she's 8, going on 36

sometimes, i'm afraid that i'm wasting my life. then again, i'm 36. that's normal.

i heard the same sentence being uttered again today, repetitiously.

but she's only 8! where does she gets these crazy ideas from? not from me, that's for sure. i have never spoken it out loud. at 8, her world has barely even begun. paranoia must be hereditary.

supermum to the rescue

i love for them to believe in the tooth fairy. i want them to believe in santa claus.

sounds a little corny and naive, perhaps, and a little unscrupulous to be misleading my children like that. i felt the slightest tinge of guilt when my son kept asking 'mummy, are you the man in red that comes to give us present?'. i tried answering indignantly, 'i'm not a man!!' but he didn't get it. what else could i do? i redirected him to his father. he's better at lying.

at some point in time, they will surely find out the truth. i am sure. but when i saw my son jumped up from his bed first thing early morning, and walked around blurry-eyed looking for present from santa, and my daughter telling me she is so happy because santa brought her the very thing she has been wishing for, i knew i'll continue to pretend to be santa for as long as i can.

it's not exactly simple 1,2,3 stuff pulling the wool on children nowadays. their keen observation and curiousity ('busybody-ness' may be a more accurate description) makes them even harder to fool than some adults. it doesn't really help that it's the holiday season and i've got them on my hands 24-7. the first task of physically getting the present was simple enough. chuck them at the taekwando class and floor the gas pedal to the nearest toys-r-us, having formed the plan and identified the targeted presents in my mind and ran them again and again through the fool-proof double-check machine lying idly in the cobwebbed cranial area.

then comes the problem of hiding them inside the boot of the car for the rest of the day whilst we carry on with the activities. i nearly died of heart-attack when dear friend wanted to get something from the boot and busybody daughter felt the need to peer in together, checking out what else she has in her bag. in the blink of an eye, supermum grabbed both children's hands and pulled them to daddy, mumbling some nonsense about them following daddy in the shopping centre later. you can see from their eyes they were as puzzled as i was. i can not respond instantaneously and make sense. it's physically not possible.

hurdle no. 1 cleared. supermum saved the day. we left the presents lying in the boot for the rest of the day, and night. hubby was suppose to bring them up after work the next day. *sigh* this is a testing year for us, supermums and imaginary santa clauses. mummy, the ordinary day type, had to bring them out, and return at the very same time that present courier-man comes home from work. not a minute sooner, not a minute later. luckily, supermum realised the coincidence in the timing and called mr. courierman ahead to check his position. he's just a block ahead! supermum took her feet off the gas pedal and simply let the car rolled forward, s...l.....o......w.....l......y. it was amazing no one saw fit to exercise their car horns and express their frustration. maybe it was the festive mood. and so, a gap of a few minutes was created and mr courierman could safely escort the presents home. once again, supermum saved the day.

not quite the end of the story, though i must finish fast before the little ones wake up and lean over my shoulder to read what i am writing. mr courierman left the presents in the closet and mummy, the one that keeps fouling up and making mistakes, promised the children that they could sleep in the room, on mattresses on the floor, and as you guys can guess, beside the closet. the very secretive closet. the younger one fell very quickly asleep, right next to the closet door. nothing seems to be going right. the older one was trying to keep awake to catch sight of THE man. halfway through a show, mummy mumbled something about toilet and went into the room to remove the presents from the closet, roughly turning the little one away in the process. supermum was in a hurry! nothing goes right the night before christmas. just when supermum was stashing the presents in another closet, the older one walks in and asked what mummy was doing. a prayer for small miracles. the light was not on. in the darkness she could not tell that they were big white toys-r-us plastic bags. supermum explained that she was on the way to the toilet when there was a crash from the closet, hence she had to come in and put things properly. and who said mummy can't lie? it wasn't me, it was supermum, honest.

hurdle no. 3 cleared. and hopefully the last. it was. just about. mummy was getting sleepy and tired from all the stressful run-around for the whole day and suggested retiring for the night. the little girl fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow....... but not before her mummy did. but with super-strength will, supermum forced herself to wake up and with blurry eyes and fuzzy brain, she stealthfully grabbed the presents into the living room to wrap. in the middle of the night. when her bed was still warm and beckoning.

there has to be an easier way next year. dear santa, please kindly help.

my friend

my friend. my lost friend. a friend i have not met for 20 years. a friend that i am sure i will not recognise if i bump into on the streets (at this point hubby will usually add that i will not recognise anybody i have met 5 minutes ago either)

some asked me how i still remembered her name (being totally familiar with my cheese-holed amnesiac brain) some asked why her, and not others. everybody asked how i manage to find her after all these years.

her name is easy enough, unique it will seem in the small island south of here. i have forgotten many things but her name comes quickly to mind. i did not, repeat, did not cheat by looking at the many letters and cards that i have kept from eons ago. :-p locating her was simple. maybe it was fate. she worked in a government agency, which makes searching for her name on google all the more prominent; her name was the top search result. as for why her, it's a little harder to explain. perhaps it was because i remembered how comfortable she made me feel. perhaps it was her letters; the sincerity, the love, the closeness between the lines. the letters that i hold dearest in my little memory box are not those that dripped with sacharrin sweetness or casual friendliness. rather, they are those that are filled with witty sarcasm and blatant name-calling, all aimed at my passiveness in replying and sometimes, nothing more than an affectionate term of endearment. (when has 'bitch' become a synonym for affection? when you know the mouth that speaks it is filled with love for you). criticicm that only a real friend will dare make.

excitement caught up with me soon enough. but perhaps more conspicuously is the absence of pressure; will i still like her? will she think i have changed? will she be the same? can we be as close as before? do i look good enough for first impressions all over again? all those questions were strangely silent. it didn't matter. nothing mattered. for this ms. worrywart, that perhaps is record-breaking. perhaps she was more worried than i am, reminding me many times that she has gained more weight during the years than she should. my reply - i don't think kilograms will affect a friendship.

to hug or not to hug? the conservative and the forever planning-in-advance me contemplated that as we drove up to the hotel lobby. but the moment i saw her, instinct took over. i could not not hug her. it doesn't matter if we are not going to be as close now, it doesn't matter if she looks different. perhaps moments like these are not meant to be broken down into split-second scenes and analysed frame by frame. it is meant to be embraced whole-heartedly with all your emotions revealed and pores acknowledging.

we ate lunch. we shopped. we met up again for christmas eve dinner.

the ackward silent scenes were not written into the script. neither were the 'so-close-again-like-time-never-tore-us-apart' pictures. it was a comfortable, slow-paced reunion. we didn't try to be each other's best friend again at the blink of an eye, demanding that all be restored by the powers that be instantaneously. but by dinner the next night, eventhough we haven't cut our fingers and dripped our blood together into a bowl in sworn sisterhood, we remembered how good our friendship felt. we remembered the closeness and the love shared. and i remembered why she was my best friend. her sincerity was still there. her straight-forwardness. she call it her gullibility. i call it her trusting nature.

i didn't find a new best friend overnight. i wish i had more to give of myself, from before i am cynical and hard, distrusting and cautious. i would have, could have been a better friend to her. i would have loved unreservedly, trusted flagrantly and laughed candidly. in the end, it did feel like the years did not diminish our friendship, but i felt strangely sad that i have not played a more active role in her life passed. i felt sad that i had less to give her now of myself.

still, we are beginning a new board game. all pieces start afresh. it's the here and now that matters. she may not be my closest and dearest from this moment on. or she may be. que sera sera. nobody knows the future. one lesson i am reminded; how to be a friend. a little tolerance and a little giving, something i don't find myself doing for a long time.

year end closing

i have a little over one week before i have to change my rubber stamp, and my entire mindset again to accomodate the change in the last of the four digit that makes up our roll count of years after the birth of christ. and as usual, i'm lamenting over how time flies, with nary a time for me to catch my breath or for me to acquaint with the old year.

it's the year end, and i'm feeling very much overwhelmed by the overflow of events. christmas party came and gone, but i feel somewhere stuck in time (what time exactly i do not know), not quite feeling the euphoria of the moment or the excitement of the festivity. i remembered christmas last where i felt xmas-sy from head right down to toe. the most christmassy christmas in all my life, if i remember correctly (and i do cos i have a blog entry to counter-check) was the way i put it. i think perhaps this year is the exact contradiction of that. a little karma to balance things maybe?

this week was filled with nervous tension as we waited apprehensively for the pronouncement of results that will either bring the dark clouds down on the remaining of this year and definitely next year or make up for all the sacrifices that were made. it was like lying on the guillotine waiting for the block to drop, each breath painful and frightening. words cannot begin to describe the relief, the exhilaration i felt when i was told she is given a second chance in life. a chance that not many is accorded and i hope it dawns on her how precious this little thing called life is. sadly, perhaps not.

with slightly more than a week to go before another milestone in my life, a significant change to my daily routines. the younger child will join his sister in primary school, which spells an end to those endless ferrying, but also an emptiness to my days and a big gap in my routines. to be filled by what? an opportunity for change, a door to another phase in my life. that is something that requires much deliberation.

