rachel-auyong

[rachel-auyong]

there is no more poetry in what i say. 

[rachel-auyong]

"This is just the tip of the iceberg," he said. 

It wasn't a momentous declaration; there were teenagers all around us, the Chivas and the Absoluts and the Smirnoffs decking the floor, cups strewn all around, music blasting from smartphones over the still, quiet river. For a moment I forgot I was no longer one of them, that adulthood had beckoned, but then I realized I never quite belonged. It'd be a while before the alcohol worked through my system, before the music intoxicated me.

Intoxicated. What a silly, meaningless word. An excuse. A pitiful justification. Nowadays I cringe when I think about all those occasions I used that word. What's it supposed to mean? Alcohol is toxic in large doses, but I suppose the real poison was somewhere in me. Was. That's also a relief, I think.

Back to the bridge. Again I say the river was eerily still. Pitch black. Some boy sat on the railings, his friends egging him on. For a split second I hoped he would fall over; it was part schadenfreude, part the voyeuristic journalist in me, eager, hungry to break some insignificant piece of news. I tried to think Christian thoughts, and then I realized the whole situation was too ironic. So I gave up. 

We exchanged stories we swore we'd keep in the circle. I wonder if we will. Not that we really had anything to lose, I suppose. The stories we can afford to speak out loud are the stories we've already come to terms with. 

We sat there for hours, but the minutes seemed to pass so slowly. I wasn't counting them, but it felt like time was liquid, and that hyperbole aside, we had forever. I took off my shoes and stretched my toes. We had bought cards; I don't know who took them home. 

I thought of a plane, carrying my love across continents and oceans. I thought of all the things that could have happened but didn't. I thought of temptation. I thought of love. Love is also a funny word. 

Happy birthday, Alan. I love you. I'd like to think I know the meaning of that word these days. 

[rachel-auyong]

To everyone who will be around this weekend through Commencement: My parents will be arriving in Philadelphia on Saturday. I am not out to them (as hard as it is to believe it). I act very differently around them.  Considering that I am potentially one of the most visibly queer students on campus, it will be both my job (and yours) to ensure that my parents aren't exposed to anything or any comments/statements that would suggest that I am queer to them.  If you think I should have come out already, or if you think that I should come out now, that's perfectly fine, as long as you are willing to financially support me when they cut me off for being queer. If you think they won't, I would be surprised that you know them better than I do.  PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. IF YOU SEE ME DURING GRADUATION, TRY TO AVOID ME IF POSSIBLE. DON'T EVEN COME HUG ME OR SAY HELLO. AND DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES SAY ANYTHING TO OR EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE MY PARENTS. Thank you for your help in this.

Saw this on my Facebook newsfeed, and received a similar plea in my inbox just a while ago. Just yesterday I had a tense moment with my mom talking about the Christian stance towards gay marriage, gay rights, gay anything. Reading this just convicts me that love, true love, is everything and not up to people to scrutinize and judge. Even saying something like "I support gay rights" makes me cringe so much because honestly, we're in the 21st century. Are we really still talking about this like it's a thing?

In related news, glad Obama finally laid out his stance on gay marriage. Long time coming!

[rachel-auyong]

Back to work, in a new fold, and it has been great. 

It's only been my second day but never have I enjoyed staying past 6pm. Will be writing a bunch of arts-related stories and some pitched property stuff.

I'm shopping for a new dSLR so I can actually take slightly higher quality photographs. 

Also, in a new twist of events and self-motivation, I will be attending Tete-a-Tete, a group language social with expats and other Singaporeans. Necesito practicar espanol porque no tengo mucho tiempo en el verano! Actualmente, debo escribir en espanol, ya que nadie lee esto blog. Jaja. Soy una persona muy triste... Todos mis amigos son en los EE.UU, y mi novio sera en Ruanda! I'm trying to get (read: pay) a native Spanish speaker to converse with me — and help put the subjunctive into much more frequent practice. And computer science classes! My GPA has been shot to a million pieces, so I need whatever help I can get to prevent a further massacre of my grades. 

Alan and I headed for TINTO the other day. I'm sorry, I tried. Amada is still my favorite. We had some pretty good duck breast and pork belly tapas (though Alan insists he has had better) but at $12-14 a pop for two tiny pieces... Money doesn't grow on trees. Amada for better food, Garces for wallet-friendly prices. Tinto you can save for wine-y days and Restaurant Week. 

