerable - I would self-censor.

Some people in my life use this as a substitute for communication. Rather than speaking to me directly, they choose to refer to my blog and make all types of suppositions based on the written manifestation of my mood at any particular moment. The dangers are judgement from those who are capturing a slice in time from my thoughts-continuum.

Oh well...God gave me words. Above all, He gave me an opinion and a curious mind. And apparently, He also gave me a very impulsive, exhibitionist personality.

So my cute colleague asked me to go to the Raps game tonight.

I decided to dress casual because its a bloody ball game after all...(the Raps were shamed once again....)

BUT of course afterwards was a party night - and we went to a 25 and over club. i sweaked by only because my sweet cute colleague chatted up the bouncer and/or paid him something. Only in Toronto would they card for 25 and over!!! I hate this city....

Anyways - so i was wearing sneakers and a Bruce Lee shirt...yes....everyone around me was in club outfits - all the women were decked out...At that moment, I made a choice that I was nonetheless FABULOUS...eventhough I looked 12 years old compared to the rest of the women.

Note to self: when a guy says that there's no dress code and everyone is just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, he's only referring to the men.

Last night as soon as I got home, I was overwhelmed with this desire to get down on my knees and cry out in prayer for Haiti.
The urging I sensed was so strong that I had no choice but to stop what I was doing and just pray for a people I regrettably know nothing about.

Not trying to be facetious here, but the only thing I know about Haiti is that it is a French speaking country in the Caribbean, which supplies Montreal with the majority of its taxi drivers.

So what is God trying to tell me…

Mission: to be a Chinese culture ambassador
Mission status: FAILED

I continually attempt to educate my fellow colleagues about the greatness of Chinese culture and more specifically, Chinese cuisine. To my chagrin, the more I try, the more I fail!!

Yesterday I enthusiastically explained that I mastered the art of making "jok" - rice porridge. My colleagues excitedly listened as I talked about how I boiled the rice and added marinated Chicken and watercrest to the mix. BUT THEN I mentioned the black eggs. To me, the preserved eggs are delish but I realized that as I described what a black egg is - that it does indeed sound DISGUSTING!!

Eggs which are infused with amonium to make them black and preserved. riighhht...I suppose mentioning that they were featured in Fear Factor didn't help.

Sigh.