Boots for Somewhere Colder

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoSunday began with the morning round, as Sundays tend to, but the sky had clearly decided to make it up to me. It was gorgeous sunshine, the clear, generous kind that makes the city look freshly washed. After the week’s floods and grey afternoons, it felt like an apology from the weather. I accepted it.

Then off to KLCC, because Anita wanted to see the new Ugg store. I’ll admit I went along expecting to be a patient companion rather than an enthusiastic one. Shops built around a single product rarely surprise me. This one did. It didn’t disappoint, and I say that as someone who walked in with low expectations and walked out carrying a bag. There’s something faintly comic about shopping for sheepskin boots in a city where the temperature rarely drops below twenty-five. But that, of course, was the point.

We bought one pair each, for the London trip. The trip isn’t here yet, but it’s close enough now that the shopping has started to make sense. It’s a pleasant kind of shopping, buying for somewhere else, for a colder version of yourself who’ll be grateful to the warmer one who planned ahead. The boots will sit in the cupboard for a while, faintly ridiculous in this climate, waiting for their moment.

Lunch was at Maria’s, with a view worth slowing down for: the park spread out below, the towers rising above, the whole city looking rather pleased with itself in the sunshine. The spot used to be the Harrods Café, and there’s a small, wistful pleasure in sitting somewhere that remembers being something else. Places change hands and names and menus, but a good view stays a good view. It felt fitting, too, to be eating in a former piece of London while shopping for London. Not planned, but neat.

Then off to Bukit Antarabangsa to collect Mak after her night away. Picking someone up always feels nicer than dropping them off. The drive there has purpose, and the drive back has company. The house had been a little quieter without her, and it was good to have her home again.

Home, as it turned out, wasn’t quiet for long. Idlan had friends over for band practice, and the apartment briefly became a rehearsal space: instruments tuning, songs starting and stopping, the earnest, determined sound of young musicians working something out. It’s not always polished. It’s not meant to be. There’s a joy in it that polished music sometimes loses, and I’d rather hear that through the wall than silence.

Otherwise, an early night for the rest of us, the kind a good Sunday earns. Sunshine, new boots, lunch with a view, Mak home, and music in the next room. A gentle way to close the weekend.

London is getting closer. At least our feet will be ready.

Kit, Kin and a Late Kick-Off

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoSunday, and another early start. I’m beginning to suspect my alarm clock doesn’t believe in weekends. It certainly doesn’t respect them.

The rounds, at least, were smooth. After yesterday’s overrun I’d braced myself for more of the same, but the morning was kind. Things went where they were meant to go, in roughly the time they were meant to take. I’ve learnt not to celebrate these mornings too loudly. Gratitude, quietly expressed, seems to work better.

Down in the lobby there was an unexpected bustle. People queuing to pick up their kits for the SJMC Run next weekend, clutching bags of race numbers and branded T-shirts with the hopeful look of those who’ve signed up for something and are only now remembering what it involves. There’s a lovely optimism to a kit collection. Nobody has run a single step yet, so everyone is still, in their own minds, rather fast. I admired them from a safe distance, which is my preferred relationship with running.

Then off to Bukit Antarabangsa to pick up May. It’s a drive I enjoy more than I probably should. The road climbs and winds, the city falls away behind you, and for a few minutes it feels like you’ve left Kuala Lumpur altogether, even though you plainly haven’t. There’s something about a hill road that makes you drive a little more thoughtfully. Or at least that’s my excuse for going slowly.

A quick lunch at Melawati followed. Melawati has an unpretentious, neighbourly feel that I’ve always liked, the sort of place where lunch is lunch rather than an event. No queues for photographs, no theatre, just food, a table and a moment to sit. I’m increasingly convinced the best meals are the ones nobody bothers to post about.

The afternoon turned to rain. Not the relentless kind of earlier in the week, but enough to settle the question of whether we’d be going anywhere else. We wouldn’t. Home it was, and home was exactly where I wanted to be. A rainy Sunday afternoon indoors is one of life’s small luxuries, though only if you’ve chosen it. Today, the weather and I were in complete agreement, which happens less often than you’d think.

At night I caught up with the Man United match. Supporting United these days requires a particular blend of loyalty and selective memory. You watch with hope, and you also keep a cushion within reach. I’ll say this for them: they never let you get too comfortable. Whether that’s a strength of character or a flaw in the defence is a debate for another evening. Possibly every evening.

Still, there’s something steadying about ending the week in front of a football match, whatever the outcome. It’s ritual more than entertainment now. The same seat, the same muttering, the same faint certainty that I could have done better from the sofa.

