“BlackJack is not real poker”

–My grandfather who was drunk and also in a bad mood

I have been to many great art museums around the world and had a host of different experiences: The Ufizi– got told to move out of the way of the Birth of Venus painting by a man in a tour group who probably doesn’t support women; the Musée d’Orsay– was yelled at in French by a security guard who probably was telling me not to lean over the edge of the balcony so that I wouldn’t fall to my death; The Metropolitan Museum of Art– once watched Dracula there (1937) and a black and white German expressionist vampire film for some reason; The Guggenheim– got dizzy walking up it; MoMA– went to it during the pride parade in Chelsea and saw it in its fullest of glory; The Louvre– took a photo of the most photographed painting in the world

Of all of the art museums I have been to, The National Gallery of Singapore is probably my favorite. The paintings I saw there were largely of people and used bright, saturated colors, two things that I love when it comes to art. 

With the largest collection of Asian art in the world, The National Gallery of Singapore had much to show me. Walking through the gallery, I saw artwork that depicted moments in history throughout Asia that I knew nothing about. 

After the National Gallery of Singapore, I returned to Marina Bay Sands, this time to try my hand at poker at the Marina Bay Sands Casino.

I entered the smoke-filled casino with complete confidence. My grandfather taught me, my cousins, and my brother how to play poker when I was about nine, probably because he would rather be playing poker than babysitting children.

My cousins and I were more concerned with learning how to shuffle the deck than how to play poker, which might explain why I’d forgotten the rules of every form of poker, including five card draw.

I got a refresher course from my aunt and a few of the nicer dealers and then trusted to dumb luck. I stuck to playing blackjack and three card draw, because those were the easiest to relearn on the fly.

I felt all of the sensations of being in a casino, of losing money and believing that you can earn it back, of earning money and believing that you could earn more. It feels elating when you’re winning. It feels demoralizing the second you start to lose. You feel in your bones that you’re about to win and maybe you are right about that, though you probably aren’t. 

They have you on the line and on the line you stay. 

My aunt felt the epic highs and lows more than I did, mainly because she had to explain to my father anything that went wrong with me, like losing all of my money at a blackjack table. I perfected the hand movement for when I wanted to stay and tapped the table when I wanted the dealer to hit me, all while creating a nail-biter for a blood relative.

I lost, then I gained, then I lost again, and then I gained.

I went in with 250 Singaporean dollars and then I left with 270 Singaporean dollars. 

The house did not win that day. 

I walked away, holding my head high, and feeling like I could do anything. Write a bestseller? Piece of cake. Travel the entire world? A walk in the park.

To celebrate, my aunt and I went to the Raffles Hotel for a few Singapore slings. A Singapore Sling is the signature drink of Singapore and it isn’t hard to see why. It is a smooth and fantastic cocktail that deceptively tastes like it has very little alcohol in it when in all actuality, you’ll be on your ass after two. 

My aunt and I enjoyed our fruity cocktails with thick wedges of pineapples, while enjoying the crushed peanut shell ambience of the Raffles Hotel. 

I learned a great many things about gambling that day, like, don’t play roulette; it’s a fool’s game. 

A few lessons went unlearned that day, including don’t hit on 18, because that wound up paying off for me, literally. 

That night we went to a meditation class where I took the greatest nap of my life. With a beautiful, astrological light show going on over my head and my jet-lag kicking in, I meditated so well that I took a fantastic snooze on a thin yoga mat. It was, however, an amazing, meditation class.

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my previous blog post about the Singapore Zoo