Being alone is fine…

Being alone together is perfect.

Boyfriend J has gone back to California for interviews and I’m all alone in Boston for the past week.

Nothing wrong with that, I have always been pretty independent and work consume so much of my time already so it didn’t make alot of difference. I quite liked having my own time reading, going to cafes and hanging out with new friends.

It was nice… for the first 5 days.

Now I kinda miss him waiting for me when I come back to the apartment, ready to listen to me and talk about what happened during the day. And while we used to jostle for space on my tiny bed, the bed without him now feels too big and empty.

My philosophy towards relationships has always been one of coupled independence. I would hate for my boyfriend to depend on me totally, emotionally, financially or spiritually. I like to learn from my partner and if we spend all our energies on each other, how do we learn new things to keep each other challenged?

Maybe it’s fate that I’m now in Boston. One of my favourite movies is…. drum rolls… “Next Stop Wonderland“. Surprise surprise! The movie is about two lives who cross in Boston on the T on the blue line, one unlucky in love nurse and a plumber trying to change careers. Throughout the movie they don’t meet but share an emotional connection that ties their lives together, hence the the movie’s tagline “Being alone is fine. Being alone together is perfect”.

Don’t ask me why the poster’s tagline is the cheesey “Love is the destination”. Hmmmm….

But anyway with J now in California and potentially taking a job over there, I don’t relish the idea of resuming our long distance relationship. We have been doing this long distance relationship for 5 years and the distance was a little shorter when I was in Chicago doing my grad studies and he in upstate new york. So if he takes up the job in Cali, we’re looking at at least another year of coast to coast air commute. Not fun, not fun at all.

It seems with globalization, human talents are so mobile, we’re no longer contended to settle. We’re drawn to bigger, brighter opportunities around the world and couples are increasingly facing he propspect of doing a long distance relationship at least once. At least 4 of my friends are doing such relationships and a few others are facing that possibility as well.

I went to attend Singapore Day at New York City the week before and it was just weird to see all these singaporeans in the middle of Central Park watching other singaporeans perform onstage, so far away from home and probably their family and loved ones.

“You’ve seen it all and all you have seen
You can always review on your own little screen
The light and the dark, the big and the small
Just keep in mind – you need no more at all
You’ve seen what you were and know what you’ll be
You’ve seen it all – there is no more to see”

Bjork, “I seen it all”, Selmasongs

Holy Canolli!

Weekends are ever so precious and always so short. You work so hard to endure till Friday and you have two days to really make your week worth something.

And with modern life demanding you to really live it up because “you’re worth it”, weekends can become real work with the planning, expectations and pent up desire.

So I found myself without a plan this weekend. But it went so well, this two days without design, without pressure. Weekends are best spent leisurely, on a whim, on a fancy. I have spent many hectic weekends planning trips to other states, eating lobsters, drinking fine wine.

But sometimes when you just let things happen, they do.

So this weekend, boyfriend J wanted to take it easy and hang out at North End. He was there a few weeks ago and my friend Jolene and they had a great time. I was a little skeptical, I heard that it’s a real tourist zone and I didn’t fancy spending my weekend jostling tourists… cos you know since I’m so local.

The North End today is so chic and glamorous but it was a real immigrant ghetto until 20-30 years ago. First populated by early Bostonian aristocrats, North End became abandoned by them as wharfs opened up there and the shipping industry started over populating the area with less than desirable settlers. Soon, North End became a haven for gamblers, gangs, prostitutes and other riff raffs. Property prices dropped rapidly and the area became the immigrant’s landing spot for cheap accomodation. Waves of immigrants landed in North End, making it their home until they got chased out by newer immigrants. The Irish, Jewish and Italians settled in North End and by late 1900s, the Italians have stamped their personality permanently into the neighborhood. Now, North End is Boston’s little Italy and it’s a really quaint pocket of history within such a small space.

I’m always suspicious of old “ethnic” neighbhorhoods since many of them tend to be glorified Asian/Italian/Indian/etc Disneyland but North End really fascinated me with its old buildings, narrow streets and old town feel.

And the best part of North End is the amazing pastries at Mike’s Pastry!

I’m not really into Italian pastry (always thought they are too fattening) but still had to taste a canolli as a walking snack since we’re in an Italian enclave. And there was this crazy line snaking out to the streets from Mike’s and I was so intrigued. Never show people lining up for food to a Singaporean, his natural instinct is to think it’s the best in town. I had to follow my Singaporean instinct, I had no choice. Alas, after waiting for 5 mins, the line was too long and I decided to come back after these damn tourists leave.

So after walking around the Old North End Church (fascinating church) and the nearby streets, we came back but the pastry shop was still so crowded. Needing that canolli, we had no choice but to wait in line like everybody else. After waiting for a long long time (okie, it was 20 mins but 20 mins without sugar is a long time), we finally ordered three canollis (the lady was incredulous we only wanted three) and went back with our beautiful blue and white pastry box. I felt like I just stepped out of Tiffany’s with my diamond ring or something.

