To be honest, even after I had written that post about being in a funk, it still took me quite awhile to break myself out of opaque, leaden bubble of discouragement, loneliness, and depression. I was slowly sinking—down…down…down…and for the weirdest reason, despite being miserable, I wanted to stay miserable.

That is the biggest obstacle to misery. There is this sick, twisted masochist side to humans. We seem to actually enjoy it. We like wallowing. We like staying unhappy and bitter. Why? Because it’s a form of escape. It’s so much easier to throw your hands into the air, declare your situation impossible, and crawl into your bed in self-pity.

Dragging myself out of my funk took courage. It took action. I couldn’t just wait there in my little bubble, waiting for it pop. I did, for several weeks, and I just got worse. Because life is never stagnant. Life keeps going, whether I am depressed or not. Whether I like it or not, I keep getting into more and more situations and conflicts that disappoint and discourage me.

I was taking a walk one morning, listening to a daily InTouch Podcast by one of my favorite preachers, Charles Stanley. And something he said shook me, because I knew right then and there that it was God speaking to me.

He said: “Disappointments are inevitable. But discouragement is a choice. You are choosing to remain discouraged and depressed.”

I got ashamed when I heard that. Because he was right. It wasn’t the people I were having conflicts with that were holding me back. It wasn’t the problems, but it was my own stubbornness to deal with them the upright and wise way.

Funny thing about funks. It actually sucks the pleasure of even your favorite activities away. But with a burst of brilliant positive energy flowing through my spirit, I’m starting to enjoy all aspects of life again. And you know what that means. It means my head is once again being crowded with wacky recipe ideas.

Meanwhile, fry the chopped bacon until crispy. Take the cooked bacon out of the pan, but leave the bacon grease. Turn the heat up, and start frying the potatoes. Mix in the figs and bacon at the last few minutes, and once the potatoes are nicely charred, turn off heat and scatter in the scallions. Season with fresh cracked pepper.
HEEELLLOOOOO sexy! The fire alarm went off a couple times because of the smoke from the frying potatoes, but god did the whole kitchen smell so damn AMAZING!
I’m really, really loving frying potatoes in bacon grease. The spit and sputter of the golden nuggets in the salty, flavorful fat sounds utterly sensuous, yet primitive.
If you’re like me, you love to cook the shit out of your root vegetables—is there anything more appetizing than crunching on the burnt crispy exterior? Even the dried figs got a bit of a crunchy bite to it. I LOVE that!
As for the eggs? I’m not the best egg-scrambler; I get impatient and turn the heat up higher than it should be. But it still turned out deliciously creamy, especially because I mixed in the last spoonful of cream cheese at the end.
The spinach taste isn’t pronounced, but it’s clearly there in the background. And it improved the texture of the eggs, giving them a velvety feel, making them easier to glide down the throat.
I made enough for two people. I served myself up a generous portion (I have long hands, so that plate is pretty big):
And gave the rest to my mom, who loved it as well.
Now, don’t you wish you had bacon and spinach in your fridge? If you do, please do yourself a favor and fry up this lovely grub!

Question of the Day: Thoughts on what I said about it being our decision to stay in a funk? And tell me your favorite thing to cook with spinach or bacon!

Okay, I have a lot of favorite persons…but she really IS my favorite person, I swear! Her name is Joanne, and she is the junior pastor of our church. I adore and admire her so much. You know how some people can just do no wrong in your eyes? Well, Joanne is such a person to me.

She has never been anything but a positive influence to me. She was one of the few people (besides my family) who was constantly beside me throughout all my eating disordered years. She gave me rides, she took me out to eat, she invited me over to her house for coffee, and she read the bible and prayed with me. Even though I was clearly struggling and— frankly, painful to look at and exasperating to be with, she never once breathed a negative word to me.

I remember about 2 years ago when I was at my lowest weight, and just a month was left before I had to go to college. I had already deferred my enrollment once because of my weight; it was unlikely that the university would accept yet another postponement request (plus I kept my eating disorder a secret).

At that time I was crying, because a lady had told me I would never go to college. But Joanne hugged and comforted me, and I asked her if she thought I would never go to college, either. She looked me in the eye, brushed my tears away, and said firmly, “Yes. I do believe you’ll get well. I do believe you will go to college.”

