Too Precious For Its Own Good?

In a local book lovers' Facebook page, a conversation developed around an article that was critical of Rupi Kaur's poems. "I wish we had a new label to describe Kaur’s output," proclaims the writer. "Poetry is too delicate and precious a word to be besmirched by such associations."

Really? Then perhaps poetry needs to be less precious to make it more accessible. Perhaps it also needs to be less delicate to stand up to growing scrutiny.

And if poetry has become too "precious" and "delicate" due to gatekeeping by the likes of the writer, then perhaps few are better suited to batter down those gates than Rupi Kaur.

Let me own up to my gatekeeping tendencies, which until recently tended to lean towards the literati side. The yardstick these days seems to be how viral it is, which determines how well it sells.

But things can go viral for less-than-savoury reasons.

Rupi's success did not come out of nowhere. The lore states that she was discovered on Instagram and when she went to print the fanbase followed.

Nor does the vector matter in virality. Any publicity, however bad, is better than none, so in writing his piece the writer at LiveMint is spreading the fever.

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Granted, Rupi's prose is easy to hate on. It's so ... plain, goes one complaint. Sounds like hardly any effort went into it! Just everyday sentences that are broken at random points!

And she didn't do herself a huge favour by saying: "I'm a very empathetic person to a fault, my Dad will tell you. I see somebody remotely having a bad day and suddenly I'm on the floor crying."

These days, one can produce something trite or gimmicky, seemingly without any effort, hype it up by word of mouth and it flies off the shelves. Fewer and fewer works bear the polish and perfume traditionally associated with the craft.

Seeing these people - some of whom are already celebrities - getting rich and being feted like the greats of old must chafe for some.

"Couldn't have they found someone else?" But you have to look at the audience, don't you? What is it that they found appealing about this poet or their work? Do they deserve the same smear of tar from these creators' detractors?

"If only So-and-So or This Other Person were similarly successful." Maybe they already are? And by "successful", is it by their yardsticks or yours? Perhaps the price of fame within the arena Rupi found herself in might not be worth it? Commercial success, as we know by now, may not mean quality.

And if Louise Glück received the 2020 Nobel Prize for Literature, surely someone is looking out for the likes of her, so maybe we can rest easy.

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Publishers and retailers today, particularly the big names, relentlessly seek the next big thing. If they're no longer good at highlighting new or hidden talents, they did it to themselves by chasing the bottom line and growing too big to fail, even a little.

So potentially good stuff gets sidelined for the sake of those churned out by recognisable names: viral names or names in the news that, hopefully, mean large profit margins that'll keep them afloat for another year.

A diverse publishing ecosystem comprising multitudes of smaller players exposes people to more names, including those the LiveMint writer feels are more deserving of the attention Rupi is getting. But the mere mention of "break it up" or "go small" seems to send chills down the spines of executives.

Maybe the LiveMint writer's ire is misdirected here.

Let's not forget that some of the lionised figures in poetry, despite their failings and the brickbats of others, have gone viral in their day and age.

Then and now, notoriety is more efficient than merit in spreading the word.

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In the article, the writer acknowledged that, despite what they feel about Rupi's works, "there's a wave of opinion that argues that writers like Kaur speak for immigrants, people of colour, and women. Her unadorned directness, glib motivational slogans, and, at times, nonsensical blandness have broken the barriers of elitism in poetry." (Okay, the last bit is a little backhanded.)

If she's writing about her own darkness, her courage to confront or relive that pain each time she pens another verse should be noted. Don't discount the possibility that many out there are finding solace and hope in her work during these difficult times.

(And it has a local book lovers' circle debating the nature or definition of poetry. Also a plus when interesting viewpoints emerge. For me, as well - viewpoints, not necessarily interesting ones - which is why I'm putting them down here instead of a Facebook reply.)

Everything has its role in an environment. All sorts of things exist, flourish, and can only grow in fertile soil, which also harbours things we don't like. We can be honest with that.

