August 1, 2011

My dearest,

Today is yet another day with which we have ample opportunities to do good. I shall endeavour to be mindful of how I fill my day today.

I wake up early and make the bed while you get dressed. I am working from home today, but I play chauffeur and drive you to your office. A simple ritual, discussing the previous night’s dreams and some uncertain singing (of which the motorists that join us on the busy roads are blissfully unaware). Insults are traded, because this is how we show our affection and our ardour. (The economy’s not swell – flowers are expensive, chocolates are bad for our teeth, and wine will just make us crave cups of freshly brewed coffee at bedtime, and that wouldn’t do.)

I come home. I read my emails and reply a few, send out fresh ones, schedule meetings, decline others. My assistant’s on medical leave today, another bout of gastritis. I worry about her. It’s the first day of Ramadan. Our Muslim friends are fasting today. A holy month. A time for devout, sustained practice. I make time for my own.

I write my reports. I screen a couple of business plans. Laundry is done. I hang the clothes out in the balcony. It’s a beautiful, perfect sunny day after days of quiet rain, slow and soft. Today is a day for action.

Lunchtime. I head out. Get petrol. Do the groceries. Then it’s time to break my own fast. All I want is something simple yet hearty. A bowl of mushroom rice, peppered with juicy nuggets of corn, slathered generously with soy sauce. A fresh slab of fish deep-fried in a batter of egg tops it off. All I need is this simple dish, from my favourite Hong Kong-style char chan teng, and a icy-cold glass of yin-yong.

I say thanks for my meal before starting because it is truly a blessing to be able to have something nutritious to nourish my body and my spirit.

I think you. May you have a cup or a glass or a bowl or a dish of this today. Something nourishing, something for your soul.

(And somehow, wherever I go, so long as I am in the midst of other people, I manage to spot a sterling sample of eye candy or two. It’s a gift. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say. Very true. But a little candy never hurt anyone if you don’t overdo it. The capacity to enjoy everything around you, to let it soak in, this is a blessing too.)

I come home. More emails, an afternoon barrage of phone calls. Nerves are calmed, concerns allayed. Damage control. (In my résumé, this appears as ‘crisis management’, naturally.)

The old chicken that I had slow-boiling in the pot since morning is now swapped for a couple of fresh chicken thighs, but not before ridding the stock of the extra fat floating on the surface and adding some freshly sliced shallots and young ginger. I’m trying to replicate our favourite steamed chicken soup from Din Tai Fung with no instrutions other than instinct and dumb faith.

Except. There’s no such thing as dumb faith. When we put something of ourselves out there, to the universe, to God, to something we believe in, and we dedicate our days with focused, sustained effort, with the practice of doing good (or trying to, at least), then faith is something more. It always is.

The apartment smells heavenly. I switch stuff off, the appliances, the ceiling fan. I lock the door as I leave, as I head out to fetch you home from a day’s work . A day’s work for both of us, spent differently, but in a way, much the same. We spent our day in focused, dedicated practice – the art of making good things happen. This is devotion. This is our faith.

Yours, ever and always.