Well at 4USD for a canolli, it sure felt like it was the Tiffany’s of canollis. I nearly swallowed my tongue when she said how much it was.

So we sat down, brewed a cup of good Earl Grey and ate the first canolli. The rich ricotta cheese exploded in our mouths while the crunchy honeyed texture of the biscuit provided a great contrast in texture. I was in canolli heaven.

Now I understand the crowd.

A pity I only bought three. Until next weekend at least.

The rear is not an entrance

Nothing less than a miracle allowed me to leave before 7pm today.

The meeting was long and it wouldn’t end and suddenly in the middle of typing, my boss says aloud “we work too hard…” Fearing that it’s a trick question, I kept quiet, pounding away at my laptop, hoping that he finishes his comment so that we know he’s not being sarcastic or ironic.

Strangely, he folds his laptop and says “okie, it’s Thursday and it’s coming to 6.30pm, let’s leave the rest to tomorrow” and he leaves the room. Talk about an exit… I was left wondering what got into him today, I better get more of that for the days ahead.

Thankfully, I was already contemplating going to the new Institute of Contemporary Art down at South Boston today (thanks Target for Free Thursdays!). I heard so many things about the new building (sadly mostly negative comments) and was curious to see what was so wrong about it. New York Times had a kinder review but many other critics were much less kind – “back facing front”, “illogical layout”, “creative but wasteful use of space” etc etc.

But I went with an open mind, preparing to like the building, from the photos the ICA looked pretty nice no?

But walking into the ICA, I instantly knew what the critics meant. The front door was next to a loading dock, and you couldn’t really enter in the front, you have to walk around it to the side entrance… but that’s really the main entrance. While the huge elevator was cool (wooden panels and glass walls), there wasn’t much to the museum except for two galleries and even then the galleries were not big spaces. We finished walking around the galleries in 45 mins and walked around to see if there were other displays.

None.

That’s it.

Except the really gorgeous view of the sea from the floor to ceiling glass walls.

But beyond that, there were nothing else except office space. Oh, and a cool gift shop… but I didn’t come to a museum to go shopping. Well at least not this one.

Now I know why most of the ICA photos look like this:

That’s the prettiest you’ll ever see the ICA. Nothing quite like taking it in the rear huh?

The only thing I don’t get is why did they build the ICA so small? There is ALOT of land around the building, heck, even the carpark is bigger than the entire museum’s four storeys laid flat side by side. You build two itsy bitsy galleries and one carpark the size of Africa?

I’ll relegate the ICA to the list of Bostonian incomprehensibles: the roads, the lack of road signs, the constantly frumpy grocery cashiers… one day I’ll understand.

Where nobody knows my name

The drive back home on a Monday can be quite brutal.

Mondays are really bad days for me, I have weekly meetings with my client that day and it has never been pleasant. Advertising has become really tough these past few days with bossy clients who want results all the time, everything is measurable now and you’re only as good as your results on excel spreadsheets.

It’s even harder since I’m not American and I can’t do the small talk and banter my colleagues do with the clients. My frame of reference is drastically different while the delivery and timing never really hits the right note… my colleagues and I could be telling the same joke and it would come out totally different.

These kind of wistful yearning for my home gets especially strong on Mondays as I drive back in the dark from the office. With the sun setting in the horizon and as I speed back to my apartment, I have the road to myself and I ponder about how I got to Boston in the first place.

And I was reaching my apartment today, the radio started playing “Boston” by Augustana… I heard the song so many times but I really only paid attention to the lyrics today.

“Boston… where no one knows my name… yeah
Where no one knows my name…
Where no one knows my name…
Yeah Boston…
Where no one knows my name.“

And I realised “hey that’s me.”

It’s Monday’s way of saying “Welcome to the week.”

Qu’ils mangent de la brioche

I have a funny relationship with money.

Okie okie, who doesn’t right? But my case is an extreme case of financial neurosis. I know most people think they don’t have enough money even when they are doing pretty well i.e. those wall street and lawyer types. But I find myself going to extreme measures to save money that I don’t particularly need to save. I’m not saying I’m rich enough not to save (I wish I am but alas…) but I’m not in the poor house either.

Having finished my graduate degree recently without any debt (thanks ma and pa!), I found myself a reasonably paid job in tony Boston. Compared to Chicago, cost of living here is much higher (the rent itself is enough to give me multiple heart attacks) and I constantly find myself obsessing about saving more of my hard earned income (“is Stop & Shop having a sale on red pepper or should I buy it at Russo’s?” kinda obsession). I spend alot of time tracking my expenses right down to the penny and poring over financial blogs (check out bostongal’s and jonathan’s blogs, they’re great!)