I did not manage to make it that semester and ended up requesting another deferral (which was accepted!), but her faith in me and God at that time gave me immense comfort and encouragement. I wanted to take a picture of her, but she asked to give her time to lose some weight first. Since there is no way she can drop a few pounds within that day, I took a picture of her hand instead:
Joanne’s hands are my favorite part of her. They feel like a freshly-baked loaf of bread—soft, warm, and soothing. They are just the right size to hold, and incredibly gifted, too. She makes the best food, so great that friends would rather dine at her house than at the finest restaurants.
They are generous and compassionate hands, too— quick to give, eager to help, and timely in empathy. These qualities are what I seek to learn from Joanne’s hands. She never needed to preach at me…I gained enormous amounts of inspiration and nourishment just from her hands, her acts of love.

I love being with her. She exudes such calmness and peace and confidence that you can’t help feeling them yourself, too. We went to La Madeleine for lunch today, and spent 4 whole hours there, just talking and enjoying each other’s company. Funny thing about La Madeleine—both of us thought about going there! Joanne even decided on what she wanted to order there even before we made a decision.
 La Madeleine is one of Joanne’s favorite places, and I can see why. The thing I love most about La Madeleine is its interior design. It’s decorated to transport you to a quaint French country house.
Don’t you just feel so cozy in here? It would have been more pleasant if it was chilly out and there was a roaring fireplace, but I still basked in the warm atmosphere, despite the fact that the air conditioner was on full blast.
It was late afternoon, and most of the customers there were either business people, or retired folks enjoying their afternoon tea. I’ve actually only tried their dessert, and have never ordered from their savory menu.
They may be a chain restaurant, but they are actually really good. Their breakfast pastries and desserts are so pretty and delicious, too.
Joanne ordered their Mediterranean Pesto Pasta:
 Bowtie pasta, mushrooms, garlic, artichoke hearts, Roma tomatoes and Kalamata olives tossed in pesto sauce.
It was really fragrant from the fresh basil in the pesto, but a bit salty from an excess of olives.

I ordered the Duet Magnifique, which comes with a half a French Dip sandwich, soup, and fresh fruit:
Roast beef on a sourdough roll with provolone and horseradish sauce, served au jus. With tomato-basil soup and fresh fruit salad.
I would have ordered the French Onion soup, but a quick search on Yelp.com told me that the tomato-basil soup was to die for. And it was. If you ever visit a La Madeleine, please do yourself a favor, and order a huge bowl of this. The tomato flavor was deep, penetrating each mouthful with its sweet-tangy creaminess.
The French Dip sandwich was great, too. I loved the crusty and chewy bread, but the filling was just satisfactory. The roast beef was tender enough, but not as juicy as I expected from a French Dip sandwich, and I would have liked several layers more of provolone cheese.
We ate, and then we talked, and we talked, and we talked. And before we knew it, it was evening. I couldn’t believe how fast time flew us by! I went back home with a huge smile on my face. Joanne has that kind of effect on you.

Ever have one of those days? Those days when you feel like you’ve been struck with paralysis…brain paralysis, I mean. You don’t wanna move, you don’t wanna talk, you don’t wanna read. You just want to sit still and…I don’t know…Look at the clock tick your precious minutes away? Or something.

Actually it was an interesting experience. Sitting still, breathing slowly, and occasionally getting up to smack a fly dead (Effing flies, why can’t they just be extinct? Nobody wants them alive). As I just gazed into the air, focusing on nothing in particular, I started listening.

I listened to the low rumbles of my dad upstairs counseling someone over the phone. I listened to the soft snores of my mom napping in the living room. I listened to someone slapping the car door shut outside. I listened to the tree branches scraping against each other in the breeze. And I also listened to those blasted flies buzzing merrily in my ear (GARRRRRRRFFFGGHH!!!).

There’s something very comforting about listening to the world. Even though you are sitting very still, the world keeps on moving. All living organisms out there are busy out there scampering with their lives, and you can feel them moving, just by listening. Half-way across the world, all sorts of activities are going on…some people laughing, some people crying, some people dancing, some people dying…and here I am, listening, calmly letting my ears pick up what’s happening. And in a spooky way, I feel like I’m there with all of them at once.

It’s strange. I’ve never really thought of listening as an active verb. It’s always been something passive for me. You sit still, and you listen to someone else doing/saying something. Who knew? Sometimes, just tuning into your hearing senses and actively using it as the sole sensor (instead of merely hearing)…it lifts you up to an out-of-body experience.

