Testing. Testing one, two, three.
Thanks to Ms Tan's ingenious advice, I'm right now pretending to be drafting some all-important email at my messy work-desk when I'm actually posting this entry via email. I'm getting a kick from being so sneaky. I think I love being 'bad'. I think also I love technology; it has indeed been wonderous in making my life so much easier, though not necessarily simpler.
Of all technological advances that have played some part in my life, I am most grateful for the Internet. And the greatest Web tool ever invented, in my honest opinion, is internet banking. Ask the man; I've never stopped raving about the wonders of internet banking. It has taken away the pains of queueing up (you don't really want to stand next to me in queues) and the inconvenience of having to write/send checks. I can check if my pay has been credited into my account at 4 in the morning, if I want to. I can pay off my bills at midnight, if I want to. I don't worry about having forgotten my due dates because everything is instantaneous. I lend, repay, receive money easily by clicking this button called 'funds transfer'. Best of all, I give to and take from the man anytime I need to. Sometimes winnings from mahjong games are received this way as well. How swell is this?
(Oh, cash deposit machines are another good invention though sometimes I still have to queue because some folks do hog the machine - I wonder how many accounts they have opened with that bank.)
Instant messaging is yet another sweet weapon that I use frequently. Ok, I admit, I don't really use this for much useful purpose - I really use it to create 'annoyances' to friends by sending them crappy and nonsensical messages. But I believe those messages make their day, and I achieve the objective of always 'keeping in touch' with friends, close or distant. Better yet, I can even talk real-time to friends and cousins from all over the world for free. Beat that.
And then, this. It saves my ass from being kicked by the boss, and I can still relieve the boredom of work and work my mental juices by continuing to journal. I am really liking this.
Techie stuff are the ones that make my life less simple, at least in a material sense. I was just commenting to the man the other night, that we've been unconsciously adding to our inventory of techie products - first, the Canon digi-cam; then the PDAs; then he got his Toshiba lappie; next came the 3G cells; and the most recent acquisition: my MacMac. And now, I'm keep thinking of my (future) video-cam.
Pure luxuries or necessary evils? I don't know anymore.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Donch Want No Fire
Finally. By getting my own personal computing machine, I'm finally able to freely post pictures up on my site. And I am liking how my virgin picture-postings turn out to look like. So pretty.
I have kinda stopped writing my journals in the office, during office hours. Not when blogging is becoming as 'illegal' as surfing pornographic sites while on the job. And it is really hard to refrain from logging onto Blogger because it is exactly during these hours when my mind wanders the most and pervasive thoughts start invading my idling mind.
Ok, call me chicken-shit or whatever.
So, now I write only at night, and it's tough because then I would need to conjure up all the thoughts-of-the-day, and by then, to a certain extent sometimes, it already feels pointless writing about them. The man now thinks I'm obsessed with this Blogger thingy. Yeah, wait till I figure out all the wonderful web and multi-media features I can do with this site.
I have kinda stopped writing my journals in the office, during office hours. Not when blogging is becoming as 'illegal' as surfing pornographic sites while on the job. And it is really hard to refrain from logging onto Blogger because it is exactly during these hours when my mind wanders the most and pervasive thoughts start invading my idling mind.
Ok, call me chicken-shit or whatever.
So, now I write only at night, and it's tough because then I would need to conjure up all the thoughts-of-the-day, and by then, to a certain extent sometimes, it already feels pointless writing about them. The man now thinks I'm obsessed with this Blogger thingy. Yeah, wait till I figure out all the wonderful web and multi-media features I can do with this site.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Heineken on the Beach
Hmm. I'm pretty impressed with myself for having done pretty much yesterday.
1) I did pop by the library for indeed a quick look - because the library was still closed.
2) I did bring the girls to the beach and they did swim in the blue blue waters of Sentosa (yes, much to my own surprise, Sentosa waters has turned much cleaner and bluer of late). And in my one-hour at the beach, I did manage to catch a 'quick' tan - my shoulders are burning with ache now.
3) Ok, I didn't send Mac for a fix-up. I've decided I'll fix that on my own (maybe with the man's help).
4) I watched the game and I spied for the man. Sad game that his team lost.
Even picked the man up from work at night and we returned to watch the other game. I did so much and I was so dead beat.
But what I really wanted to say was I really enjoyed my time at the beach; or for that matter, give me any beach (er, but it's gotta be really clean sand and blue waters and bluer skies) and I'll be in total bliss. I must really say Sentosa is quite beautiful now. Quiet. Peaceful. Dog-friendly, or at least I think. I could find a quiet spot where I could let my two crazy girls run free... but then they run away so fast, it's kinda harder for me to catch them.
