yi★zhen

zhen wonders how their day is going

  • makan: march

    Another month of eating and thinking about the eating. This month ended with a trip to Bristol, which is always a concentration of cooking as an act of love, where I’m on the receiving end of these dishes.

    (eating in)

    After M’s melancholic departure, I’ve been cheering myself up by buying blocks of tofu to throw in the air fryer. Paired with a custom dip (yuzu ponzu, soy sauce, honey), some pickles and crabstick yippie! I enjoy these moments when I don’t have to do much to be extremely fulfilled.

    AR graciously gifted me jar of Sichuan Chilli Crisp Oil by Yep Kitchen, beautifully designed by plastered8. Bright colours inspired by traditional firecracker boxes, the brand is founded by a guy who spent a decade in China to now sell sauces in Selfridges…

    I sprinkled it on top of beef dumplings along with dried seaweed and yeah… it’s pretty good. A nice balance of numbing/spice/flavour without overwhelming the base ingredients. Probably not the best if you like extreme 麻辣.

    (eating out)

    On a separate trip to Bristol, friends and I played a card game (Kopi King) where you basically make drinks at a kopitiam. There was card in it for “Bandung Dinosaur”. I’ve never seen that shit in my entire life so obviously I scratched a strong itch by making it for my staff meal. Verdict: It’s solid. I would drink it again. Also, the mee goreng mamak always hits the right spot. My friends in the kitchen probably don’t think too much about the poetry of being a young immigrant cooking food that is foreign to others but not to us, but I do. 10/10.

    Wanted to get shaved ice with JH but the dessert room was shut. Got a ramen and sushi set downstairs instead. Fast, solid, cheap – just like how ramen should be. Also, absence really makes the heart grow fonder because for the first time since childhood I felt glee seeing sushi march down a conveyer belt. Insightful conversations with JH as always, I rarely have someone who’s got more life experience where I can so openly have connecting conversations with. Yum… sushi….

    (bristol)

    Once again, I made the trip down to Bristol from Manchester, which always fills me with comfort and peace. Knowing that my friends are there, knowing that I can be taken care of and loved. Also a form of exposure therapy to allow myself to be taken care of, and loved through actions – in this instance, with food.

    The flixbus to Bristol always arrives around noon, which is the right time to visit Obento for lunch. Initially out of convenience, it has now become a ritual.

    [left] Obento’s Chirashi Don is a must-have for me. Had lunch with SL who also got the same thing because Taste! The sun was out so the lovely owner made me an iced Honey Yuzu drink to match.

    [right] Dinner, I felt indebted to life – more so than usual – and got myself a Yasai Ramen. I also wanted to just eat more vegetables, perhaps influenced by this indebtedness. My desire to be vegetarian for the day caught wind and the head chef made me cucumber hosomaki. Hand-rolled, heart-made. To accompany my meal was the last of Ocean Vuong’s debut novel On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous. It gave me a headache, and not a single drop was left in that bowl.

    老闆 prepared dinner for me and C. A meal made with consideration, one of it an experiment/practice for C’s own wedding later this year. Paired with C’s own sambal tumis that accidentally got stored in the fridge. I always find myself feeling undeserving of this generosity. I never know what to say – does my existence truly warrant such pleasure?

    Tried out Rasa Kita on Gloucester Road, a new Malaysian restaurant owned by a M’sian family. New to the country, I would find the idea of having Malaysian food in the UK comedic. But now on some days, it’s all I can think about. (Serving at a M’sian restaurant doesn’t help) Mostly, I’m curious about how people come to situate themselves within the food industry, and try their hand at generating a cultural export which more likely than not, is the culture they grew up with.

    Anyways, my order was a Nasi Lemak with mushroom rendang (vegan!) along with sirap bandung. I love how the drink is in a film-covered cup, it makes bringing it around an easy option. Got free cucumber water also sia, very shiok. Personally, Malaysian cuisine as we see in the UK rarely considers vegan options because it “takes away the authenticity”.

    SL once again gifted me the result of her culinary prowess. This time with Okonomiyaki!!! Look at that beautiful marble pattern. Eating at her dining table makes me feel life is worth living. I’ll spare you the details, but I could feel points being replenished to my energy bar, ++ signs above my head.

