Strange times... The above piece of work at KLPAC seems to sum it right up. (My apologies that I didn't note the name of the artist.)

And I just realized that I used almost the self-same post-title almost five years ago when we were getting ready to move to Indonesia. The more things change...

Since I last wrote, moving has dominated our lives. In fact, we have now effectively moved out of our flat, and have been ensconced in The Grand Seasons for the two nights prior to departure. We have a good view of the twin towers, the hospitals, our well-trodden route to the market, and the roofs of passing monorails. It's a nice big room. And the place is bursting with Christmas cheer. Carols in the corridors, trees in the lobbies, Santa in the front garden...





It has been very sad to say goodbye to our 20th-floor dwelling. It's been a great place to live, and I'm brimming with good memories: of the local food suppliers, the weekly pasar malam, the expansive views of the hills, the excellent facilities, and the huge variety of lovely people we met there, both residents and staff.





But now we've moved on. The premises have been cleaned (thanks to a team located via kaodim). The last of the possessions have been distributed, the keys handed over, and our stalwart guards thanked.

Aside from moving, life has also been a total flurry of activity on the work front, as I attempted to get everything done that needed to be done before leaving for research leave (limited success there, and some of it will pursue me into the holiday period).

Nevertheless, there have been some noteworthy things over the last few days.

One was KLPAC's staging of Peking Man, a play by Cao Yu (also spelled Tsao Yu -- the same one who wrote Thunderstorm, which I really enjoyed earlier in the year).

It's about the dissolution of a family again. Good-for-nothing son, smoking opium, wasting money, and running away to avoid responsibility. Good-for-nothing son-in-law, beating his wife and wasting money. Young people who won't accept their forced marriage, and insist on aborting the child that came of it. Women variously quarrelling with the family, hiding their bruises, or uselessly yearning for one of those ne'er-do-well men. Grand-dad hanging on to his coffin, despite its apparently being the only thing of value in the house, which is starting to disintegrate. Money draining away... A picture of decadence and decline.

Books are constantly used as props, and moved around from place to place. People are constantly packing suitcases. So in that sense it was a very timely little piece...

I enjoyed it. Enjoyed its period nature (it premiered in 1941), and its ongoing relevance.







And (because we've been walking memory lane with a vengeance just recently) I enjoyed the classic pizza and wine at Bistro Richard beforehand, and the classic froggy walk home afterwards.

And then there was the Sunday-morning walk into town, and the car-free Sunday marching band, and the lam mee from the Tang City food court off Petaling Street.

How hard it is to go...

The night we moved into the hotel, we walked down to Jalan Doraisamy, and had supper at 2OX. We'd been there once before for lunch, and it was just as good this time round. That fresh warm bread and pesto to start, then wagyu beef with green puy lentils and creme fraiche, and a nice Chilean red as an accompaniment. Perfect.

On a more sober note, I commend to you this powerful little piece by Malaysian poet Usman Awang, which was brought to my attention by a colleague recently. Salam benua (Greetings to the continents) reminds us of all those who travel unwillingly or cannot travel, all those who are hemmed in or forced out by borders, violence, or poverty:

Greetings
without visa
passport
golf
colour
to humanity, people,
of all continents.

Salam benua, indeed.