We got stuck in the jam at Selegie Road last night but didn’t mind because of the Thaipusam spectacle and the awesome LED-adorned kavadis. That is, until we passed a line of tourist-ripping trishaws blasting Chinese pop music.
That, STB, is what is wrong with Singapore tourism.
We’ve lo hei’d three times this Chinese New Year, which isn’t a lot, but there’s only so much raw fish and crackers you can manage. Especially when there are pregnant women in the family.
Still it’s great to be able to make a mess at the dinner table and say we’re conforming with tradition even though we know the practice was invented by a Chinese restaurant chef who didn’t know what to do with leftover slivers of raw fish, crackers and some condiments, and he’d run out of gas and electricity, so he wasn’t able to cook them. Or something.
I didn’t ask my dad about this, but he seemed very into the lohei this year, looking as though he was concentrating on the task at hand (and chopsticks), even though this tossing fish and sundry all over the table business comes more naturally to him because he has Parkinson’s.
No, I’m not on blogging hiatus or anything like that. I thought I’d better blog a bit so that I’ll meet whatever blogging criteria put up by the Association of Singapore Bloggers or whatever it is they’re called.
Because I might want to join up before they implode.
It’s just that it’s been an unbelievably busy fortnight of CNY obligations. Naomi and I have just only recently been able to put our feet up and relax for a couple of hours.