I need to do more listening. Not to the occasionally distorted and deceiving voices in my head, but to my real surroundings. I need to calm down, and relish being quieter and more observant. At times like this, I realize how God includes so many hidden attributes to our human senses— beautiful qualities that we take for granted so much that they become obsolete.

I did a fair amount of listening today with my old friend Kate.
Kate just graduated with a marine biology degree, and she’ll soon be off interning at Massachusetts. Something to do with researching whales on boats in the ocean. Very cool stuff. A couple years ago, she was swimming with the dolphins in New Zealand. Why didn’t anyone tell me that being a marine biologist is the coolest thing in the world?

Kate is a huge outdoorsy nature-lover. If she had her way she would probably be living in a cabin by an isolated beach, listening to the songs of whales and dolphins and waves all day. We’re complete opposites in that regard; I’m a city girl whose idea of camping is a well-furnished chalet in the woods with clean toilets and warm blankets. But one thing we have in common? We both love to hear ourselves talk.

What I mean is, we both have extremely strong opinions, and yes, we’ve gotten into plenty of debates before. But no matter how much we passionately argued with each other, neither of us could sway the other’s opinion, so by now, we’ve both given up and do more listening to each other instead. And ironically, that has instead allowed us to be more receptive to each other’s points of view.

We (and that means I) decided to lunch at Cenan’s Bakery, a small local bakery within my neighborhood.
It’s not the first time I’ve been to Cenan’s, but it is the first time I’ve actually bought something from this store. Well, you know what to do in a bakery…you smell. I forgot all about listening, and just…breathed in the wonderful warm fragrance of baking sugar and flour and butter.
I remember sneaking to this bakery with a friend in the middle of class (this was high school senioritis days), but I never got to try any of their products. What a fool I was! Cenan is not just a bakery and cafe, it’s also a small ethnic grocery store. I’m guessing that the owner Cenan is from the Mediterranean region, because a lot of the products were Greek and Turkish. Like yogurt, cheeses, dips, sauces, dolmas, etc.
There were also a neat wine collection, but you know I don’t drink alcohol. I just put my finger to my chin and looked thoughtfully at them, pretending to know my stuff.

Meanwhile, Kate got a croissant. I think she’s more interesting than a buttery flaky croissant, so here’s another picture of her:
Hee hee. There she is, yapping away happily. It was awesome catching up with her. I’ve missed her a lot while she was off swimming with the sea mammals. And soon she’ll be off again to listen to whales. Sigh. But I guess that just means I get to listen to even more fun tales from her and live vicariously through her within my little comfortable Wi-Fied Starbucks corner in Los Angeles. Sweet.

By the way, a stupid fly just whizzed past my ear again. I am off to kill that irritating creature now. Bye bye!

I had to reply immediately: “I’m a dog-hater. I also don’t like swimming. I’m not a murderer though…forgive me?”

Now, the last time I announced that I disliked something (it was avocado), I had an anonymous comment cry out in anguish, “I don’t like you too!” And I imagine that by revealing my dislike for those precious, tail-wagging, doe-eyed furry creatures called dogs, I’ll probably receive more passionate responses than that.

Well, I don’t hate dogs. I’m just insensitive towards them. No matter how small and cute they are, they don’t exactly tug at my heart strings, and I’ve never once went “awwww…” at pictures of adorable puppies (In fact, pictures of adorable creatures kind of annoy me).  

I tried to protest my innocence. I tried to explain that I’ve been bitten and mangled and chased by dogs. I also tried to explain that they were annoyingly officious creatures, always eager to please, and why the heck do they always like to sniff and paw at your crotch?

“Well, that’s the owners fault,” Jane said. “They didn’t train their pets well. And when dogs are mistreated, they can get overly defensive and belligerent. It’s the humans who inflict their messed up natures on dogs.” She shook her head sadly. “Poor dogs. Damn humans.”

I had nothing else to say. She was right. There is no such thing as an evil dog, but there are tons of cruel humans out there. Dogs forgive readily, but humans bear grudges to their graves. All dogs want is love, food, and shelter, but humans always seem to want more and more, never having enough. When you think about it, animals are pretty simple creatures. But us humans…there ain’t no creature as complicated as us.

In my reply to Jane’s facebook status, I also mentioned that I’m not a murderer. But that was a lie. I am a murderer. I haven’t done the physical action yet, but I’ve committed countless atrocities in my mind and heart. I’ve cursed people through both my thoughts and words. I’ve compared myself to others, and stung them with darts of jealousy. I’ve judged and criticized others, crippling them with my prejudices. And I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one.