[rachel-auyong]

Alan: Let's name our son Tiesto Tang.

Rachel: Wha--? ...

Alan: See, you can't think of any way you can make fun of that name, right!

xx: For the record, I am not dead. I am just in the midst of finals. In any case, I'm sure I have not been missed. Also, Alan has a preoccupation with names and how they could be possibly misconstrued into awful, scarring nicknames. He was a bully when he was younger. A fat bully.

[rachel-auyong]

I am a terrible blogger. 

I am in the abovementioned video far too many times for it to be embarrassing. 

I wrote an article on Singapore Day in the Straits Times! #earningmykeep

[rachel-auyong]

Girls' Night at Garces Trading Company (1111 Locust), a place I've been wanting to try for quite some time now. As per the rest of Jose Garces' restaurants, this one lived up to the reputation of Amada & Village Whiskey. GTC kinda gets shafted in the college kid's list of recommendations -- but I'm sure that, at least for the six of us, it will surface to the top now. 

I don't even think I can describe all the dishes we ate, but here goes:

Chef's selection of cheeses ($15)

Lyonnaise Duck Salad ($12)

Funghi pizza ($16)

Clam & Chorizo pizza ($15)

Pappardelle with Lamb Ragu ($16) 

Spaghetti Vongole ($15)

Duck breast ($18) 

Highlights:

Funghi pizza - strong truffle flavor + pizza dough made from DUCK FAT (couldn't taste exactly what duck fat was, but there was an addictive taste to the crust)

Spaghetti Vongole - fresh white wined mussels, light

Duck breast - omg. AH-MAY-ZING. cooked medium rare, juicy, melt-in-your-mouth. unfortch also only an occasional special and not a permanent fixture. 

Misses

Lamb ragu - meh. 

We also ravaged the dessert menu. Altogether it's one of the nicest places I've been to in Philly: casual environment with classy decor, a large variety of high-quality dishes at affordable prices... I guess it helped that I had nice friends to go along with my meal. 

Some memorable quotes, on finding out that the boys on our dance troupe rank us girls on our looks:

Christine: When they said I was most likely to be in Pan-cest (our term for inter-troupe relationships), in my head I was like, with who???

Joyce: I don't think we could rank the guys... It'd be a binary system when we judge their looks. Yes, no, no, no... No. 

[rachel-auyong]

Early dinner at Bibou (8th & Carpenter), which turned out to be the quaintest BYO I've been to so far. It sits very, very few people (30ish), which may explain why Stanley (the host of this outing and to whom we're grateful to for endowing us with spots at the sacred table) had to reserve a table a month in advance. At 5pm. (Spoiler alert: the food was impressive enough to warrant a return visit for his impending graduation BUT there weren't enough seats for his first-choice day. !!!) 

Food was amazing - for starters, we had the foie gras duo (seared fois gras with some grapefruit compote and the foie gras custard with a thin layer of blueberry gel - OMG OMG OMG). At first, Alan and I were gonna hold back on the appetizers, but as soon as we saw the escargot and the steak tartare and everything else roll out, we were like, WAITER... We'll take you up on the goosy goose liver after all.

Entrees weren't even featured on the menu - Alan got a dish which I wish I could describe in more detail but all I can say is that it was bone marrow, fried and cooked with other delicious herby things, served on a bone that made me think Chinese bamboo shoots. Point is, addictive. And I announce to the world that I ate the t-bone of a 10-week-old baby pig today. It was served in this brown sauce --- oh dear me, I am not cut out to be a food writer. My only disclaimer is that I like to think I am fussier than the average college student, and this is a good place to have a great meal. 

Overall I'd say the entrees were good, but what really blew my mind was the fois gras, especially the custard. I cannot describe how amazing it was to have this thing melt in your mouth. And I realize that last sentence can be interpreted in many ways, but I stand by what I said. 

What also made my day was that Chef Pierre Calmel came out to shake all our hands and charm us all with his French (and good looks!!!!!) and to say bon soir and merci and I hope you're enjoying your food in his gorgeous accent (and face!!!!!). I mean, I love being paid attention to. AND THIS GUY IS A CHEF WHO JUST FED ME A MASTERPIECE. I love attention from masters.

