wan-hsia's world

3. chao shou

2020年5月20日

Vouloir, c'est pouvoir.

/when there's a will, there's a way./

bubbles of sweet soup float around matted flour sacs

carrying the tender pockets of meat. the wrinkles 

remind me of your knotted hands, worn with age, and

of the minced tendons

of our lives drifting on the sparkling surface, littered

with spring onion leaves. the tide draws in

as my ceramic spoon displaces the raft, sinking

into the well of light sauce and seasoning. 

my lips unpack the flour wrapping as a flicker

of light flees from the liquid before me. i see my own grin

as the familiar flavour bursts between my teeth.

I stare at the blank screen in front of me, fingers hovering over the keyboard like a child selecting which relative to receive an ang pow from first during Lunar New Year. There are many ways I could start a poem, lyrically with stunning visual descriptions, more literally with relatable scenarios or simply with a sentiment. This is what I've gathered from 2 weeks of Zoom workshops from the Literature Faculty, in preparation for the most anticipated competition of the year - the virtual poetry festival. Indeed, why I eventually agreed to join still perplexes me, but it was a whirlwind of Su-ling's pleading, with Anya and Shree bothering to venture out of the dormitory to retrieve...

"The registration form, just for you!" Shree pats me on the back, still sporting fluorescent exercise attire. She and Anya had stood in the doorway, supplementing Su-ling's speech.

"Look, I don't need to join, I got enough work as it is already. Just ask Su-ling how much we've been doing." I snap.

"Aw, c'mon, I think your online poetry's better than your lab reports! I find it rather productive to pursue someone you're good at, right?" Shree shakes her hair out from its loose ponytail and began braiding it. She shoots the plump, bespectacled Anya, who's drenched in perspiration from the last Zumba session, an insistent look.

"She doesn't mean it that way!" Anya interjects frantically, aware that Shree's brusque manner had landed us in trouble more than once over the years with the lab technician Ms Evie. "She...I mean we think, that Wan-Hsia's world can be more than just a blog. Sure, we're all as busy as you are, but we also haven't had the talent to manage both running a whole website and our studies up till this point!" She gazes at me with newfound admiration and dare I say, the certainty of my agreement?

Unwilling to give in, I retort. "I can't have poetry as just a hobby? I don't think my writing about other subjects will be as good. And not writing in Cantonese..."

"I'll help translate." Su-ling cuts in. "Anyway, the poster says the competition deadline is in half a year. We have more than enough time. Please, I know you'll kill it, 好不好？"

Shree nods enthusiastically. "You can even win by plucking one poem off the website and change it up a little - I bet we'd translate the whole thing so well the Lit Faculty wouldn't know the difference!"

I can't help but chortle. "It's like asking you to join a marathon, Shree, when you only just started working out. I really can't - "

"Oh, you really wanna put it that way?" Shree seems riled up, her facial expressions already writing a comical poem of their own. "OK, we'll do a marathon if you do your poetry. Me, Su-ling and Anya. Deal?" Anya works to conceal the consternation on her face, but fails to stop the muscles from twitching. 

Su-ling seems more composed and radiates a newfound confidence. "Remember all the chips I ate in the past month? I'm gonna work all that off. Boost my metabolism rate, you know?"

Everyone can only gawk at the coldness of the joke, before I break the silence. "You guys really sure? We have finals next year - " I just didn't understand Singaporean culture, it was a world away from the stressful rat race I'd read about. Or maybe I'd just been fortunate enough to meet the kinder part of the population.

Anya pipes up in a timid squeak. "We can mug for Finals next year. But your talent can't wait until next year to shine."