tracking for ramen

if you have been searching, then you will know. that there isn't any ramen in town worth talking about. i googled the phrase 'best ramen in kl" and came up zilch. no milky-white pork bone soup with an aroma to die for. no springy noodle with a bite so chewy in the mouth. i can almost smell the hot sweet-smelling soup in my mind, it brings saliva to my mouth.

the nearest thing that i could find to a perfect ramen is in singapore. across the causeway. 4 hours drive away. sigh. persistent that i was to have that perfect ramen, i made a note of the name and address of the place. and when i knew that i was going to be in singapore one particular week, i was all ready with my gprs and the note.

with slow driving conditions, we finally cleared the immigration at 2pm. a little late for lunch. our stomachs were growling. we had deliberately kept it empty in anticipation of that hot kyushu pork bone soup ramen. anything else would have spoiled the taste. our gprs co-operated fully and brought us straight to the correct street. wrong shop no. it took us another 10 minutes to locate the exact 'x' that marked the spot. it was indeed like a treasure hunt, and our mouth was deliriously drooling the closer we got to the chest.

final destination: liang court. tampopo. famous black pig ramen. normally we would have wandered around the shopping centre a little to locate the shop. this time i headed straight to the information counter. 2.30pm and i still haven't have my much anticipated ramen warmly tucked inside my stomach, this is no time to be playing around. directions received, it was all i could do to stop myself from sprinting the last 100m to the shop. i would have beat usain bolt during that particular instance too.

don't know if it was all the anticipation or the exhilaration from finally being able to savour with my tongue the taste that was in my head for weeks, the ramen was delicious, to say the least. one bowl was way too little, but one bowl was all i could fit in. it's a pity that i have to go through all this fuss for a simple noodle of ramen. it is already on my 'to go' list when i next visit the island, alongside the springy al-dente shimbashi soba that i must also have.

yahoo not-so-yahoo

did you hear? yahoo is changing the way we can recover the account if we forget our password. soooooo?, i hear some of you ask. i don't know which is more pathetic, them asking such silly questions, or me not being able to answer them.


q: where did you spend your honeymoon?

a: that looks pretty simple, huh? it isn't. after the wedding, we had no plans whatsoever for the honeymoon, planning for the wedding had already taken too much of our energy. so, the day after, i was still seated at my desk in the office. everybody who walks past will stop by and exclaim, "what are you doing here? shouldn't you be on your honeymoon?", so much so that i immediately got a ticket to london so that i won't have to hear it anymore. so, london was my honeymoon, right? wrong. that's where we stopped to plan for the start of our honeymoon. we ended up in europe, here, there and everywhere. now, tell me, how exactly do i write all these in that little short space for answer? london? paris? austria? europe? headache.


q: what is your eldest cousin's name?

a: maternal or paternal?!! it will take me forever to figure out who is oldest. i have cousins whom i don't even know their names!!


q: what is your youngest child's nickname?

a: ha! batman. astro boy. tv king. ah boy. ti ti. tomato. honey. take your pick.


q: what is your eldest child's nickname?

a: *rolls eyes* princess. sweety. che che. cherry. honey. cutey. baby. with so many options, how can i remember which i chose?


q: what is the first name of your favourite aunt?
q: what is the first name of your favourite uncle?

a: the answer is so pathetic. i don't have any favourite aunts and uncles. they didn't exactly play a very active role in my life when i was growing up.


q: who is your favourite author?

a: my bookcase is lined with books from sidney sheldon, david baldacci, jeffrey deaver, jeffrey archer, jonathan kellerman, dan brown. i can't even tell whom i like more!!!


q: what is the surname of the best man at your wedding?

a: aha!! this is pretty straightforward! i can answer that, without any ambiguity. but if i'm repeating it here, it isn't, right? *smirk* that is because our dear best man's surname is lee. for some reason, yahoo won't accept any answers with less than four alphabets. *thunk* yes, that was me fainting. i can't change someone's surname to suit you, mr yahoo!.


q: what is the surname of the maid of honour at your wedding?

a: *looking slitty eyed* her surname has two alphabets only......


q: what is the name of your favourite book?

a: with so many favourite authors, you think i will only have one favourite book? actually, at the moment, my absolute favourite book is the time traveller's wife, which is written by none of my favourite author. how's that for irony. the question is, will it continue to be my favourite book 2 years down the road after having read so many more books. it's not like i will be forgetting the password of the account tomorrow, or the day after. we are talking about several years later. make a mental note: in 2009, your favourite book was the time traveller's wife. good one, for ms. swiss-cheese brain.