I will end this post now before I make any more embarrassing statements.

Damage:

$18 foie gras

$24 bone marrow

$36 baby pig t-bone

20% tip + 8% tax 

* * * 

It was also at abovementioned dinner that I found out a) a peer has put down the downpayment on a yet-to-be-built HDB in Punggol or Sengkang or somewhere ulu like that, b) it takes two years to build a flat, and c) it's not too early to start thinking about buying keys....

[rachel-auyong]

This is not the real final strip from Calvin & Hobbes, but still. All of us kind of swallow our own pill and grow up, huh?

Alan: Can we not grow up? Can we always be playful?

[rachel-auyong]

two soft voices blended in perfection

At 5pm tomorrow, some 2,000 kids will receive the same e-mail I got three years ago. Haltingly, palpitatingly, they'll hope the letter begins with an unhesitant "We are glad to offer you a place..." instead of a buffering "Your application was among the best and brightest blah blah blah." Point is: Holy crap, here comes the class of 2016, it's been three years at Penn. 

Before this realization dawned upon me around 6pm today, I was whining to my transatlantic best friends over Skype. A mutual acquaintance of ours has it all: young (like us, would be 22 years old this year), getting married in August (!!!), and just got into Harvard law (!!!!!!!!!!!). Seeing her pre-wedding shots on Facebook triggered a whole range of complaints which, in summary, boils down to WHY CAN'T I BE ENGAGED TOOOOOO. 

Am aware that this wish, when "YOU'RE ONLY TWENTY-ONE DAFUQ R U CRAZY", can hardly be taken seriously. But I guess I'm envious of how put-together her life seems. Yes, I have the rest of my twenties to put things together, but what if I think I know what I want? (Now I can imagine my mother reading this and rolling her eyes and thinking what a silly mouse I am.) 

But what if I do know what I want? (What a paradoxically framed question!)

***

The other thing that's started this round's wave of anxious thinking is the fact that it's a month till our "gang" disappears. 4/5 of my class is graduating a year early, and the half the people I'm used to hanging out with (even if not often enough) are headed for Boston and New York and other stuff. I've made the decision not to re-run for a leadership position on my dance troupe. So while senior year looks set up for one heck of a party... Who's gonna party with me? #firstworldproblems

[rachel-auyong]

date night: marmont steakhouse & bar

Over the last couple of weeks, Alan and I have been dining out (and emptying our wallets, boohoo) in various dining establishments in the heart of Philadelphia. Our ventures haven't strayed too far off the Yelp path, so I have nothing to offer in the way of undiscovered gems... Just my take on some of them. 

Our most recent outing took us to Marmont Steakhouse (222 Market Street). Maybe it's because steakhouses / carnivorous dining options in Singapore are treated as slightly more glitzy affairs (think Lawry's, Angus, Morton's), but Marmont certainly dialed it down in terms of the decor and 'posh feel'. But whatever, Alan doesn't need to wine & dine me anymore, and in any case, I JUST WANTED TO EAT. Anyway, it certainly seemed a prime spot for couples (a touchy man accompanying his less enthusiastic female companion by the bar section, & a newly-dating couple seated next to us — the guy was telling her and us how rich he was, which made for good eavesdropping fodder). 

I DIGRESS. Hello, everyone. Say hi to Strip Monte Au Beurre. At 14 oz of juicy glory, he was the best steak I have had in the US. Alan had a comparatively smaller (8oz) but even more flavorful filet mignon. He left the restaurant a happy man. We also had a 'meh' Chocolate Buttercream cake (proclamations of Nutella in it had raised the bar too high). Come here for meat. Meat is good. 

Total damage, including two beers + 20% tip, minus $25 from a Restaurant.com voucher we got a year ago: $68.94

Will come back. 

[rachel-auyong]

infundir fuerza

So let's try blogging more regularly, again. 

Alan: You want another blog URL? 

He has a point. I can go on and on about what platform I prefer to blog on (honestly, just pen & paper, tyvm), or what is a nice catchy blog title, but if I don't have content, I don't have content. 

Anyhow, I have decided that I will eventually cull some of the sillier posts from this blog (yes, I practice 'in hindsight' self-censorship) and try to figure out some sort of trajectory on what it is I want to write about. I have a couple of ideas that I'd like to long-form-journalist-style on, once I get over the massive, immovable & unshapely mass that is my ENGL 160 Final Project (a profile on a wedding planner who never wants to talk to me). 

