Tianni on Shopping: The Family Tradition

Photos of the children at the Blue Sky Healing Home, and some of the youngest residents asleep in their cots

I was baptised as a Roman Catholic when I was about five. Then, whether and how to celebrate Christmas was a foregone conclusion.

After dinner on the evening of Christmas Eve, my family of four would dress in our best and troop out the door for midnight mass at our neighbourhood church. Standing in a sea of lighted candles under the night sky as the familiar strains of carols emanate from within the packed sanctuary, I would gawk at the teenage girls from church in their black sequinned dresses and twirled hair being chatted up by smitten boys and think how much I wanted to look like them when I grew up and how magical a night Christmas was.

Then at 17, I converted to Christianity. As part of an enthusiastically evangelical church, celebrating Christmas was again a no-brainer. But, in place of my as yet unfulfilled childhood dream of dressing up to the nines for candlelit masses at the stroke of midnight, Christmas became an passionately religious affair during which I’d drag unsuspecting non-believer friends to house ‘parties’ where I’ll movingly regale them with the story behind Christmas and beseech them to convert.

But somewhere between 23 to 28, my convictions became closer to what’s known as an agnostic atheist. And for the first time I started having to think about what meaning, if any, the festival really held for me stripped of its religious roots. Being an ethnic Chinese who has grown up in Asia, in a family that has always been fiercely nuclear, the tradition of Santa Claus or Turkeys or boisterous dinners with extended family was completely lost on me. Sure, there had been the annual shopping trips my parents had brought my brother and I to in order for us to pick out our own Christmas presents (no, Santa doesn’t climb down the chimney in our household). And I remember the Christmas Day brunches with balloons and streamers and clumsy dancing by some hotel’s too thin Santa Claus(es). And of course, possibly the most wonderful of all, the cartoon marathons (Smurfs!) running on TV all throughout Christmas day. But to a young rebellious adult eager to etch out her independence, including in the area of festivals, the tradition my parents had tried to create for our small family failed to pass muster as a cool Christmas custom I could adopt as my own.

So for a while in my early twenties, Christmas became nothing more than yet another excuse to spend more money in the malls and eat out at fancy restaurants. I’d have romantic dinners with my beau on Christmas Eve, and with the knowledge that I’m entitled to a full day of pampering on the special day, ask for a bag or/and pair of shoes I’ve been coveting as my Christmas gift. On the rare occasion, we’ll spend the night with friends on the town and drink ourselves silly. Then I grew older. Perhaps it was biological changes, or perhaps it was a growing sense of mortality, but increasingly I felt the need to spend Christmas together with my parents. For a few years before I left Singapore, I tried to clobber together a family tradition from the scrapheap of yesteryear, buying presents for my parents and insisting that we, sometimes including my already married brother, eat together as a family on Christmas Eve. But of course, I left Singapore, and that practice fell apart before it was even given the chance to take root.

Somehow, this year, three years after I became a mother, the thought of creating our very own Christmas tradition for our little family crossed my mind. My daughter was old enough to notice that Christmas trees were springing up in every mall and restaurant we went to, and even her Chinese preschool had gotten in on the festivities, decorating with tinsels and baubles and holding its own Christmas party a week before Christmas. Just as my parents had given me warm memories of Christmas in childhood to look back on, I was aware that we were responsible for the memories she’d have when she grew up.

We’ll have a home cooked dinner on Christmas Eve’s I thought, but what do we do on Christmas Day? I toyed with the idea of bringing her to a Christmas brunch at one of the many big hotels in the city having a Christmas special something or other. I still had fond memories of the ones I went to when I was young, and most of them also came with roving Santa Clauses, ‘live’ Christmas carolling and kiddy festive partying of some kind that would save me the work of trying to create some ‘festive air’ in our home.

But apparently in the spirit of things, the Christmas feasting all came with price tags so large, any nostalgic goodwill I was feeling over the season was quickly drained. I also wasn’t sure that the tradition I wanted for my child at Christmas was one that would further fuel the freewheeling consumer bandwagon that every retailer was so eager to cash in on this time of the year. Yes, telling myself that I had an excuse to spend without guilt at least one day every year could potentially feel oh-so-good. But another part of me really didn't want to be a sucker and buy into the clear exploitation by businesses that had absolutely nothing to do with whatever Christmas could stand for, religiously or not.