A full Sunday, in the end, but a gentle one. Work done, people collected, lunch eaten, rain watched. Next weekend, the runners. I’ll be cheering. From the sidelines, obviously.

A Birthday, Borrowed for the Day

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoSunday started the way most of them do — with rounds, the ward apparently having never heard of weekends off, and a public holiday hasn't yet been invented that changes its mind. Brisk enough, though, and out of the way early, which left the rest of the morning free for something rather nicer: it was Mak's birthday, and the day belonged to her from that point on.

Drove out to Bukit Antarabangsa to collect her, the sort of drive that's become familiar enough to do half on autopilot, and from there straight to Rebung for lunch. Packed, predictably — it always is, birthday or not — but the food did what Rebung's food generally does, which is make the wait feel like a formality rather than a complaint. Some restaurants earn their crowds honestly, and this is one of them.

After lunch, a couple of quick stops — BSC first, then Taman Melawati, neither of them requiring much explanation beyond the ordinary business of a birthday outing, a bit of browsing, nothing that needed to be anywhere in particular. The kind of errands that exist mainly to stretch a nice afternoon a little further before it has to end.

Dropped Mak home after that — she had her own plans for the evening, which is exactly as it should be on a birthday, the day not needing to be handed back in full to anyone. From there, on to TWG for tea, Rwanda Express specifically, which felt like a suitably unhurried way to close out the outing. There's something properly civilised about ending a birthday lunch with a pot of tea rather than rushing straight into whatever's next — a bit of a pause built in on purpose.

Home after that, and the evening turned practical rather quickly. Some reading to get through ahead of the BLS course first thing tomorrow, the sort of task that's easy to put off right up until it can't be put off any longer. Did it anyway, without too much resistance, on the grounds that Monday-morning-you rarely thanks Sunday-evening-you for the delay.

The weekend, such as it was, settled itself in from there — nothing left on the list, nothing hanging over into the week uninvited. And somewhere in among it all, the now-familiar routine of checking in on Irfan, a message or two across the time difference, enough to know all's well on that end. It's becoming its own small ritual, that check-in, the sort that'll probably ease off eventually but hasn't yet, and there's no particular hurry for it to.

So: a birthday properly marked, good food fought for and won, tea to close things out, and a bit of homework squeezed in before the week reasserts itself tomorrow. Not a bad way to send a Sunday off.

The Return Trip, Properly Done

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoRounds started on time, which after a week of near-misses and small negotiations with the clock felt like a fitting way to open a Sunday — no catching up required before the day had even begun. From there it was a straight run to KL Gateway Mall, arriving by eleven with the schedule from a few days back still roughly intact in memory, this time with proper hours to spend rather than a stolen half hour between other things.

A quick lunch first, sensibly, because wandering an exhibition on an empty stomach is its own kind of distraction, and then into the exhibits properly — the version of KLPF that Wednesday's crowded preview hadn't allowed, walked at an actual pace rather than the polite shuffle of a packed hall.

The real highlight of the day, though, was sitting in on the talks — Kieran Long and Ripi both on the bill, and both worth every minute. There's a particular pleasure in hearing people who clearly know their subject talk about it without performing knowledge, just laying it out plainly and letting the work do the persuading. Excellent, without needing much qualification beyond the word itself.

After that, back out to the photographs properly, taking the time this pass allowed, and a stop at the book tables that turned into more than a stop — a few titles from local photographers came home in the bag, the sort of purchase that feels less like spending and more like backing something worth backing. Left by four, satisfied rather than rushed, the exhibition finally given its due after the abbreviated first look.

From there, a change of gear entirely — out to Bukit Antarabangsa to join Mak for dinner, the day pivoting neatly from photographs and public talks to the far quieter business of family and a shared table. No agenda beyond being there, which after a week of agendas was its own small relief.

One last errand on the way home: a stop at BSC to sort out food for the boys, the sort of practical task that closes a day out rather than adding to it — less an event, more the full stop at the end of the sentence.

Altogether, a day that did exactly what Sunday is meant to do: finish something properly, learn a little, spend a bit on books that'll be worth having, and end at a family table. Not every loose end from the week gets tied off so neatly, but this one did — and the ones that mattered most.

Cempedak Luar Pagar

My late father loves jack fruit. There is a small plot of land opposite his house on which he planted a few trees. One of them was a jack fruit and for the last few years it had been yielding some fruits.

Not bad actually. And fresh from the tree, my Mum would fry it. I went to visit Mum last Sunday and we had exactly that. Good stuff actually. Yum yum!