Piper is a natural swimmer now. Okay, fine. All dogs are born swimmers, but I learn not all dogs would want to jump into pools of water and lap around, if they can help it. Not like Mac and Sam; they are retrievers, mind you. Piper would never step into the water, no matter the amount of goading from us. We used to have to carry her (after chasing her down around the beach... man, that bitch can really run) into the water and dump her in, and she would frantically paddle her way back to safety on shore. After every such try, she would run away even faster from us as if she knew what we were up to. Man, I really love that smart bitch.
I remember the day she first jumped into the water by herself. She didn't swim though. Her friends Mac and Sam were out swimming for their toy, and she couldn't stand being left behind. So she trodded out to the waters, knee-deep (yes, if you can imagine where dogs' knees are), wanting to go after but fearing a little.
Then, I remember the day she first jumped into the water by herself, and swam! The only regretful thing is that the man wasn't around then to see it for himself. When I speak of this, I sound like as if a father has missed the first time his kid takes his/her first baby steps. Yeah, it's that cool.
Now, Piper swims by herself, but usually because I'm already in the waters and she wants to join me. She is the cutest swimmer ever. Her four short legs paddle swiftly underwater, while her head bobs along the surface, eyes wide as if she needs to swim to safety as quick as possible. But it's the tail. The short little appendage at the end of her body that wags like a quick pendulum, left-right-left-right, that amuses me most. I call her my 'little propeller'.
Gracie, on the other hand, has not the swimming style as her name implies. In a very cute way, she is like the most ungraceful dog swimmer I've ever seen. When she swims, her two front legs paddle so furiously you can actually see them above water, while her two hind legs drag from the bottom. I even think she swims almost 'vertically'. When we brought her on her first outing to the beach, she wouldn't jump into the water too. She still doesn't want to swim now, but she's beginning to trod knee-deep into the waters, wanting to join me but not really daring to. One fine day, her day would come. Just like her big sister.
I can tell they were very happy at the beach today as well. On days like this, they make me laugh and they remind me how simple things in life (like spending one short hour at the beach with your mommy) can satisfy one.
There's something else different about Sentosa as well (probably a whole lot more but I haven't explored yet); there's a new beach pub right where I usually hang out. I couldn't help but sit down and have an ice-cold beer right under the hot sun, just before I left. I mean, that's where ice-cold beers should be enjoyed, isn't it?
I'm going to tell the man about this. I can imagine the two of us, near-naked bodies, with the two girls at our feet, tasting our ice-cold beers and maybe some chips, in our cool eye-shades. Just doing nothing.
1) I did pop by the library for indeed a quick look - because the library was still closed.
2) I did bring the girls to the beach and they did swim in the blue blue waters of Sentosa (yes, much to my own surprise, Sentosa waters has turned much cleaner and bluer of late). And in my one-hour at the beach, I did manage to catch a 'quick' tan - my shoulders are burning with ache now.
3) Ok, I didn't send Mac for a fix-up. I've decided I'll fix that on my own (maybe with the man's help).
4) I watched the game and I spied for the man. Sad game that his team lost.
Even picked the man up from work at night and we returned to watch the other game. I did so much and I was so dead beat.
But what I really wanted to say was I really enjoyed my time at the beach; or for that matter, give me any beach (er, but it's gotta be really clean sand and blue waters and bluer skies) and I'll be in total bliss. I must really say Sentosa is quite beautiful now. Quiet. Peaceful. Dog-friendly, or at least I think. I could find a quiet spot where I could let my two crazy girls run free... but then they run away so fast, it's kinda harder for me to catch them.
Piper is a natural swimmer now. Okay, fine. All dogs are born swimmers, but I learn not all dogs would want to jump into pools of water and lap around, if they can help it. Not like Mac and Sam; they are retrievers, mind you. Piper would never step into the water, no matter the amount of goading from us. We used to have to carry her (after chasing her down around the beach... man, that bitch can really run) into the water and dump her in, and she would frantically paddle her way back to safety on shore. After every such try, she would run away even faster from us as if she knew what we were up to. Man, I really love that smart bitch.
I remember the day she first jumped into the water by herself. She didn't swim though. Her friends Mac and Sam were out swimming for their toy, and she couldn't stand being left behind. So she trodded out to the waters, knee-deep (yes, if you can imagine where dogs' knees are), wanting to go after but fearing a little.
Then, I remember the day she first jumped into the water by herself, and swam! The only regretful thing is that the man wasn't around then to see it for himself. When I speak of this, I sound like as if a father has missed the first time his kid takes his/her first baby steps. Yeah, it's that cool.
Now, Piper swims by herself, but usually because I'm already in the waters and she wants to join me. She is the cutest swimmer ever. Her four short legs paddle swiftly underwater, while her head bobs along the surface, eyes wide as if she needs to swim to safety as quick as possible. But it's the tail. The short little appendage at the end of her body that wags like a quick pendulum, left-right-left-right, that amuses me most. I call her my 'little propeller'.
