HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Saturday, March 22, 2008 forgiveness today, i fried broccoli with garlic for dinner. first you boil the broccoli for just a minute, till it turns all keen and dark. not too long, because you don't want it to become mushy, just enough to soften its edges, and make it moist, so you don't feel like you're biting into a bundle of strings and fibres. drain, add olive oil to a pan, wait till the oil bubbles, and put the garlic, wait a few seconds, hear it simmer, oyster sauce, and then water, the water falls on the pan, and dissolves immediately into steam. and then salt. you always add the salt last when frying, because salt makes the surface of vegetables crinkle and tends to make them shrivelled and mushy. (boiling, on the other hand, is a different story, you salt the stew early because you want the vegetables to become mushy). frying vegetables--it is all a matter of timing, a matter of listening, a matter of putting the least of each condiment, so that you can taste the sweetness of the vegetables, in the case of broccoli, its piquant nuttiness. i thought about william's mother today. i used to go to his house, and sometimes she would be cooking dinner. she was skinny, always in a floral blouse. she was pretty, despite her age. when she laughed, the wrinkles would fold into what seemed an expression of despise. but she was not a spiteful woman, she tolerated her son's bouts of anger, tolerated his inexplicable decisions, tolerated his slew of stray lovers, tolerated me in my uniform, beside her son in a tie. sometimes i would talk to her, despite my stumbling chinese. i would talk about my own mother, the reason why i couldn't speak chinese, miscellaneous things, like school, then he would always look up from whatever he was doing, in wonder at the two women talking, one was young enough to be his daughter, the other was his mother. she would cook the most amazing things--they were always very simple and subtle. pork fried in cornflour, and fried with cabbage. there was no sweetness in that dish, the sweetness came from the cabbage. she would make the best tauyoubak, it was deep and sweet and thick and swimming in fat. she would also make her own fishcakes, mixing fish with flour and chilli, and stuffing them into slices of brinjal. then she would throw them into a pot of oil. i try to remember these things, the smell of joss sticks, the tv on some shitty chinese serial. after i walked out of him, there was always someone who would try to mute this part of my life into silence. because i am alone again, there is no one telling me what to think, no one threatened by my past and telling me forget him, think about other things. it has been exactly 2 years since i left, and more than 3 years since i met him. he is older now, and so am i. if i remember these things, the smell of vegetables simmering in garlic, the smell of that home, the sound of the baby laughing, perhaps i will have a kinder, softer image of that man, perhaps i will forgive him, and know that he has forgiven me. posted by dawn # 4:11 PM Comments: Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] small press month! fyi horseshoe crabs spring equinox jerk tired spring and summer green dragon day lovely arcana imperii traveling [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Saturday, March 22, 2008

forgiveness

today, i fried broccoli with garlic for dinner. first you boil the broccoli for just a minute, till it turns all keen and dark. not too long, because you don't want it to become mushy, just enough to soften its edges, and make it moist, so you don't feel like you're biting into a bundle of strings and fibres. drain, add olive oil to a pan, wait till the oil bubbles, and put the garlic, wait a few seconds, hear it simmer, oyster sauce, and then water, the water falls on the pan, and dissolves immediately into steam. and then salt. you always add the salt last when frying, because salt makes the surface of vegetables crinkle and tends to make them shrivelled and mushy. (boiling, on the other hand, is a different story, you salt the stew early because you want the vegetables to become mushy). frying vegetables--it is all a matter of timing, a matter of listening, a matter of putting the least of each condiment, so that you can taste the sweetness of the vegetables, in the case of broccoli, its piquant nuttiness.

i thought about william's mother today. i used to go to his house, and sometimes she would be cooking dinner. she was skinny, always in a floral blouse. she was pretty, despite her age. when she laughed, the wrinkles would fold into what seemed an expression of despise. but she was not a spiteful woman, she tolerated her son's bouts of anger, tolerated his inexplicable decisions, tolerated his slew of stray lovers, tolerated me in my uniform, beside her son in a tie. sometimes i would talk to her, despite my stumbling chinese. i would talk about my own mother, the reason why i couldn't speak chinese, miscellaneous things, like school, then he would always look up from whatever he was doing, in wonder at the two women talking, one was young enough to be his daughter, the other was his mother. she would cook the most amazing things--they were always very simple and subtle. pork fried in cornflour, and fried with cabbage. there was no sweetness in that dish, the sweetness came from the cabbage. she would make the best tauyoubak, it was deep and sweet and thick and swimming in fat. she would also make her own fishcakes, mixing fish with flour and chilli, and stuffing them into slices of brinjal. then she would throw them into a pot of oil.

i try to remember these things, the smell of joss sticks, the tv on some shitty chinese serial. after i walked out of him, there was always someone who would try to mute this part of my life into silence. because i am alone again, there is no one telling me what to think, no one threatened by my past and telling me forget him, think about other things. it has been exactly 2 years since i left, and more than 3 years since i met him. he is older now, and so am i. if i remember these things, the smell of vegetables simmering in garlic, the smell of that home, the sound of the baby laughing, perhaps i will have a kinder, softer image of that man, perhaps i will forgive him, and know that he has forgiven me.

posted by dawn # 4:11 PM

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