When it comes to human relationships, you’re bound to face conflicts. You are a flawed complicated human, interacting with flawed, complicated humans. There is no such thing as a perfectly smooth relationship, and if there are no conflicts, well…then you’re not really in a genuine relationship with that person.

What is my point in this? I’m not sure. It’s just something I’ve been struggling with right now, and I’ve been musing. But my basic conclusion is that when it comes to complicated relationships, the easiest route out is: just give in. Sure, that person might have done you tons of wrong, but it’s simplest to just be a “bigger” person and forgive. The more you invest yourself into that relationship, the more you’ll be complicating it.

Mix together the gochujang, oil, soy sauce, maple syrup, and chicken broth. I did not specify measurements because there is no need for that. Just mix and taste according to your preference. Just make sure the mixture is not too salty, runny, or thick.

In a drying pan over medium heat, fry together the sausage and onions for a minute or so. Pour the sauce over, and fry together until the sausage and onion is cooked through, and the sauce thickens. Meanwhile, fry up an egg.

By the way, my neighborhood dog has been yapping away for hours now. It’s getting on my nerves. Sorry, Jane. As convincing as your arguments for dogs are, I just cannot bring myself to love them. I guess that’s three strikes out for me: dog-hater, unenthusiastic swimmer, and…murderer. Perhaps if I cook something nice for her, she’ll forgive me?

The thing about being in a funk is that it doesn’t just suddenly happen in a day. It’s like dirt—it builds a thin layer of dust over you, bit by bit until one day you find yourself covered and weighed down by a thick grime of negativity. From then on, you can’t just brush the funk away like dust. It’s not that easy anymore, because it’s not just an overnight thing, and that’s why it’s so hard to get out of a funk.

I’ve been stressed out by quite a few factors since I got back. First of all, it’s been rather hard to see my high school friends come back as fresh college graduates, excited about their new jobs, and…well, drifting off to their own separate worlds. Even my younger brother is busy with an internship, and I can’t help feeling that all I do is eat up my parents’ hard-earned money.

Second is a mixture of both excitement and anxiety. I’ve been assigned a weekly food column in the Daily Trojan, my school newspaper. At first I was elated because I didn’t think I would get the job, but now that I do have the job…Well, I’m freaking nervous, because I have just been asked to churn out my first column, and I haven’t even decided on a name for my column yet. That, and the usual self-doubting voice telling me that maybe my editor made a mistake choosing me.

Third is again academic-related. I have one month left till I have to go back to school, and I can’t help feeling nervous about the new semester. I’ve got a much fuller class load this year, and my home is a mile away from school, which also means I’m two miles away from the grocery stores. But I have no car, and I can’t walk or bike 4 miles with heavy grocery bags, and I have to juggle all of that while trying to maintain my GPA and squeezing in enough credits to gain a major and two minors…Okay, I’m hyperventilating.

Fourth may be laughable to you, but it’s a serious matter for me. I cannot seem to concentrate during Sunday service. I get incredibly tired and irritable, and have even dozed off a couple times. Instead of gaining strength from the message, I leave feeling enervated and guilty.

Fifth is…a personal matter which I cannot share because it would not be fair for the people involved. But it’s also the problem that is upsetting me the most, because I can’t even tell the people upsetting me that they are upsetting me in consideration of our fragile relationship. Oy.

Anyway. Sorry for spewing out these silly personal dramas on you. But thank you for listening (reading). I feel a lot better after letting it out…because even as I was listing all these factors, inside me, there was a wiser voice telling me, “They’re not it. They’re not the real problem here. It’s you.”

The voice is right. The “problems” I listed ain’t really problems. The real problem starts from me—my insecurities, my immaturity, and most of all, my lack of an active spiritual life. My mother asked me something the other day which tripped me up: “When was the last time you read your bible?” Umm…I can’t remember? Ahem. Wow.

No wonder I keep sinking into a mire of negativity. I’ve been neglecting my relationship with God, instead focusing on things with my own power and smarts. Without my daily feed from the Word of God, I have been running on my own energy, which is limited and conditional. Basically, my soul is “malnourished” and becoming cranky from the lack of “proper nourishment”.

Despite it all, I realize how blessed I am. I may be in a funk right now, but I’ve recognized it before it got any worse. I’ve pinpointed the source, and determined the solution. I think it’s time for some intense scrubbing, don’t you? And it starts now. After all, I don’t want to develop an “odor” and attract “unwanted flies”, if you know what I mean.