q: what is the surname of your favourite musician?

a: for someone so fickle and with so many favourite authors, you think i will have just one favourite musician?


q: what is your all-time favourite film character?

a: is there something wrong with me, because i don't seem to have one favourite anything. as with all good movies, i have a character that i like in it, but there are so many good movies out there, so how can i have only one favourite? if they keep asking questions like that, it must mean that there are people out there that are totally devoted to one thing per category. such obsession, such passion, such fervour, i seem to be lacking. please do not remind me of my shortcomings.


q: what was your first pet's name?

a: mum was allergic to animal hair *pout*. strange that she isn't allergic to human hair. i had a pair of tortoise, a gift from a friend, but they died before i named them. tortoise. pets that virtually need no care whatsoever and have a tendency to live a very long life. until they come into my hands.

there was a rabbit that jumped into our house compound. i can't remember what we named it....snowy perhaps. the minute i returned to singapore, mum told me a cat came to snatch her away, and that was the end of my pet-rearing days. such coincidence. i think maybe mum just relocated her.


q: what is the name of your favourite sports team?

a: manchester united? can i borrow my hubby's favourite? i'm not too keen on sports.


q: where did you spend your childhood summers?

a: at home? really exciting. i rather the people at yahoo didn't know that.


q: what was the surname of your favourite teacher?

a: teachers don't like me. can't figure out why. so i guess the feeling is vice versa.


q: what was the surname of your best childhood friend?

a: was that between 5-6 years old, 7-10 years old, 11-12 years old, 13-14 years old, or 15 years onward? i must have changed schools 7 times before i finished secondary education, how many best friends do you think i have had?


q: what was your favourite food as a child?

a: didn't like food much as a child. mum had to take hours to shove those things in my mouth back then. now, i can't stop myself from shoving them in without chewing.


q: what was the surname of your first boss?

a: first boss, last boss, only boss. unfortunately his surname has only three alphabets :-p


q: what is the name of the hospital where you were born?

a: i can't even remember what i ate for lunch yesterday, you think i can remember something 38 years back? especially since the hospital has since closed down eons ago. probably because i was born. they decided they have produced their greatest quality ever, and no subsequent birth can match such excellence, so they decided to close it down. ahem.


q: what is your main frequent flyer number?

a: this is a trick!! a scam!! it's posted everywhere, do you think i am so socially unaware? we are not suppose to divulge information on any personal identification numbers! ha! i wasn't born yesterday, you knowwwwww.


i fail even at answering security questions. lameness at its extreme. there is however one last option; make your own question. mine was 'why do they ask such stupid questions?'. do you know what the answer is?

he said tomaeto, i said tomahto.

he was reading some numbers to me in hokkien dialect, which i must admit i can no longer claim proficiency at. i haven't had much opportunity to exercise that part of my linguistic muscle for the longest time.

he: 9........7.......1........1.........1........8

me: sorry, is that triple '1's?

he: 9........7.......1........1.........1........8

me: so, it is triple '1's?

he: 97......11........18.

me: ya, ok (*&^%$^&&%$^^*%$$&^%#!!)


i could have persisted, 3 '1's ya? just to irate the hell out of him, because he chose not to answer my question directly, which irates the hell out of me. but i left it at that.

communication is such a difficult thing.

blogger manhandled

masseuse: \-ˈsə(r)z, -ˈsüz\ (noun) a woman who exerts excessive force in the name of relaxation and soothing muscle tension.

today we bring you one word from the international lenglui dictionary, an online dictionary that attempts to share with you the true meaning and interpretation underlying the words, rather than the silly inaccurate definitions in the dictionaries.

masseuse. the crazy lady who has two definition of strengths in her vocabulary; painful and not painful. sunday, i walked into my semi-regular spa for another attempt to work out those tight knots in my shoulder. she started off with what i can only describe as caressing my body, or endearing application of scented oil at the very most. the pressure she applied can only constitute sensual if she was my lover, which she wasn't, nor was she paid to be. so, i spoke up. a little harder please. those are four little words in a masseuse vocabulary that may lead to internal haemorrhaging and death by hand, a lesson that i have learnt long ago yet i still unwittingly err everytime. the basic instinct to get as much back in return as possible, even if by the level of force applied, is ingrained too deep. from soothing caresses the jilted lover kneaded her thumbs into my flesh with all her might, popping all the alarms and lights in my brain. it sounded like someone won a jackpot in that cranial lobe of mine, only pain and physical suffering were dropping like crazy from the slot machine, not coins. she doesn't comprehend the words a little. crash course on the english language, pleaseeeeee.

