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Spent a couple minutes getting rid of trash from my mailbox (the real, not virtual one) today, as well as tidying up trash from my room. We all classify different items as trash. My point is, birthday cards, Christmas cards, New Year cards; I don’t know where to put them. Sure, they do bring about a (very brief) moment of happiness. After that (very brief moment), they have served their purpose and raise the question of which part of my room they will take residence. Since I don’t exactly live in a mansion (more like a small apartment) and we don’t exactly have a storeroom (has now been converted into a ‘file-room’ for my dad’s mountains of files and what-nots), I contemplated dumping them into the trash, stopped contemplating, and did just that.

Into the trash also went letters, envelopes (I‘ve developed a liking for envelopes not white in colour since I was born and have collected tons since then), old used up notebooks, secret notes to friends written in class that my mum has yet to discover while she was performing the cover-up act of sweeping the floor of my personal space, some photographs which don’t mean anything to me and Jesse McCartney posters (so over him).

I also packed up gifts I have yet touched (notebooks, fancy paper, pencils, long-and-thin-and-scrawny teddy bears-and-other-cotton-creatures since I only like short and chubby and cute cotton animals, creepy barbie-doll-like dolls because they creep me out and so on) to be donated to needy children (needy with respect to their innate need for toys and fancy stationary NOT referring to financially disadvantaged children… only).

And here comes the question… why am I so ungrateful? Answer: I will be much much more grateful if I actually have space to put all those stuff, which I don’t. Gosh, you hate me don’t you. Don’t hate me. Move to a 1-room apartment and see if you don’t do what I did. 

And of course you want to know… why am I being so honest about my ‘evil’ deeds (the apostrophes are compulsory)? Its because it is highly highly highly accurate to say that this blog is the only place where I’m completely myself, where I’m honest and where no one argues with me (or hasn’t yet anyway. PS: I welcome you to engage in a friendly ‘discussion’ with me about my ‘misdeeds’ whether in an email or publicly though I’m sure the discussion won’t be exactly ‘friendly’). Here, I write only when I feel like writing.

In other areas of my life, I write in the most politically correct, logical, sensible and likable manner I can manage while ignoring my brain which is screaming for outright honesty in the background.

For example, school always asks us to write our goals and dreams for the year.  I would write “I want to get all As and  improve my memory so that I can do better in Biology, GP and China Studies” when I actually mean “I hope that the government will cancel A levels forever and ever and declare memorizing unsuitable for the measurement of intelligence. I  hope that my parents will discover that I’m useless at studying because I hate it and stop giving me so much pressure.”

Why won’t I write that? Because educators will declare me mentally deranged and send me to psychiatrists or at least a counselor to ‘set me straight’ (and need I say have my parents pay for the sessions?). I can proudly say that I’m very very good at writing politically correct, morally correct, anything-ally correct things… except in my blog because its mine and people don’t have to read it and don’t force me to write it. I’ve saved many people much trouble with my not-so-uncommon ‘talent’. 

Thank you for reading the above 598 words. Let me whine for a moment about how I’ve unsuccessfully managed to deactivate my Facebook account and get back to you later.

&(^*^%$@%T#%$^N*&^*&

$#%@#!#@#%$@^$%^$%

%^(*&IO^KJ&*^%&$^#@!$

I’m feeling very grateful towards you. I will hence stop torturing you and commence with my CNY cookies post. 

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Making pineapple paste is an awesome experience. The pureed pineapples progress from a (my favourite) shade of yellow to this tinted brown colour so gradually one almost starts talking to the pineapples in a moment of insanity. Do not fret. The result is beautiful.

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You need:

1. 2 pineapples the size of your head
2. 1 cup sugar
3. 2 tsp cinnamon powder
4. 1 tbsp lemon juice (unsweetened)
5. 1 tsp corn flour mixed with 1 tsp water

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Step 1: Cut the pineapple into chunks.

Yay, look! A pineapple. I almost twisted my back and my only working arm trying to get to this pineapple form (don’t ask me how my back got involved. Just don’t.) I actually cut TWO pineapples the size of my head, and I have a big head.

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Step 2: Blend

Dump all into a blender and blend away! I love my blender but my blender would love more personal space.

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Step 3: Strain

To get rid of excess liquid. A necessary step if you don’t want to spend more time talking to pineapples.

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Step 4: Pour resulting mixture with 2 tsp of cinnamon or more and 1 tbsp lemon juice (unsweetened) into a non-stick pan and stir non-stop.

All I can say is, have a skinny guy do it for you. He needs more muscles.

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Step 5: As the paste starts to thicken, add sugar and continue stirring. Add 1/2 cup of sugar for every 1 kg of whole pineapples.

If you reduce the sugar, the pastries have to be consumed within 3 days.

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Step 6: Add 1 tsp cornflour mixed with 1 tsp water and keep stirring until the paste is dry enough to be shaped.

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Yeah, you get the thing inside.

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NOW, for these…

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Close-up!

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In my honest opinion, the red bean paste version tastes just as good as the pineapple version and is melt-ier. Try it. I don’t kid (not now anyway).

This post is getting too long. BYE BYE. 

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