The Girl Who Consumed Mistborn for Dinner

I've had just enough time to...   ask the girl what book she is reading...

Taken one evening of Harry's in Manhattan, Kansas

A very long time ago, when I was a young man; I found myself thousands of miles away from home in a small town called Manhattan. Not the one in the Big Apple. They called this “the little apple” and some Americans do not even know it exists. The taxi driver looked at me with suspicion for while he was loading the luggage, I promptly went over to his door and opened it only to discover we drove on different side of the road.

I learned a lot of things in my first winter. Snow balls hurt. You can only make two before your fingers froze. Why pushing a car up a very gentle but icy slope is so exhausting. I did not like the cold and the damp. Beyond the heavenly sight, I did not like anything about winter but hot coffee after the snow had never tasted so delicious. But what did I know? I was in my early twenties and have only known one type of weather before then. Experience has now taught me that the first impression is not necessarily the most accurate. Years later, I was sitting next to a lumberjack on my way to Canada and he has this glow as he described how cities depressed him and his most sublime moments are in the wild of the Canadian forest at minus forty.

Fine dining in a grand old restaurant with history...

Now I was back to this little town and the flood of nostalgia that I expected to hit me did not come. I have lost connections with most of the past I spent in this place. I still remembered some particular events that left a lasting impression but then I’ve always have these and my being there did not dredge out new ones from my subconscious. It was kind of disappointing. Maybe, it was because I spent too little time there this trip, only a day and working most of it.

In the evening, the ADM manager who was born in this town took us to his favourite restaurant – Harry’s. As students, we were too poor to dine in this fine place then. I was delighted to be assailed by the sombre atmosphere of a place leaden with history. I imagined the dining hall now populated by happy diners filled with water in the great Manhattan flood of 1951 and the restoration that made it what it is today. We were led to a private room at the very end separated by a glass partition.

The girl who consumed appetizer, dinner, dessert and book.

While waiting for our food, we chatted with our cheerful waitress and learned that she is from Australia. The world has gotten a whole lot smaller. My gaze wandered and rested on a girl seated in the most secluded corner of the restaurant. She was reading a book with her back towards me totally engrossed. I observed her throughout dinner from the appetizer to the main course and dessert. She has a good appetite and seemed to enjoy her food but she continued reading in between bites.

She and the book she was reading intrigued me. To my scale of attractiveness, next to a girl with a musical instrument (see “Did you fall in love with the music or the musician?”); is a girl with a book. Even after they cleared her table, she continued reading. As we were leaving the restaurant, I went over and asked her –

“Hi, I noticed that you were thoroughly enjoying this book. May I know what it is you are reading?
She looked up with a smile and said “Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson. It is good.”

“I am sure. I must get that book. Thank you”.

We left Manhattan the next morning and that evening in Kansas City, I asked the cashier in Barnes & Nobles if the book is in stock and she let me upstairs and found for me the box set of the Mistborn Trilogy. On the way out, I picked up “World War Z” which I read on the long flight back to Malaysia and which turned out to be the my most surprising read of the year. I would like to tell her that – it is good too. I enjoyed picking my souvenir this way.

Street Football, Yangon (Myanmar) Style.

I've had just enough time...   to remember the little boy kicking the ball in the street

These images are drive-by shootings. I was in a car in Yangon Myanmar, squeezing through the crowded streets where old cars (government policy only allows import of second hand cars) shared the same space with bicycles, trishaws and trucks. Thankfully, there were no motor-bikes which are banned in the street of Yangon for the cars are confusing enough with right-handed drives and left-handed drives sharing the same road moving in both directions. I saw a crowd occupying one part of the road next to the shoulder and wondered why they are gathered there.

It seemed they are watching a game in progress. One guy obviously a player himself by his uniform is sitting on a trishaw with his knee up watching the game even though other spectators were blocking his view. There were spectators watching from the balconies and windows of the shop block. Some of the spectators were wearing trousers while more are wearing sarongs but all non-players were wearing flip-flops. This is street football, Myanmar style.

The curb marked one side of the ‘field’ while a raffle string that separated the road marked the outer boundary with crates and parked cars and trucks marked both ends. The ‘field’ itself is just the paved surface of the road with crude chalk markings. 

Please take note of the players’ footwear. The player challenging for the ball wore boots, the other defender wore socks with the big toe sticking out and a knee guard below the knee while the attacker was wearing an ankle guard on one leg. This seemed to be a good representation of the footwears of the players.

The game was proceeding at a lively pace with the ball moved up and down the court with each side trying to take it to the scoring zone where a tiny and low goalpost sat at each end. Imagine raw feet charging on the hot, rough, and abrasive road surface and you will wince. But this does not shock me as much as bringing back nostalgic memories for that was precisely what we did too as kids. And the way to differentiate the teams then was always, those with shirts and those without and we always hoped we will be the shirtless team so they won’t turn up torn.  I so wanted to stop and watched the game but the car was moving on…

What Can I Do With Angel’s Feathers But To Throw Them Away?

I've had just enough time to...   throw away Angel's feathers and watch them come floating back

All the proof that the bird of the night was ever here in Carrey Island, Malaysia

The Angel’s feathers were all that’s left
Of the Angel and the theft

She came in a time of need

And left with Angel’s speed
She did not ask if she can come
She did not tell when she leave

Maybe she thought the healing’s done

Replacing the hurt with a greater one

I wished she had not come

What can I do with Angel’s feathers?

I could not throw them away –

They’ll just come floating back to stay

What good are memories

If memories haunt?

What good are Angels

If Angels do not stay?

Memories Are Not Written On Hard Disks

I've had just enough time to...   write more memories

Taken of two sisters taking pictures of their family on a memorable occasion

We capture moments to remember

Capture them to share

Capture them to store away

To recall another day

We use more and more devices

To capture moments aplenty but forget

Memories are not written on hard disks

Memories are written in our hearts

 _______

Whatever’s written in your heart, that’s all that matters

You’ll find a way to say it all someday (yeah)

Whatever’s written in your heart, that’s all that matters

Yeah, night and day, night and day.

Whatever’s written in your heart - Gerry Rafferty

Reflection Part II – Memories of the Way We Were

I've had just enough time to...   reflect on the way we were

Taken while strolling round Taiping Park in Taiping, Malaysia.

The reflections on the water

Sweep the memories pass

Its calm surface

To a misty land

Of ghostly images

That pulls at the heartstrings

Vibrating

And exciting

Emotions

Long thought dead

_______

Memories,

Like the corners of my mind

Misty water-coloured memories

Of the way we were

Scattered pictures,

Of the smiles we left behind

Smiles we gave to one another

For the way we were

Barbra Streisand - Way We Were 

The Best Of An Imperfect World.

I've had enough time...   to reflect on freedom and responsibility.

Taken in Jesselton, East Malaysia

And I never started to plow in my life

That someone did not stop in the road

And take me away to a dance or picnic.

I ended up with a broken fiddle—

And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,

And not a single regret.

-" Fiddler Jones" Edgar Lee Master

___

Though my chains be shackled to the daily grind,

To earn our morsel of daily bread.

I will prick my ears to pause and listen

To snatches of faint music,

Have a few broken laughs

And imperfect memories,

And no time for regrets.