Gracie, on the other hand, has not the swimming style as her name implies. In a very cute way, she is like the most ungraceful dog swimmer I've ever seen. When she swims, her two front legs paddle so furiously you can actually see them above water, while her two hind legs drag from the bottom. I even think she swims almost 'vertically'. When we brought her on her first outing to the beach, she wouldn't jump into the water too. She still doesn't want to swim now, but she's beginning to trod knee-deep into the waters, wanting to join me but not really daring to. One fine day, her day would come. Just like her big sister.
I can tell they were very happy at the beach today as well. On days like this, they make me laugh and they remind me how simple things in life (like spending one short hour at the beach with your mommy) can satisfy one.
There's something else different about Sentosa as well (probably a whole lot more but I haven't explored yet); there's a new beach pub right where I usually hang out. I couldn't help but sit down and have an ice-cold beer right under the hot sun, just before I left. I mean, that's where ice-cold beers should be enjoyed, isn't it?
I'm going to tell the man about this. I can imagine the two of us, near-naked bodies, with the two girls at our feet, tasting our ice-cold beers and maybe some chips, in our cool eye-shades. Just doing nothing.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
A Long (But Really Short) Day
It is another early day for me.
Yep, why else but to send the man off to work. But no, it's not a bother; it's one of the little pleasures in my life. Love going for our coffees in the wee hours (though the waking-up bit is still a challenge to us) and the quiet peaceful times (because usually he's cleverly catching a nap) during the long traffic-free drives. (On days, however, when I do drive him to work during peak hours, it is conversely a highly stressful time and it is NOT fun, period.) Try it... er, if you ever have such a chance.
I've always enjoyed the cool, quiet early mornings. And I'm kinda hooked on sitting in cafes, alone, consuming my caffeine addiction, reading or surfing, watching people walk by. Until the heat gets to me, that is. Or the zzz bug.
Ironically, I've never been one who wakes up easily in the mornings. Which explains for my perpetual lack of punctuality at work, which in turn often leads to conflicts between boss and I. I have tried all means, different alarms, mom's wake-up calls, all but nothing that succeeds in waking me on time for more than 3 days in a row. I haven't found a biological or medical reason why I cannot wake, but I suppose I don't sleep well and deep enough in the nights. I really hope there is a legitimate medical condition linked to this 'defect' that can bloody well save my ass.
So, today, now that I'm awake and still managing to fend off the evil zzz monster, I'm already planning the tasks ahead. There's plenty for me to achieve today:
1) Pop by the library for a quick look.
2) Bring the girls for a swim at the beach, and catch a quick tan myself.
3) Bring Mac for some quick-fixing at a friend's.
4) Watch the basketball game, though the man is not playing today (I'm like his spy on such occasions).
5) Pick up Mac.
How many hours am I left with exactly today?
Yep, why else but to send the man off to work. But no, it's not a bother; it's one of the little pleasures in my life. Love going for our coffees in the wee hours (though the waking-up bit is still a challenge to us) and the quiet peaceful times (because usually he's cleverly catching a nap) during the long traffic-free drives. (On days, however, when I do drive him to work during peak hours, it is conversely a highly stressful time and it is NOT fun, period.) Try it... er, if you ever have such a chance.
I've always enjoyed the cool, quiet early mornings. And I'm kinda hooked on sitting in cafes, alone, consuming my caffeine addiction, reading or surfing, watching people walk by. Until the heat gets to me, that is. Or the zzz bug.
Ironically, I've never been one who wakes up easily in the mornings. Which explains for my perpetual lack of punctuality at work, which in turn often leads to conflicts between boss and I. I have tried all means, different alarms, mom's wake-up calls, all but nothing that succeeds in waking me on time for more than 3 days in a row. I haven't found a biological or medical reason why I cannot wake, but I suppose I don't sleep well and deep enough in the nights. I really hope there is a legitimate medical condition linked to this 'defect' that can bloody well save my ass.
So, today, now that I'm awake and still managing to fend off the evil zzz monster, I'm already planning the tasks ahead. There's plenty for me to achieve today:
1) Pop by the library for a quick look.
2) Bring the girls for a swim at the beach, and catch a quick tan myself.
3) Bring Mac for some quick-fixing at a friend's.
4) Watch the basketball game, though the man is not playing today (I'm like his spy on such occasions).
5) Pick up Mac.
How many hours am I left with exactly today?
Pissed and Pooped
I'm feeling a little pissed in general. I'm not biting everyone that comes my way, but there's just something nibbling on my mood the whole day.
Maybe it's the time-before-the-time-of-the-month-thingy. Or maybe it's really not.
For one, I was a little upset with the man last night for something he did not do. Well, it wasn't exactly something that he ought to have done, but it's definitely something that would have made me feel better.