she reminded me i have certain body parts, parts that i never give the minute of day to, like the spot two inches above my heel. i don't even think there is a term given to that part of the body. but she made me think of that place again when she dug her thumbs into it, but a fond memory it wasn't. i have no freaking idea why that place which i do not make use of will hurt so much. i had to restrain from either instinctly kicking her off the table, or shrink away from her abusive touch and cower in a corner.

she covered the rest of the bodyin good time, all the while hurting me everywhere she touches. i pay good money for this? am i some kind of masochistic idiot? i was way too tensed to be relaxed. she tire herself eventually, lessening her evil death grip to something that was more acceptable. not before i learnt that there is a direct nerve that goes from my left leg to the right side of my brain. everytime she manhandle my left leg, the right side on my brain is throbbing. ahhhhh, we learn something new about the human body everyday from a simple massage appointment.

to all fairness, i did leave with my muscles a little less tight. my skin however was another matter. it hurts when i touch. i think the surface pain is suppose to be a distraction from any pain below the skin. ha, so clever of them.

were you there, or was it just an empty shell?

what's wrong with people nowadays? did you read the news about twitter ceo's wife twitting whilst she is in labour? it's great publicity for her hubby's company, which translates into more shopping money for mama and more posh designer-wear for little baby, but twitting whilst in a very significant and dramatic phase of your life? to each his own, but perhaps you should be concentrating on pushing and breathing? i can just imagine the comical scenario in my mind.


hubby: deary, your water just broke!! ok, walk calmly to the car and i will be right there, once i grab your overnight bag.

wifey: arggggghhhhhhhh.....wait wait, let me just finish typing this update on twitter.

................................................

in the car....

wifey: argggghhhhhhhhh....the pain is 10 minutes apart now.

hubby: breathe, baby, breathe.

.....

.....

hubby: errr....i meant, breathe baby, with your nose. not type the word 'breathe breathe..' on your handphone!!

................................................

during labour...

doctor, exasperated: mrs williams! can you please concentrate on pushing instead of texting on your handphone!!! you don't have to tell the world that you are pushing!! just do it!!

wifey: wait wait, just let me get the few last words in.


ok, so i was exaggerating. she didn't tweet all the way whilst in labour, she did give up her updates when she was fully in labour; a loud empty gap between the last 'the heartbeat monitor soothes the silence of a room that will shortly be anything but silent' and the next 'changing the diaper' update.

still, twittering seems to have gained too much foothold in some people's life. infact, gadgetry on the whole seems to have taken over human interactions; the pure and undiffused sensations and emotions of talking, seeing, touching and simply being in the moment. i understand the excitement, the desire to share exhilarating news with those close and dear ones on a real-time basis, but for every such unique occasion, you only get to live through it once. graduation, prom nights, first dates, first kiss, important meeting, casual get-together, mouth watering piece of steak; shouldn't everyone be giving it their 110% attention and at the very end of the day, leave with a very distinct and beautiful memory of what once was.

i can just imagine someone twittering whilst they are making out.

twitter update 1: he's rubbing me the wrong way

twitter update 2: bingo!

twitter update 3: comeon baby!! yes! yes! yessssss!

twitter update 4: should i perhaps be chucking the phone at this point? nahhh, another 5 minutes, he won't notice.

twitter update 5: hmmmm....kind of hungry, should i get up to make a sandwich?


for all i know, there are already such updates out there. i see people playing with their phone all the time in posh romantic restaurants, some talking whilst others so distracted by whatever is so engaging on the phone. children whose head never look up from their nds for even a second, whilst the parents glance around the restaurant in an uncomfortable silence. used to be that talking on the phone whilst in the company of others is considered rude, now it's commonplace. your companion may even ask, 'aren't you going to answer that?' when you ignore that rude intrusion into your hot delicious dinner. what was once unacceptable is now considered strange when you don't conform.

