“Just living is not enough,” said the butterfly, “one must have sunshine, freedom
and a little flower.”
~ Hans Christian Anderson

Love, love butterflies for just being the sheer ambassadors of gaiety they are, spreading joy and amazement as fairy-dust in their trails.

Understandably, while the butterfly’s classic tale of metamorphosis is oft quoted as a fable of resilience for our youngsters, what I love most about this flitting creature is its simple lesson on transience – and all the worlds of gay exuberance it manages to bring across to any wide-eyed admirer - even in its ephemeral existence. Beautiful!

Butterflies rock, oh yeah!
Photos from here and here

If the world seems cold to you, kindle fires to warm it. ~ Lucy Larcom

Love the pleasant warmth of freshly-ironed clothes for work!

Especially in the wee hours of the inevitable morning rush to work, one of the loveliest, little pleasures of life, has got to be the warm, fuzzy feeling of contentment you’ll notice in the little moments of sweet privacy.

Freshly-ironed & warm clothes rock!

Photo from here

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.
~ Walt Whitman

Yes, exactly! Time to look at the oh-so-green grass crunching underfoot as we rush across our routes, attuned to the madcap pace of our lives.

These emeraldine blades (whether they be bejewelled with dewdrops that still amaze the Awe-inspired amongst us, or not) though, serve us in our journeys with their lush carpets of green, that again, like many of the nurturing arms of Nature, seek only to soften our dramatic lives on this earth.

So, the next time you pass a park, or spend some time in your garden, kick off those shoes and relish the evergreen carpet right under your feet!

Green, green grass rocks!

Photos from here and here

Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. ~ Langston Hughes

Given that we get so troubled by our weather woes that unpredictable weather has become daily news, not many of us (who are blessed with the more tolerable face of this clime of melancholy) actually step aside to revel in its magic.
Perhaps, those of us who live in the largely arid landscapes, or see so little of these showers of the heavens will be the ones who can truly appreciate rain for all its unsung worth.

For truly, even as we suffer from the wrath of thunderstorms, showers indiscriminately bless the earth we tread upon, with all the moisture, loving tenderness and Life as we know it, with its regal herald of thunder and lightning from the heavens that watch us.

At times a blanket of collective melancholy, or at others, a gentle invite to some indoor warmth for a change, to curl up against the fireplace with a loved read or soul – rain-showers will always remain one of our most beautiful, unsung daughters of clime.

Rainshowers blessing the earth we tread upon, rock!

Photos from here, here and here

A child is a curly dimpled lunatic.  ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Ever caught yourself in an inescapable state where your prime audience (or the other way around, your only source of immediate amusement) is a chubby child seated right in front of you? Now, we all know that an unhappy child is every reason for our brightest moods to turn sour, but how about getting treated to the antics of a gurgling babe?

Surely, we all tumbled our way through the blessed wonderment of childhood, gawking starry-eyed at every moving thing they set eyes on – butterflies, stars and even dust motes twinkling in the sun’s rays – and yet, life sure has a way of normalising our innate quirkiness to grasp the wondrous humour and magic in Life’s little moments. Perhaps, that’s why – every once in a while – we get sent a really quirky Godling who spreads her unfathomably genuine mirth into our paths – just so a bit of that sunshine rubs off any stubborn sulk or sour mood!

Yep, children have a way of reminding us our (childhood) pleasures and joys stashed away in the recesses of our minds, and to celebrate almost every living moment as one worth living for!

And if laughter’s gonna make that journey just that bit more gay and enjoyable, then why not laugh along to these little quirky ambassadors of joie de vivre?

Laughing children rock!

Photos from here and here

Without music life would be a mistake.  
~ Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

Have you ever felt your heart leap when your favourite song comes up as suddenly as you lose yourself in the radio deejay’s sing-song accompaniment to your days? And just for that moment, you look up and thank the heavens (don’t you?) for sending that long-forgotten, lilting melody that’d once stolen your heart? No?

Long before the days of iPods and every other music-storing and sharing technological device in its wake.. long before this era of largely individualistic music-’sharing’ (which does have its benefits, surely, amongst which personalised music is surely one of my own loves) – and yes, it almost sounds like a fairytale age ago, yeah – there was a time when all the (largely randomised) music you’d here in the household would blast from a radio, as well-cared for as any living-breathing family member. It sure was, in my mother’s kitchen.

And so, that is where it all began. I grew to love catching random songs off any of the stations my mom had tuned her precious electronic addition to the kitchen hearth. We grew up to her singing along (while cooking) to the songs of her childhood, older years, and later those from our own childhood days (the evergreen ’80s, yeah!!), too.

The best part? The sheer randomness of the next song to be broadcast, of course! The unsaid butterflies of hope fluttering within – that the next song would be one of your favourites, then the burst of enthralled relief that it turns out to be that very tune (the one you’d expected! yess! – or no – the same melody these disc jockeys seem to keep broadcasting for God knows why, but sadly, not the one that’d make your heart aflutter, no.)
Either way, when it does turn out to be any of the songs on your I-like (or even better, I-love) lists of the soul, there is no turning back, but to sing out loud, just to complete the magical moment, yeah?

Catching your favourite songs on the radio, rocks!

Photos from here and here

I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it…. People think pleasing God is all God care about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back.
- Alice Walker, The Color Purple, 1982

Yessireee, the colour purple, in all its resplendent glory and beauty!