    Raya dinner with both A & P’s family! A mix of Malaysian and Portuguese. All the home-cooked classics were singing together on the table, spoons clinking and bowls thunking on wood – what a spread! Oh! there was also Village Park sambal. I wasn’t really sure where I fit into the gathering (malu sikit), but as long as I kept eating, my place was right there.

    Tried out another new Malaysian restaurant with C – what can I say? I’m always thinking about it – situated on the slope of Clifton Triangle. Cozy space, homely vibes with an auntie server and being able to hear multilingual conversations floating from the kitchen added a sense of homecoming. Had wan tan mee but it wasn’t really the right noodles (didn’t have the heart to tell the auntie so sorry)… sauce and 雲吞 was okay tho! C’s char kuey teow was solid too :)) Excited to see this restaurant grow.

    Ended the trip with Swoon under the sunlight (C belanja hehe). A crisp, cooling mint stracciatella.

  • social dilemma

    Instagram has been making me feel sick recently. I have a 15-minute screen limit and I keep hitting “15 more minutes” again and again. Scrolling through my feed, I get nauseous. It sits in the pits of my stomach and I want to vomit. I’m desperately seeking for something that the platform can’t provide.

    Growing up, I would get home from school and open Facebook to 99+ notifications. None of them bots or notifications of things I don’t care about. Almost all of them were from online community interactions – comments, chats; caring, clumsy. The occasional poke here and there. Oh look, my aunt posted a blurry family photo in a Meitu frame. I go through them and each click brings me closer to someone across the seas. It felt good knowing they see me too. …I miss my white Sony VAIO E-series running cracked Photoshop with a bloated battery (I know).

    There’s also the whiplash and the envy. I miss my friends. I catch up with their lives through the occasional story and photo dump post. They’re busy, I’m busy. Reaching out shouldn’t feel as heavy as this. I miss them so much, but it doesn’t really matter if they miss me or not. Sometimes I wonder if I like the idea of having someone to miss more. It’s pathetic, to think about it that way. I see my friends happy, I see an ad, I see a genocide, I see an ad. I want to throw up. 

    Facebook circa 2012 saw my carefree postings as a young teen – after-school thoughts, age-appropriate swears, opinions on anime – and I would get responses back, equally as carefree. Now I can’t even post without thinking about its life after me…without me. Going private isn’t an idea I want to entertain. Some call it pride.

    More than anything, I’m ashamed of myself. It’s easier to make connections on the internet now than ever, but why do I feel more disconnected from everyone else? Sometimes it feels like shouting into a void. It’s the lack of intentionality that I also fall trap to… I struggle to leave comments on public posts, never interact in a Discord server, and lurk on various subreddits. Despite the veneer of anonymity, is anyone else also more anxious online than IRL? Please tell me this performance doesn’t come easy for you too.

    I think I’m using social media (aka Instagram) wrong. I know I’m projecting unrealistic expectations based on a simpler time. With the platform, it seems like a bad habit turned second-nature. It shouldn’t be this deep, but my head is soft and pressure leaves spots. I will wake up 3 months later and this won’t matter anymore.

  • january 2024

    i wished it was longer

    (new years!)

    I spent the first week of 2024 absolutely bed-ridden. A 39º fever raging on its 4th night, Lemsip and Pei Pa Gou in my system, listening to the temperature scanner’s constant red beeping. My partner, despite all his bar studies, made sure I was alive. There was no feverish dream, there was no deep longing for home (as home was next to me), it was banal as it was painful. I feared the heat would sear my brain. It didn’t. It was just something in the air – a viral infection – the clinician on 111 told me after waiting for 4 hours. They caught it themselves just last week, advised that I could drink more tea. I didn’t. But I got better and showered for the first time in 4 days.

    (travelling)

    At the cusp of recovery, I went to London. To meet up with a dear friend pursuing her translation dreams in Colchester. Last time we met was 12am in a car parked at my front porch. For lunch, she invited her Malaysian friend pursuing a PhD in London, working between theatre and culture and words of different languages. I think about how the world is so connectively small, which makes it overwhelmingly huge. I think about Malaysians who are constantly underrepresented in their own home. How one of the many Malaysian diaspora experience is to be adaptable, because we can only rely on the Malaysian spirit. What national/governmental infrastructure is there for us to rely on, when we don’t have equal rights? We had great conversations about many small things. It was comforting to hear about other experiences and passions with no pretence. I listen on about Chinese-English drama and books, scholarships and taxes.