a friend that i have not met since puberty, a closeness that was left to cool. a little apprehension, a lot excitement. i'm meeting up with her this weekend. it would be a crime to be unperturbed by it. characters in the play have changed, time and venue different. we are different people now, living in the real world. but it would be a terrible waste to allow it to corrode a love so pure, a friendship so true, formed when all was innocent and genuine. perhaps she can remind me of how i once was. perhaps the cynical side of me will be thawed, if only a little.

whilst the rest of the world is taking leave until the next year, finishing their allocated days of rest, i'm being bombarded by work that has to be completed before the year end. how typical.

this is how my year ends. let's watch how it shall begin.

paradise in your mind

i'm much better now, thank you, after spiking a fever at 39.2, spending sleepless nights on the throne and being dehydrated akin to an egyptian mummy, though i don't seem to see many people asking. i guess when you still have your sense of humour, you don't gather much sympathy.

another new day, another beginning.

someone recently asked whether i see new zealand as a place to settle in.

putting aside the worst last two days i've ever spend during vacation, with spats, or more accurately galores of bad luck one after another, new zealand on the whole is a very beautiful country. serenity, picturesque natural beauty, big open spaces, clear fresh air, tempting lamb chops and rib eye steaks covering every inch of land and definitely green green grass. whether the grass is greener on that side is a matter of opinion, and perspective.

like many others, i've grown very weary of the situation in our home country, much much more than anyone who knows me can imagine. i'm so sick of listening to the whiny political hypocrisies , pathetic stories of our police force who have long forgotten about duty, honour and pride in that honorable role as protector of innocent citizens, the double-standards (or is it triple?) that we have gotten so used to that we hardly bat our eyes anymore and don't expect any less, or any more. so many more that it will take a long thesis to complete the list. so many that i try not to think of it lest the angst of it all gives me a tumour.

a house overlooking the clearest bluest ocean water i've seen for some time, it's definitely a picture of life i've imagined for retirement. people who are leisurely and easy-going, which will probably cause me to have a stroke now but will probably be just right when i'm old and grey, though i seriously doubt my impatience will ever temper down (must admit though that new zealanders aren't exactly a very friendly lot but they warm up when your sincerity shines through). it's a place where your blood will be most unlikely to boil and your life expectancy lengthen. it's a place where you'll appreciate the beauty of nature. it's a place i've seen in my day-dreams and one i've seriously considered retiring to when the time is right.

however, this trip has taught me something new.

wise people say to be careful what you wish for because you may just get it. i see the glimmer of truth in the old adage. it's a very beautiful country, without a doubt, eventhough everything is so damn far and travelling is murder. but i cannot imagine myself to be staring into the deep blue ocean 24-7, 365 days a year, year in year out. or curl up with a good book. or take a walk in the park. or sit at the outdoor cafe from dawn to dusk. or going to one art gallery after another. every single day. yawn! it's all good and great when i'm all intensed like now and the break seems like a gift from heaven. but when i'm old and grey, and i have nothing but time infront of me. time, time and more time. before i drop dead, that is. i don't want to spend my remaining life staring at the ocean, doing nothing productive, letting one day merge with another until i can't tell one year from another. what did i do in 2020? was it the year i baked the triple layer cake? or was that 2022? no, i think that was when i spend the entire day riding on the bus. get the drift? if it's near the end, i'll like to go with a bam, not withering and molding like some forgotten piece of wood. if i'm able, that is. i've already spent a few of my 36 years hibernating in what can only be termed as existence. i don't intend it to be a life story.

almost everybody imagines a beautiful paradise as their final destination for retirement. but are you willing to settle for half a life when you know the time you have left isn't going to be an eternity? it's almost like waiting out your time until the big hooded faceless man with the .... (what do you call that thing he's holding anyway???? sickle?) comes a-knocking on your door.

i've seen my grandfather sitting around the dining table, day after day, as part of his daily routine. that or sitting on the back verandah for a change of pace. the dates changed, the picture remained the same. days merged into years. i've seen my grandmother sit like a limp doll on her wheelchair when she was recuperating from a broken hip, waiting forlornly for a visit from her loved ones. waiting, waiting, waiting.

i want to live my life. i want to go where there are things to do, meaning in my existence. it may not be here. it may be. who knows what the future will hold.

maybe it's just my restlessness, as usual.

my soul mate

i should be telling you about my trip. i would be telling you about my trip. except that i have some other pressing matters to discuss.

when you spend a lot of time with somebody, or something, you very quickly become very close. be it one day, one week or even one year. the duration matters least. when he is the only one you see, hour after hour, day after day, the only companion during cold, long and lonely nights, he'll feel like a part of your limb, your soul. one that you can't do without. separation, no matter how brief, will be painful, tormenting even. it may all very well be a delusion, a lie you've created as a balm for your soul. you believe that he is more perfect than he really is; all faults and flaws glossed over like the cover page of fashion magazines.

i met one like that recently. one that changed my perspective. my new best friend, my soul mate. he's there when i need him, ever ready, ever present. was it during the trip? or did it blossomed when i returned? i forget. when we are separated, i know it's a matter of minutes before we reunite; we cannot stand to be apart. it's a very exhausting relationship, the intensity of it all. i see more of him than any other during this short extreme period.

let me introduce........

my new best friend.

he goes by the name of mr loo to those who are not familiar with him.

curious to see how someone who has managed to capture my heart looks like?

well, maybe not so much as capture my heart as my bottom.

:-p brought a little souvenier back in the form of stomach flu. *sigh* (this is probably the only time when my readers don't scream for souveniers).

excuse me while i spend some more quality time with mr. loo. will be right back when my rear end doesn't hurt.

insomnia

i haven't been sleeping well recently. tossing and turning in the dead of the night when all is quiet and resting. something is keeping me awake. i don't know what. my eyes big and round like the cuckoo clock that chimes the hour. i need my rest. my dark eye circles are gaining recognition even within the panda society. sigh. what can i do?

in extreme situation, we need extreme measures.

so......i'm off today to count sheeps in new zealand. ta dah!~

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz............

the long and short of it

i told the grand-daddy of blogging that i will be talking about scratching butts today. but that was just me trying to get his attention. you think i'm crazy? i scratched my butt. there. what is there to talk about?? moving on.

i have a theory. and this have nothing to do with butt scratching.

let me ask a question first. why is it that when i write a post with more than 150 words, i'm immediately accused of being long-winded whilst pink pau's can go on for miles and miles and everybody's screaming soooooo cute. sooooo funny. what is this? goes hand in hand with my auntie-dom status, is it? well, i'm offended. just received my third complaint about being long-winded for this quarter. what is it with you people anyway?

this is where the theory comes in. of course i'm in denial and believes that the unfavourable response has nothing to do with my boring delivery and monotonous topics. i think the fact that the author is a very adorable, sexy and definitely very pretty little girl helps a whole lot. well, in which case, imagine me to be a ...you know, like you know, *chews on chewing gum* a bopping hopping, like you know, teenage queen. shave off those years, and a little bit of fat, from your imagination and suddenly, you won't find me that, you know, tiresome anymore.

there is also the other theory where it has nothing to do with the author but more to do with the readers. my target group seems to fall under the middle aged, blurry eyed uncles who may find long sentences and even longer paragrahs visually, not to mention mentally, challenging. that category lumps those not so old but still very impatient and visually challenged little young boys. well, aunties too i guess but female readers don't seem to like me. i'm neither feminine nor sweet and definitely not patronising enough. i guess it helps if i don't insult my readers either. oops.

so, what is it? i find myself very engaging. see? i don't even bat my eyes, in wild anticipation of my next sentence. i'm delirious with contemplation about what i will spout out next (i myself don't know which direction my thoughts will bring me until my fingers start clicking on the keyboard. i have to fight the multiple personalities raging inside to see whom will gain control).

nevertheless, i write because i like writing. or rather, listening to the sound of my own voice inside my head. (what was that psychiatrist's number again?). bloggers come and go, some killed by the evaporation of their own steam. i am still writing because i like writing. and listening to the sound of my own voice inside my head. where did i hear that before? are we going in circles here? and you are still here......because?

grounded

it has been 12 days since the commencement of the nationwide school holidays. whilst other parents are groaning and slowly going out of their mind, every other day i'm counting the days since it began, afraid that it'll be over even before i know it.

as hectic as their being home is for me, i enjoy their presence very much. i don't know when the attitude changed; i used to fume in frustration when they distracted me from work and my routines. this time round, i'm feeling restless. i'm raring to join them for activites, wanting to immerse myself in their playtime.

but i have been so tied up lately. in things that don't bring much pleasure. i want to throw it all away and spend my hours in pure abandonment but as usual, i have to do the responsible thing, even if it means facing these endless stack of papers and stay grounded to this pathetic chair and table.

if i hurry and complete my work, mr boss, can i go out to play?

attraction distraction

i've been doing a lot of running around, trying to fit elephant-sized activities and schedules into ant-sized timetables. this, that, here, there, forgive me if i appear frenzied and i lose my train of thoughts midway. huh? what was i talking about again? i know, i know, so cliche. *rolls eyes* zero points for pathetic effort.