I remember when my dear friend Christina from Dinner at Christina’s was in a funk some months back. She told me that in Christo from Chez What? advised her to cook something she never thought she would ever cook in order to pull herself out of it. For Christina, it was cooking up an all-Southern dinner of country-fried Steaks, sausage gravy, butter beans, and buttermilk biscuits (check it out and drool your hearts out!).

Well, I don’t think it’s really the physical food I need right now, but hey, it can’t hurt, can it? Thus I decided to try a completely new cuisine: Afghan. Fortunately for me, I live in the coolest town ever, and there happened to be an Afghan restaurant called Panjshir II just a few minutes walk away from my house. When my good friend Jane asked me out for lunch, I immediately suggested that place.

However, I started doubting my decision as soon as I walked into the restaurant:
Do you see what’s wrong with it? Well, annoyingly dark lighting aside, it was empty. Not a single customer in sight. Hmm. I got even more suspicious when the manager came out to wait on us. Where is the server(s)? But the manager was nice enough, and I couldn’t help wanting to like this place because of him.

He gave us the menu, and didn’t show the least sign of annoyance when we both just got water for our drinks (trust me, every server gets annoyed when you don’t order a proper drink because that’s a huge part of restaurant sales):
I didn’t really need to consider much on what to order. I got the Kadu Chalow:
Sautéed pumpkin topped with seasoned yogurt and tomato sauce; served with spinach rice.
I suppose I need no explanations on why I ordered this dish. It kind of just screamed out to me, “I am FOR you! MUST get inside your tummy, right NOW!” And boy, did it feel good in my tummy!
The pumpkin was lovely—sweet, yet seasoned into a perfect blend of sweet and savory, topped with tangy rich yogurt. The spinach rice was great, too:
I love it when the grains are individually separated. Especially when they’re coated with green specks of spinach. I wish they had given me more of that red sauce on top, though. It went really well with the rice.

Jane ordered the Kabab-E-Gos Fund:
Chunks of lamb marinated in herbs and spices, served on skewer with saffron rice.

I love being able to order and enjoy a dish which I can’t even pronounce, don’t you? It adds a bit of exciting and mysterious quality to the experience, even though it is just lamb kabob. Jane generously handed me fat piece of lamb:
I loved the little sizzling sound it still made on the plate, and also the balanced seasoning of the meat. It was juicy and flavorful, but the texture was a bit too chewy for me.

On the side, we were also served some bread:
I took a few nibbles, but didn’t finish them because they were rather dry. They didn’t seem all that fresh, probably because of the low customer turnout. Which is unfortunate, because this place does have really good food. As for myself, I’ll definitely be back.

Okay, that was a rather pleasant experience! Not only did I get to try a completely foreign cuisine, I also got to catch up with my dear friend Jane, who has always consistently been a great friend to me. She’s actually a recent graduate from Pratt Institute, and is SO incredibly talented in designs. She’s actually the one who has always been encouraging me to study art, and a proponent of my decision to double-minor in Fine Arts. You’ll probably meet her sometime again in my blog…she’s one friend with whom I’ll always keep in touch.

Now that I’m physically full, I think it’s time to fill up my spiritual tank as well. I’m off to de-funk myself. See you soon, unfunked!

Question of the Day: Ever been in a bad funk? How do you snap out of it?

Maybe I’m opening a can of worms, and several of you are recoiling in horror, interjecting with protests about the questionable meat in the “chicken” of McNuggets, the hormones in the “chicken”, the weird unreadable chemicals, the malpractice of the company, the importance of sustainability, blah…blah…blah.

Frankly, I think it’s rather insulting for someone to sniff their noses and say, “That stuff is for the dogs” when so many people happily chow down that “dog food” all across the world. While I do admit fast food isn’t exactly nutritionally or environmentally friendly, I see no harm in acknowledging that hey, sometimes, we just need some grub.

Yes, I know. It would have made such a strong statement if we had met at Burger King, or even a low-key chili place in DC. But Ameena has severe allergy issues, and the other blogger, Danielle, is a vegetarian/vegan. That of course, eliminates practically all grubby places.

Maya is this hyper little bird that flies about here and there; she never sits still, and I could tell by the way she talks that she is incredibly intelligent and bright. Ameena, you’ve got a young woman full of potential in your hands. But watch it— this pretty girl has got the best features of both her parents, and will grow up to break tons of hearts.