After all, literature is a messy and happening sphere that thrives on diversity. Sanitised soil seldom nurtures flower nor fruit.

So what to call Rupi's work, then? Perhaps we should stick with "poetry". The field is big enough to accomodate her and if it has any borders, it's probably the ones we draw around ourselves and what we know.

2020 Sure Sucked, Didn't It?

You can't tell me otherwise.

Walking Away From Anger

I took mindfulness lessons at a time in my life when I needed more clarity. Problem now is that I tend to notice a bit more in something than I probably should. Things such as a nod to mindfulness and Buddhism in a video game. Specfically, in Street Fighter V.

Talking about this without referencing some history about the game and its in-game lore is hard, so bear with me.

From a straightforward beat-em-up, gaming giant Capcom's Street Fighter franchise went global and is considered iconic. Through sequels, prequels, interquels and crossovers, its lore and growing roster were enriched, evolving into something akin to Marvel's Avengers film franchise. Brilliant marketing to get fans and players more invested in it.

One particular thread concerns the protagonist in all the Street Fighter games: a wandering pugilist named Ryu, a practitioner of a martial art traditionally used by assassins. One aspect of this martial art is access to the satsui no hado, the surge of killing intent. This power promises victory at the cost of one's insanity and even humanity.

After losing to a veteran fighter, young Ryu lashes out with this power, scarring his opponent. Ryu eventually embarks on a journey to hone his fighting skills and find a way to deal with his awakened killing intent before it grows strong enough to erase his humanity.

Decades after the first Street Fighter game, Ryu's struggle with the satsui no hado seems to have reached its denouement with the introduction of a character in an update to SFV: Kage, the manifestation of the dark power within him.

In Kage's mini-story mode, the shadowy being challenges Ryu, who obliges but doesn't want to defeat it. Kage wins, but doesn't understand why Ryu isn't bothered about losing. Chilling on the ground after getting beat, Ryu is all "you wanna kill me, beat me up or just hang around, be my guest."

Unable to get a rise out of his host, Kage fades away.


Anger-eating demon
To some, this might not be significant, unless they've heard of the Buddhist parable of the anger-eating demon. This creature gained power from the fury and hatred others directed at it, and one day it made itself at home in the palace of a king.

Because of the hostility of the king's men towards it, their efforts to kick the demon out failed. Then the ruler returned and killed it with kindness, starving it of its nourishment.

Kage, or the satsui no hado, is a type of anger-eating demon. Unable to interact with the outside world, it requires a sentient host to manipulate and feed on, and its urgings are seldom recognised as such, often disguised as the primal urge to destroy whoever or whatever one deems a problem.

Ryu's struggle with the satsui no hado was probably hard because his goal initially was to force the thing out of him. This took time and energy that might have left him spent and weakened, opening him up to negative thoughts that empowered the darkness.

The king in the Buddhist parable, however, acknowledged the existence of the anger-eating demon invading his palace and disarmed it by treating him like any ordinary person - a guest even - without wasting time or effort getting worked up over its presence.

This, eventually, was how Ryu dealt with Kage.


Leaving the road to ruin
In mindfulness, it is stated that our positives and negatives are part of an indivisible whole; forceful rejection of the parts of us that we don't like hurt because in doing so we damage ourselves.

Instead, we are taught to live with our demons. Mindfulness allows us to look deeper into ourselves to identify those demons, what they feed on, and the triggers that let them take control.

With this knowledge, we can rein in the dark impulses that will make us do things we may regret later, solving the problem before it manifests.

Learn what our demons are, acknowledge their presence and treat them with kindness, but never let them take the wheel. They promise shortcuts and instant gratification, but are more likely to take you on the road to ruin.

Ryu's epiphany in the story mode of SFV puts him on the path his master blazed, a departure from their school's violent past. A path where foes are overwhelmed not by destructive force but incredible compassion towards their inner demons.