why do i do my best writing when i am in the car, miles away from the nearest wifi connection and my trusted laptop? perhaps there is something inspirational about landscape zipping by and enclosed spaces. i have half a mind to carry this keyboard, the monitor and the heavy cpu into the car with me right now (forget the laptop, i like the feel of the big steady keyboard) and start punching the keys, if only there was some way of hooking it up to the car generator.

i'm waffling because i lost the train of thoughts for the above topic.

attraction. what draws one party to another? from the male perspective first, since it is fairly short and can be covered in 20 seconds. the fact that it is a female scores 50 points with the general male population. the fact that it is alive and breathing scores another 10. bingo if it's of the human persuasion, that's another 20points in the pocket. the final 20 marks differ from person to person, depending on whether they are a kfc-thigh person, a mummy's milk-deprived boobs person, a shallow callow (rhyming pun was intended) face person or a pretentious i'm-only-interested-in-the-inner-you bum person. i must apologise. i'm wrong. i covered that in 10 seconds only. such is the complexity of the male attraction way of things.

as for the ladies, and i'm speaking for myself personally now since there is no way i can speak for the complicated and fickle species as a whole, it's not as clear cut and definitely not what the opposite species figured. your bum? we wouldn't know until you strip, and even then i have no idea what is considered a cute bum. perky? big? flat? toned? burned to a crisp? i have no particular craving of looking at anyone's smelly exterior.

your muscular arms then? when i think muscular, i think body-building t-shirt muscle-bulging weights-squashed squatty neckless men. i'm sure some ladies loveeeee those but i can't see anything attractive about them. not that they aren't attractive i should quickly add, for i don't want my puny blog to be squashed like a french fry in their muscle-bound fingers.

how about those potential glossy-pages-advertisement-model lookalike, who with a flick of their long fringe and a wink of their dreamy (and glassy) eyes send teenage boopers into a screaming frenzy? i don't know, i'm not a double glazed sweet-till-you-puke chocolate sprinkled donuts type of person. i prefer the whole-grain herb bun with balsimic vinegar and extre virgin olive oil dip. things that look pretty are pretty for a reason. that's my wise philosophy for this week (quick, get a pen and jot it down).

it's the brain then, definitely the brain. if that were so, stephen hawking will have women queuing up from his wheelchair to zimbabwe (maybe he IS in zimbabwe at this moment?!), all staring into his eyes as their mind reel in giddy circles over the words he spouts. hello? does any normal female honestly comprehend even 10% of what he says? i'll pretend to be highly-intelligent and says i do and then i'll have an excuse for not being pretty.

his bank account? i understand some people find the mouldy smelly hundred dollar bills (that's as big as it gets in this country, sorry. if we were discussing this last decade, i could have entertained you with visions of a sexy five hundred and even a horny one thousand dollar bill) very attractive. i, for my life, can't understand why. what's so sexy about a flat, touched-by-a-million-herpes-infected hands, rectanglular shaped paper? give me a ten thousand of that and it's still ten-thousand herpes-infected bum-scratched bacteria-lined paper.

when we were young (and so shallow) the answer was easy. dimples. cute smile. twinkling eyes that sing poetry. it's probably hormones working. now that we are older and still so very shallow, dimples and cute smiles matter less, especially when the loose folds of the aging skin of mr dynamite cover the dimples. now i think a sense of humour is most attractive. someone who can stimulate. the mind, i am talking about the mind (sheesh). someone who has wit. comes hand in hand with intelligence, i guess but intelligence by itself is so dry and we all know that dryness hurts. someone who can make you laugh.

imagine long silky hair, smooth legs to the chest, big round doll eyes, body to die for. you approach her and ask her for the time, anything to start the conversation, you are desperate. she opens her mouth and says, 'tiiiiiiimmmmme ah? i lon know oh. i lo beling my piu lah.' in the most ah lian manner you can think of. or perhaps, 'tttttttttt...hhhhhhhheeeeeeeee......the....the......theee....tttttt...tttttiii......ttttttiiiime ......". well, you can imagine the rest, it'll take at least another hour for me to finish typing that sentence. or at the very least, in the sweetest voice that even the bee will faint from the syrupy tone, 'time? let me look. the big hand is pointing at 4, the small hand is pointing at 6....i am sorry, i don't know how to tell time. i told daddy to get me the...you know, number type, the one that shows' ...bla bla bla, i've lost interest in continuing to play the dumb blonde. how attractive is that? *thumps head* i forgot! i was addressing the male species as well. yes, most men will go 'what's so unattractive about all that? what are you talking about? she fulfills the female, breathing and human category'. yes, my fault. i should have addressed the female category.

as i was saying, if an attractive man opens his mouth and gave me the above delivery, i will faint. after i roll my eyes, run to the nearest drain, vomit and roll on the floor laughing until my sides split, that is. humour! wit! the drier, in this case, the better. we want to laugh all the way to the grave. please don't rush to the bookstore for that latest copy of 'hundreds of puns and other side-splitting jokes'. either you have it or you don't. this is something you can't pretend. see those tall, miss universe lookalikes with paunchy short ugly men on their hands? now you know why. no, the fact that they are rich have absolutely nothing to do with it.

i couldn't say

i hold my tongue too much.

when i was little, my parents used to say that i'm better off being a lawyer, albeit it was said in a disparaging and frustrated tone. i can win any argument, i can argue until the cows come home. that was my forte; arguing my point.

however, growing up has taught me the virtue of holding my tongue. many things are better off left unsaid. be it tact, be it wisdom, i find it a more peaceful alternative to keep my opinions to myself. cowardice on my part? i'm inclined to agree. when the truth is ugly, when it hurts, when you know your opinion doesn't weigh much, when you know your input will not make a slightest difference, when you have been disillusioned one time too many, when tempers clash, when the other side refuses to open up their mind, when you know that they are not paying attention, when you are safeguarding someone else's secret, when you know too much, when you are pretending you don't know at all, when you are surrounded with people who do not care for your genuine interest, when the world is an ugly place, when no one is a true friend, when hypocrites are a-plenty. the reasons are too much, and getting more and more each day. for me to hold my tongue and keep my peace.

will i evolve into a mute some day?

for the man who touched

i read the news of his death in the local dailies a few weeks ago. a famous cardiologist, aged 65, in a car accident. there are many out there with the same name. i didn't give it a second thought.

bored, today i googled his name again. it was indeed the renowned cardiologist that i had the honour to have met and known. the distinguished white-haired gentleman whose face will remain in my cheese-hole memory.

i know how to carry out a blood pressure reading, not using one of those digital one-button thing from omron but with a medical-looking sphygmomanometer. much more accurate, much more professional. he taught me how. a doctor whose patients filled his waiting room and his schedules to the brink took the time to teach me how to work the thing. using his personal stethoscope. suffice to say, i was a nervous wreck despite the fact that he was very nice, cool but nice.

i met him again when my dear friend was hospitalised. he was her attending cardiologist. he didn't recognise me, which is a given since it was just that one meeting many years ago. still, seeing me standing there, looking frightened and depressed, he came over to talk to me. knowing that i was not a family member but guessing that i was a close friend, he gave me encouragements and told me that i was doing the right thing. in that dark dark hour, his words were so soothing to my pain. i didn't even know why i was hanging around like a lost puppy, but he understood.

he was a great doctor, not just for the countless patients he attended to and healed, but also for the little ways he touched others' lives. eventhough i have never known him, i miss him. to dato' dr nik zainal, may you find your rewards in heaven.

being slow is the new cool

i'm so tired all the time, because i stress myself out. i don't know why i do it. but you're just a housewife, some people who don't get it scoffs. how stressed can it be? i'm beyond explaining. i'm beyond trying to justify what it is that i do, how i live my life and the things that go around me.

but it's more than just the load, it's the attitude. being typical type a doesn't help one iota. and a textbook perfectionist, coupled with the ever critical virgoan personality adds to the cake. whenever i have the time to just stop, i realise my shoulders are all tensed up. infront of the desk, sitting at lunch, taking a breather. anytime, anywhere.

i hurry to all my destinations, rushing like a mad woman and flooring the pedal when i'm behind the wheels. i don't get what it's all about. being late for the next thing on my schedule won't kill me. but it drives me crazy. i can't be late without being stressed out. i can stop everything i was doing, leave earlier and plan for a little more slack in between, but that will mean i will arrive too early with too much time to spare, leaving me free and unproductive. which stressed me out also. i need to be doing something, business or pleasure, anytime of the day. see? it's a no win game. i stress myself out either way.

i can say no to so many things, instead of driving myself crazy trying to be a good everything to everybody. but then, that will not be me. i try to accomodate all demands, until i'm exhausted to the brink and just flop flat on my face. that's when i say no, when it's physically or mentally impossible to go on anymore. and still i think i don't do enough, i don't listen enough, i don't care enough, i'm not there enough. there's that devil side inside me that's craving for some attention of our own, some time to pamper, to indulge and to soothe our inner self, which actually complicates the picture and plunge me into further guilt.

