Dawn Xiana Moon: Melodic folk pop infused with passion and honesty. From Chicago.

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Monday, November 27, 2006

What I Learned in Malaysia

- Singaporeans will go to great lengths for good food (I knew this, but I definitely saw this in action when we got 15 people in two cabs and a van to a restaurant at an unclear location).
- Always rinse your dinnerware in hot water—provided at the table—before eating.
- Eating steamed fish, hot pot, and rib soup for breakfast isn't unusual.
- Some shopkeepers are superstitious: if the first customer of the day doesn't end up buying, the rest of the day will go badly. Use this to your advantage.
- Even in other countries, Singaporeans' prime pastimes are eating and shopping.
- Although Starbucks is basically the same everywhere, an "upside down caramel macchiato" means different things to different people. And yes, it's totally invaded Malaysia too.
- Malaysia is a third-world country. This sunk in when I realized that there were a fair number of rusted tin houses in various parts of Kuala Lumpur and that the atmosphere of good restaurants around the country would scare a lot of westerners. That said, KL is quite modern, and trains there are quieter than the Chicago L.
- Drinking carbonated beverages can prevent certain stomach problems (apparently your typical Coke or Sprite can perform the same function as a carbon pill).
- It can be surprisingly easy to travel with 15 people.
- Sales people from legitimate reflexology and massage parlors in KL stand in the sidewalk, aggressively hawking their wares.
- Getting a massage in Malaysia is cheap.
- Even though Malaysia and Singapore border each other, they don't make crossing the border easy.
- A lot of people ride motorcycles. But no one wears leather.
- It's standard practice for traffic cops to encourage bribes in lieu of giving out tickets. Apparently the new prime minister isn't happy about this, though former ones didn't seem to mind.
- Bargain bargain bargain.

^ Top | 12:24 PM | | |

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Road Trip to Kuala Lumpur: History

Early Saturday morning (read: I'm more likely to stay up until 5:30am than to wake up then), I took my first road trip from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur. Add all of my mother's sisters, assorted wives and brothers, and my cousin and I, and we had a grand total of 15 people caravanning in three vehicles. What can I say—my mom's the seventh of 10 children.

The five hours on the road gave me a chance to accomplish one of my goals for this trip to Singapore: I wanted to have a conversation with my non-English speaking grandmother and find out about her life and the family history. She's 86 years old, so I don't know how many more opportunities I'll have to do this—and she's an incredible woman. Since I don't speak Cantonese—a byproduct of growing up surrounded by Caucasians in the US—I asked the aunt sitting next to me to serve as translator. In the end, I had three translators (i.e. everyone else in the car) and discovered that the family history is rather complicated. So complicated, in fact, that I ended up diagramming the genealogy going three generations on each side (my grandmother, her mother, and her mother's mother, and ditto for my deceased grandfather) just so we wouldn't get confused about which relative we were talking about (though we did at points anyway).

When she was three months old, my grandmother was brought to Singapore to be sold (then, as now, girl babies were not always worth much in China); my great-grandmother intended her to be a daughter for one of her other daughters, but in the end adopted her herself. My great-grandparents were born in China, but moved to Singapore—for what reason, we don't know—and had four natural children, one of whom died at birth. They only had one son, but since my great-grandfather was a lawyer and my great-grandmother had a kind heart, they adopted a staggering 10 daughters and gave them homes.

My grandfather's family was much more convoluted. You'll see why I got out the pen and paper: My great-great-grandfather lived in China and had two wives. The first wife gave birth to my great-grandfather, but he was also adopted by the second wife, who had no children of her own and adopted two daughters as well. She brought my great-grandfather and his wife to Singapore; I believe all four of their children were born here, and my grandfather was the eldest. However, one of his brothers kept getting into trouble in Singapore, so my great-great-grandmother (the second wife) got angry and sent everyone back to China. Everyone, that is, except my grandfather, who was her favorite.