And then it struck me that our family Christmas tradition from this year on could be to consciously go against this tide of festive consumption. Instead, we would spend the occasion doing something for others. And as it happens, there are no shortage of such opportunities in China, where everywhere we turn, there will be glaring examples of lack and the unequally dispensed hand of providence. We called up an orphanage for children with medical needs that I’d read about and asked them what we could bring for them on Christmas Day. They were delighted.


A staff at the home unpacking some of the food and clothing items we brought, thanks to donations from friends

It is my hope that this will be the start of a family tradition my daughter will herself have fond memories of many years later.


Kaela on her first of hopefully many 'Christmas giving' visits (due to privacy concerns, we couldn't take pixs of the children)

Horse With No Name on Love: Home for the Holidays

Trimming the Christmas tree has always been one of my favourite things to do in the run-up to the holidays. As a child, it wasn't so much the anticipation of Christmas or presents that excited me, but the very act of my family coming together to put together something wild and crazy and beautiful.

But Christmas Day itself? Might have been one of my least favourite days of the year.

It wasn't that the holiday didn't feel special. It was always an amazing, spiritually meaningful day in my family. We looked forward to the wondrous spectacle of Christmas morning Mass, followed by lunch with friends and family. And every photo taken during that time will testify to how happy I looked opening my many, many presents.

But I always remember feeling emotionally drained by day's end, like an actor who has run through the same show too many times.

As it was each year when I was a child, before the family could get to the business of being shiny, happy people, the day would inevitably begin with some sort of unnecessary drama before we went to Christmas Mass. The fuss usually involved forces beyond my parents' control and is something way too complicated to get into in just a couple of paragraphs.

But trimming the tree and the whole run-up to the big shebang? I liked that just fine. It was neutral territory for everyone at our house. No arguments or emotional baggage. Just a bunch of tinsel and some plain ol' fun.

When you live away from family for a good long time, when distance dulls memories and tempers big, bad feelings, you begin to appreciate moments like these.

You remember that a family has the ability to come together and start afresh - to make things work.

You also gain emotional clarity. For instance, being away and raising my own child made me realise that my parents have always been the very definition for me of what family is and what family does. No matter how strong the adversity, or difficult the challenge, Dad and Mum held strong to their personal and religious beliefs, yet they remained patient, forgiving and sensitive to others.

During my first stint overseas with Mr HWNN, we always made sure to be home for Christmas and Chinese New Year. For me, it was important to be with my folks at these times because it meant alot to them to have us all together. Whatever residual memories I had of those difficult early years, I shoved them aside to have a good time with the people I hold dear, and to give my older daughter Sweet Pea the peaceful Yuletide that I longed for when I was her age.

What I never realised then, was the luxury of having any sort of emotional family upheaval to begin with. I mean, the very fact that I could experience Christmas each year with kin was a blessing that my silly younger self took for granted.

I was blind to the fact that no matter what sort of insane soap opera we might have been drawn into so long ago, we were all still together, we could still physically reach out to each other after, to mend fences, and most importantly, to show love.

Because there are folks out there who would probably give an arm and a leg to be with their families during the holidays, emotional baggage or no.

There are a good number of military men and women living in my neck of the woods in Arizona. Several of whom I now call friends and neighbours.

In the last year, I've met people whose spouses have been shipped off to Iraq for tours of duty, or neighbours who've returned from fighting in Afghanistan. Neighbours with toddlers the same age as my younger daughter Pumpkin.

And so, suddenly, the world spins into perspective.

These folks volunteer to put their lives on the line for their country. But I'll bet anything they would rather be spending the holidays surrounded by their loved ones. And every day, I am simply in awe of the incredible strength, resilience and grace their families members show, just going about their lives.

The few emotional barbs I might still remember from the ancient past absolutely pales in comparison to the sacrifices these folks face each day.

Last Christmas was the first I've had to spend away from Singapore. It was the first time ever that Sweet Pea didn't have her grandparents, uncles and aunts to fuss over her. And it was the first time ever that I spent Christmas morning speaking with my parents on Skype, rather than face-to-face.