A naive outlook in a cynical world, perhaps, but an approach worth pondering. Perhaps the divisions in society can only be healed once we acknowledge the humanity on the other side - and identify the demons controlling them.

The next step will probably be the hardest for many: to walk away from their anger and leave their demons be.

Sick Weekend

All I did was close my eyes and lean to one side and when I righted myself in my office chair I was struck by a wave of nausea.

I knew what I was in for. This isn't the first time. All those anxiety- and stress-fuelled late nights - some MCO-induced - have finally caught up with me.

Such episodes last quite a bit, but I had little idea how long: all the way to one of my usual clinics. Maybe I've forgotten how bad it gets.

What's more, the doctor was caught in traffic en route to his shift, so it was a long excruciating wait. The young man turned out to be nice and attentive, and he gave me two days' MC. The medicines worked wonders too.

What a nice young man, wheezed my inner ah pek.

However, I risked teetering over the edge this weekend after one or two more late nights, so I'm hurrying this up with my new full-feature keyboard - ASCII code and Word shortcut inputs, yay! - to try and get to bed before midnight.

But OMG, the VOCs emanating from it. Fresh out of the box, what did I expect? Well, I am typing faster than I was with the laptop keys. Feels more natural too.

That my first major Touch 'n Go eWallet transaction outside of toll and parking payments is for my clinic bill says a lot about my life at this point. Yet the company and creditors such as Citibank haven't caught on and sent me more promotions related to healthcare and medicine.

Instead, they feel I haven't been spending enough and nudge me towards things I'm not interested in. No, I don't visit Tealive THAT much. No, 20 per cent off spa day here is still ludicrously expensive. Thankfully, Citibank has stopped e-mailing me about Condotti luggage bags.

But more stressors keep coming. Last night I had to deal with an uninvited guest (first part of its name is synonymous with "rooster") when it was already damn late, and stress levels forced me to sleep in the living room. Might have to do that again tonight.

Now, if only all that water I chased down my supper of savoury oats with would process itself quickly and leave me alone.

Rice Rage

A while back, someone tweeted their displeasure at a video of a guy reacting to someone cooking "egg fried rice" on BBC Food, using a version of the archetypal Chinese uncle's accent reminiscent of Stephen Yan's.

They were irked at the notion of making comedy out of exaggerated accents, which they say debases people who speak that way, and panned such acts as entertainment for snobs.

Did "Uncle Roger", a.k.a. London-based Malaysian comedian Nigel Ng, assume this guise to poke fun at the stereotype? Were "snobs" supposed to laugh at him every time he went "Haiya!" or "recalled" some anecdote out of a clichéd Chinese childhood?

Probably not, but the clip Ng's persona reacted to made waves among Asian communities for how rice was cooked in it.

Too much water.

 

Probably not cooked enough.

Draining what looked like partly cooked rice in a colander and rinsing it with running cold water. 

 

Outrage coursed through the Twittersphere. Then, some pointed out that the chef in the clip was cooking rice the Persian way, leaving many of us chastened for jumping the gun.

However, days afterwards, more reactions to the BBC segment emerged on YouTube, with some replicating the recipe almost step by step. A BBC interview with Nigel and Hersha Patel, who demonstrated the recipe, also surfaced. The latter revealed that the recipe was the BBC's and she was following the station's script. 

 

Or maybe these guys were late to the party. What we can conclude from the later reactions is that you won't get "absolutely delicious" egg fried rice from that recipe; one commentator even said that the BBC dish was not "egg fried rice" but "fried rice with egg".

I'm probably not qualified to ask this but did they look at the part where the recipe says to use "150g/5½oz long grain rice or basmati rice"? What rice did they use?

Of course basmati rice would be cooked that way and of course someone from that part of the world would hanker for fried rice and should be allowed to make it how they like with what they have. Just look at how Jamie Oliver does it - do both recipes look authentic?