Genealogy aside, hearing stories about these people and how they interacted was fascinating. My grandmother was quite the firebrand in her youth. She had five nicknames, most of which were unflattering: Tigress, Thunder Voice, Shit Bag (because as a baby she would defecate on tables), Urine Bag (similar), and Crybaby. Somehow she managed to raise 10 children on a washerwoman's salary, taught herself how to sew because she wasn't allowed to take lessons and became good enough that she made one of my aunt's wedding gowns, needlework and all, and picked up a substantial amount about herbs and medicine from Chinese doctors because she needed to know how to care for her children when they were sick. And she only had around two years of formal education. She lived through the Japanese occupation of Singapore and her house getting bombed, but today she jokes that she doesn't have one bank, but 10: who needs a retirement fund when you have 10 children who would do anything for you?

^ Top | 11:42 AM | | |

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Happy Thanksgiving!

So my mom and I are in Singapore, where we've been following the time-honored holiday tradition of stuffing yourself--except that we're been doing it for over a week now, and we don't leave for the States until Tuesday. The incredible food in Singapore--in my opinion, the best in the world--is a blessing, except that when you combine the cuisine with a culture that takes food very seriously (to the point of offense if you don't eat enough), I think I'm going to swear off food for a while when I get home. (Ok, that's a bit of an exaggeration.) Since we came, I think I've been eating about double what I normally would.

Thus Thanksgiving this year--we're 14 hours ahead of Chicago--was spent in a tropical country: today I wandered around Little India, went swing dancing in the evening, and had local food for lunch and a multi-course Chinese meal for dinner.

My brother and dad, on the other hand, are having Thanksgiving by themselves in Michigan today. According to my father, he would have been content to make a turkey breast or have dinner with someone else's family--but my brother really wanted a traditional dinner, the whole roast turkey and mashed potatoes. So with the help of the Food Network, my dad's attempting to cook. He's quite capable, so I think he'll be fine.

^ Top | 10:20 AM | | |

Monday, November 20, 2006

How to Earn a Chinese Bride: The Traditional Way

For the first time in memory, I experienced a traditional Chinese wedding. The main reason I came to Singapore this time around was for my cousin Esther's wedding; she's the first of the girls to get married (there are only five of us, whereas that many of the guys are already married or engaged--there are 10 of them in all). Potential suitors for Chinese women take note: proving your love is not an easy task.

Early in the morning, I went to Esther's apartment to help the jie meis ("sisters"--here, what in America would be bridesmaids) get ready for the groom's arrival with his "brothers" (groomsmen). In order to gain access to the bride, they would have to bribe us with ang bao ("red packets" filled with money) and perform a set of tasks. We concocted a mixture of vinegar, raw eggs, coffee, and curry powder for them to drink and spread wasabi and chili on crackers, covering the whole mess with more chili sauce and curry powder, for them to eat.

When the men arrived, we demanded from the window that they sing Esther's favorite song as loudly as possible so that she would be able to hear from her room on the fifth floor of the building. Marvin was prepared: he distributed lyric sheets to the brothers. Since Esther was laughing at the noise, we allowed them to come upstairs.

But we wouldn't open the door. We demanded ang bao (Constance, the oldest female cousin, set the figure at $999.99), which they slipped underneath the door after much badgering. When we opened the packet, we found two $5000 notes--but they were in rupees (I didn't catch the country, but apparently they weren't worth much). So naturally, we commanded him to give us more. Time was short and they were proving recalcitrant, so eventually we opened the door--but not the gate in front of it. We gave them the drinks as punishment and told them they had to drink every glass--which they did (the look on Marvin's face was priceless). Then we gave Marvin some paper and markers and told him that he had to write "I love you" in three languages on the card, which he would later give to his bride. While he was doing this, we quizzed him on Esther's height--he gave the correct answer, but we told the brothers that he was wrong and made them eat the crackers as punishment. We promised them more crackers if they didn't immediately hand over more ang bao--at which point the brothers told Marvin to hand over everything he had left. With a thick stack of $2 bills in hand, we gave them the gate key.