It was the strangest thing, to be so excited about living in this new place, with so much potential for new experiences, yet teary at the prospect of going through the rituals of that big day without the two people who have always made it special.

Add to that their ill health over the years and I was wrecked with guilt for not giving my folks another Christmas with the grandkids.

But this year, something shifted. Perspective, as I mentioned, was gained.

As Mr HWNN, the kids and I were trimming our skinny little tree, I realised two things: One, even if my parents aren't here in Arizona with me, they still are. I see their expressions and mannerisms every day, reflected in my older child.

My family is with me. My children. My husband. I am immensely thankful for that fact.

The other thing I realised: Even if returning home is something beyond my control at the moment, and the kids are homesick as can be, I can take that feeling of helplessness and turn it into something good, the way my parents (and my new neighbours) have taught me, and teach my children patience and resilience.

Even though we can't physically reach out and hug grandpa and grandma, we are not bereft of solutions.

So we'll probably talk online Christmas morning rather than over one of my Mum's famous Christmas feasts.

We'll take this short time apart to learn more about the world, so we have stories to tell grandma and grandpa when we return. We'll take this time to miss one another a little more and learn to appreciate the role of family in our lives.

Chances are, this time next year, we'll be together again. And whatever craziness that might come along with it, will come. I'll embrace every second of it. Because I've come to terms with the reality that my family and drama go together over the holidays. Like a tree and tinsel. Sure, I could do without that sparkly stuff, but then I'd have a very quiet, boring tree. And who the heck wants that?

Una Ragazza on Play: A Tale of Hispanic Proportions

As a latecomer to the world of traveling, I belong to the school of thought that "the more I travel, the less I know."

By that, I am referring to the humbling effect that traveling has on the occasional Ms. Know-It-All that I can be.

Before moving to new York, my understanding of Jewish history and culture was primitive at best.

Before visiting Saigon, I had little idea how a nation so devastated by war can bounce back so strongly to become the world's fifth largest rice and fourth coffee producer.

Mangosteens to go in bustling Saigon

If not for my year in Belgium, I may not have truly appreciated the role that this little country played in the World Wars. Or, more importantly for some of us, how it introduced fries to American soldiers who mistook the Belgians for the French.

The ubiquitous Belgian street food -- fries in a cone, avec mayo

In a similar wanderlust fashion, I have come to learn quite a bit about the Hispanics through the time I've spent in the United States. In this country, this term is generally used to describe people with a cultural or historical connection to Latin American countries in the former Spanish empire.

The first time I met and got to know a Hispanic, I was taking Spanish-language classes while in graduate school in the South. The teacher was from Chile and she was as boisterous and passionate as Latinos come (as I'd soon learn). Our lessons included music and dance as well as a fiesta at the end of the semester, complete with cervezas (beers), nachos, guacamole and salsa.

Food at a Cinco de Mayo fiesta

Over the years, I have come to appreciate what is potentially becoming the major minority race in the United States.

Like many Singaporeans with forefathers from China or India, Hispanic Americans who are first- or second-generation Americans tend to speak two languages: English and Spanish. As Latin America strengthens its economy and international influence, so too does the importance of having such linguistic skills. It is heartening to see a large and powerful but traditionally monolingual nation accord the Spanish language an increasing role in its society as the Hispanic population grows in strength. As a lover of languages and a firm believer that every child should grow up being exposed to more than one language, I hold the secret wish that this social phenomenon may one day lead to America being a bilingual nation (one can hope, and I am optimistic).

Many Latinos who come here do so under challenging circumstances, often leaving their family and loved ones behind and sending for them only when enough savings have been accumulated. In a way, it reminds me of the grandparents of many Chinese Singaporeans who risked disease, turbulent seas and war to travel south and start life with bare essentials so as to give their offspring the chance for a better future. It is heartening that research shows Hispanic children with immigrant parents have a substantially higher level of education than the previous generation and the propensity to lift the family out of the lower income-class level into the middle-income bracket.

The Latino family is a close-knit one, in which elders are treated with respect and family ties are strong. In a society where the mainstream media do not necessarily espouse such values as a cornerstone of the 21st century family, it is encouraging to a traditionally-raised Asian like myself to see that the Hispanic culture embraces traditional family values akin to the ones Confucius would have taught.