NEVERTHELESS, I feel lists will always give one starting points when one is stuck. Inspired by Mighty Girl's Mighty List, I decided to attempt my own collection of 100 deseos y aspiraciones.

RACHEL'S 100 THINGS TO DO BEFORE SHE PEACES OUT FROM THIS WORLD

Be fluent in Spanish & Chinese. 

Travel through S America: Peru (Machu Picchu, Amazon), Bolivia (La Paz!), Argentina, Chile, Brazil

Travel to the tip of the African continent

Travel to East Europe

Live in China (preferably Beijing) for at least 3 months

Learn to play the guitar

Take salsa classes with Alan 

Write a book

Learn to take photographs I'm proud of

Keep a blog that eventually gets read by 1,000 people 

Listen to 1,000 new songs 

Read 100 books (starting 2012)

Watch 100 movies (starting 2012) that feature a good mix of genres + language

Watch a TED talk every day when I can 

Make a short film 

Appear in the news (instead of writing it) someday :p 

Record a song with dad and I singing

Scuba-dive (I would write cliff-diving, but my nerve-wracking experience with waterfall-jumping shall be detailed in another blog post)

Actually learn how to drive 

Take a vow of silence for a day (I think this will be incredibly hard to do)

Watch a movie in a cinema on my own

Be my ideal weight :( 

This will be updated! 

[rachel-auyong]

Just a fictional telenovela trailer I directed/edited as part of a group project for my "Women Leaders in Emerging Democracies" class. Possibly the most fun I had this semester. Please ignore the clear signs of amateur film-making.

[rachel-auyong]

the clock blinked 11:11.

i closed my eyes to make a wish.

and with all the cosmos in my favour, i did not know what i want.

[rachel-auyong]

cars on a cable

This Sunday past, I headed down to the train tracks near my house with my dad and sis.

It was supposed to be a tribute to nostalgia, of things gone by, of tracks that will never rattle, of trains that will no longer rumble in the deep of a forest.

My fingers sifted through the rocks and pebbles, trying to find the rusty bolts that melded everything together. I lay in between the gaps, secretly pretending I was a captive in those cartoon westerns I used to watch on lazy Saturday afternoons. But that was a decade and a half ago.

As we walked, I thought about the train Fred, Saahil and I watched go by back in Philly. There were many carriages, it was interminably long - I think we waited 18 minutes before we could no longer hear the roar of wheels against track, groaning under the weight of its mysterious cargo. I wanted to be on the top of the train, riding it, feeling the wind against my skin.

I write about all these unconnected memories, because these are the only things I can lay claim to while it's the end of the line for these tracks. I cannot remember those train rides to Kuala Lumpur, in a time before luxury buses and budget airlines. I have only fading images of what trains are like, and phrases, and fleeting thoughts. I thought writing about it would help, but it doesn't really. What is it exactly that I want to say about the end of things?

[rachel-auyong]

some kind of easy mark

One month ago, I staged, with the help and effort of many, many wonderful friends, a musical.

Part of it I wrote from real life. My dad, for example, did propose to my mother by asking if she would like to buy a washing machine.

And then there's a whole another part, the part of me that wrote all the maybes and ifs. Where for two hours on stage I could see what happened if I chose to make certain decisions in love and life.

It was fun. But I'm glad I'm back in real life, back in the real world - I'm happy with what I've got, with who I've got. And I'll be right back in his arms in three weeks.

[rachel-auyong]

Have been very MIA over the last couple of weeks, mainly because of Sing, City! 3, a flurry of essays and exams and Pan-Asian's board elections. 

This means that calls to the boyfriend have been haphazard and sporadic. And it doesn't help that AT&T has been throwing a hissy fit all over my apartment — I haven't been getting good reception in my own house of late. 

In any case, for reasons that are hard to elucidate, I have been feeling really grateful having Alan around. God knows I do stupid things all the time, but if you had to ask me what I like most about him, it's the fact that he remembers. He remembers what it's like to hold my hand, or what we did last week, or what we did on our first date — and he'll tell me all this beautifully and poetically and without pretension. Memory is everything; the past is the present, and he is all that.