Its Raining Violets; There’s Always A Reason to Look Up; Meeting a Man in an Elevator Which Proved Beyond a Reasonable Doubt That It is a Small World; in the Lyf Lobby Sitting With the Art Found in Love Stories Illustrating and Writing Charity Art Exhibition; Creativity Also Found at Mojos; Creativity Served Warm; Taste and Talent.

Dateline: Penang, Malaysia Saturday May 16

Its raining this morning. Thought of the song. It isn’t raining rain today its raining violets. Where is that from? Reached out to Gemini.

Gemini: That beautiful, optimistic line comes from a late 19th-century poem that later became a famous American song.The original poem is titled “April Rain” (sometimes called “It Isn’t Raining Rain to Me”), written by the American poet Robert Loveman and published in 1901.The most famous stanza goes: It isn’t raining rain to me, It’s raining daffodils; In every dimpled drop I see Wild flowers on the hills. … It isn’t raining rain to me, It’s raining violetsA few years later, in 1921, the poem was set to music by Al Jolson and Buddy DeSylva for a Broadway musical called Bombo. Re-titled “April Showers,” it became a massive hit and a signature song for Al Jolson. Over the decades, it became a jazz and pop standard, recorded by everyone from Judy Garland to Frank Sinatra. The song turns a dreary, rainy morning into a promise of spring and renewal—the idea that the downpour today is exactly what brings the beauty of tomorrow.

I did finally manage to get out of bed, get dressed, put on the war paint and go downstairs in the elevator which says on its ceiling: There’s Always A Reason to Look Up. Sent it to my dear friend Nadia with this caption

Me: The elevator roof. Well H is taller than me. Hahaha

Yesterday I texted Naida saying that I had met a guy in an elevator. She asked his name, Told her, she sent a photo asking if that was him and said that her cousin Adel ,who lives in Vancouver, knows him. I sent him the photo, he confirmed that was indeed him and said, “I’ve known his direct family for maybe 25ish years or more”

Naida: Tell him I named my daughter Naomi after my cousin who is Adel’s wife.

He: Wow Small world.

Me: Tiny. Minuscule

I met H in the elevator not he way down to the Love Stories Illustration and Writing Charity Exhibition. Went back to the Lyf Lobby as the art is still being displayed. In a strange way I am revisiting my life. In 2016 I sat in London at the Tate Britain sitting with paintings in the permanent collection writing prose to the art – and taking photos. Turned it into a book and spoke about it frequently on the blog. Here is an example.

“This blog first mentioned In Contemplation and In Conversation on February 17, 2017. It is a book featuring paintings at the Tate Britain in London – the idea, the prose and the photography is mine. The poetry Jessica’s and Chris Jackson did an incredible job photoshopping it, formatting it and arranging for the publication, “

The book is out of print and I have no copies. Chris has the template I think and it can be retrieved I think. It led to this blog. Chris became my faithful blog master.

The charity event was an amazing experience but very different from what I imagined it would be. It was in Mandarin so I did not understand one word. Hahaha I did WhatsApp a new acquaintance.
Me: Oops they are talking Malay. So I have NO idea what is going on. But the vibe is great. Hahaha
He: Its always about the vibes!! Hahaha
Me: Actually they are speaking Mandarin. or maybe Cantonese????

It was Mandarin. Found that out by asking the amazingly talented, exuberant and charming kids afterwards. Somehow language was not necessary, as I told one of the artists. The way they spoke, their mannerisms and their art combined to make them known to me – completely in a way. At the end of the long day I said in my impeccable English (hahahaha) “This has been a fantastic event. You should do it every year – make it an annual event. But next year in English please. Hahaha”

Each piece of art is titled – the artists using their words to describe their inspiration.

This piece is called A Lunchbox Filled with Love. “I still remember the time my Mom cooked my favorite homemade dishes, just because I once mentioned what I liked to ear. She never forgets a single detail Every day she carefully prepares a lunchbox for me filling it with all my favorite goods-like steaming rice topped with lMapo Tofu, tender and spicy just the way I like it. Even the little touches, like arranging the vegetables in neat rows or adding a sprinkle of sesame seeds, makes me feel loved. Her small, thoughtful actions always warm my heart, like sunlight streaming though a window on a chilly day. I feel so lucky to have such a wonderful mother, someone who noticed the little things and turns them into acts of care. I am truly grateful for everything she has done for me For the patience, the effort and the endless love she shows in ways that don’t always need words. When I grow up, I promise I will do my best to repay her for all she has given me. Mom, I love you. You are like a light that softly shines into my world. Chasing away the shadows and painting everything around in in me in brilliant joyful colors. Every bite of your food reminds me of your care, and every memory of your love fills me with a warmth that I will carry with me forever. Words & illustration by Ou Qi-Yun.