So I was reading this really old series of financial novels about the pyschology of money and financial systems over the weekend and what the writer said really made sense to me:

“The whole money complex is rooted in the pyschology of guilt. Money is the condensed wealth, condensed wealth is condensed guilt. Thus Christmas gift giving is a partial expiation for piling up all that condensed guilt during the year… one is bound to employ the currency that prevails in the country one is exploring, in [America's] case it is neurotic currency. All currency is neurotic currency.”

Having been to many improverished countries like India, China, Bolivia etc etc in the past few years, I really do feel guilty about my good fortunes. I know it’s not my fault I’m well provided for and these people are struggling but it just feels very unfair. That people are starving while I get frustrated by frivolous concerns like where to get the best sashimi in Boston (I concluded there is no fresh sashimi here btw) and whether I should buy the 2003 Bordeaux or 2005 Burgundy (both are very good years) … my office just had a function a few days ago and I was quite appalled that a simple lunch for 5 people came up to over 200 USD. That amount can feed alot of people in other countries I can imagine…

Maybe I have a reverse Marie Antoinette complex. She was the infamous french queen who symbolised the excesses of the French aristocracy and their lack of awareness about the world, namely the plight of their own peasants who were struggling to survive amidst heavy taxes, high food prices and economic depression. Her subjects particularly resented her opulent public wardrobe and jewellry when they couldn’t even afford to eat:

Hmm.. okie that’s not a very glamorous Marie. How about the Kirsten Dunst version?

And so, when informed that her subjects didn’t have money to buy bread because of their inflated prices, she said famously “let them eat cake”. And then all hell broke loose and the French Revolution followed soon after.

So when I behave like a scourge, it’s really to say to the starving Africans/South Americans/Indians/fill_in_destitute_country “hey I’m trying here! I’m not unenlightened, I feel your pain”. And the next moment I search for good seafood here in Boston… (anyone has recommendations?)

I know I know. Contradictions is me.

Imagine how much worse it will be when I really become rich. Sigh, the guilt of it all.

Love thy neighbor

Just spent Friday night at home with boyfriend J watching a DVD. Nothing unusual except that we only had one DVD left to watch and he wasn’t all that excited about watching this one.

The thing is J grew up Christian and has always been religious. He believes in God and has always been faithful, he was very involved in his church since young and has been finding ways to build his relationship with him. His sexuality has shaken things up a little and it has been an issue we talk about time to time… I grew up agnostic with very atheist parents who were strong advocates of science and logic. Completely different background from him in that aspect and had to learn to be patient and compassionate about his journey.

So “Jesus Camp” is basically a documentary about a group of evangelical christians in Missouri who starts this Christian summer camp for their kids through the leadership of their youth pastor Becky Fischer. The controversial part of the camp, or rather their entire church, is the fanatical approach they take to the bible. Children are given lectures after lectures of their sins and are driven to tears and collapsing on the floor, repenting their sins while their parents and pastor Becky smile in the background. Their world is only seen in the context of spiritual warfare and fighting temptations of the devil, and politics, current affairs and culture is seen through this narrow focus. The documentary places alot of emphasis on the current administration’s ties with evangelical christians (George Bush is one) and how this group see the return of “One Nationa under God” under this administration’s reign.

F or the far left, the images of wide eyed kids with war paint on their faces chanting christian war cries must have been terrifying. I found the images creepy but also somewhat sad thinking about the conflicts they will have later in life as they leave their christian-coated homes and families into the real world. And alot of their struggles (how to be a good christian in a secular world? how to resist temptation? etc etc) are very relevent issues… it’s just the way they approach it is troubling. For one thing, they’re hitting kids over their heads with such strident messages, secondly the whole military warfare theme in all their preachings is just not healthy.

It’s not about war, it’s about compassion. Haven’t we seen enough sufferring as it is?

But the strangest thing must be watching Ted Haggard on film. I read so much about his fall but to watch it on tape was surreal. Much has been written about his sexual relationship with masseur Mike Jones and it’s sad to see someone fall such great heights. But what’s sadder to me was listening to him condemning homosexuality right in front of his church with such fervor, the irony of it all.

The last part of the movie closed with this adorable devout little girl (well she gets away with it because she really believes it) going up with this group of middle eastern looking men and ask them “what would happen if you die this moment?” One of the men says he will go to heaven and she’s utterly shocked and retreats. Upon joining her friends, she says in disbelief “I thought they were Muslims”.

On a lighter note, that reminded me of an email I got from freecycle, a group I subscribe to that recycles stuff. It was hilarious in light of the current America/Muslim dynamics:

“Burqas to give away! One white and one dark blue, both don’t have a lot of wear as they were bought for Halloween costumes (reactions were pretty funny). They’re rather plain, with some ornamentation around the head and netting over the eyes.”

Nothing so terrifying as those we don’tunderstand.