Today's Muse: Ham. Cured Ham.

A few years back Ma proposed making temple visits a regular affair, like them church-going folks. It was discussed, plans were made for the following Sundays. It never really took off, though.


So, today we went.

We parked on the slope, walked past all the boarded-up shophouses to the gate. A little man with rotting fingernails came up with his palms pressed to each other and asked for two dollars, just two dollars so he could go see the doctor. The money was given. Amituo Fo, Amituo Fo.

Whenever we go to the temple, my parents take every opportunity to point out whatever and offer a brief history or cultural lesson. "There, that's a carving of Buddha when he was just born. See, his fingers? One pointing to Heaven, one to Earth." "Do you know who these people are? The Aluohan, The Arhats."

And Kim and I nod and say, yes, we know. We know. We've devoured the books, the scriptures, the children's introductory comics. We know the Arhats, the thirteenth Master. And we're unfailingly polite here, for some reason. But once we get back in the car it's free for all.

As we walked along the granite carvings depicting stories (Sun Wukong, Monkey King, battling Princess Iron Fan) various animals, mythical and real, always in pairs for some reason, I think about sharing this world. With someone else, you know? Bringing an outsider in and pointing and saying "There, the Buddha when he was just born. He walked twelve steps, and every step in the dirt he made, sprung a lotus."

But I feel like an outsider, myself. In the hall with the statues and offerings of flowers and fruits, I'm either too young or too old. There are less people now, kneeling with their prayer beads or just sitting and talking with each other. They're mostly elderly people. When I walk into the kitchen there are children, young, young children, in Pokemon t-shirts and flip-flops.

I can't read the books in the library. I can't carry a conversation - I can't speak Chinese, or dialect.

I love this world, but I can't paticipate, other than light a joss stick and bow three times.


That may soon change, though.

Earlier this year the entire family went to the large, sprawling temple up. There, a Buddhist Youth group were handing out flyers, friendship bands. Something I was familiar with, what with attending a Christian school most of my stay in Singapore. But it made me slightly uncomfortable; I didn't see youth camps and meetings with Buddhism.

Is this where Buddhism is going? Away from the open-air kitchens and bald lightbulbs and the red halls and tables groaning with fruit and candles and the gold-painted statues and the chanting and the tapes and the

I don't know how I feel about it.

Apathy, maybe.

Buddhism, religion.

I don't pray, really.