For how many of us could resist being amazed at that gossamer blossoming of this rich hue within us, smiling and revelling in this most gorgeous of all the colours? Originating from our s(h)el(l)fish (pun fully intended, here) want for a colour so novel it could stand for royalty, wealth and status for ages to come.

Just like how so much of our learning, turns to our misappropriation from Nature herself, the story of this amazing hue is an interesting, and humbling learning journey in itself, when we discover that the first purple came from unsuspecting Murex (mollusc) shells off the Tyrian coast (hence the name of ‘Tyrian Purple,’ the forerunner of the dye chemical industry to intrigue the world over). 

Once known for its pricey tag (it had cost around ”12,000 shellfish [just] to extract 1.5g of the pure dye” and had “cost its weight in gold” back in the Roman heyday) and made more commonly available through synthetic dyes (mauveine) only much later, purple still retains its luxuriant allure and mystery today.

I love how just wearing purple makes the world appear just a shade rosier, how easy a colour it is to wear well – and feel great in, too!

Purple rocks!

Photos from here, here and here

I sing like I feel. – Ella Fitzgerald

Grew up watching my mom sing in the kitchen, as she juggled cooking, washing – basically everything around the home, including repairs both to the tools of the hearth and her kids’ hearts. And she loved (and still does) having the radio to her favourite stations on in the kitchen, humming along to the latest song of every changing time.

Naturally, we grew up singing too… humming, whistling or belting out our favourite tunes whenever we could find time together, even during the late night study sessions back when we were studying.

For how could anyone resist belting out their favourite song, to fit every mood that envelopes us? Now, I do miss the lovely times when we used to sing together (my sis remembers the melodies, and I, the lyrics, so we kinda complement each other in our random belting-out sessions).

I do have great reverence for those amongst us who are blessed with a divine voice, especially the beautiful singers who create evermore bliss through sharing their Gift with the world. Yet, it is perfectly fine for those untrained voices amongst us, the common people (with our equally common & beautiful, nevertheless) life-stories to enjoy the rapture of a spontaneous tune, yea?

Aren’t we all glad that it is no crime to sing off-key, to your super-fave songs – from any era or genre – with our ears fully plugged in, exhilaration on at full throttle? For really, when that perfect melody holds our heart rapture, then we aren’t answerable to any other but our private, passionate muses of the heart.
So, go on and belt it out!

Singing, as if nobody’s listening, rocks!

Photos from here, here and here

All true tea lovers not only like their tea strong, but like it a little stronger with each year that passes.
- George Orwell, “A Nice Cup of Tea”

 Am a self-confessed tea addict for quite some years now. I guess, it all started from the lovely, old varsity days (about five years since) when I’d come home in the evening – drained from all the seminars, tutorials and assignments, coupled with a near-two hour-train journey home – to a nice steaming mug of my Mom’s heavenly chai (which would be, for the uninitiated, probably the best ever form tea could come in. Seriously, you gotta try it, if you haven’t).

Chai, would be the Indian version of “spiced tea” (as in its fuller name, masala chai), with its already rich taste of black tea augmented with spices such as cardamom, cinnamon, cloves and ginger, and sweetened with milk.

It was only much later in my final year, through my dear German freundin – that I got to know of glühwein (for ‘glittering’, spiced wine), traditionally made in German homes during the wintry Christmas season. On hindsight, I guess it works pretty much the same way as my fondess for chai – that it isn’t just the beverage that keeps you cheery and craving for more, it’s the associations to evening – a time of rest and settling back with loved ones – that did the trick.

And yes, I did get to try glühwein during an awesome trip around Germany in 2009. It’s probably another food based on acquired taste, I’d felt, since the small mugs of glühwein that we’d shared amongst ourselves somehow stayed more full than empty even after making quite a few rounds in our tight circle of glühwein novices.

Since that first mug of steaming Chai, I’ve proudly (& finally, yay!) mastered the art of making chai at home – which means I get to relish delicious chai, regardless of the clock’s protestations. For, is there really any law that limits you from enjoying that one cup of tea, whenever you need it?
So, what’re you waiting for… Drink up, have fun, and stay cheery!

Coming home to a steaming mug of Chai, rocks!

Photos from here and here

A mother is a person who, seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.
- Tenneva Jordan

It is a privilege not many people in our time and age are blessed with, I know. And perhaps, all the more, I am thankful to be able to learn from, and cook with Mom.

She’s always been a great cook (chef-extraordinaire, really), astounding all my old school friends with her awesome culinary expertise that easily spans a number of Asian cuisines (Indian, Malay, Peranakan) learnt from my late grandma, as well as her friends over the years - a blessed virtue that oft remains unsung in the house.

Learning to cook from my mother’s always an interesting, intriguing episode – even while you learn of why a particular spice goes well with a dish but not another, why some ingredients will always be last in the queue to the pot, some of your questions (why?how much?why [only] this much?what does it do?how do you know?) are sure to earn you some stern interjection or other.

The good part, as always, is that you get to complete a lovely dish by your sheer effort and toil – that surely turns out well, especially after any intervention by Mom’s skilful intuition – and as you spoon your first exciting dish – pure delish, of course!

As such, to get to spend these few sacred hours under her tutelage, is surely, a beautiful blessing, in its own right, don’t you think?

Cooking with Mom, rocks!

Photos from here and here