Then, I came back to my car after some drinks last night to find that some stupid birds had not gone to sleep yet and instead shat all over my car. And I am not exaggerating when I say, "ALL OVER". I have been religiously avoiding parking my car under trees of any sort these days. But I was thinking last night that birds must be sleeping by 10 in the evening and there should not be any stinking issue if I parked my car under some big old tree. Not that I needed any shade at 10 in the evening, but it was the nearest lot to the pub.
There was nothing I could do last night with those spots of poop - I had not enough water in my car, and I was too tired to have to go home to fill up the bottle and then clean it up - though the very sight of them (which I could not possibly avoid) positively irritated me immensely.
I got home, and tried to work on the journaling a little, but kept dozing in and out of sleep. All the while waiting for the man to return from his own night-out with the boys.
I dragged myself out of bed this morning because I had to settle some silly motor insurance-road tax issue (which by itself is yet another irritatingly stupid problem) in town. Imagine what went through my mind (and almost spewed out of my mouth) when I reached town to find that the office was closed on Saturdays. Okay, I was stupid not to have called ahead, but I had refused to believe my luck, or the lack thereof.
The next thing I planned to do was to wash the car and clean out those poop. Very unexpectedly, it started to rain while I was driving home but I couldn't work my windscreen wipers because those spots of poop would have messed up my wipers. It IS very irritating to drive with spots of raindrops and poop on your windscreen.
It was still raining when I reached home, so I decided to catch a nap to drive away the blues (hopefully). When I woke a couple of hours later, the rain had clearly stopped and the sun was out again. I took out my pail and my cloths and headed down to wash my car. Of course, with the man this time. But halfway through our car-wash, suds on the car and mats out drying on the ground, it started to rain again.
Is there any end to this? Maybe tomorrow, I hope.
Maybe it's the time-before-the-time-of-the-month-thingy. Or maybe it's really not.
For one, I was a little upset with the man last night for something he did not do. Well, it wasn't exactly something that he ought to have done, but it's definitely something that would have made me feel better.
Then, I came back to my car after some drinks last night to find that some stupid birds had not gone to sleep yet and instead shat all over my car. And I am not exaggerating when I say, "ALL OVER". I have been religiously avoiding parking my car under trees of any sort these days. But I was thinking last night that birds must be sleeping by 10 in the evening and there should not be any stinking issue if I parked my car under some big old tree. Not that I needed any shade at 10 in the evening, but it was the nearest lot to the pub.
There was nothing I could do last night with those spots of poop - I had not enough water in my car, and I was too tired to have to go home to fill up the bottle and then clean it up - though the very sight of them (which I could not possibly avoid) positively irritated me immensely.
I got home, and tried to work on the journaling a little, but kept dozing in and out of sleep. All the while waiting for the man to return from his own night-out with the boys.
I dragged myself out of bed this morning because I had to settle some silly motor insurance-road tax issue (which by itself is yet another irritatingly stupid problem) in town. Imagine what went through my mind (and almost spewed out of my mouth) when I reached town to find that the office was closed on Saturdays. Okay, I was stupid not to have called ahead, but I had refused to believe my luck, or the lack thereof.
The next thing I planned to do was to wash the car and clean out those poop. Very unexpectedly, it started to rain while I was driving home but I couldn't work my windscreen wipers because those spots of poop would have messed up my wipers. It IS very irritating to drive with spots of raindrops and poop on your windscreen.
It was still raining when I reached home, so I decided to catch a nap to drive away the blues (hopefully). When I woke a couple of hours later, the rain had clearly stopped and the sun was out again. I took out my pail and my cloths and headed down to wash my car. Of course, with the man this time. But halfway through our car-wash, suds on the car and mats out drying on the ground, it started to rain again.
Is there any end to this? Maybe tomorrow, I hope.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Happy (But Not With the Mossies)
It's 6.40 in the morning, and I'm sitting at a cafe at East Coast Park, maximizing the use of my Starhub Wireless subscription. Nuts? Not really. I just dropped off the man at work at 5, and I thought I should just hang around, enjoy the coolness of the pre-dawn hours, and catch the skyline turn from dark to light. It's one of the pleasures of Nature to me, and it's not as if I get to do this everytime.
I'm still not sleepy but I should sleep like a log when I get home later. I didn't catch any wink at all last night. Neither did the man. We had gotten home pretty late and we were supposed to wake at 3 this morning. Somehow, both of us didn't get to sleep any at all in the few 3 hours we had. We were both plagued by a stupid mossy and perhaps the fear of not waking up on time.
Or maybe I shouldn't sleep too much later. This is the third day of my long weekend break. But I haven't really done much. I haven't uploaded my photo library into Mac. I haven't written much. I haven't started on my Frisco journal (which is like long overdue). I haven't checked out more books on interior design. I haven't brought the girls to the beach. I haven't gone out and invaded town when everyone else is at work.