And of course, it was awesome finally meeting the dude behind the GrubGrade team, Adam. Adam doesn’t just write about food. He also is a pretty esteemed sports writer at Utah State. No, he is not Mormon (He’s Catholic, actually), and I think he’s crazy to want to move to frigid Utah, but damn is he a great writer!!

The lunch was definitely expensive. But hey, meeting and hanging out with great people like Ameena, Danielle, and Adam is priceless.

You say dog food, I say “Woof! Woof!” (“It’s still tasty, silly” in Dog language).

Okay, I’m so embarrassed to admit this—but hey, no matter what, I’m still a girl…and I’m vain as a peacock. Like everyone else, I like to look good. I like to get compliments from others. I want girls to look at me with envy and guys to salivate at my footsteps (except ugly balding old men, of course).

Or…I thought I did.

At that moment, I’m flattered. I smile, I thank them for their kind words. But despite all these compliments, the instant I turn my back, I once again…feel dissatisfied with myself. I forget every compliment, and instead look at the mirror and instantly, unconsciously, start criticizing myself.

It’s made me realize that confidence doesn’t come from external compliments or praises. It doesn’t even come from real beauty. Even if I were to face hundreds of people chanting the immeasurability of my beauty everyday, or have thousands of admirers, or have broken myriads of hearts…I’ll still never be satisfied unless I myself am satisfied with myself.

I need to be more confident, all-around. It’s not enough just to be confident about certain areas about myself.  True self-confidence is not boasting about my obvious good points, then turning around to scrutinize my weaker points and bemoaning about it.

Of course, I’m not just talking about beauty. Low self-esteem comes in all forms, but no matter what they are, I believe the best way to overcome it is to tap into that fixed foundation of confidence.

Strangely enough, cooking has never been a factor of low self-confidence for me. I just cook—and that’s it. I think about the flavors, the textures, the colors, the nutrition…but I never scrutinize my cooking. I eat, and even if I don’t like it, I don’t criticize myself. I just think of ways to improve it, and I always do. Hm, wouldn’t it be great if we could have that kind of attitude to all areas about ourselves?

“Mom,” I groaned. “Have a little self-confidence. Everyone says you’re a great cook. So just make whatever and they’ll eat it. It’s all about the company, not the food anyway.”

But since I’m a good, helpful daughter, I planned out the menu with her, and even offered to cook some of the dishes. We ended up having quite a glorious spread!

Okay, writing that made me pause for a long time. I’ve been staring at that sentence for many minutes, letting it sink in, my heart aching. I’ve only left Singapore about a month ago, but somehow it feels like…years. As if it’s a past distant dream, to which I flew like Peter Pan to Neverland. Did it really happen? It all seems so far away.

I’m still in contact with my closest friends in Singapore. In fact, I only just received a heartening email from Jing Wen, sharing with me how much God is blessing her. And inevitably, we again talked about when would be the next time we meet. To which I have no answer, except to bring up words like “I hope…” and “I wish…”

I miss Singapore.

There are places where whenever you think of it, you think of its luscious landscape, the fun adventures you had there, the wonderful food you ate. But Singapore…it’s not a beautiful tourist hotspot with a rich history. It’s blisteringly hot, stiflingly small, young, and well, rather boring, I have to admit.

But my memories there certainly isn’t. It’s contradictory, because although my days in Singapore seem so far away, the memories I have of it is so crisp-clear. I can remember riding the MRT to Bugis Junction, squeezing in between passengers…