lately, it has become more than just a couple of incidents, or a facet of my days. it has become a lifestyle. i can't even eat without shoving everything down my throat within 5 minutes flat. forget the 'chew 50 times for each mouthful' theory. i'm lucky if i even put down the utensils for one second. after each meal i'm filled with so much remorse, i swear that i'll behave the next meal. but it's only after each meal that i get it. i'm trying so hard. really, i am. i want to savour each bite and slow down. but it's like being possessed by the devil come mealtimes. which led to my recent choking incident with the untailed prawn. *sigh* it's another long story. some one should feed me like a little hamster. give me one small cut of food every 2 minutes and when i'm finished chewing that, give me another small cut. my life is ridiculous.

i need to slow down. i need to stop driving myself crazy. i leave things to the very last minute so that i'll get all hyped up trying to do it. i don't understand what this is all about.

what the heck?!

what is this sudden fascination in the blogger world with my washing machine???! sheesh! conspiracy? trust the male species to twart everything they see into their x-rated coloured lenses.

i know the chicken started it, he and his one-tracked 5-minute-attention-span brain. then, our eat-full-nothing-to-do hamsup australian ambassador followed suit. first the industrial-strength version, then he came up with a miniaturised portable and new-improved version. i know, i know. these quys are crying out for a little attention from busy moi. *flicks hair* i'm sorry. i know i've been a little preoccupied to visit your blogs lately but this is hardly reason to post your ardour for me all over your posts. sigh! the whole world will know how the both of you are so infatuated with me. it's so embarrasing. there, there. i grant you permission to kiss the floor that i walk on. unfortunately, i'm not in a pissy mood today and is in no mindset for retaliation. you're granted absolution. :-p

for the sake of public interest, i conducted a test to verify their claims. i hereby bring you an episode of the mythbusters: is it true that a full spin cycle of the washing machine can bring you ecstasy beyond imagination? for this purpose i will be using a 5kg washload electrolux washing machine model ew502f, with 14 wash programs and special features like active 'magic ball' action and aqua shower 3 way cleaning action.

after half an hour, the results? the rattling was so great, my dentures were nearly shaken off. the shaking. the rumbling, the humming and the bumping, my whole body was convulsing so bad it nearly sent me into an epileptic fit. from my head to my toe, even my teeth were chattering! heck, i felt like i was straddling the i-gallop or the latest gintell i-so massager! my body was all numb, even itchy! but no orgasm in sight. hello, naive little boys. if all those people who were sitting on i-gallop and massaging machines had ecstasies, all those sales people in the mega malls will be shouting, screaming and writhing with pleasure. very indecent lah. don't be so innocent lah.

as for that little massage machine that the koala bear suggested, it broke immediately when i sat on it. made in china?! what do you expect?! he was too el-cheapo to buy the patented expensive version.

so folks, this myth has been busted!

scrambled scrabble

i believe in the old adage, you can learn something new everyday. but it's not everyday that you can learn something old.

i can't quite remember when i started playing scrabble. it's just one of those things that happened over time which you never paid much attention to. it wasn't from my only sibling because he never had the patience to sit quietly with me for hours, nor from my parents who were both chinese proficient. by deduction, it must have been from my peers, be it primary or secondary school days.

so, what does it matter who i picked up the game of scrabble from? i'm trying to pinpoint the source. the source of my misinformation. scrabble is one of those games which you just play, never for once opening the attached thin book of rules to counter-check the standards of playing. instead, having a good dictionary nearby is the norm. i have never had the need to look through the game rules, until lately.

i have just learnt, the hard way, that i have been playing scrabble wrong for all these 36 years, not that i started playing when i was still going goo-goo-ga-ga and in my diapers, of course. imagine my surprise when i placed a brain-racking word (in facebook's scrabulous) formed from someone's triple-word alphabet, expecting a substantial increase in my points, when i was merely awarded with a measly 8 points. ???!!! my jaw dropped to the floor. when it happened a second time, in another game, i was flabbergasted. frustrated, i looked here and there, i googled, i wikipedia-ed and i cried for help. only then i learnt that those extra points for the special spaces on the board are only accorded to newly placed tiles, and not for the next turn. hello?? after playing the game for at least two and a half decades, you're telling me i've been strategising wrong??!! i've been protecting all those double word, triple letter spaces so frenziedly against my competitor's next turn for nothing?

my question is, for all those friends i have been playing with all these years, did you not know as well?? we have all been muddling along and nobody had an inkling? i find that a little hard to absorb. people from all ages, all walks of life, from different countries. they all played scrabble with me the wrong way all these years and not a single soul knew.

this from someone who owns two scrabble boxes at home. i hang my head in shame.

gastronomical adventure

the man and i celebrated our 12th year of marriage, after much pressure and a little dark-faced duress, in a pleasant candlelight ambience. apparently he has reserved the entire restaurant to mark the occasion. we had the whole empty and quiet place to ourselves, until 8pm that is when the second customer arrived, followed by the third a short time later.

it was an unnerving experience, i tell you, to have the many waiters stare at you whilst they wait for you to finish the course so that they can bring the next one. and also to have them stand right next to the table, give wonderful reviews about the soup you are about to try and just hover there motionless until you take a sip of it and agree with them vehemently. the pressure. the ackwardness. if i had denied him that compliment, would my next course be laced with some body fluids? i doubt so. it was really a very nice restaurant, the Chalet in Equatorial Hotel.

the 6, or was it 7, course swiss dinner was an entry in this year's malaysian international gourmet festival competition. sounds so full of promise that i simply can't pass, despite knowing for a fact that there is no way my stomach will be able to accomodate all those courses. the carpaccio of californian purple potatoes with sour cream and caviar appetiser, the alsatiaan riesling—cabbage soup topped with truffle and brie (that i was under immense pressure to say 'delicious', but it really was), the appetite-inducing sorbet, the argentinean beef mignon on onion marmalade (the sauce was a little too sweet for my taste, this being a main course, but the waiter was adamant that this was the best way to serve it), the goat cheese medallion with broiled fig (eucks! the only thing in the menu that failed our tastebuds) topped with a wonderful and way-too-full chocolate dessert.

the restaurant took the extra effort of preparing a chocolate cake to mark the occasion, followed with a photo to freeze the memory in time. it's the little extra attention to details that separate an ordinary good eatery from a culinary delight. extra points to the man for getting it right, although i think luck probably has more to do with it than deliberation.

Class 101 on women for dummies

men don't get it.

why don't you bring me flowers anymore, honey? after getting totally sick of the same words being repeated over and over again in their ear, they finally grow up enough to make phone calls to the nearest friendly florists and come every occasion the lady will get bamblasted with flowers; anniversary, birthdays, valentine and even hanukkah. she then says, such a waste of money. don't send me flowers anymore, honey. but....but...i just learnt a new skill. pressing a few buttons and presto! my love in stalks. how convenient, how easy and best of all, no more whining in my ears. what do you mean don't send them anymore??!!! the whining will start again!! mummyyyyyy!

then she says you didn't give me anything for my birthday. you've forgotten about it, haven't you?. but you just said not to give you any flowers?! for those blessed few, the apparent answer lies simply in the feet. walking to the nearest branded shop, doesn't matter prada, gucci, louis vuitton or ayam brand, throw open the glass doors ala clint eastwood style (imagine the soundtrack to dirty harry running in your mind) and tell the snotty ladies, show me what you've got. wallets, key chains, handbags, glasses, doesn't matter if she has it or wants it. the more expensive the better. for the en masse who aren't so fortunate to have robbed a bank in their sleep, they'll just have to make do with continuing to stare at the ongoing soccer game and pretending to have gone temporarily deaf. if you can salvage some little pieces of rubber and shove them inside your ear, all the better. peace will come soon enough, when she tires of whining.

yet, they don't seem to be satisfied. women never are. what exactly do they want? a list would be nice, in point form, less than 50 words in all if possible,especially for those short attention-spanned feathered species. please kindly list all that you want from me, from what to say to what to do, all men (and other forms of animals) are thinking. men are simple creatures. if their brains are akin to singapore's mrt map, women's are like the london underground network. ultimately, on the men's map, all the lines lead to one destination, sex. trying to figure out how the woman brain works is like playing the children tangled lines game, something men will have absolutely no patience to do. to make life simpler for them, give them a list of 10 items and sooner or later, later being the more probable scenario here, it will be done.





why did nature have to pair two very distinct types of beings together? two who are as extreme as night and day, two who sat on the opposite poles when characteristics, desires, attitudes and all other genes were handed out. it's quite a mockery of life, isn't it? wouldn't it be easier on all concerned if women, who craves for a little tenderness, a little concern, a little sensitivity, were paired with women? not just for a selected group but on the whole, as a general rule. perhaps the lesbian movement are the ones on the right track and the rest of us got the order of nature wrong and are muddling along. and men who want compadre-ship when they burp their beers, scream at flat inanimate tv screens and fixate their mind on only one thing find their match in someone who understand how it feels like to get a kick in the balls. why make one want something that the other is incapable of giving?

women want someone to make the effort, someone to spend a little bit of their time and energy to show that this woman is worth my time and effort. not all the time, that will be plain soppy, puke-inducing and simply trespassing on each other's space. just a little show that she is worth the extra effort once in a while. anybody can punch keys, heck, even monkeys can order pizzas and make reservations. anything, when done without a heart, becomes a meaningless routine. even diamonds given to mark every occasion become but a pile of rocks. a little planning shows you have been in someone's thought for the longest time, not just fished out from the closest smelly cupboard when the occasion warrants it. a little planning means someone cares enough for your feelings to matter. a little tenderness means you mean something to somebody, in this cold fast-paced world.