What have I done then? Sleep, sleep and more sleep. Oh but I did make breakfast for the man yesterday - bacon, sausages, and bagels with cream cheese. Yumms.
My plans for the man's birthday didn't also quite turn out the way I had hoped it to be. So much for my surprise. The outdoor fondue didn't happen, though I did manage to find a decent fondue pot (for the uninitiated, fondue pots are like so rare in Singapore - can someone do something about this?) the night before. *Sigh* I'll just have to save this for another occasion.
But whatever we did that day (which wasn't a lot actually), more importantly, we were happy. It's one of the simple things in life - to be happy doing nothing with a loved one - that matters to me.
I am thinking, I've been in a pretty happy state these days. And in fact, I think, I haven't been this happy for a long time, not probably in a couple of years. I've probably been an emotional wreck just a couple of months back. Nothing was certain to me then, and I almost thought my world was crashing down on me. What happened after and how things turned out again, I can't say for sure. Well, God deals different cards to us in different times, and I suppose we just have to learn how to play them ourselves and grow from each consequence of our moves. What is meant to be will be. What is not will not. This is simple to comprehend, isn't it?
(And I'm particularly happy now, because I just crushed a mossy sucking on my fresh red blood. Fark these stewpid mossies!)
Sometimes I lapse into my paranoia again and wonder, how long can this state of happiness last before something horrible spews up between us again? Then I try to be 'careful' and not screw anything up. I watch my step and hold my mouth. But I realize this adds pressure on myself and subsequently on the relationship as well. There's definitely a certain amount of tact and consideration needed in a relationship, but you don't end up losing yourself as a result. I'm learning to be open in this, and be myself, and be the best of myself while at that.
It's officially morning now. The sun is up but it's still cool. Oh how I love this part of the day.
5 more hours before I see the man (read: pick up the man).
I'm still not sleepy but I should sleep like a log when I get home later. I didn't catch any wink at all last night. Neither did the man. We had gotten home pretty late and we were supposed to wake at 3 this morning. Somehow, both of us didn't get to sleep any at all in the few 3 hours we had. We were both plagued by a stupid mossy and perhaps the fear of not waking up on time.
Or maybe I shouldn't sleep too much later. This is the third day of my long weekend break. But I haven't really done much. I haven't uploaded my photo library into Mac. I haven't written much. I haven't started on my Frisco journal (which is like long overdue). I haven't checked out more books on interior design. I haven't brought the girls to the beach. I haven't gone out and invaded town when everyone else is at work.
What have I done then? Sleep, sleep and more sleep. Oh but I did make breakfast for the man yesterday - bacon, sausages, and bagels with cream cheese. Yumms.
My plans for the man's birthday didn't also quite turn out the way I had hoped it to be. So much for my surprise. The outdoor fondue didn't happen, though I did manage to find a decent fondue pot (for the uninitiated, fondue pots are like so rare in Singapore - can someone do something about this?) the night before. *Sigh* I'll just have to save this for another occasion.
But whatever we did that day (which wasn't a lot actually), more importantly, we were happy. It's one of the simple things in life - to be happy doing nothing with a loved one - that matters to me.
I am thinking, I've been in a pretty happy state these days. And in fact, I think, I haven't been this happy for a long time, not probably in a couple of years. I've probably been an emotional wreck just a couple of months back. Nothing was certain to me then, and I almost thought my world was crashing down on me. What happened after and how things turned out again, I can't say for sure. Well, God deals different cards to us in different times, and I suppose we just have to learn how to play them ourselves and grow from each consequence of our moves. What is meant to be will be. What is not will not. This is simple to comprehend, isn't it?
(And I'm particularly happy now, because I just crushed a mossy sucking on my fresh red blood. Fark these stewpid mossies!)
Sometimes I lapse into my paranoia again and wonder, how long can this state of happiness last before something horrible spews up between us again? Then I try to be 'careful' and not screw anything up. I watch my step and hold my mouth. But I realize this adds pressure on myself and subsequently on the relationship as well. There's definitely a certain amount of tact and consideration needed in a relationship, but you don't end up losing yourself as a result. I'm learning to be open in this, and be myself, and be the best of myself while at that.
It's officially morning now. The sun is up but it's still cool. Oh how I love this part of the day.
5 more hours before I see the man (read: pick up the man).
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Ten Thousand and One Kisses
Happy Birfdae to You,
Hapi Birfdae to U,
Hapy Birtdai to TWEEETIE,
HAAAPPPY BIIIRTHDAAY TOOO YOOOUU!!
Muaks.
Hapi Birfdae to U,
Hapy Birtdai to TWEEETIE,
HAAAPPPY BIIIRTHDAAY TOOO YOOOUU!!
Muaks.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
WeeeeeEEEeeee!!
Am feeling a wee bit excited tonight already.