I can remember the fragrance of food arriving every Sunday during the pastor’s sermon, making several people look impatiently at the clock for the pastor to finish…and then the communion afterwards…
I can remember shaking out wet clothes from the laundry and hanging it out to dry, just like every other Singaporean living in a flat…
I can remember the myriads of weddings and funerals that took place under those apartments, celebrating the woes and joys of all races…
I can remember the busy hawker centers, the intensity with which the hawker sellers stir-fried their food, the intermingling smell of food and sweat as people tuck into their hot dishes…
I can remember the markets which I’d visit occasionally to score super cheap produce…and the Indian seller who looked up and waved enthusiastically as soon as I took this picture…
I can remember the citizens, young and old, all coming together to rest or hang out every evening outside their living complexes…the kids playing blithely, the adults sitting heavily after a day’s labor…
I can remember finally trying the biscuits from Mr Bean instead of the usual pancakes…
I remember the way they crumbled and melted into my mouth. They were delightful, crumbly cookies filled with a savory bean paste, but pretty expensive at a dollar for a little pastry.
I can remember the more economical waffle they sold by the place I lived…
I remember always being tempted by buy one as I passed by; they were so fragrant cooking in the iron! They taste amazing hot and crispy, freshly-cooked. The reason it’s green is because it is flavored with pandan.
I can also remember the two pancakes a church sister bought me, just because she knew how much I adored pancakes…
These were pan-fried pancakes topped with different ingredients. One was topped with Mozzarella cheese and ground peanuts…
…and the other American cheese with hot dogs…
  I remember being extremely touched, that she remembered how much I love hot dogs and cheese and nuts!
I can remember waiting till late at night before visiting the bakeries, because that’s when they would have great promotions on their leftover breads…
My favorite was the Genie:
Stuffed with mayonnaise and pork floss, and then rolled in more wasabi-flavored pork floss. Freaking awesome. Or what about the yam bun?
Soft milky bread, stuffed with mashed and sweetened taro.
But I can also remember the more traditional snacks, such as this medley of Ang Ku Kuehs…
Each colored glutinous rice cakes are stuffed with different fillings: salty bean, taro, peanuts, coconut, sweet green bean…Here’s one with the salty bean:
Chewy, delicious, tortoise-shaped pastries! I can also remember munching on these old-fashioned sweets before dinner…
These are called Haw Flakes, and they are made from the Chinese Hawthorn fruit. They’re really a candy made from dried fruits, and they usually come in these little packets, shaped in thin disks…
I can remember some lovely fried oily stuff, too. Like this butterfly shrimp from MOS Burger that Jing Wen loves…
And a huge tray lovely, crispy, spicy curry puffs which we shared during bible group…
  I can remember being envious of all the cool iPhones that everyone seems to tot around there…
Most of all, I can remember the conversations I’ve shared with my brothers and sisters in Christ, the warm sensation in my stomach and chest as I listened to their testimonies and thanksgivings…
I can remember so many fine details that I wonder if maybe I dream about Singapore every night.

Wait a minute—What is this?!

I can’t keep on dreaming about Singapore, when right now, I’m living in the United States. I have things to do—I’m a college student in Southern California, I have dreams and a path to run in front of me. I’ve learned and enjoyed much in Singapore, but I have many more things to learn and enjoy here, too.

It pains me to say this, but I need to say goodbye, for real, to Singapore for the time being. Obviously I’ll still keep in touch with the people there—some relationships are meant to be eternal and withstanding of all distance—but I’m coming to realize that by always dreaming of the past and wishing to go back, I’m inhibiting myself from fully enjoying and utilizing the future.

There shall be no sadness, however. I definitely will return to Singapore someday…most likely not within the next few years, but someday. But for now, I shall focus on the now.

So goodbye, Singapore. Goodbye. I’ll see you once again, with new stories and experiences to share.

Question of the Day: Is there a certain place or memory which you find very hard to let go? Which place holds the most sentiment for you?

Sometimes, they smile indulgently, as if I just announced that I like to collect beetles during my spare time. Their smile says that they think food blogging is just an eccentric hobby you do to kill time. What a strange thing to do, but I shall play along with you, they seem to be saying, proud of themselves for being so gracious.

Or they may smile quizzically and nod, pretending they know what I’m talking about but wondering what the heck is a food blogger. What is there to blog about food, They may wonder. It’s just things you put in your mouth and digest out into the toilet.

Or they might smile with a twitch at the corner of their lips, barely covering up their smirk. I can’t believe you just called yourself that, They mock silently. We all know bloggers are just faceless nobodies who think they actually have a voice in society.

Or maybe they actually really mean it when they smile and say, “How wonderful!”

So which is it? I have no idea. A smile is a very mysterious thing—it can hold all sorts of cryptic meanings and thoughts and significance. Think about it: when did you last smile just for the heck of it, because you are happy?

Excuse my paranoia on this case. But it used to be something that runs through my mind every time I was forced to tell other people that I blog about food. I mean, it’s not like I blog about war, politics, charities, or anything that…well, is “important” and “altruistic”. I just blog about food.

But you know what? Who says food can’t be just as important? Come to think of it, it’s one of life’s three basic survival needs. Every single person, no matter how grand or philanthropic, have no choice but to spend the majority of their day thinking about food…even more so than any of the other more “valuable” matters.