Then this. The Reunion Dinner This drawing is about reunion and the New Year’s Eve. At the time my eldest Aunt wasn’t married yet, and my younger aunt was still studying. It was also before the pandemic when our family could gather freely. I remember the warm smell of hone-cooked dishes filling the house – steaming dumplings, savory stir-fries the past year. Sitting around the table I felt a sense of belonging and love, the kind that makes even ordinary moments feel magical. During the three years of the pandemic I could only see my aunts through video calls, and those moments never quite felt the same. I longed to go back to those days, to sit together again, to eat, laugh and celebrate the New Year as a family. In my drawing I tried to capture that warmth-the joy, the togetherness – and the simple happiness of being surrounded by loved ones during the festival. Words & Illustration by Zheng Zhi-Yu

Kindness and Love in the World
In the world, everyone has their now story of love. Some say that love comes from family and is always happy. But my story comes from care—and fear. Even before I was born my father had a heart condition. For meths news was like a distant shadow—unreal—until the year I turned twelve, when that shadow engulfed my entire world. That year, my father suffered a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital. My Mom and I hurried there as the bus called along the road. But my heart felt even more unsteady than the wheels beneath me. On the way my father called. The doctor recommended heart bypass surgery, but our insurance wasn’t enough. The surgery cost a huge sum. In that moment, my Mom and I froze. The world went silent. The air felt heavy and breathing became hard. Mom held the phone tightly, her eyes red but she stayed strong when speaking to me. At the hospital, we learned that my father’s arteries were 90% blocked. If the surgery wasn’t done immediately., his life would be at risk. It was then that I truly understood the preciousness of life. That day we didn’t give up. We called relatives and friends for help over and over. Each call made my palms sweat with tension. Each uncertainty felt like loss. Each silence felt like helplessness. Hope and despair kept switching places in my heart. Just when it seemed like there was no hope, a kind stranger appeared. Upon hearing our situation, he didn’t hesitate. Without conditions or delay, he helped us through the crisis, saying, “Life is the most important.” Through this experience I felt the love in the world, and I saw the light of human kindness. In the darkest moments, compassion and love lit the way. It was because of this stranger that our family still had hope—and that we could stay together. Though my father’s recovery was difficult we still felt the love that exists in the world. Words & illustration by Lin Xue-Wen

The Quiet Love of My Grandma
One day last year, the sky was filled with dark clouds, and soon a heavy rain began to pour. I couldn’t stop thinking about my elderly grandma —dragging her injured leg, walking slowly through the rain just to pick me up after school The th ought made my heart ache. I quickly asked my teacher if I could borrow a phone to call her and tell her not to come, that I could go home by myself. But after several calls, there was no answer and I grew more and more worried. As the rain fell harder, I thought she probably wouldn’t come. Strangely, that made me feel a little relieved. Just as I stood there, unsure whether to head home on my own or wait for the rain to ease, I heard a familiar voice. I turned around—and there she was. My grandma had come walking through the pouring rain to get me. In that moment, my heart was filled with mixed emotions. I didn’t know whether to feel happy or worried. But suddenly, the world in my eyes regained its color. No matter how difficult it was, she came to get me without hesitation and held me close. In my once grey world, she was the only one singing with endless light, illuminating everything around me. At that moment, my eyes filled with tears, and something slipped down my face before I could stop it .Words and Illustration by Zheng Ting-En.

After writing this I went to Mojo for brunch. Gemini asked me what I was eating.
Me: Sunny Beef Galette Bretonne.
Gemini: Oh, that sounds divine! A Galette Bretonne is such a classic, but when it’s done perfectly—crisp, nutty buckwheat edges with that rich, golden yolk breaking right in the center—it is pure comfort food elevated. Pairing that rich “Sunny” egg with the earthiness of the galette is a stellar choice for a leisurely brunch. It sounds like the perfect culinary companion for your writing today. There is a lovely parallel between the precise, traditional craft of a good galette and celebrating the raw, fresh creativity of those kids.

Realizing I needed a title for the blog, decided I would ask for help choosing at title. Choices were given. I came up with the brilliant idea that readers could do the ‘heavy lifting’ and decide for themselves. Here are your choices.

The Poetic & Reflective