The man's turning 28 in one day, seven months ahead of me, and in the meantime, I shall revel in the pleasure of going out with an 'older' guy, albeit for only seven months every year.
Still haven't gotten him a pressie yet, thanks to that car wash. Sunday was a goner, that's his game day so we're all prepared as usual for his showtime and I hadn't any time nor chance to sneak out to town. (Partly also because I got my ass out of bed only at 2 in the afternoon.)
Have something cooking up my sleeves though. Been planning a few things for a while, but haven't been sure which would work out, because he specifically said not to spend money. How can???
I only have one more day tomorrow to sort the plans out and get my props ready.
Enough clues there.
The man's turning 28 in one day, seven months ahead of me, and in the meantime, I shall revel in the pleasure of going out with an 'older' guy, albeit for only seven months every year.
Still haven't gotten him a pressie yet, thanks to that car wash. Sunday was a goner, that's his game day so we're all prepared as usual for his showtime and I hadn't any time nor chance to sneak out to town. (Partly also because I got my ass out of bed only at 2 in the afternoon.)
Have something cooking up my sleeves though. Been planning a few things for a while, but haven't been sure which would work out, because he specifically said not to spend money. How can???
I only have one more day tomorrow to sort the plans out and get my props ready.
Enough clues there.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Woman shall not wash cars
I've concluded (to the man): to wash a car is not a woman's job.
Saturday, after bringing the two girls to the beach for a quick swim with their three boyfriends, I thought they would be quicky tired out and conk out for the rest of the day. Which would leave me pretty much free to do much else without feeling guilty. Like washing the car, a chore that the man and I had agreed upon together but never really got down to it due to all sorts of excuses - which all stemmed from one fact: we were plain lazy.
After showering the two girls (an easy task this day because they had no resistance whatsoever), I looked at the clock. It was exactly twelve noon. Then I looked out the window. No clouds in sight, it was blazing hot, just like it had been for the past few weeks. I fickled for a while - should I (I should because it's been a task delayed too long), shouldn't I (I shouldn't because I would grump and frump under the sun and I would be so tired out I would have no more energy for much else - like searching for the man's gift - for the rest of the afternoon)? I thought I should, in the end, and started filling out the pail with water. And that was all I was planning - to wash the car, a neglected vehicle left to the dirt and dust of the weather and roads for more than a month, with only one pail of fresh water.
Reason #1 why women are not born to wash cars: the damn pail of water was so freakin' heavy, I had to grit my teeth and lug the load (plus all the other stuff like the vacuum and the bottles of cleaners and all the cloths) up the stairs to the elevator to the car. But being the proud woman that I am, I attributed it to the fact that I've not been training for a while and have lost some strength in my arms.
With much strategic planning, I proceeded to washing the interior of the car first, because I knew I would end up with no more clean water for this task. The interior was dirtier than I thought, and by the time the seats were done, the pail was half full with quite-filthy water. I thought, I should just sponge the exterior with just water, and no detergent. But by the time I was done with this, the body and the windows were all spotted with dirty marks. And the pail was empty. I couldn't live with the dirty spots, so I did what a woman ought to do.
I carried my empty pail, and walked over to the men's room at the gas station next door, and ambushed the next man that came out of the room: "'Cuse me, can you help me get some water pleeeeease?" *Sweet smile* while cussing the absence of my man under my breath.
See, only the men's room at the gas station is left unlocked. For safety reasons perhaps, the ladies' room is always locked and to want to use it, you have to go up to the counter, ask for the key from the counter, unlock the bledy door before you can relieve yourself, no matter how high your tide may be, and then remember to return the key. Somehow, the men's room is left open such that you can even take water from it freely by the buckets. Taxi uncles and most men are seen around this area, busy retrieving water for their car-washing.
Shamelessly, I thanked the man who helped me with the water, and went back to my car. After the dirty spots were cleaned out, the car gleamed with shine once more and the pail was now half left with clean water now. Not wanting to waste the water, and as if one hour under the sun wasn't enough, I decided I should clean out the wheels as well.
Which was a bad move, because not only did this additional task take me an additional hour, I had to bother another reluctant uncle to help fill out the pail with water for a second time. What was I thinking of doing in the first place with just one pail of water?!?
And all the while during the two hours that I was washing the car, men who walked by or drove past stopped to look and they seemed to be wondering, Hmmm, why is this poor dirty-looking girl washing a car all by herself? And it sure didn't help that a little further away, a couple was washing their car and after a while, the girl stopped and sat on a stool, seeking cool solace under a tree while her man continued the job.
The fruit of labor was sweet though. The car shone with pride again, so did the wheels. The owner trudged upstairs back home, dumped the dirty cloths in a pail, took a quick shower and fell asleep swiftly, forgetting all about her man's gift. But not forgetting to remind him that a car wash is definitely not a woman's job.