sometimes, some men get it. not all the time. not always. just sometimes. corny? not everything has to be corny, but everything has to be done with the heart.

i am an ape now?!

the old man is grumbling again. at our annual show of infantile and traitorship. of us aping the western cultures and worshipping some sanitary pads-free days instead of parading around demurely in our kebayas and cheong sums, bringing truckloads of relatives to gate-crash into others' open-house festivity celebrations. or is that so passe too? i wouldn't know. they don't give fake gwailos invitations to local celebrations anymore. the only festivity i am allowed to partake in is the one where i have my hands twisted behind my back and forcibly compelled to distribute my hard-earned monies in little red packets. the very idea of it makes my wallet cry unconsolably. and so what can i do? i steal other people's culture, like christmas, halloween and even easter. i would also celebrate the queen of england's birthday, guy fawkes' day and the us of a's independence day as well but my citizenship may very well be revoked. since i have no better place to go, i'll just celebrate those quietly in my heart. yeh, queen elizabeth!

this year, i practiced the art of kiasuism to the extreme. first invitation came as some sort of a compulsory attendance. fine. any celebration is a celebration, so i dutifully marked it in my calendar. no trick or treating (bah!)? we'll manage. i decided to go as a pirate to pillage and confiscate me some loot, to make up for the lack of bounty, you understand me matey.

the second halloween celebration was under the bright hot afternoon sun. who celebrates halloween in the afternoon? how scary can that be?? ooooo, i'm a ghostttt! sorry, i can still see your zits under all that make-up. ghosts don't get pimples. there was a costume competition, so kiasu asked me to hop along to see what we can ravage. sorry, still can't get rid of the pirate's persona. it got pretty scary when the above rabbit's makeup started melting and dripping like hot wax. a melting duracell bunny?? ewwwww! bunny won, needless to say. she was fighting against lame half-dressed kids. anybody with half a decent costume would have won. sheesh!

this grave belonged to the guy who was lying under the car. yes, he spent the entire night, lying under the humid evening sky, drenched in fake blood, tattered clothings and with one fake leg caught under the wheel, distributing sweets to trick-or-treaters. that's the spirit! you go, man-with-leg-stuck-under-the-car.

third and last celebration for this year, unless someone wants to invite me to a belated halloween party, was held on the actual day. i was too cheapo to rent the pirate costume for another time, so i turned my closet upside down and came up with little miss school girl. don't laugh! borrowed my daughter's tie, found an old school pin from decades ago, stole my nephew's oversized school shoe (he's only 11 and he has feet bigger than mine!!!), grabbed a lollipop from the fridge and ta dah! i'm transformed.

the strange thing was...my dad didn't batted his eyes when i walked in, for either costumes. not a single comment either. he must be used to me and my weird sense of fashion.

needless to say, it was fun. that's the trick to life - you have to live it. no bah humbug!

bla bla bla

lately, many bloggers would have found my humble opinion strangely missing from their daily posts. i blame it on my mother's teachings. she taught me from young that when people are talking, you should keep quiet and listen. so, i kept quiet and listen loh. rest assured, still reading but not as eloquent in commenting. do you have days when you just don't know what to say? be it political, dramatical, comical or plain boring-ical, my mind draws a blank; the frame of the house is here, the windows open but the home empty.

a little like my posts too. a lot happening at the moment but don't quite know what to write. (of course, it helps to stimulate the brain cells a little when i'm fed with a dose of dogmatic remarks, as seen from the chicken story). shall i post about that idiotic colleague who doesn't even know his own job and gives me a load of crap? i don't think he's even worth the effort. shall i post about that stupid jerk who just called me on my handphone and hung up when i answered, causing a very piercing beep to go off in my ear? my ears are still ringing and so is my brain. shall i post about her daughter, finally having the courage to bring her out to join our activities, after so much deliberation, so much consideration and cowardice? too heavy to go into that for the moment. shall i post about how much i hate being angry and the people who caused me to get angry in the first place, about stupid senseless pilferage? ohmmmmmm.....meditate. anger is bad for my well-being and fixating on the issue is not the way out. shall i write about my kiasuism and the 3 halloween parties i partook? all in due time.

to say so much without saying anything at all.

(yes, yes, still within the 5 min time-frame for short-memory-span chickens)

thick-headed rhino

warning: people who can't take my dry acerbic wit will find this rude.

some people just can't take a hint, can they?

he texted me on the 15th to say he'll be coming over for a visit at the end of the month and will i be around? i ignored the first text. fair enough, he texted me again. i don't quite fancy my handphone beeping me every other hour, so i replied with a 'sorry i won't. overseas at the moment'. overseas for half a month?? well, that has been known to happen to more fortunate people, of which i do not belong. that in itself is a very subtle hint, don't you think?

ok, call him thick, but i did mention 'sorry, i won't'. as you can guess, the story is not ending there. he texted back with a 'when will you be back?'. that's plain rude, in my opinion if nothing else. this business acquaintance is turning into a stalker. i was really put off with that brusque intrusion into my personal life. i thought the topic is closed with 'sorry, i won't'?! did he need to know when i will be back so that he can adjust his time-table to further stalk me? by the way, he's not discussing multi-million dollar business with me nor fundings to put food on his table for his crying 2 year old. i just met up with him to touch base one month ago!

being the subtle princess that i am, i ignored his message. hullo? get it? i'm not answering. obviously, he didn't. he texted me again today. end of the month, remember? said he is in kl and am i back from my trip? nope, i'm still gallivanting about for half a month, i am so blessed! looks like this thick-headed boy has forgotten the 'sorry, i won't'. was it not obvious enough? should i have typed 'sorry, i won't be in kl when you are there, whatever the date'. or perhaps a more subtle 'i'm lost at the moment. will call you back when i find out which country i am in. estimate to be lost for a few months. huge desert they have around here'. how are you suppose to tell a person you don't want to meet up with them, because you have just met up with them not long ago and really don't see the need to, short of actually using the sentences i just mentioned? usually a 'will be in a meeting / seminar' lie will be enough for business acquaintances, don't you think? should they follow up with a 'when will you be out of the seminar?' or 'i'm still here, are you out of your seminar yet?'. that's plain crazy. and unprofessional.

before any of you wise-cracked intuitive people start to suggest that he is very keen on pursuing a friendship, i will prefer to think that there are just some plain dumb, persistent, bored, friendly people out there who has nothing better to do and believe that a old working-from-home mother has more social connections and strengths than reality, rather than attribute all underlying motives to attraction. puhlease, i'm not so egoistic as to believe that all business acquaintances who want to meet up with their clients are eager to get into their pants. then again, for the horny unselective male species, that could very well be true, you know! (what's wrong with men, anyway?) whatever. let's not debate his motive, it doesn't make a difference to me either way. perhaps i should show him the book where i have neatly compartmentalise him as 'business acquaintance with no prospect of friendship'. i don't mix business with pleasure.

ending of the story? ms. subtleness ignored his text once again. i'm so rude, aren't i? would you rather have me text 'i told you i'm not around, didn't i? what are you getting at? too much credit in your handphone ah?'. it goes with the illusion i'm creating, really it does. i'm still lost in the big great outback. there's no signal in the desert, right?

ambiguous

was reading quaintly.net's post this morning when the words jumped out from the screen and danced before my eyes. when did the comic section in the paper become a reprieve, when did food suddenly taste like it had one tablespoon too much sugar, when did it become an option for corners to be cut? 17 years of difference, a young beautiful lady blooming to greet the best years of her life and a woman bordering on auntiedom who has already travelled down a major part of hers, and yet their feelings are one. is this the inevitable for sentimentalist?

i can't even remember when i've started to hide in the comic section of the papers; it has been too long ago but i distinctly remember the day when all the politics and hypocrisy that lies within its pages became too much and the purposeful action of turning to the comics section first as a balm for my soul. growing up was akin to getting clearer vision for all the ugliness in the world.

when did sweetness become unbearable and seemingly farce? when all the bitterness is too real and the coldness a part of life. i used to be able to tell the difference and objected strongly. now i think i have unknowingly merged into part of the world i fight so hard to stay out.

as i sighed, stretched and looked up into the embossed flower etchings on my ceiling just now, i realise that the beautiful artwork is now desecreted with many little freckled spots. mould or dirt, i have no inkling, but it reminds me of growing up. don't know when, don't know why, you're no longer as innocent as you were or would like to be when you were young. your character is probably flawed from the stains the imperfect society has left. you had ideals, ambitions, principles, ethics...all of which had to be compromised for the gray areas that lies between the right and wrong. you used to be passionate about everything, now your soul is tired from the countless fights between what is correct and what needs to be done. sometimes you look to the children for guidance on what is morally good.

the world was like a white empty canvas when i was growing up, with the palette of colours in my hand. now, i realise the picture has long been drawn, i'm just filling in the colours.

the chicken story

there's no pleasing everybody.