i try not to let my kiddies play their gadgets when we dine together as a family. that's when we are suppose to talk about what happened in our day, according to those warm fuzzy almost-extinct family movies anyway. it's an alien concept to most nowadays. the other kids in the table, not mine, are all engrossed in their own games. everyone looks at me as if i were an evil stepmother, especially when the little one starts pouting and crying. kids. they will always try to push their limit and boundaries. i rather he sulk at the table and over time, get used to the rule, rather trap himself into a vacuum of cold emotionless invisible forceshield, where no human interaction can make a difference, no laughters can get in or out. these are moments that cannot be turned back and relived, those moments of chatting, laughing and sharing with the young ones when they are growing up. very soon, very very soon, they will not be chatty, they will not need you and least of all they will want to share their days with you. it doesn't help that the other family members do not share the same enthusiasm in drawing the line and shifts the pressure on me but i believe in what i believe, and i know what i want my children to turn out. to be warm and loving. to be able to feel human interaction. to be in the moment.

if found, please return to owner

if you see me walking on the road, you will recognise me. you know why? because (yes, yes, i know we are not suppose to start a sentence with a conjunction but we are living dangerously in this blog. yawn!) i am labelled. labelled? yes, as in there is a sticker on me somewhere identifying what or who i am.

everything in our house is labelled. well, everything that gets to leave the house, anyway. you won't see our hamsters being labelled because technically they don't get to leave the house. i am not talking about pokey, the escape artist, of course. he just disappeared, and since the only way out for him out of the 25 storey balcony is dooooown, i figured he basically commited suicide. so, it was a good thing that we didn't label the hamsters, otherwise the management office will be calling me up to identify bodies and remove splattered hamster pieces.

actually, everything in our house that belongs to batman is labelled. okay, there are many things in the house that are labelled which do not belong to the little batman but that stems from my o.c.d., which is another topic altogether, so we ignore those for the moment. so, all his possessions are labelled because batman is in the habit of losing things. from clothings, stationeries, water bottles to books. i am surprised that he has managed to come home everyday with his underwear on. i am not jesting. there are underwears and shoes in the lost and found department of his school. it's a 'boy' thing, i realise, to lose track of possessions. it's costing me though, to keep buying new ones to replace the missing. he can come home without books, without sharpeners, without p.e. clothes, without food containers, without jackets and when you ask him what happened to them, he will just shrug and say he lost it. such nonchalance, such carefree abandon, as if he is a monk unaware of materialistic possessions.

so, we go around writing and sewing his names into little things, short of his underwear of course. if he lost his underwear, while wearing it, the underwear will be the last thing i am worried about. it all looks very posh and classy, i've got my name printed on all my things, ooooooo..., all very upper-class monogram feel, don't you think? but there is the untold story of one mother's frustration, who has to keep handing over cold hard cash to replenish these items. sometimes i wonder where all these missing items go. to the big heaven of little boys' forgotten things up above? i'll bet if i go browsing around, i'll come back with a vanful.

remedy? can't possibly keep screaming and shouting at him each time, i don't have the energy to keep up. especially since, (in a hushed conspiracy voice) i think it's an inherent genetical fault. *cough* tried making the little one pay for it from his allowance money. do you know how much a jacket wipes out a 8-year-old boy's allowance for months and months to come? after the loss of one expensive item, the second one seems to pale by comparison. how many future months of allowance can you take away from him? no allowance until you are 68 years old?

so, i'm adopting a defeatist stance. that's why i'm not taking a chance on getting myself lost. i'm labelled, to be on the safe side. i'm mummy, please return to owner if found.

friendships are not forever

my daughter is losing her best friend in 9 days time. why do i feel like i am the one losing a best friend? is this how motherhood is suppose to be; feeling her pains and experiencing her joys as if i were under her skin? life's tiresome enough with my own share of emotions, i have to bear another, maybe two more, sets of emotional roller coasters? nobody ever tells you this.

her closest friend, whom she has befriended since primary 1, whom she has spent every minute in school with since she joined three years ago, is moving on to another school, all because of our government's excellent direction in academics. will things ever be the same again? the bond between the families have grown closer over the years, so much so that i will not bat my eyelids in leaving her at their house for the entire day. they have no qualms of me bringing their kids out for the day either. the ease, the comfort, the trust. all those weren't built overnight. will there be another to fill the empty lonely gap when she leaves? she is a tiny girl, with a gigantic punch of confidence and leadership qualities. my daughter seems so much bigger next to her, yet she lacks the confidence to step out and make herself be heard. they fit together like a glove on a hand; compensating where the other is lacking.