I've committed crimes against rice - overseasoning, too much water, etc. - when making single-portion servings of it by steaming during the first MCO, using a tip from Twitter. But I do it because it works and I get to eat every grain instead of scraping some off the bottom of the rice cooker pot.

Who'd be in the mood for egg fried rice or anything else Done Right™ when they have so much else going on?

In that light, someone mocking a foreigner doing rice different with an ah pek's accent is committing a worse crime than merely not being funny.

Many of us gleefully dunked on the clip, assuming it was one of a recent string of incidents where Westerners messed around with "our food", and got burned. A more mindful approach would have saved us the embarrassment and give us enough cred to write posts like this. 

 

With no mention of the type of rice being used and why it's cooked the way it was, the clip alone would have raised more than just eyebrows in East Asian homes.

Plus, the written instructions for the rice on the BBC website do not include the hackle-raising step of rinsing the cooked grains that's so prominent in the clip, which now seems to be location-dependent. Perhaps a response to the backlash, or confirmation that the recipe is tailored for certain audiences.

That doesn't change that fact that saying others can't enjoy making and eating certain dishes from certain cuisines because they didn't cook them right is conceited and racist.

Nest Cam Musings

Besides books, food and music, I'm also a bit of a history buff and enthusiastic about wildlife. What I haven't revealed here about that last bit here is that I've been following blogs and YouTube channels featuring nesting raptors.

Nest cams, to put it simply.

Around March until July - breeding season in parts of the U.S. - these channels usually buzz with activity, although this depends on the location and species. For eagles:

Breeding season varies by latitude. In Florida, egg laying may begin in November whereas in Alaska, egg laying typically occurs in late April through May. In Minnesota, the breeding season typically runs from late-February to early March in the southern part of the state through April into early May in the north.

Watching these birds nest and raise their young - and following the growth of their chicks - is my idea of a TV series catch-up. Few things are quite like it. Reality shows can't compare.

My introduction to this world was a camera feed of a nest of a pair of red-tailed hawks in Washington Square Park in New York.

Hawk couple Bobby and Violet became internet sensations in 2011 via The New York Times and its web cam when they built their nest outside then-NYU President John Sexton’s office on the 12th floor of the Bobst Library building overlooking the park. Violet sadly died later that year... After that, Bobby had two mates, Rosie, and then Aurora (also known as Sadie).

These cams have their fans and the drama on these nests can be quite gripping. However, the Washington Square Park cam is no more, as is the male hawk Bobby. But New York has other red-tailed hawk nests and birders keep an eye on these sites around breeding season.

As in many closely followed drama series, the death of a character is keenly felt. Red-tailed hawks do feed on rodents, and death by rodenticide is common. Bobby may have met the same fate, although a city has many other hazards.

From egg to grave, a raptor's life in the wild is tough. Baby peregrine falcons have died from complications brought on by swarms of black flies, or preyed upon by other raptors such as great horned owls. Birds such as ravens steal unhatched eggs, at times breaking them in the nest itself.

Early this year, a bald eagle chick from a nest in southwestern Florida apparently succumbed to rodenticide after it bled profusely from a broken pin feather, another potentially fatal condition. (Weeks later, this nest saw the birth of two more chicks that fledged successfully.) Pesticides and other forms of pollution affect adults, resulting in fragile eggs that break after being laid or non-viable eggs that don't hatch.

As in drama series, some viewers become too invested in the lives of these raptors. Following the death of a golden eagle chick by starvation on a nest in Latvia, angry comments flooded the chat window of the live YouTube feed.

"If they can instal a camera there, why can't they rescue the chick?"

"What's the point of the camera if it won't help save these birds?"

Anger born of grief, dismay and, perhaps, ignorance.

As environmental scientist Carie Battistone told TV station KCET, "We often do not intervene when bad things happen. In most cases, we choose to let nature take its course, even if it is difficult to see. This is a hard concept to grasp for people watching live video feed as it is normal for humans to be disturbed and emotional about what they see."