i was going to start with a story, one with a underlying moral somewhere, but i'm not quite in the mood for it so i'll just skip the drama.

the chicken complained that i am being too long-winded. the thing is chicken has pea-sized brain, so it is incapable of retaining long-term information. everything must be condensed to 5-minute versions, otherwise the chicken will forget what we were discussing about in the first place, a little like the movie memento for those who caught it. he said so himself. however, the chicken's memory is very visual so if you post pictures of flesh and nudes, the chicken will continue to scroll down until kingdom come, till his hand is numb and his eyes popping out.

sorry, too harsh? can't afford to offend the chicken. he's one of my last remaining loyal readers, offending him will mean sending my blog to the land of oblivion.

oops, my time's up. the chicken's attention is straying. the chicken only accepts posts with less than 150words.

note to the chicken: just teasing. by the way, chicken doesn't read blogs. chicken only pecks and crows.

hot gossips

sometimes you overhear gossips in the strangest of place.

last night, as the ladies were busy going about looking for food, buzzing here and there for their favourite pick, i perked up my ears and listened. it seems that the little one wearing black was seeing a lot of this new hot guy she just hooked up with. but unknown to her, he was also dating her two other friends, who are sharing stories about their sexcapades as they savour the food. i hear whips, leather thongs and handcuffs. strange rendezvous. these ladies are all slender, sexy and beautiful with long legs that go all the way to their voluptuous chests. to die for. little do we know they hide such sordid secrets.

then there was the one with the black and white striped shirt who was jealous of the threesome (or is it foursome?) and was spreading lies behind their backs. it seemed she has also been sneaking into their abodes and ransacking through their things, vandalising them to release her frustration.

another group was talking about one who was so addicted to her poison that she has forsaken her children, abused her partner and goes out everyday at dusk to seek for her thrills and highs, only to return when the sun comes up in the morning. a little risqué, if you ask me. then again, when listening to gossips with neither head nor tail in the story, one shouldn't pass opinions.

one was complaining of her partner leaving her for for another male, something about being tired of her 'blood-sucking ways' and all. it must have hurt her pretty bad because she was a little erratic in her behaviour and she reeks of alcohol.

after a little while, i was growing wearisome of listening to their whinings and gossipings. i wish they will go someplace else and leave me alone. their itchy bites weren't particularly appealing either. i swatted at them and hid under the covers. useless. i drenched myself and the log beside me with citronella spray. could very well have been perfume. i turned the fan higher. finally. they left me alone. peace. i could go back to sleep.

alien life

it's not a matter of where, when, why or what. the most wonderful part of being on vacation is never having to look at the clock, never having to let the ticking rule, or ruin, your day. i wake up when the body tells me so (or when the noisy monster makes a ruckus during his morning rituals), i eat when the need arise (though that need seem to arise more often than the regular three meals of the day) and i go wherever my feet take me and stay until the little ones start whining. it's such a welcome release from my daily routines, which are heavily dictated by the hands of the clock. it's 12pm, i have to drop all the things and be somewhere. it's 1pm, if i'm not at the dining table stuffing my face, my hand phone will ring with someone shrieking down the line 'why are you not eating yetttttttttt?'. i drive like a lunatic from one place to another to meet these ridiculous restraints and perform routines like clockwork. it’s not for the carefree soul that is so me.

i enjoy roaming the streets, not just to look into the windows and stare at another world, but to revel in the safe and secure surrounding that is theirs. i no longer have to be paranoid when the roaring of the motorbike comes up fast and furious from behind. i only realize how hardened i have become when i instinctively reached for the backpack on my back as a group gathered around me to see the exhibits in one of the tourist attractions. the warm, smiling and welcoming faces of the waiting staff is a far cry from the ‘i’ve lost a million bucks’ foul black-faced ones we have serving our many eateries over here, spoiling my appetite even before i have a look in the menu. and for those sales-ladies who telepathically know that the shoe size i wanted is out of stock without the tiresome hassle of checking or who don’t bother to move their bum from their stylish pose to locate an item because they are all gathered to discuss the latest agenda in the all-important apec meeting, kudos to you lot. our country cannot be what we are today without your generous contribution. oh, sorry, my frustration for the ways of our world seem to be running a little out of control today.

when I am walking on their streets, i am reminded of the many people who wish to make this safe and organized country their new home. it is certainly appealing; the coordinated transportation system, no build-wherever-you-like-and-as-high-as-you-like-as-long-as-you-pay-me-money skyscrapers and sardine-packed condominium parcels, no warped enforcement system where they go after the accuser instead of the accused, policemen who don’t listen to ipod when they are working or have a penchant for coffees, pieces of cakes the size of your face (i’m talking about a piece here, not the whole cake!) and beautiful countryside. and you can even dress up as rabbits and ridicule the prime minister without being thrown in jail and left to rot, if that's your cup of tea. as with all countries, there are pros and then there are cons. there is the so-dry-your-skin-will-look-like-crocodile’s-and-your-nose-will-bleed, the even-a-hawker-stall-style-fried-rice-will-cost-three-times-as-much, the very erratic weather and the very very pricey tax system. and be glad you are not of indigenous heritage, or you’ll be victimized all the same. then again, any country that makes it a law that you don’t have to wash your car can’t be half bad. even if yours is dusty and dirty, be comforted that the porsche down the road looks the same and pretty soon, nobody can tell that it’s a very expensive imported sports car from under all those layers of mud and dirt.

so, will I think of emigrating?

when i returned to home soil again and switched on the handphone, there were several missed calls and messages left on the service. because of what i can only presume is inefficient roaming service and the long flight back home, mum has been unable to contact me for several days and is close to losing it. will my presence be missed anywhere else in the world? i seriously doubt so. it's a very nice and warm feeling to be wanted and missed, to mean a difference in someone's world and to matter.

home is where the heart is.

the new generation

have you seen a mother sitting quietly by, watching her son hungrily devour his lunch, not finishing her plate of food just in case little johnny wants to have a little more? or her friend, the mother who grabs all her son's favourite food onto the plate, even before other people have a chance to take a tiny piece and definitely not leaving any for others, so frightened that her little precious will not have enough to eat eventhough he looks and weighs like an elephant. how about the one who emerged from school, with his bag on her back and her hands full with his art bag and lunch box like a slave whilst little billy hopped around carefree and light? perhaps the man who surfed the net for days for his son's favourite toy for his impending birthday and then forsake all business meetings to pick it up personally from the airport when the item finally arrives?

all parents are devoted to their children, perhaps even more so than several decades ago. an act of love back then would have been the lashing of the cane followed by the scolding 'if i didn't love you, i wouldn't even bother to hit you'. that was as close to a 'i love you' as we got. parents nowadays are of a different species and i'm not disillusioned enough to believe i'm not one of them. it is a hard balance between doing what's right and doing what's easy.

for some reason, of which i have yet to understand, parents of present time seem to regard their children as the products of the golden hen, regardless of their financial conditions or the number of siblings. perhaps it is genetically programmed that all parents are selfless and giving but if i were to hear another whiny and patronising 'you're doing great! go on, you can do it! well done!' when the boy is obviously sucking big time or carrying out an activity of questionable integrity, i'll start to lose my sanity. imagine the elderly mother standing next to the burglar, who is kneeling on the floor and is busy trying to unlock the safe, and going 'come on, little billy. i know you can do it. just listen for the click. wonderful job, honey! i'm so proud of you'. i've seen its analogy, albeit a milder version.

perhaps it's for the protection of the young that we seem to have this inborn trait to serve and please but i don't seem to remember any of our elders behaving in the same way, falling around our feet in their eagerness to provide. are we rearing a new breed of selfish and self-centered army of dictators? for my peers, filiality has always been a big part of the education process. we are always mindful to be respectful, to please the elders and to provide in return when we are of the capability. will the new generation take care of their old as we did when everything seemed to have centered around them for their entire life? it has always been about what they like and what they want. cars and houses laid down before them even before they step a foot into the employment category. will they honour us, respect us and be there for us when the time comes? i have never known self-centeredness to be reversed overnight. the philosophy that has been taught to them since young has been to take, take, take. do they know how to give? not just to their parents and their elders, but to the community, their partners, their families and their work? can they comprehend responsibility when everything has been done for them?

i don't have any answer to the questions. i can only watch with my eyes as they grow up and time reveals the answer to my curiosity.

i went hot-air ballooning and all i got was a lousy cert?

apparently, fear was not a factor for me.

in the last episode, we witnessed this blogger who realised albeit a little too late that she has bitten off more than she can chew. she went ahead with all the bookings for hot air ballooning only to remember at the very last minute that she has acute altophobia, a condition in which it is strongly recommended to abstain from anything related with heights unless she fancies wet pants and quivering knees, of course.

perhaps it was too early in the morning and my systems were still warmly curled up in the cozy hotel bed back in the city centre, i think i woke up when most of you have just started to go to bed. it was very exciting, to finally be able to live what i have dreamt of for several years, i almost felt the physical need to put a check on an imaginary list somewhere.