I am personally impressed by the many genuine, polite and hardworking Latinos I've come across. Be they office colleagues, waiters and takeout delivery folks in America, or tourism workers and residents in Central and South America whom I've met during my travels, I have constantly been greeted by courtesy, honesty and a smile.

Carne asada served with a cheery "Buen provecho!"

Has it not been for these first-hand experiences with Latinos both in America and to its south, I believe I may not have truly appreciated the ongoing national discussion about the immigration issue.

Five years ago, I made my maiden trip to Latin America, and have since been back on a near-annual basis. This year, I even ventured south twice, first with Auntie Bonnie to Mexico and then to the Caribbean with a friend I met while backpacking in Central America the previous year.

Food is a great teacher: Checking out a century-old diner in Old San Juan

There are many more countries and places that remain to be explored, and I look forward to peeling away a thin layer with each new trip. Just like in Asia, where many countries share similarities yet are unique in their individual ways, Latin America comprises 20 countries (and about half as many dependencies) with their own intriguing history and personalities.

Cheery Mexican dolls from a recent trip to the capital

Living in New York, I am fortunate enough to be able to experience a little bit of each of these cultures often with the help of a $2.25 subway card, thanks to the city's diversity.

However, all this does is to intensely increase my desire to get to the roots of these interesting peoples. After all, how can I learn from this far away, the travel bug in my pants argues.

Tierra del Fuego for New Year's Eve next year, anyone?

Patagonia awaits

(Some pictures taken from the Internet)

Rojak Timeout: Sculpture by the Sea

Today's timeout is brought to you by Duck's Nuts in Sydney.



One of my favourite Sydney events is the annual Sculpture by the Sea exhibition from Bondi to Tamarama beaches - the coastline of the affluent eastern suburbs.

It's the world's largest outdoor sculpture exhibition, with this year's featured more than 100 pieces of artwork.

The exhibition is held along the picturesque Bondi and Tamarama beaches.

Mum, I saw something in the grass! Creature Trees by Jennifer Orchard

People love taking photos with the sculptures. Splash by Tomas Misura, which won the Kids' Choice Award

Hey, there's a ukelele, books and a sewing machine inside the camel's belly! The Adaptable Migrant, by Suzie Bleach and Andy Townsend, which won the People's Choice Award

One of my favourites - a tank made out of office equipment, including filing cabinets and hole punchers. Bureaucratic Tank by Edward Horne

The couple with the multi-million-dollar views. Crossroad by Stephen Marr

Yours truly, with the beach in the background. The Dancer by Jeramie Carter

Almost everyone who walked past this sculpture wanted to take a photo with it. Oh My God by Lucy Vader

Ooo, sexy babe on the beach, just right in front of the lifeguard hut! Bondi Venus by Dennis Kalous

What did the chicken do when it laid eggs on the beach? Sitting Hen by Yang Yae-Geun

I don't know how long it took to tie all the bottle caps together, but it must have taken a looooooong time. Evidence - The Trail Continues by Kerrie Argent

Little Pixy Boots on Eat: Christmas!

Omigod, it's nearly Christmas! Time for lots of candies, marzipan, cakes, chocs, good food, and general fattening of the animals. Yes, I'm referring to me growing to the size of a cow.

Ahhh... I can smell the snow on the ground and firewood burning in the chimneys of everyone's homes. Christmas in Norway is like the experience of Chinese New Year in Singapore - pockets get emptied, lots of kids get happy with the new clothes and gifts from adults, houses get pretty with festive decorations, and family members get together during this annual event. It is also a meat-eating event so how does a vegetarian like me survive?

Being a healthy vegetarian in Singapore and Norway has always been challenging for me. In Singapore, there was too much mock meat made of gluten and fried vegetarian dishes. In Norway, not many folks understand even what vegetarian means. "Oh, you mean you can't even take laks (salmon)?", some might ask.

Generally, most vegetarian choices in Norwegian restaurants are restricted to cheeses, soups, sour cream porridge, cakes and salads if you want to eat out.

Yummy organic carrot soup from a farm in the Akershus county

Luckily for me, my Viking Man is a perfect match for me when it comes to cuisine. He was raised a vegetarian since young and being a fellow vegetarian (I love the fact that he is a peace-loving, carrot-munching person like me), we often try to be adventurous and scout for the best vegetarian choices in town.