Once inside, we told Marvin to stand behind the brothers and made his friends spell "I love you!" (the exclaimation point was very important) by swirling their butts. (Since this was all being videotaped for posterity--and would also be shown at the wedding dinner that night--it was highly entertaining.) We then told Marvin that his bride was in her room; he opened the door to be greeted with Auntie Suzanne instead. After the shock, he found Esther in her brother's room and handed her the card. But before he could kiss her, we made him perform the butt dance that the brothers had done earlier.

Being a bridesmaid in a Chinese wedding is excellent: not only do you get to torture the groom and his friends, but you also walk out of the affair with money in your pocket. Which is a dramatic difference from American weddings, where you end up spending money on things like dresses you only wear once, gifts, and throwing parties.

^ Top | 4:35 AM | | |

Friday, November 17, 2006

The Search for Art in Singapore

Singapore isn't a country known for its art, though the government is trying to make the city state a cultural giant. Let's be frank: it has a long way to go.

The Esplanade is a US$500 million arts complex that signaled the government's official promotion of visual art, theatre, dance, and music. Singaporeans weren't happy about its design initially, referring to it derogatorily as "the Durians," but the criticism seems to have subsided. The complex hosts a variety of performances, from free outdoor events to expensive touring theatre groups, and it's the only venue/presenter of its kind in the country. So you'd expect that it would attract reasonably-sized audiences and quality performers.

Apparently this is not always the case. Today Esplanade presented Malay music and dance in a free outdoor concert by Era Dance Theatre and Azpirasi, featuring performers from Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore. Only 20-30 people who were not photographers and camera men showed up. And in some ways you can't blame them. While the overall effect wasn't terrible, it wasn't quite what you'd consider professional caliber.

The musicians were generally ok (singers, drummers, accordion, violin), but the violinist was tentitive, uncertain as to what he was supposed to be playing. So he frequently played notes that weren't quite in line with the accordion, sometimes only because he was just behind the phrase. The real problem was with the dancers. In a couple of pieces, the women kept looking at each other as though they hadn't memorized the cheoreography and needed to make sure that they were doing the right moves. This problem was worse with one of the men in the final dance piece. When he was clearly supposed to be synchronized with the other male dancer, he started on the wrong hand, looking confused--it took a minute for him to recover and figure out which part of his body he was supposed to move when. At a point in the middle of the piece, the other man dropped to the ground in a spin, which the confused man missed entirely; he gave a look at plainly said, "Oops!" and jumped back in.

I ended becoming a part of this performance though. One of the male dancers invited me to dance with him for part of a song and I spent a couple of minutes attempting to mimic his movements. It was good fun. Apparently the other dancers were not having as much success finding audience members to participate--no other people joined in, and I saw at three people politely refuse the offer. Such reluctance is rare in the States, but my cousin told me that this is very typical of Singaporeans--they don't like attracting public attention.

Perhaps the most interesting part of the performance was the costumes. Malay traditional costumes are brightly colored, beautiful creations, though it seems strange that a tropical country would develop dress that seems rather heavy. If only the performers would have matched up to their attire.

^ Top | 11:16 AM | | |

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Swingapore

One night when I was still living in Ann Arbor, a lindy hopper showed up to our weekly dance that obviously wasn't from Michigan: he knew what he was doing, and none of us had seen him before. When I talked to him, I discovered that he was from Singapore. My homeland! Since I visit from time to time, I asked him where people in Singapore dance; he directed me to Swingapore and I made a note to check it out on my next trip. Fast forward a year later, and tonight I danced in another country for the first time (since I'm from Michigan, Canada doesn't count).

The swing scene in Singapore is small and inexperienced, though the people were really friendly and I had fun talking to them. They're having an exchange next year, and the worldwide lindy hop community is minute enough that I know the instructors that they're bringing in (for those who care: Frankie Manning, one of the original lindy hoppers, and Kevin and Carla).