Saturday, after bringing the two girls to the beach for a quick swim with their three boyfriends, I thought they would be quicky tired out and conk out for the rest of the day. Which would leave me pretty much free to do much else without feeling guilty. Like washing the car, a chore that the man and I had agreed upon together but never really got down to it due to all sorts of excuses - which all stemmed from one fact: we were plain lazy.
After showering the two girls (an easy task this day because they had no resistance whatsoever), I looked at the clock. It was exactly twelve noon. Then I looked out the window. No clouds in sight, it was blazing hot, just like it had been for the past few weeks. I fickled for a while - should I (I should because it's been a task delayed too long), shouldn't I (I shouldn't because I would grump and frump under the sun and I would be so tired out I would have no more energy for much else - like searching for the man's gift - for the rest of the afternoon)? I thought I should, in the end, and started filling out the pail with water. And that was all I was planning - to wash the car, a neglected vehicle left to the dirt and dust of the weather and roads for more than a month, with only one pail of fresh water.
Reason #1 why women are not born to wash cars: the damn pail of water was so freakin' heavy, I had to grit my teeth and lug the load (plus all the other stuff like the vacuum and the bottles of cleaners and all the cloths) up the stairs to the elevator to the car. But being the proud woman that I am, I attributed it to the fact that I've not been training for a while and have lost some strength in my arms.
With much strategic planning, I proceeded to washing the interior of the car first, because I knew I would end up with no more clean water for this task. The interior was dirtier than I thought, and by the time the seats were done, the pail was half full with quite-filthy water. I thought, I should just sponge the exterior with just water, and no detergent. But by the time I was done with this, the body and the windows were all spotted with dirty marks. And the pail was empty. I couldn't live with the dirty spots, so I did what a woman ought to do.
I carried my empty pail, and walked over to the men's room at the gas station next door, and ambushed the next man that came out of the room: "'Cuse me, can you help me get some water pleeeeease?" *Sweet smile* while cussing the absence of my man under my breath.
See, only the men's room at the gas station is left unlocked. For safety reasons perhaps, the ladies' room is always locked and to want to use it, you have to go up to the counter, ask for the key from the counter, unlock the bledy door before you can relieve yourself, no matter how high your tide may be, and then remember to return the key. Somehow, the men's room is left open such that you can even take water from it freely by the buckets. Taxi uncles and most men are seen around this area, busy retrieving water for their car-washing.
Shamelessly, I thanked the man who helped me with the water, and went back to my car. After the dirty spots were cleaned out, the car gleamed with shine once more and the pail was now half left with clean water now. Not wanting to waste the water, and as if one hour under the sun wasn't enough, I decided I should clean out the wheels as well.
Which was a bad move, because not only did this additional task take me an additional hour, I had to bother another reluctant uncle to help fill out the pail with water for a second time. What was I thinking of doing in the first place with just one pail of water?!?
And all the while during the two hours that I was washing the car, men who walked by or drove past stopped to look and they seemed to be wondering, Hmmm, why is this poor dirty-looking girl washing a car all by herself? And it sure didn't help that a little further away, a couple was washing their car and after a while, the girl stopped and sat on a stool, seeking cool solace under a tree while her man continued the job.
The fruit of labor was sweet though. The car shone with pride again, so did the wheels. The owner trudged upstairs back home, dumped the dirty cloths in a pail, took a quick shower and fell asleep swiftly, forgetting all about her man's gift. But not forgetting to remind him that a car wash is definitely not a woman's job.
Saturday, March 19, 2005
No more refrigerator?!
Omigawd! What have I done?
Maybe I'm not so good after all.
I went to the Apple store last night and got me a cool-dude PowerBook. And er... it's not even my birthday coming up next week. Uh-oh. The man is making me feel sooo bad. Says he, "My birthday, I buy you present. Your birthday, you buy me one lor."
Wah. Sounds so sweet and noble, I thought at first. Until I realized, hey, I'm paying off this dude myself. And, I still have to look for a gift this week. Or, maybe I have something else up my sleeve... heh heh heh.
Point of justification: this isn't exactly an impulse buy. Yes, I've been eyeing and dying to own a Mac machine for the longest time. I'd walk into the store occasionally, pretend I'm shopping for a notebook, take a pricelist, and then tell the storeman "Sorry, I'll think about it." As if.
But this apple dropped from the tree and into my arms a tad too early. I was thinking of getting it only when I've quit my job (because I would have to return the lappie and end up with no access to the net). Moreover, I have other more impertinent stuff to think of: the refrigerator, for instance.
I've decided to christen the new baby; I'm gonna call him "MacMac". No, not because he's a Mac machine, but I'm naming him after my best friend's eldest 'son', a cool-dude Labrador whom she fondly calls "Mac Mac".
I hope she doesn't mind.
