The World of Tai Tai

My aunties came to my parents' house on the first day of CNY and made a mess of everything in the kitchen.  When my sister was ready to deep-fry some popiahs, they complained that the oil was too hot and poured a lot of oil into the wok, thus lowering the temperature dramatically. Before I could register what was happening, they threw in the popiahs and claimed that it was the best way to fry them. Due to insufficient heat, the popiah became limp and soggy in the oil. My sister suggested taking them out and waiting for the oil to become hot again.                  "Don't fret," said my aunties in a gaggle of voices. "Keep stirring the popiahs and they will become crispy as the oil heats up."          "But Aunties," I remonstrated. "That is not the way to fry popiahs. See! They're all soggy." Every one was silent when all the popiahs were scooped up in a strainer. They looked as limp...

I had my breakfast at Hai-Ma coffee shop this morning. I ordered Pan-Mee and when I was ready to dig in, a conversation from a neighbouring table caught my attention.       "Have you roamed the New Year Bazaar?"       "Yes, it was crowded and my family and I bought quite an armful of things."       "Did you pass by the stinky tofu stall? The dominant smell wafted through the air and many people mistook it for chemical spill !"       "I read about that in the paper. But it attracted many customers."       "I won't go for it. There might be faeces in the marinade!"       "Many roads are closed for the bazaar, and I wonder if all the stall operators are making profit." I cast a look at the road beyond the stretch of parking lots in front of me and it was a river of congested traffic. On normal days, not that many cars ply along the road. ...

As soon as a shout of warning was issued, the students who had been loafing along the corridor and sitting on desks scrambled back to their seats. When the bulk of her body entered the classroom, the whole class rose and greeted her together. Having put her basket on the teacher's desk, the teacher's eyes scanned over the students from under her lowered brows. When she saw that everything was in order, she asked the students to sit down. Then, she walked around the classroom, inspecting the cleanliness, a ritual I presumed she had never missed. Spotting a ball of crumpled paper near the only wastepaper basket of the classroom, she frowned and said, "Monitor, did the duty roasters sweep the floor during recess?" The monitor rose and said, "Yes, teacher." Throwing him a glare, the teacher pointed at the spot where the crumpled paper was and said, "How do you explain the presence of the crumpled paper in the corner?" A look of helples...

It was a blazing Friday afternoon. The sun beat down on me as I made my way back to school from KFC. The lunch was filling, but not satisfying. A lot of food had become bland to my jaded tongue. Fast traffic zipped past me, and the heat of the sun squeezed beaded sweat from my forehead. I could feel the breath of the breeze about me, but it did little in mitigating the scorching rays of the sun. My full stomach induced a heavy spell of sleepiness in me, and I longed to return to the air conditioned staffroom of my school, where I could lay my head between my crossed arms on my desk, and took a short, but invigorating nap. I had problem keeping my take-away Pepsi unleaked in the plastic bag I was holding. It kept tilting sideways, causing the cold,fizzy liquid to continuously drip  through the straw hole in the center of the plastic lid. At last an idea struck me. With the layer of the plastic bag under my hand, I clasped my fingers around the paper cup lid, held it in an up...

I will attend a writing workshop in KK this Wednesday. It has been two years since I attended the last one. From 2011 to 2013, I attended four writing workshops in KK. Between this period, I produced 15 to 25 short stories. In the past, I had never thought that I could write a story. Robert Raymer, the main speaker for the past few sessions, opened my eyes to creative writing, and encouraged me to believe in my own ability. Without him, I would not be able to come up with anything. The following are some of the stories I wrote during and after the workshops. 1) Found 2) We Are All The Same 3) The Girl In His Dream 4) Lost in Hangzhou 5) My Struggle with Panic Attacks 6) 250 Buns 7) Suicide 8) Exhibitionist boy

A few years ago, in an English lesson, I was teaching a class how to write a composition on a flash flood. A student stood up, pointed at the whiteboard and said, 'Teacher, your first sentence is wrong. It should be 'It was raining cats and dogs for three days.' "There's nothing wrong with the sentence," I said, and added, "It is correct to say it had been raining cats and dogs for three days." "But no past perfect continuous can be used in the presence of a time phrase!" The student argued. "The sentence does not show when it rained," I explained. "but how long it had been raining within a period, In this case, the past perfect continuous is correctly used." Pouting her lips, the student sat down looking unhappy. During recess, an experienced teacher who had been teaching for 30 years came up to my desk and said, "Mr. Lo, a student told me that you had made an error in class but you did...

I wrote the following poem in October 2008, when I was very depressed. Although it is not well-written, it represents my darkest feelings. Looking back, I can still feel the ramifications of their damage -- a loss of temper at school which almost resulted in a lawsuit. Too many things have happened to me recently loneliness, hatred and sadness smite me to the marrow.   Woe is me, and happiness seems so far-fetched. I feel like crying, but my pride and conscience remind me not to  For tears proclaim my defeat, and defeat reveals a wasted-self with crumbled dignity. But still I cry. Yes, I do cry. Crying in sheer solitude, in gloomy darkness Having no soothing arms to run into I am tottering along a long and winding road, being pelted by a ruthless, damaging squall I am soaked through with humiliation, and my spirit is yowling between the clangors of oppressive muteness. Through my blurred vision, I can see a surreal view looming far ahead.....   A confused ma...