I'm told there aren't a lot of other venues besides the weekly dance at the Jitterbugs Swingapore studio, although there are other schools. What struck me as particularly funny is the kind of dancing they're doing--it's normal to mix lindy hop and Charleston together in one dance, but it doesn't work when the music is slow. Nearly all of the music they DJed was lindy blues tempo (though it was all fairly traditional swing/jazz, with the exception of a song or two), though they don't know really know blues. So you have a fast dance mixed with a dance that can handle most tempos danced to slow-ish music. The combination was rather interesting. I wondered if they'd just learned Charleston, because I'm not sure I danced with a lead that didn't partake of this mixture. But apparently they've had classes in it for a while.

Thus went my first out-of-country dance experience. It was fun, but I'm thankful I live in Chicago, a city known for having a great dance scene. I'm realizing just how fortunate I am to live there.

^ Top | 10:15 AM | | |

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Arrival in Singapore

I am now officially in the land of durian, hawker centers, and Singlish. After a 23-hour flight that included instant ramen cup noodles for breakfast (airline food is hitting new, cheap lows), a quick refueling stopover in Hong Kong, the incessant drone of airplane engines (one day I'm going to have enough money to splurge on noise-canceling headphones--even earplugs couldn't quite pacify me this time), and non-existent legroom, my mom and I arrived at midnight to a crowd of excited family members. Interesting characters on the flight included a political science professor who's in Singapore for a conference (I seem to know more and more people either in academia or who have their PhDs) and a pastor/missionary from South Carolina who was en route to China.

Spending time with my mom's family is amusing from a linguistic standpoint: conversations are never fully Cantonese or English, but a blend of both, so I usually lose 50-80% of what's said. Particularly if Por Por (my grandmother) is around, because she doesn't speak English (somehow we manage to communicate anyway). I don't speak Chinese--in any dialect--but what little I do know centers primarily around food. And by the time I leave Singapore, I'll doubtless have picked up a few more (probably food-related) words. It's too bad I didn't grow up here; I'd speak three languages, instead of 1.5 (French only counts as half for me, since I'm rather rusty at this point).

I've been here for less than 24 hours, but already I have to make a conscious effort to keep my American accent. I don't like how Singlish sounds--though I'd like to be able to reproduce it on cue--and no matter where I am, I pick up local accents quickly. Some come more naturally to me than others; I was in Scotland for two weeks and never gained a lilt, but after talking to my family for a couple of hours I was already thinking about enunciation.

^ Top | 11:52 PM | | |

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Working a Haunted House as an Insane Clown

Being a musician, you pick up the most random jobs. For Halloween this year I worked at a haunted house, first as an insane clown and then as an extra (those people who jump at wanderers out of nowhere and spook them). Getting paid to scare people was rather amusing, though the hours were too long for what we were making ($50 a night, and I was there for 10 hours on the first night--nope, not even minimum wage, though I hear that it's rare for a haunted house to pay in the first place). Personally, I think the the haunted house was more gruesome than genuinely scary--in discussions during the breaks between visitors one of the other clowns and I came up with the "ideal" haunted house, where instead of loud metal bands there'd be silence punctuated by the

occasional creaking of floorboards and similarly subtle noises, instead of bloody butchers and mad doctors there'd be a lone, pale-faced, dark-haired girl on a swing, instead of guides, rooms with doors closing suddenly and forcing you to travel in a certain direction at a certain time or stay trapped.

Thanks to the prosthetic, I wore more makeup that night than I ever have in years of theatre. We glued the prosthetic on and covered the edges with latex; I did my own makeup and the effect was rather stunning. I didn't look like myself at all. (And later, it took 45 minutes to remove everything. Thank goodness I have a very good makeup remover at home, because the mineral oil they had and face wash I brought were not strong enough.)

The insane clown was much better than the other option I was given that night: boob job victim. "What does that entail?" "Well, I don't know if we have the prosthetic for that--we might just put makeup on your skin." "Do you have any other roles?"

^ Top | 1:29 AM | | |