The point of the cameras is to show people how these birds nest and raise young. The antics of the chicks (baby hawks = eyasses, baby eagles = eaglets) are fun to watch, especially when they're in their fluffball stage. You can't imagine these chirping puffs of down growing up to become killers. But they have to, so that they can play their role in their ecosystem. They can only do that when they're raised by their parents.

Some behaviours are hardwired, but others are learnt by watching, like what to eat and how to pin down avian prey and pulling the feathers out before self-feeding. And, possibly, the realisation that they can fly.

When a chick hatches, it imprints itself on the first creature it sees. And if it is cared for, it will learn to trust its caregiver, whatever the latter may be. Human helpers can feed a chick and keep it alive until adulthood but they can't teach it everything it needs to survive as an adult.

And because of imprinting, wildlife raised by people from infancy will have a hard time in the wild. It can't function as it should in its own habitat. What if it becomes dependent on humans and actively seeks them out, risking death by trusting the wrong humans?

It's not just people. An odd case of a baby red-tailed hawk that was adopted by a family of bald eagles briefly became a sensation. Both species are rivals in the wild. The chick might have been intended as food but the eagle parents ended up raising it instead. Observers expressed worry that this fledgling hawk's familiarity with eagles might get it killed by one.

Life in the wild is harsh for raptors but members of their own species won't give them as much trouble as humans. They must learn to navigate their habitats to survive and thrive. Despite our good intentions, we can only do so much. Without a thorough understanding of how an ecosystem works, human meddling will only worsen things.

Watching a chick die can be traumatic and we do feel for the parents. However, be aware not to anthropomorphise these unwitting reality stars. They are wild animals and they get over such losses quickly.

Those yelling at "inhumane" or "uncaring" human cam installers probably won't be ready for the spectacle of a parent killing and eating its chicks, or older eaglets bullying their younger siblings to death when competing for food, sometimes killing them outright.

C'est la vie, man.

Unless their objective is research and tracking, many of those who put these cams are careful to minimise contact with these birds to allow them to live as naturally as possible. Their aim is more to educate than entertain.

If we are concerned about the welfare of these magnificent raptors who start out fluffy and cute, why not start with things we can control? For one, don't litter, and cut those damn plastic rings.

Limit or eliminate the use of pesticides. Keep their habitat pristine so that they and their prey can flourish. Don't chop down the trees where they might nest and certainly don't freaking steal their eggs or chicks.

And if you can't do any or all of these, petition those who can. Considering what we've done to the planet, it's the least we can do.

Whipping Up A Storm

Like some under this partial lockdown, I've taken to whisking up the viral Italian-sounding dalgona coffee popularised by Korean actor Jung Il-woo, who tried it in a coffee shop in Macau and talked about it on TV back home.

The name comes from Jung's opinion that the beverage reminded him of dalgona, a type of Korean honeycomb toffee. But this Internet sensation isn't Korean or from Macau. Probably not even Italian. And to my ears it's not dal-go-na but more like TAE-go-na.

A little dive into the dalgona rabbit hole reveals clues that the possible origins of this frothy beverage might be in Europe (the Greek-style frappé) or the Indian subcontinent, where this beaten coffee is known as phenti hui or phitti hui. As soon as the dalgona craze broke, some observers from the latter eye-rolled the same way we Southeast Asians do at some Food Insider videos.

I won't regurgitate all the fruits of my research here, but had things been different, we might also be calling this beverage "Chow Yun-fat coffee" or 發哥咖啡.

The guy who runs the coffee shop in Macau and makes this frothy coffee briefly became famous after making a cup for the veteran Hong Kong actor, who was said to like it. The proprietor of Hon Kee, Leong Kam Hon, learnt how to make this beverage from a foreign couple whose nationality he's unsure of. Presumably, this is the same coffee shop Jung Il-woo stopped by. What's remarkable is that Leong uses a spoon.

