The last day of October

The last day of October was spent catching up with some friends. Thanks to the overnight rain which chilled the air and cooled the ground, the morning weather was wonderful.

I am sure I've written before, that October feels like a month in limbo. It marks the start of the final quarter, yet it does not quite herald the year end. Come November however, things will be in an upswing as the impending Christmas hovers in the air.



On my way to J's home for Halloween dinner, I came across a patch of ground with fallen brown leaves  and green bamboo shoots, which reminded me of Autumn somehow. Good food was brewing in the kitchen when I arrived at J's place, and I knew there wasn't much for me to help even though I had offered to come earlier. I naively thought that arriving one or two hours early would be sufficient time to help with some simple tasks such as chopping the vegetables or onion. Obviously I ain't a cook. I did what I am only good at, which is to take pictures of the nice food waiting to be served.



Dinner was a cozy affair, with a visibly excited Death relishing his deadly role. One moment he is standing for long minutes in his uber-cool coat, the next moment he is speaking stealthily in hushed, creepy tone. During dinner, the host turned to Death and, without missing a beat, smiled slyly at his dark guest and said: 'The food's good enough for you to make a trip from the underworld eh?'.


The stately Death

Death himself was a man of no less wit. He was knowledgable about matters of the dark side and spoke with a deathly authority that reflects confidence and quick-thinking. When the host's Missus declined to eat the crunchy, succulent pork, Death was quick to quip: 'You've got to eat it. It's got the souls of the slaughtered pigs. You can hear the pigs screaming when you eat it.' With that, he resumed eating with a sense of normalcy as if he had never stopped eating to make any remarks. I tried to banish any thoughts of slaughted chickens and repressed souls, and promptly gluped down the chicken meat in my throat.


Can you see the souls of the pigs?


Heat produces great things


Roasted Pumpkin

On another horrifying guest, whose quiet belies a sense of keen observation and clever thinking, the host recounted this to me earlier before his lazy guests arrived:

JW: He says he would be wearing what a typical Singaporean wears.
JW: I told him can he at least come in what a typical SCARY Singaporean wears.
ME: And that is?
JW: All white.

Amidst all that taking place in the completely sealed dungeon, creepy music was being played, and a natural ally was found in the conspiratorial rain and thunder blasting outside.

But make no mistake, it was far from being a horrible evening.