    (the longing spirit for malaysia can be brought anywhere, because there is no material infrastructure to rely on.)

    While in Colchester I went to see the sea. Yes, in winter, especially in winter. An hour bus ride brings me to Clacton-on-sea. The strong winds pushing me away, pulling me back. I spun along with the force of its gusts. The pressure making it hard to breathe through my nostrils. My fingertips numb – they’ve always been cold in the UK – despite tucked in my coat pockets. I felt so small and I absolutely loved it. It felt like the universe loved us there too, gifting us sunny and blue skies throughout.

    The coastline spread across Clacton-on-sea and Frinton-on-sea. I went with Sharon, and met up with a local acquaintance of hers. As we walked along the beach, he talked about personal histories of fish and chips, fair rides on the pier, swimming pools for model boats. He drove us down to Frinton and brought us to frequented places, even pointed out a (free and clean!) public toilet hidden behind the high street. When the bus back was cancelled, he drove 30-minutes to bring us home. My fingertips warmed up from the selfless action of doing favours for strangers.

    (manchester)

    And then I went back to Manchester, where once again, I continue looking for a job. Foreign face in a foreign country whatnot. I talked to a Taiwanese illustrator who’s also job searching but to no avail. Throughout the process, I have found that I have a low tolerance for office bureaucracy, and that being honest has served me better than if I hadn’t. Of course, I still had to concern myself with self-preservation to some degree, and read up on job hunting tips. It’s honestly so arduous and soul-sucking, but the interviews I’ve gotten have been rather pleasant. No HR, no recruiter, no middle men. Just people wanting graphic designers.

    But going back to Manchester also meant I went back to my home away from home. My partner and I celebrated our 7th anniversary with a simple homemade dinner. While I do have…considerable experience in the kitchen, I must admit my skills are better served in prepping ingredients and washing up. So, I made rice while he cooked us sweet and sour pork; I cut all the onions while he put foiled fish in the oven; I set up the table and he made miso soup. We ate and watched Lord of the Rings. We slept in each other’s arms – medical tape over his mouth for snoring, and a self-moulded mouth guard in mine for bruxism.

    On a chill Friday night, my friends and I gave out blankets to people who are unhoused. I didn’t know where we were going and ended up in Fallowfield with a 20% phone battery. We walked all the way to the Curry Mile, which is a nickname for a stretch on Wilmslow road. Turns out it’s a famous food spot, developed in the 50s and 60s to serve south Asian migrants. Blankets were passed out, 3 duffle bags full, and we ended the night at Pepe’s Piri Piri.

    (on company)

    Sometimes I feel terribly alone. I feel like the worst person in the world. I feel that breathing is laborious. Cognitively, I know that I’m not but I feel it deeply, the ghosts of my past making itself known. The worms in my brain are feeding off my self-sabotage. I can trace them wriggling between the gaps they create, or are they just filling in the void that was already there? Being self-deprecating was the way I survived as an adult-to-be.

    The loneliness was curbed with a rather simple solution: cooking. More specifically, my friends and I have started cooking for each other on a non-regular basis. Just whenever someone feels like it, and shows up with ingredients. I’ve also met up with people working in the MCR creative industry from cold emailing, and by putting myself in the painful situation of talking to strangeres – about others, about myself – it made me feel better. I found out I have a terrible habit of speaking softly, especially when I’m scrambling for an answer.

    (palestine)

    This is all happening while the genocide on Palestinian people are still underway, and the land and their culture devastated. Please continue your efforts in any means of sharing online, donating, speaking out, sharing it with people in your life, boycotting, marching etc.

    We are way past the moment of educating ourselves, but if there’s a chance you’re unclear, spaces you inhabit will have resources on it. Because I watch many video essays on the game industry, here’s a video by PeopleMakeGames: The Games Industry Must Not Stay Silent on Palestine. Also to read > decolonisepalestine.com. Whether you do the above or not is not an inherent indicator of morality, but it helps others, and that should be a weighty enough reason.

    “Self acceptance is found in imperfect solidarity.”

    Alice Sparkly Kat