But I'm here to talk about my dalgona experience.

What's nuts about this recipe is not that only three ingredients are involved but the sheer amount of them, specifically the coffee and sugar. If I took a glass of dalgona coffee on Saturday morning my weekend won't end until Monday night. It's THAT potent.

My first attempt with an electronic mixer failed because I only used about a teaspoon (and maybe a teaspoon and a half at most) of coffee and sugar - I quit my regular coffee habit due to my gastric and, recently, my anxiety. I had better results with elbow grease, i.e., a small whisk and my decades-old mug or, once, a ceramic rice bowl.

Tipping the bowl at an angle made the small amount of coffee "deeper" than it is, making it easier to whip. The foam was so stiff I could invert the mug or bowl over my head and the coffee would stay there.

The texture presented a challenge when drinking with the layer intact. It would float above the milk like a raft while the milk flowed into your mouth from underneath. The foam is supposed to be mixed with the milk a little, so you get something fluffier than your average latte.

When using less coffee and sugar than prescribed, a small whisk and a small vessel make more sense. I watched, amused, while someone from Buzzfeed's Tasty spent about 17 minutes, off and on, whipping up a sweat with a sceptre-sized whisk and a helmet-sized bowl. All I needed was about six to eight minutes, but perhaps it was the difference in portions.

The amount of water seemed to be key as well. Too much and it'll take longer to come together, or not at all. Too little and you get a viscous but sort of aerated toffee, though not something you'd invert over your head for a few seconds.

This is not a beverage to wind down with after a long day. All that caffeine and sugar make it strictly a morning pick-me-up for people with time to kill. And after all that exercise and coffee you're likely to get wound up for the rest of the day.

I guess I understand why it's so popular. Like a magic trick, it's something anyone can learn and do, and the results are brag-worthy on social media. When one is stuck at home with little to do and feeling unproductive, a successful dalgona coffee gives one a sense of accomplishment.

But given the return on investment ... I wouldn't make this a regular thing, even with power tools. And even though I use less than a tablespoon of coffee, it's still a lot of caffeine at one go for me. Minutes after my last mug I was sweating a little, which never happened before.


22/06/2020  Two months sure fly by in a blank or two of an eye, don't they?

Against my better judgement, I've been whipping up a dalgona more often than I should. Once I figured out that the foam forms faster and better when using less water or following the recipe to the letter.

When the whisk starts "pulling" the mixture when stirring or whisking, it's halfway there. Whisk or stir a bit more vigorously to achieve your preferred consistency.

Sometimes I stop when the dalgona looks like dripping toffee because I'd stir or fold some of it into the milk anyway, like how some might do phenti hui. But often, I go on for two more minutes on high speed. I whip it inside a mug and push down any splashed coffee on the sides with a small silicone spatula.

No point whisking further because by then you won't feel your arm any more and you might need it afterwards. So when the foam is stiff enough to form peaks, you can stop whisking because you've reached peak dalgona.

...If you know me and if you're reading this in KL you should have seen that coming from Sekinchan. Pay. Attention.

I also add salt, along with cinnamon and nutmeg or vanilla extract for something different. Salt in coffee isn't new. It cuts down the bitter tang, though it forms a saline layer on top, probably if not mixed well.

Despite the strength of the coffee, the cinnamon and vanilla come through. The nutmeg, not so much. Attempts with pandan leaf powder failed but I wonder if I should resort to artificial essences.

Some make the dalgona foam and keep it refrigerated for future use, but I wouldn't bother. I bottled some but the coffee would meld into each other, leaving a fragile tuft of foam on top. Isn't "drink it fresh" part of the novelty?

Using warm or hot milk is also fine. I heat mine with a water bath inside an open stainless steel shaker. The heat releases more of the spices' aroma, and each day starts better with a warm drink.

Strange to get so used to whipping instant coffee after doing it almost daily.