will it all come to an end? inevitably. no matter how much they try to keep in touch, no matter how often they visit, the separation is undeniable. 9 more days. to this beautiful friendship, this closeness. another heartbreak and a lesson in life that my daughter will have to go through in this journey called life.

on the phone

here i am, one hour into my morning, still on the line since it started. the call is across the causeway, so i can only imagine telekom malaysia getting all excited about it. the music i have been listening to the whole morning is not exactly engaging enough to make me forget i am being tiresomely put on hold, one more time. her voice, although sweet, is starting to make me scream bimbo in that now dull echoing cavern of my head. don't believe what you hear, government offices over the causeway is no more efficient than ours. they are sweeter, definitely, and miles more polite, but no more efficient. actually, even less, if at all possible.

apparently, the payment side of the department that collects blood from its citizens, and non-citizens alike, does not communicate with the assessment side, neither do they want to. did they get into a huge argument, these two members of the supposedly same family? was there a huge row over who got the most credit when it comes to bleeding us dry to finance invesments into ludicrous ventures? like a go-between, i am forced to call one and then the other to relay the message. he said this, she said that. i am quite sure they are in the same building, for goodness sake, whilst i am here, all 280 miles away. that makes perfect sense. for goverment departments, that is. they didn't even want to hear any of it, until i had to steel my voice and throw in an occasional threat. all in an equally sweet voice, of course.

they have derived a system where they tax you on income that you are not going to receive and will never receive, simply because they feel you are likely to receive. and they will even fine you penalty on not paying tax on the income that you did not receive. let's see 5% penalty on 0 income is.....0!! all these plucking off figures from thin air, that's how they are financing the waste water recyling venture is it? you can't simply tell them you won't receive such income, they'll ask you 'so how soon can you pay?'. i'm not paying, i will not be receiving any income!!!! such thick skull. sigh.

you have to give them one thing though, they are sweet. and polite. now, if only we can work on some efficiency behind the facade.

the most basic of all necessity

i haven't been lost of late, so much as speechless, thoughts trailing and scrambled. haven't found much incentive to write either. feels very much trapped within my four walls. the windows are closed, the thick smelly haze and the infectious h1n1 virus out there and me in here. am i keeping them out, or am i keeping myself in, i have no idea. even the simple act of breathing becomes a luxury, fresh sweet smelling air no more taken for granted.

someone says that the people who are still here are so because of the food. our holy sacred local drooling cuisines. i scoff at that suggestion. nasi lemak, bak kut teh, hokkien mee are what is keeping this nation together? surely not. especially not when i can't find an authentic hokkaido ramen with its milky pork bone soup and springy noodles no less, despite hunting high and low for it. neither can i scavenge any bits or leftovers of my much drooled over and anticipated korean ja jiong meen. so how good is our cuisine again? oily mee mamak, vessels blocking roti canai, all-too-meaty bak kut teh; it's all fine and good, but it excels only in its commonness. perhaps i am not appreciating it because its availability stares me in the eyes and things are only good, in your mind, when they are not within grasp. to me, one beauty of our country is that all types of international cuisines are accessible, but of late i've realised the idiom 'jack of all trades, master of none' applies, pretty much like the people that exist in our political arena. what is the use of having all types of bland moderate fare when none makes an impression on your consciousness. so, somehow, i don't think the presence, or absence, of our local cuisines play a big part, for me at the very least, in remaining in this country.

when politics spill over to our daily lives, when people in power are not doing what they should be doing, when the bad guys pretend to be the good guys, i am still here. when they decide that the nation should regress in support of people performing below the benchmark, i am still here. when the dailies report nothing but half truths, mysterious murders never solved, disillusioned with the people in their high pedestal, i am still here. but when the simple act of breathing becomes a labour, that people go about with their days accepting foul smoke as part of their everyday life, oblivious even to the difference, is it worth it?

i am still here, not because of the wonderful buffet of food that lies before our eyes, for after all, food is only a form of subsistence, the very basic of which is to survive, the more luxurious of which to add a little oomph to life. i am still here, because it bears my root, it is my country. not a country that i am proud of, but nonetheless, it is still my country. but is it worth it?

cliche cliche

if you want something done, you have to do it yourself.

sigh.

cliche

for every woman happily shopping away, there is a man yawning nearby.