the entire experience was surreal; the ackward climbing into the chest-high basket like a clumsy rhino, the slow lifting off from the ground, the cold air of the early morning, the vast flat lands below, the continued ascent even after i've screamed enough! enough! inside my head for the millionth time, the bumpy landing, the group effort in keeping the balloon and the champagne breakfast afterwards. unforgettable of course was the occasional loud blasting of the fire over my head which had me nearly ready to duck to the floor every time. the pilot turned and looked at me in mid-flight and said you don't have to hold on to the handles during the flight. only when you land. like hell i don't, i'm not letting go off it no matter what you say, mister! of course, i replied with a meek i'm afraid of heights. he must have wondered what i was doing there. then again, he told me after the flight that he was also afraid of heights, which in turn led me to wonder what he was doing piloting our flight!!! there was a small hole on the floor under our legs. i wonder if that was where the by-products of quivering cowards like me wash out. so, if you were relaxing in the countryside with a glass of cabernet sauvignon and a splotch of liquid fall from the sky, don't be too quick to assume that it was the birds that just took a leak.

there are too many tales too tell, too many amusing stories to share for this small little blog.
the rest of the holiday was as enjoyable, a mixture of lounging, relaxing and active sight-seeing.

next time, some place that i have never been to perhaps? as fun as this trip has been, i'm starting to tire of visiting the same old countries.

new zealand? beijing? switzerland? finland?

i must start planning now!

on this and that

on detoxification and dieting

i survived the detoxification stint, with the last two days on the chart hanging in limbo somewhere, tempted the entire way by co-conspirators of the devil with local delicacies, thick argentinian steaks, good wine and multi-course dinners. the funny thing about asians is celebrations are always marked by eating, eating and more eating. so is death, if you think about it and any other occasion between the two. sunday's dinner was supposed to be in celebration of my little nephew's birthday but everybody was so busy stuffing their faces that i did not even glimpse the cream on the elusive cake nor raise glasses in toast of his smoke screen celebration.


the question most want to know is so, did the detoxification work? in terms of cleaning my entire 30 feet of intestines, i think it was very successful, judging from my new-found closeness with the bathroom . the cons, however, come when you stuff your face silly with food again after leaving your stomach slightly hungrier than normal for so many days. the feeling's almost akin to rolling in mud after taking a nice rose-smelling bubble bath. the stomach wants to throw its contents out and you're just so tempted to step over the line to the bulimic dark side. but food, glorious food, i shall not forsaken ye. by the way, detoxification leads to unstability in the mind, or was that already there previously?


on pride and peculiarity

on sunday, the little ones were invited to their friend's birthday party at the little birthday boy's home. i don't know the parents very well, aside from the usual nodding and hellos goodbyes at the gate of the school every now and then. being the very gracious hosts that they were, they invited us in and gave us a personal tour of their house, every .....single..... inch of the newly-constructed abode, which i must add is really quite nice. the ackward thing, perhaps only on my own part, was the sudden transition from not even knowing their names to knowing what colour towels they use, what bedsheet they sleep on and even what they do in their jacuzzi bath. urgh! a little information overload at such a short time frame, don't you think? i think people do that all the time, showing off their pride and the labour of their sweat. heck, i do that too when i see friends' eyes glaze over with that curious nosy stare when they come over. but i've seen way too much and i still don't know their last names.

i'm just letting out a sigh of relief at not having to see the condoms that were lying around the bedside. or maybe i just wasn't looking hard enough?!


on relationship and reality

was reading a book that claims many relationships are formed from a common source of interest. amusing, considering that the man is as different from me as night and day, coal and snow (him being the coal, of course). suffice to say, we have nothing much in common, except from the single fact that we both agree i am wonderful (kakaka). the list can go on and on about how different he is from me, from taste to lifestyle, behaviour, personality and interest. still, we have made it thus far and the diverse poles of our being does not seem to come into friction very often, except perhaps for when he wakes me up every morning with his very noisy routines i feel a little like smothering him with my pillow (ok, i jest). textbook theories are not always holy gospel and reality often brings pleasant surprises, as long as you keep an open mind. a relationship is how the partners make it.


on procrastination and passivity

i have a set of keys which i keep on a u-shaped key chain, with a ball on one end and a mickey's glove on the other. a simplistic piece of beauty which i immediately like when i laid eyes on it. then again, i'm so fickle with materialistic things, it's only a matter of time before i grow tiresome of it. in my bag, the little ball rubs against other things and over time, it loosens to the point where it comes off. always when i'm in a rush and always at the worst possible moments. once undone, the keys will fly out to every possible corner on the floor and so it lies whilst i grumble and curse putting them back in, one at a time. each and every time, i swear it will be the very last i'm using the key-chain. i'm staring at it now as it is still sitting innocently on the table, that wicked devilish piece of contraption, which is probably laughing mockingly at me inside. it doesn't take me 2 minutes to change it. it doesn't take me 2 seconds to apply some glue into the ball end of the chain. still, i do nothing. sometimes, i wonder at this person i call myself and wonder how my mind works. is it simply procrastination or is it attachment, i do not know. or do i revel in chaos?


on phobias and perturb

there is so much i fear, from the scampering cockroaches to losing loved ones. experts say that to get over your phobias, you have to face them. i say crap. there is no way i will stand still while you bring a cockroach, with its little legs flinging everywhere so disgustingly, within 100metres of me nor do i see any need to. what exactly would overcoming my fear of cockroaches do for me and my bright future? zilch. except to save the ears of cockroaches (yes, i know they do not have ears) from being deafened each and every time they see me.

but i'm going hot air ballooning. soon. too soon for my comfort now. i'm absolutely terrified, petrified, terrorised and cowed of heights. i don't quite mind being immobilised by the prospect of heights because that means at the very least my legs would be glued onto the floor. i tend to sway. damn! talking about heights make me want to crouch down on the floor and get as low to ground as i can. again, i don't understand my motives, probably stemming from the need to experience everything at least once in my lifetime. i went into the planning, booking, arranging with such gusto when i suddenly realised, shit! what am i doing? i'm going to be flying soooo high up. my question now is can i squat in a hot-air balloon? must remember to use the bathroom before i jump into the balloon, lest there is a unplanned 'accident' from between my legs when they start to shiver and shake.

if i go m.i.a, you can imagine me screaming for escape from high up in the sky. if i go m.i.a. for an extended span of time, please think of me fondly in your memories.

duck soup, day 3

i had a visit from the devil today. in the form of my wicked and temptation-bearing husband, who with a few of his syrupy words, killed and buried my determination. faced with another plate of watermelon for breakfast or one tiny eenie loh mai kai (glutinuous rice), it didn't take much to tempt this woman over to the dark side. one little lapse won't hurt the overall picture, right? i don't care. i want real food.

today, i get to add vegetables into my diet. no more papayas for lunch. besides, they were doing nothing for my bustline *wink*. a large salad, the little holy detoxification gospel said. think large salad, think......chili's!!! never in recorded history has the restaurant saw anyone finish the humongous salad in such a short time frame. most times, i can't even finish their salad but today i was very close to licking their plates clean.

the bathroom has been upgraded from the least visited place in the whole house to my best friend in the whole world. i think i see more of the bathroom in recent days than my husband's face. perhaps he may not view that comparison very fondly. if i lapse a little in drowning myself with glasses of water, i feel a headache approaching, which is a good thing i guess for someone who doesn't reach for a glass of water unless her throat is parched and voice cracking.

getting use to the programme and the yucky fiber drink by now. when i smell waffles and fried chicken, i smell the very disagreeable stench of oil and greasiness. a very strange transformation, albeit a temporary one, i'm sure. i like feeling thinner, i like touching the curves. asked hubby what if i turn anorexic after this episode. he's not worried; he says i love food too much. spoken like he who knows me best.

devoid, day 2

24 hours seem longer than it actually is. after each time i pour that offensive, hubby says it's not that bad, fiber drink into my mouth, i wonder if i will be able to go through a next time. just when you think no way, 2nd time isn't actually that bad because i was mentally prepared for the worst. plus the i'm-so-hungry-i-can-put-anything-in-my-mouth factor. the peculiar intake tolerance graph goes downhill a little for the 3rd time because, despite being mentally prepared, you realise you can't take the shit anymore. your courage tends to be a little yellow early in the morning, especially when your brain runs images of yummy instant noodles with ham, sausage and an egg on the side. *drools* makes me realise how pampered my lifestyle has been. i've never had to put things i find offensive into my mouth, except for the very burnt and completely inedible fried rice, which i had to drench with ketchup to make it more tolerable, that i had to frequently ingest during my secondary school days in singapore, with nary a soul but the incompetent maid and my m.i.a. brother. i'm thinking of old times, that cannot be a good sign. the booklet never mention hallucination and disorganised thoughts as a symptom. refund!!!

makes me also realise how much i've taken being able to have three regular meals on time for granted. never having to go hungry, except for deliberate action on my part. never having to go through that cold, empty feeling of not having a full stomach and worrying about your next meal. not that i've ever wasted food nor taken the plights of homeless beggars and war-distressed orphans lightly but it makes me think a little more of them and wish more could be done.