Of course, inevitably there are some that take their interest in food to the extreme, but all in all, I’m just glad I found my own niche. And though we may blog about things that we poop out, within our very own circle, I believe that there are a lot of significant influences going on: valuable friendships, inspirations and motivations in life, encouragements and comforts through trials, advices and recommendations, and of course, who can forget fun and entertainment? Every person needs a little joy in their life, don’t they?

One thing that made me realize this and take a certain pride in being a “food blogger” even more was actually meeting these other food bloggers. There is almost an instant sense of connection…and the strange thing is, I barely think of the fact that we’ve only known each other through food blogs…but just enjoy their presence as a real person, with real things to talk about other than food (though that topic always comes up, of course).

Yesterday I had the pleasure of meeting two bloggers: Maya from American Gourmande, and Lele from Lele Lurves Plants.
I’ve met Maya once before, and had been charmed by her vivacious personality, wide smile, and warm honesty, so I was delighted to see her again. This was the first time I was meeting Lele though, and I was equally charmed by her—she is this spunky, smart girl who laughs and talks with refreshing freedom.

Maya wanted to visit a Korean bakery, so I suggested meeting at Annandale, the sort of Koreatown of Northern Virginia. But first, we decided to have lunch at a Korean place. Since Maya is vegetarian, that ruled most Korean restaurants out. The only place I could think of was Lighthouse Tofu Korean Restaurant, a popular, authentic place for soon dubu jiggae.
 Soon dubu is translated literally as “Mild Tofu”, and jiggae means “stew”. It is a spicy tofu stew made from soft, silky tofu and other ingredients of your choice. It’s really best on a cold winter night, or when you’ve got a hangover. Thus the place was rather empty on a hot, summer afternoon:
But that meant we had the whole place to ourselves! Woo hoo! We were started out with some obligatory banchan, or side dishes. I was impressed when Lele pointed them out as banchan correctly by herself.
I was also impressed that she knew what mul kimchi (water kimchi)was…
..and that these eggs were raw eggs to crack into the stew. 
But I was even more impressed when she ordered her seafood soon dubu jiggae in the spiciest level: spicy-spicy!
Just look at that blood of RED!! What’s more, she wasn’t even freaked out by a pair of eyes peering out at her from her stew:
Apparently, she had visited this place before, and was well-versed with the food here. As you can imagine, I warmed up to this girl immediately.

Maya was no spice wimp, either. Since she is a newbie to soon dubu but also love spiciness, I suggested she order the next notch down, the spicy. So she got the spicy vegetable soon dubu jiggae:
As you can see, the intensity of the redness is a bit toned down compared to Lele’s spicy-spicy, but still rather bloody! Here’s Lele cracking her egg into her stew:
On the side, we were also served a stone pot which had been used to cook our rice.
The bottom part of the rice was left in the bowl to crisp up against the hot stone, and then barley tea poured in. The result is supposed to be a porridge made from crunchy bits of rice and barley tea, but the stone was not hot enough and the rice never crisped up. How disappointing!

As for me, since I’m a rebel against my Asian blood and dislike tofu (especially the soft ones), I got a pajeon (Korean-style pancake), in the vegetarian version and in the largest size so that Maya and Lele could try it too:Holy pancakes this was HUGE! It was the size of a large pizza…and so very delicious! The best pajeon I’ve ever had! 
What was lovely about this pancake was that they fine-grated potato into the batter, so that there was this really delightful chewy consistency. The pancake was also cooked on a well-oiled hot stone plate so that the exterior got nice and crispy.
I’d forgotten how fantastic a good pajeon can be…I’m definitely going to try to recreate this in my kitchen! Maya and Lele teased that I’ll definitely put my own spin to it, and they’re probably right. I’ll probably sneak some cheese in there, maybe some bacon…hmm…

We had a great time together.
It was nice to be able to introduce Korean cuisine to fellow food bloggers personally. It’s different when you can urge them to taste and smell the dishes instead of just viewing them through 2-dimensional pictures. It was also lovely being able to talk to them face-to-face, and a few deep topics came up, too. 
As both of them talked about some of the ways food blogging has been beneficial to them, I was reminded again that food blogging is not just about food. Be it a food blog, or a blog about knitting, photography, mothering, business, or astronomy, it’s really not entirely about that particular subject, but about life, and people. The topic is just what brings different people from all over the world together to share a common interest.