Fancy some sour cream porridge, anyone?

Generally the Indian and Vietnamese restaurants have the best choices for vegetarian food. Surprisingly, Ethiopian restaurants provide an exotic alternative with its Injera--the unleavened pancake-like, sourdough bread prepared today as it was a thousand years ago. The pizza places always have a vegetarian option too... but they often have the same ingredients consisting of mushroom, paprika, tomato, corn and olives.

I used to have two favourite Vietnamese restaurants in central Oslo, but now the one in Torggata ("market road" in Norwegian) has been replaced. But thankfully Saigon Lille Cafe is still around, with the best Vietnamese fried noodles ever! (I must apologise for not taking photos of the famous noodles - every time the dish arrives, I can't wait to dig in.)

Bring your hankies to wipe off your tears and sweat after a taste of the spicy food of Saigon.
FOTO: Bjørke Magnus Knutsen

Most of the time, hunting in the streets of Oslo for sustenance gets too much for us and we prefer to make our own healthy vegetarian food at home. Luckily for me, my mum has trained me on how to cook rice and fry an egg, or else I might not have survived in the cold (expensive) streets here.

During Christmas, my svigermor (mother-in-law) would be the most inventive vegetarian of all. Having been vegetarian for more than 40 years of her life, she has created some dishes never seen before in Norway or anywhere else in the world.

All the necessary ingredients - potatoes, red cabbage,
broccoli, cauliflower and mushrooms. Mmmm...!

It's usually quite a big setup with cooking Christmas dinners. A Norwegian Christmas won't be complete without rødkål (red cabbage) salad, potatoes, re-soaked apricots, prunes and steak. Our vegetarian version of the steak is made of onions, various nuts, starch and herbs.

Everybody say "nam nam" - Scandinavian equivalent of "Yum"

This was our steak last year and I placed paprika on top of our healthy nut steak to spell the words "God Jul", which means "Merry Christmas" in Norwegian. The English greeting would take up too much space on the nut steak. Notice the crunchy fried mushrooms on the side? They were made by my Viking Man.


I always find him a little obsessed with peeling mushrooms. I like my mushrooms a little bruised, thank you. But Viking Man makes the best fried mushrooms, apparently inspired by some German culinary tradition. A Norwegian version of mushroom tempura, perhaps?

I'm looking forward so much to this year's Christmas, because it means I've been in the land of the midnight sun for more than a year! Yes, I'm a proper Norwegian, thank you very much. Most of all, I remember the love and beauty of our tree and home. There is a certain je ne sais quoi about being indoors with a warm fireplace while looking outside at the frosty snowy landscape. I feel very loved then.



Until next time, Merry Christmas! :) little pixy boots

Cirrus Cloud on Love: 5Cs to 5Bs (The Alphabets of Singaporean Love)

On my recent trip back to Singapore, I bumped into an old friend at Takashimaya. I was walking by Tiffany’s and saw him shopping for something. I rushed in to say hello as well as to find out whether he was picking out a rock! Ooh how exciting I thought.



“Hello K! Long time no see.”

“Oh wow, hello it’s you! How’s New York?”

After the exchange of pleasantries, I boldly asked if he needed to tell me any good news.

“No, I am buying a gift for my niece and I am also not going to get married in the foreseeable future!”

He sure sounded jaded but I didn’t want to probe further. So we picked out a gift for the birthday girl.

Then, K confided that he was dating a 25 year-old lady and how he came to relationship fatigue.

During my growing up years (K’s included), Singaporeans were criticised for being too materialistic. The relationship or marriage equation is simple. The man must have the 5 Cs to be deemed courtship-worthy:

1. Condominium

2. Cash

3. Car

4. Credit Card

5. Career

K told me how he had been re-educated about the alphabets of Singaporean love. The 25 year-old had told him that the girls today no longer crave for the 5 Cs, but the 5 Bs.

They want:

1. Not just a condominium, but a Bungalow

2. Not just cash, but a Billionaire

3. Not just a car, but at least a BMW

4. Not just a credit card, but own a Bank (gasp!)

5. Not just a career, but be a Boss

I would say, not only did I sympathise with K, I thought this to be ridiculous. If we were to measure love by material goods, then should we all be lonely souls because we deserve it?

