coffee coffin

I think I'm being spoilt by my older students - I really can get used to the weekly Baileys-Coffee fix. It has this wonderful calming effect despite the weird caffeine-alcohol combo. And besides, they are making wonderful progress. I think it's because they actually want to learn. Both of them have accomplished in 7 weeks what my Grade 6 student is still trying to get around, but I attribute it to the 40+ years age gap between them and my other student.

Today I got a call from the conductor of the school two of my current students are in. When he introduced himself my heart skipped a beat and my first thoughts were,

"Did my students do something?!!"

One of them just got scolded last week for playing open strings instead of fingering a note for one second.

But thankfully they did nothing wrong; he was just looking for someone to teach his students from his orchestras.

"So are you free to take them? I have about 5 students from XX Girls School, and some from YY Institution. You have to go down to the school for a cursory interview and to sign the contract though; it's just a formality."

Honestly, there's no way I'm going to survive next semester without drowning in work. Am getting frozen fingers now.

On a happier note, Quartet Blog has been majorly updated, with about 4 new entries.

I shall go back to planning my funeral now. Recently realised I forgot to plan for things like food, coffin material, colour etc. And I'm torn between choice of locations. Singapore Casket is definitely out because it smells too much of death, the rooms are so small and the lift is rickety. Garden of Remembrance at Chua Chu Kang is uber cool but I like the Sin Ming warehouses because it's so quiet and non-Singapore like.

Two days ago there was a funeral in the next block, I think of the person who was recently murdered. That was one cool funeral. The band was playing old Chinese pop songs, though the flute was obviously off with the rest and the rhythm was quite odd. Still it felt lively enough.

My father has been let in to details of my plans (my brother was the first to read my scribblings). He thinks that I should start a funeral planning business. But really, anyone can do it on their own.

I begin to see how this funeral planning thing is an extension of my control freak nature; I must control the circumstances of my leaving on top of my living. Not like I can, really. Control is after all an illusion.

vid out

My Baileys-coffee student asked me to check this out. Come to think of it he does look a bit like the man in the video.



Since I'm in the Youtube mood, recently I was playing the ubiquitous Canon for a wedding gig, and I remembered this video.



Musicians are kinda geeky.

all methed up

Now that the NAFA composers concert's over plus Violist is going to the army I have the luxury of one week off from most things, except teaching, and I am going to spend it trying to get a stuffed penguin to lose weight on my behalf.



This stuffed penguin is the property of TongueTwister, who has kindly lent it to me for one week, so that she can devote all her time to mothering a certain surprised Elmo.

If I sound a little out of it it's because I am. Fatigue, age, or a combination of both.

On Friday my old student made coffee with Baileys to wake me up in the morning. And he and his wife ended up giving me a black T shirt because they thought black was my favourite colour. Pink is the new black though, but no matters, it was an immensely sweet gesture.

Today I spent some time planning for my funeral and drafting my will, and I realised that it's easier to plan for a funeral than for a wedding.

rest

My friend's father died yesterday. Today she came to church in pink, talking about his death as if it were another story told to regale children, except that gathered around her were people with faces more sombre than hers. The peace and (something close to) joy she exhibited was baffling. Granted it was because she believed her father had gone to a Better Place, and was spared another round of chemo, but still. In my lifetime I have been to many many Christian funerals but nothing comes close to her peace and (might I say even) exuberance. She was genuinely thankful.

In the back of my mind was the niggling thought that it was all a show; she must be exceptionally strong then (which she is.). When she described her father's death - how he drove himself to the hospital and died, tubeless and not hooked up to any machine, with a smile on his face- other people cried, not her.

Maybe the loss hasn't struck her yet, the skeptic in me says. But another part of me wants to believe that it is totally possible for people to be happy at a loved one's death, not just because he.she is spared from the pain of old age/terminal illness, but because of hope in the Better Place and Things To Come.

On a more human side, her son, age 5, (also my Club Penguin playpal), didn't come to church today because he was inconsolable and couldn't stop crying. His brother said,

"Maybe when we go home the house will be flooded".

This is a picture of my Club Penguin friend in happier times. May he bounce back soon.

of mice and drugs

I have been recently enamoured with Firefox's add-on - something called 'Stumble' where they randomly generate a site based on your interests.

So I stumbled upon this really cool site called Mouse Party. There are these mice in a glass tank, all engaged in weird dopey behaviours. You pick up a mouse and dump in a machine, which will then explain the process of addiction to a particular drug, with reference to the mouse's brain. Diagrams and written exposition provided.

I was not as interested in the explanation as with the meddling with the mice bit. It's cute.

this small town

The long overdue Malacca photos.

Outside Christ Church. It was a bit tricky getting this photo because he was scooting up and down in front of the church, despite the fact that he needed a walker.

Gravitating towards the garlands, in typical Bollywood fashion

The dying blacksmith trade along Jonkers Street

Graffiti outside a tattoo parlour. I couldn't resist. There was another one involving a toilet and Bush but I left that one out so as not to push more buttons.

This has to be the weirdest thing I saw. Who on earth would put such a huge picture of himself/picture of his huge self on a building, except a narcissist. The words underneath are his pageant accolades. I couldn't figure out what the building was supposed to be. There were no signs or anything. Except the picture, of course.

fear of drowning

I have been missing for a while, largely because there have been too many things happening that are too happening to blog about. So some random event follows.

Last week I went for my half-yearly cheque collection with my uncle and his entourage. It isn't merely a monetary transaction. It always involves food, copious amounts of it. Everytime I meet The Family, I'm always dwarfed by my cello (that got called "a huge waterbottle" by a neighbour today). As such, they see it as their personal responsibility to overfeed me. Which makes me feel like a Kobe cow. Or Airpork.

Anyway what is more interesting is what is said over lunch.

"I went to watch XXX play yesterday. Good thing the ticket was only $19. If it was $40 I wouldn't go. "

And in the next breath, he's talking about his latest acquisition of the 14th storey unit of the soon-to-be apartment in between Borders and Orchard MRT.

"The tap is rectangular and water runs down in a sheet. And there is a TV in the toilet. Takes up space only. Why do I have to pay for these things?"

And the entourage launches into a lengthy discussion of the merits of having a TV in the toilet. They also suggested putting the bathtub in the balcony. Then they started talking about the showflats of other condos. Apparently they do showflat visiting almost every week. Being young, ignorant, with no massive liquid assets and therefore bored, I start asking the one next to me what she does on weekdays. She lives the tai-tai life you see, and I was wondering how they kept themselves occupied.

"Oh ho ho (yes, literally ho ho), very busy lor. Have to go to bank, bring my Maltese for his pet grooming; there's this shop along River Valley Road, that almost the whole Family goes to...(blah blah)"

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The other day I was giving my 8 year old friend a hand massage. He requested it; he is very forward that way. Suddenly he propped his legs up on the chair in front him and exhaled,

"This is the life, man!"

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When you have everything that theoretically equates to having 'the life', what happens when you find that it's not enough but there's nothing else left to want?