Supping Bak Kut Teh

There's nothing quite like the Singapore tradition of adjourning for a late night supper. Tropical evenings are the perfect temperature for a stroll out to the nearest coffee shop after aikido practice and we're all tired and hungry. So four guys and I from class late one Friday evening decided that a bowl of soup would really hit the spot and we went in search of the bak kut teh (pork bone herbal soup) down Balestier Road.

Balestier Road in Singapore is one of those roads with a lot of mixed use development ranging from old to new commercial buildings. There are some lovely shophouse blocks which must have been built over 70 years ago (and in Singapore this qualifies as old) with their white decorative facades. Surrounding them are blocks of apartments built anytime between the early 1970s and beyond. It's a higgledy piggledy mixture of buildings with a bunch of little restaurants thrown in and the hill rising up on one side of the road and a pile of cars parked on one side or the other forcing the traffic to slow down considerably as cars pull in and out into the flow of traffic.

Me, being me, insisted in trying to find the "best" bak kut teh (pork bone soup) stall down the road, which meant we trekked from the car park near Mandalay Road all the way along Balestier until we found it, with me striding along, hungry but determined and a fellow aikidoka keeping stride beside me and the rest trailing in a more desultory fashion behind. Unfortunately, this one bak kut teh place is so popular, there was a line of people outside and at this my determination melted away since I loathe queues for food. So much for being able to try the Malaysian bak kut teh again which had me drooling for more the last time I went.

So I settled for the more traditional Singaporean version of bak kut teh which has a clear soup and a peppery taste in a shop house that still had the green tiles running up to halfway up the wall, and the very high ceilings for good air circulation, built in an era without airconditioning and the mosaic tiles on the floor. We ate our way through bowls of bak kut teh (pork bone soup cooked with herbs including pepper), white rice, pigs trotters, intestines and kiam chye (preserved green vegetables).

Much to one of my friend's delight, it was an old fashioned enough place to have a little charcoal brazier at each table ready to fire up a little earthern teapot with a bright pink packet of tea next to it. The tea is served in absolutely tiny teacups only slightly bigger than a thimble and one is to down the tea within a minute or two of it being poured. It's bitterness cleanses the palate and is supposed to help clear the cholesterol-laden meal we had just inflcted on our stomachs.

So there we sat, whiling the evening away and our tiredness melting away with each mouthful of food we ate and bowl of soup we drank. The harsher sounds of kitchen clatter and the gutteral Chinese dialects bounced off the walls and I was happy that evening.

Human Dignity

It struck me forcibly in last Sunday's homily, given by a wonderful missionary priest, who has spent his whole life in SE Asia, that really the choices that we have to make, not to sleep around, not to act out of jealousy but to rise above all these temptations, are really so much about human dignity. And that is what purity of heart is: not using people but to have respect for each person as a child of God.

And I think what gave his homily force is simply his ability to live out this message in his own life. His great gentleness and love that emanates from him, that all around him have experienced, give credence to his message. To hold to standards which seem archaic in the modern world of how to treat people and ourselves is not always easy to live up to when I think of it in terms of "Thou shalt not..." as it seems harsh and joyless, but transformed into a notion of love and dignity of each person, lifts it into a higher plane and suddenly it all makes sense. And it is most certainly not joyless but a celebration of life and each person.

Dogs teach me to Pray

One of my favourite old priests, who serves in my parish, said something which really struck a chord with me. He related an incident where he was grumbling on his way to church as a young priest, to do his duty about mass or some other service. In his grumpy mood, he arrived back home and was greeted by his favourite pet dog, a dalmation, a dog he has always found very appealing. As dogs do, he was given an enthusiastic and warm welcome and shown much affection, and it occurred to him then that if a dog can show his master so much affection over a simple return home, how ungrateful and ungracious it was of him to be grumbling to see God, our master.

I loved the story because I have on many occasions, come home and have had my spirits lifted by my dogs who rush to the door or the gate, and when they cannot get out the door, will make all manner of noise, standing on their hind legs, pulling at the door handle in a fruitless attempt to let themselves out. Never mind that I only saw them just this morning, but I get a welcome as warm as if I had been away a year. It's especially heart-warming when I've had a hard day at work and they're one of the best stress relievers I have.

I can't believe sometimes how much love they have in their little bodies to pour out to me, so unconditionally and yes, I too can certainly learn from them to serve my master, God, well, with more affection, more willingness to go to prayer and to serve wherever he wishes me to serve, and bear whatever cross he wishes.

My Feathered Friend

Having seen several wild parrots around my home, I was delighted to be able to see my friend's pet parrot. This was a very cleanly kept parrot so there was no smell and it was a very clean bird. It was also very tame so it was willing to meet a bunch of strangers and sit on our hand or shoulder. It has its flight wings clipped so that it cannot fly too far away. It almost made me a convert to keeping birds!