I was flabbergasted, a tad disgusted by what I heard to say the least. If I were K, I would rather be celibate than give in to the impossible demands of women in Singapore. Or is it just Singapore? That is another question in itself.

K then told me that he was going to concentrate on his career, earn big bucks and buy a wife when he reaches 40. This is just sad. I told him maybe he hasn’t met “The One” yet and am sure she will not be that avaricious.

In my generation, we were once capable of being ‘Mesdemoiselles Materialistic’; now the young girls are touted to be ‘Mesdemoiselles More-than-Materialistic’.

Surely there must be other versions of this alphabet of love, but I lament about the inflation of love. Can you imagine? Even love has to be put through economic inflation!

As I pen this, I simply ask myself, “What are we becoming or what have we become?”

Tianni on Eat: Jiak Hong (Eating Air)

One would think that to live abroad would be akin to waking up each morning to find oneself on extended vacation in an exotic foreign locale.

Going by that definition, I would have taken the equivalent of three reeeeaaally long vacations in some pretty happenin' cities over the past six years.

But that's just what I like to tell myself. In truth, I've hardly gone away on a trip during this period -- a travesty considering that I've insisted on getting out of my geographical and cultural comfort zone at least twice every year for the past 8 years before that, something I've used before as a sort of slap in the face to shake me from the drudgery of living, so to speak. I have a long-running phobia of having the customary and the routine lull me into complacency, and there was nothing like having my perceptions altered by the foreignness of a people's customs or having my palate dance from a variety of strange tastes to remind me how very much alive I was, and how wondrous the world remained.

I remember when it was still such a sensory indulgence in the mornings walking out of the gates of my apartment in Bangkok right smack into a fog of odoriferous Thai spices and street food that reminded me I wasn't home. Or being packed into a peak-hour subway crush home with tired office workers that would have be familiar if not for the constant nasal and high-pitched chatter in a very alien tongue.

Perhaps the world does get smaller and the borders dissolve the more one finds one's way around. Or perhaps it's going through the banal daily cycle of work-home-childcare-sleep-work, day in and day out, that had drained whatever curiosity and wonder I used to possess, foreign country notwithstanding.

But that sense of 'strangeness' I used to get hit by and which is one of the things I relish most about being in a foreign land has become more and more elusive in the past years. Unusual odors, unfamiliar accents, toilets without doors, hell, even gone-mad drivers ploughing through pedestrian crossings, they barely raised my eyebrows a millimeter these days.

Which is why the alarm bells rang and I thought the time was really nigh to go and 'jiak hong.' Eat Air. Singapore parlance for take a trip. One that will involve me navigating a strange world in which I do not speak the language nor understand the cultural undertones nor have a comfort home zone where I could retreat into when the unknown became too disconcerting.

And where better than the world of pachinko, anime and drunk salary men, where one can never quite take for granted if a smile is one of approval or if a yes is actually a no, to wake me up from my culture-stupor?

It has been a while since I've turned a corner not knowing what to expect. But today, we got ourselves lost in a quiet seaside town about an hour southwest of Tokyo, getting by with hand signals and ended up watching albatrosses search for fish in a brilliant blue harbor. And then we stumbled into a sushi restaurant serving the most amazing melt-the mouth Japanese moshi I've ever tasted.

The unknown has not tasted so sweet in a long while.

Duck's Nuts on Play: The (Aussie) fly

What is fat, noisy, has black netted wings and big bulging eyes?

That’s an easy question to answer when summer comes around in Australia. For, along with the brilliant sunshine, cloudless skies and still, warm evenings, comes the Australian bush fly.

An Australian bush fly. Photo courtesy of Ratabago via Creative Commons, Flickr

It’s just a fly you say. What’s the big deal? But this summer insect is not like the ordinary miniature black helicopter buzzing at your food, trying to land on your plate or cup while you are not looking. Not, this is a super-charged, super-buzzing, super-persistent, omnipresent, super- .... you get the picture.

