Pickles n' Tickles by JJ

I've been a little unwell recently. I guess I've just been tired and being outdoors in the sandy atmosphere has taken a toll on me. The indoors, however, drives me mad especially in these past two weeks when I've had lesser work to do. Meaning, nothing much to focus on. I don't really like watching TV during the day, I can only read so much and cooking for two doesn't take forever. In short, my movements are restricted indoors. I suppose for me, moving about, is key to sanity.  I had spent the last ten days, walking. With a small bag pack carrying water, towel, bananas, an extra pair of pants and a note book, I left home around 3pm, walked through the city for about 2-3 hours before going to my evening bootcamp sessions. I had also kept my RunKeeper app turned on so I could track my distance, time and route.   Well, I didn't see much on my routes except for a dead kitten and a bird but I did notice the amount of roadworks that's been taking place. It...

I'VE had an extraordinary childhood: have definitely experienced a way of life which may have even been unfamiliar to my peers then. A part of it includes food. From growing it, getting our supply from growers in the neighbourhood and to cooking, there was plenty of good food around. A common crop in the house garden was the tapioca or cassava. We had planted like 50 of those all year round, back to back. Till now, I still couldn't figure why we did that because after harvesting what's needed for us, some neighbours and friends, we still had extras. My dad and grandma (maternal) were crazy about this root. Their sentiment, I think, wasn't something that stemmed from its lovely flavours. Rather, it was more deep-rooted than that. Both dad and grandma had lived through the dreadful Japanese occupation era in Malaya (Dec 1941 to Aug 1945) during which time, food supply was scarce. Staple rice was out of the question. People's lives depended mainly on tapioca because i...