i've lost 1kg and feel lighter, more svelte, but far from slim, though weight loss is not permanent and was never the purpose of this detoxifying exercise. when presented as detoxifying, instead of dieting, strange how it garners more support from family members, who perhaps do indeed see the need for me to remove all the years of accumulated toxins, real or imaginary, in my body.

a point of note; lack of nourishment affect judgement, vision and definitely energy level.known to affect grumpiness as well.

detoxification, day 1

first day of detoxification and my brain is shutting down already. everything is hazy and blurry (i don't even know whether to spell that with one 'b' or two 'b's anymore) and i AM VERY HUNGRY. a little hunger is good for releasing the toxins from the body, or so i am told, but my stomach is growling very loudly in protest. i doubt i can last the rest of the day, much less the next 6 days. i'm greedily devouring a piece of watermelon, the biggest cut i could choose from the plate, to save my sanity. i can snack on sunflower or pumpkin seeds when i'm desperate enough, but safe for a health-freak or some nut guru, who has those things lying around their house?? i don't think i can gather i'm so hungry enough energy to crawl out of the house to get some to save my life. perhaps i should have not dismissed this detoxifying 7 day diet thing and should have been better prepared. then perhaps i will still a grasp on my logic and reasoning powers now. instead, i'm just babbling and rambling.


the fibre drink that i had to stuff inside my pursed and very uncooperative lips was already a torture early in the morning. suddenly, the courage and determination that was nudging me when i paid $150 bucks for the stupid thing i'm so hungry has evaporated into thin air. i guess one can afford to be more courageous and strong-willed when one's stomach is not growling. technically, i can drink the vile liquid and continue with my daily diet of yummilious food....but what's the point of doing something half-heartedly, right? want to die....die all the way lah. i'm so hungry *sob*


and all that i have to look forward to at lunch time is more fruit. :-(

escape from hell

does anyone know how to read body language?

that was on my mind the whole time i sat through the meeting. sitting around a small table in coffee beans, she leaned into the conversation. her body arched as far as she could go, almost as if she was imparting some secret that has been guarded for generations. i, on the other hand, leaned as far back into my chair as i could go. does she have bad mouth odour? i don't think so, but sticking my face so close to hers is not very appealing. i felt like shooing her back a little, to return me a little personal space. i stare at her wrinkles and her open pores. she's probably doing the same. sigh! if she was of the male sex, i would have screamed 'pervert!'.

meetings at coffee places are never a good idea, yet i never seem to learn. the chugging of her ramblings are like the electric-powered train, never stopping, never slowing. no gaps for me to edge in a 'i need to go to the ladies'. perhaps she's worried i'll hide in there and never return, if given half a chance for me to make my escape. for 2 hours, i listen to her babble. it can very well turn into a one way monotony, with appropriate 'uh huh' and 'yes' here and there, i may very well have to listen to her voice for what will seem like forever. the sombre clanging of the jail-door in my mind seemed very real then.

with my bladders bursting and my not-so-discreet looking at my watch, which i almost never wear except on occasion like this where it acts as a deliberate reminder to the counterparty, she still refused to get the hint. even my impatient tapping on my handphone didn't furnish the keys to my jail-break sentence. i couldn't afford the 'i-need-to-use-the-bathroom' excuse anymore, she may very well expect me to return and sit for another couple of hours after my bladders have been relieved. i blatantly told her i had to go, like that was something new to her. i had to go half an hour ago. i would have liked to go one hour ago.

she told me that she flew in purposely for this visit. i told her she didn't have to in the future. i would have kneeled down on my feet and begged her not to, to please spareeee me, if it didn't look so desperate and whiny. she insisted. i am so not looking forward to the next time.

accidental meeting

have you realised something?

that we always seem to bump into people whom we have absolutely no desire to bump into. fate seems to play its hand in the strangest way, making two people who are bordering on detest (this being after the millionth accidental meeting), or at the very least, oblivious of each other, see each other's face everywhere they turn. oblivion can very quickly turn into a stronger and distasteful feeling.

why is it that we never bump into the people that we hunger to see....like mr tony leung would be nice. i don't mind mr takeshi kaneshiro either. infact, there are probably a few thousand people out there that i wouldn't mind meeting on a regular basis. but i always seem to chance upon those that are scrapping the barrel on the list, if they are even on the list for that matter.

my ex-classmate being one of them. and my neighbour being the other. from all my years of studying, i probably have a whole army of friends, many whom i have formed a close bond over the years. some, like this girl that i remember very fondly, have managed to slip through the fingers of time and all contacts have been severed. left only with a name and nowhere to look, i often think of her and wish there weren't so many jacquelines in the world, making my hunt just that little bit easier. he, on the other hand, i don't even recall being fairly close to during my college days. i can't even remember if he was even in the same class, who he hung around with or whether he attended classes on a regular basis. but when i started bumping into him, i never seem to stop. so much so that our conversation starts with, 'you again ah? bye!'. there was always the compulsory 'we must get together one day, with the old friends' but in the many many times that we have since encountered each other, we have still not circled a date in the calendar for that elusive get-together. we could be more than acquaintances i guess, with fate playing such a purposeful role in our meetings, but sometimes destiny withholds just one more playing card up its sleeve and there is a missing link.

bumping into my neighbour should not be a part of fate's manuevers for after all, we live under the same roof so the likelihood of meeting up is always there. this man, the one that asked 'how much did you renovate your place for?' the very second he saw me and pounced on me with questions of my imaginary investment each time he sees me, which caused an instant irremediable distaste for his character, has since moved to another property. he comes back every once in a while, and i'm beginning to believe that i bump into him each and every time that he comes back!, for reasons i have no interest of learning, during all hours of the day. the strange thing being, despite it being all hours of the day, i still bump into him all the time. it's not like a regular peak-hour-meet-in-the-lift type of accidental meeting, it's more of a are-you-stalking-me genre! am i being dramatical again? let me put it this way, if i see his back again, i'm calling for the asylum myself.

*looking out the window* he says he doesn't live here....but there are clothes hanging out the window. i'm starting to sound like the neighbour from hell. but seriously, how can fate be so free as to manipulate my life like so? it's one accidental meeting too much. it would be nice if he was that handsome boy i talked to once during my primary school days many eons ago......wait a minute!! maybe fate is telling me that THIS is that boy! that boy who has evolved into a fat balding middle-aged creepy insurance agent!!

saltish pork knuckle, anyone?

2nd day of new template. doesn't look like this one is going to stay either. i'm not crazy about using a foreign comment whatchamacalit (should i be saying this? will haloscan cancel my membership and take away all remaining contact with my readers?) but i don't have a choice because the original template didn't come with one. pray tell, who will write a template for a blog but not add the comment or title part?!? even the blogger banner at the top is missing; i've got to go to blogger's main page to log in. nevermind, ignore the itsy bitsy sticky pieces. quick, meditate. ohmmmmmmmmmm! overall, i think i like the white background and the clean lines but the right side does look a little empty, a little incomplete, yet if i were to add things in there (and i still haven't gone into the part whether i know how to add things in there in the first place) it'll just be too.....too.....packed. a little like living conditions in hong kong. and it'll drive me crazy again.

nevermind, just concentrate on typing the words and ignore the surrounding. ohmmmmmm! i'm achieving another plane of peaceful existence through the 'pretend all crap doesn't exist' meditation. ohmmmmmm!

last saturday, decked out in spaghetti strapped tees and a skirt, i terrorised the local market. cheated myself a few 'lenglui' from the market vendors but no one thought it appropriate to give me an extra serving of food or an extra cut of meat. sheesh! not mesmerising enough for their standard, it will seem. no one scrambled to my feet to offer me some free vegetables or kneeled and begged me to take their offerings. on the other hand, i wouldn't be surprised if my poultry, vegetables and meat were hiked up to take into the account the free but oh so shallow compliments.

as i was looking at the produce, i felt a finger brush against my tushy. marketplace being usually crowded and packed with people, although saturday's market was hardly that crammed, the clanging alarm bell inside my head that goes 'wolf! wolf!' didn't go off. still, i turned and threw invisible daggers with my eyes at the back of the indian man who strolled leisurely past. if my eyes were equipped with bazooka employment technology, that guy would have been blasted to mars. having finished with my visual world war 3, i returned my attention to selection of the produce. few minutes later, at another spot, i felt the finger brush against my tushy again. hello?? twice? i turned to confirm that the finger indeed belonged to the saltish pork knuckle hand. the man was just leisurely strolling past again, with nary a plastic bag of purchase. he stopped a few feet away, looked around with no intention whatsoever to buy anything, then proceed to walk his catwalk back again. that colour wolf!! he was targeting the market for his victims, doing a slow leisurely catwalk up and down, touching tushies wherever he went. i looked straight into his eyes and started grumbling very loudly in chinese. why chinese? whatever language would have been wasted on him anyway, so why not choose something that he has no idea what i am saying. the effect of the unknown will be more pronounced. hubby as usual, being as blur as he normally is, was blissfully ignorant that his wife was outraged and fuming, clueless that she was grumbling away.

the man, seeing that he has ticked me off, immediately folded his wandering hands, which further confirmed my conviction that his acts were indeed purposeful. mr pork knuckle decided to postpone his cheap thrills for another day and walked off into oblivion.