The flies are so persistent that obstacles like your face are not daunting to them. Stand in the path of one of them and they are quite likely to fly straight into you kamikaze-style, instead of doing the sensible thing and buzzing around you. Why? On your face is where the yummy food is - they love the protein in the moisture that comes from your eyes, nose and mouth. Of course, landing in cow poo (from the more than 25 million cows in Australia) is their first love. But the story goes that dung beetles were brought in to deal with these pesky flies by burying the poo before the flies could lay their eggs in them. Then the drought came, the land dried up, the poo couldn't be buried in it and the flies headed back to annoying the 21 million people on this island continent.

An Aussie's summer essentials - cork hat, beer and beach thongs. Photo courtesy of Mugley via Creative Commons, Flickr

The bush flies are so renowned for their facial attacks that the cork hat was invented. The hat has small corks hanging off the brims - apparently deterring the flies, which don't like flying through things. In fact, the Aussie salute, which Australian Foreign Minister Kevin Rudd explained to his US counterpart Hillary Clinton when she visited the country recently, stands for the windscreen-wiper-style waving of your hands across your face to bat away the numerous little creatures zeroing in on your face.

"See that fly over there?" Australia's Foreign Minister Kevin Rudd asked US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton when she visited Melbourne.

One cautionary tale: A Singaporean friend’s girlfriend was visiting him over summer in Western Australia. She was having a big, hearty laugh when – GULP – a fly flew straight into her mouth and in the split-second before she realised what happened, she swallowed it. I don’t know how much protein she gained from inadvertently eating that fly, but I’m sure she missed out on the rest of the vitamins and minerals she would have taken in from eating that day as that rather uncomfortable experience would have put her off food for a time.

So what can you do to reduce contact with this menacing little pest? There are two options above – a hat with tassels swinging from it and constantly waving your hands in front of you. Giving that the cork hat is usually only used out in the bush, the “manual” Option Two is usually the one deployed by us city folk.

Fly screen and bug spray - my summer essentials.

Fly screens are also a must. Most homes come with door-like fly screens on top of their front doors, so you can air the home during the hot days of summer while keeping the flies at bay. A fair few also have such screens for their windows and balcony doors, although their presence might spoil the view somewhat if they are fixed and can’t be pulled across or opened out. For those with homes that come with no such screens, such as yours truly, you can buy a ready-made fly screen that opens out to fit most windows.

Bug killers and insect repellents come in handy. Just like in Singapore, manufacturers of insect repellents and killer sprays regularly advertise on television their latest revolutionary breakthrough we-get-rid-of-those-pesty-little-buggers-once-and-for-all products. Do they actually work? My personal experience is that the flies are so numerous and omnipresent that trying to spray them to death would only rake up a huge bill on my part and make my floor very sticky. And other flies would still keep coming. Insect repellents are effective, but you're not able to spray them on your face ... are you?

So you have been warned. If you ever come to Australia during summer, don’t just watch out for the melanoma-inducing sun, the hungry sharks or the kangaroos on the roads. There’s also a little black bush fly that could contribute to your experience of Australia’s unique cuisine.

Some images are taken from the internet.

Rojak Timeout: Turkey Day

Today's Rojak Timeout is brought to you by Una Ragazza in New York.

Every year, one month before Christmas, America celebrates its largest national holiday of the year: Thanksgiving. I describe it as the American Reunion Dinner to my Asian friends, only without the hongbaos (red packets stuffed with cash).

To celebrate the occasion with a public event befitting its significance, the department store chain Macy's puts together an annual parade with giant ballons, falloons (float-based balloons) and balloonicles (self-powered balloon vehicles) of well-known cartoon characters.

As my new apartment is just steps away from the start of the parade, I decided to join the inflation viewing on the eve of Turkey Day. Here are images freshly taken from a cold night out.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

Thousands of tourists and locals took a stroll one chilly November evening

The balloons are finally in sight!

The CBS news crew prepares for a live segment

The best seats in the house... yeah, daddies!

Shrek!

Hola, gato!

A very dry piece of sea sponge

Imagine drinking this amount of Kool-Aid

The Wimpy Kid makes his debut at the 2010 parade

Kermit's eyeballs look even bigger up close

Ronald McDonald coming to life

And a whole lot more floats awaiting their ascent into the skies come Thanksgiving morning...