I'm still exploring the Mac interface, and this is my first blogger entry using him. I think I'm falling in love with him real fast. And it's gotten my man pretty jealous. *grins*
Maybe I'm not so good after all.
I went to the Apple store last night and got me a cool-dude PowerBook. And er... it's not even my birthday coming up next week. Uh-oh. The man is making me feel sooo bad. Says he, "My birthday, I buy you present. Your birthday, you buy me one lor."
Wah. Sounds so sweet and noble, I thought at first. Until I realized, hey, I'm paying off this dude myself. And, I still have to look for a gift this week. Or, maybe I have something else up my sleeve... heh heh heh.
Point of justification: this isn't exactly an impulse buy. Yes, I've been eyeing and dying to own a Mac machine for the longest time. I'd walk into the store occasionally, pretend I'm shopping for a notebook, take a pricelist, and then tell the storeman "Sorry, I'll think about it." As if.
But this apple dropped from the tree and into my arms a tad too early. I was thinking of getting it only when I've quit my job (because I would have to return the lappie and end up with no access to the net). Moreover, I have other more impertinent stuff to think of: the refrigerator, for instance.
I've decided to christen the new baby; I'm gonna call him "MacMac". No, not because he's a Mac machine, but I'm naming him after my best friend's eldest 'son', a cool-dude Labrador whom she fondly calls "Mac Mac".
I hope she doesn't mind.
I'm still exploring the Mac interface, and this is my first blogger entry using him. I think I'm falling in love with him real fast. And it's gotten my man pretty jealous. *grins*
Friday, March 18, 2005
Why the heck am I always talking about the refrigerator??
I have been pretty good so far this month. Haven't been spending on much, except chalking up my expenses on phonecalls and internet usage, all incurred while I was travelling in the US. The urge to buy stuff isn't that strong nor uncontrollable these days, maybe largely because I am still feeling the remnants of guilt from Christmas and Chinese New Year spendings.
Every now and then, I do see something I yearn to own, but I deter myself through various means - mainly by thinking of how unhappy the man would be if he found out, and of our (near-)future home. To stop myself altogether, I have stopped even window-shopping. A message to the cynics: this method really helps. I even stop hanging out at my favorite Borders... which is good cos I have stopped buying all those magazines since as well.
I was walking around in Bedok Town Central the other day when I passed by one of those neighborhood stores that sell (cheaper) electrical household appliances. The very first thing that caught my eye, naturally, was this huge, metallic, futuristic-looking refrigerator that, probably due to its size, was displayed right outside the store. I thought, Hmmm... very neat, something I could possibly use for my own home in future. And then, it suddenly struck me that the refrigerator is only but one of many household items that we'll need to buy for our house - what about the washing machine, the cooking stove, the baking oven (yes, I need a big one cos I'm intending to experiment with recipes), the air-conditioner, the television (plasma?)? And that's when I started to worry we might not have the money to buy them when the time comes. Ok, I can do without a dryer or a home theatre system for now, but I cannot imagine having to handwash all the clothes nor missing out on StarWorld and all the sports channels, or worse, my Ben & Jerry's and ice-cold Coke Light.
From that moment on, I stopped thinking about the boyfriend whenever I had the urge to purchase anything possibly impulsive. Instead, I keep telling myself: "If I buy this *insert item* now, I will not be able to buy my refrigerator." And let me tell you, this horrifying method does work.
So far, I have turned down an invitation to join a bunch of fun-loving friends at Bintan over the long Easter weekend, stopped myself from buying a Gwen Stefani CD and resisted the oh-so-cute! undies at Topshop. And I am considering skipping Attica (and possibly ruffling the feathers of some girlfriends) tonight, and for a few months as well.
Do I feel sorry for myself? No... I actually am proud of myself.
This really makes me wonder about the realities of life and the importance of money in this society. It is weird when the gah-men laments of the younger generation getting married later and procreating even later and yet makes it so damn tough (read: expensive) for us to buy a flat, get married, set up home and then to give birth.
Here's my estimated costs of 'starting a new life with your loved one':
- Getting ROM'ed: $620 (pair of rings + ROM fees)
- Buying a flat: $10 application fee + $60,000 downpayment (if you don't have enough CPF to cover, you're doggone here)
- Getting married: ha! at least $40,000 methinks
- Setting up home: $40,000 renovation + $10,000 furniture/appliances
- Giving birth: $2,000 check-up fees + $5,000 to give birth! (I should've studied to be a gynae!)
So, let's see... what do all these total up to?
So the gah-men says we are too caught up with career-building. Hmm, that's quite true. Because if we don't work our asses off while we are still young, we might not be able to buy that flat, get married and reproduce the next generation in time.
Oh, one more suggestion, if you would pay us to be members of SDU, that might help too.
Every now and then, I do see something I yearn to own, but I deter myself through various means - mainly by thinking of how unhappy the man would be if he found out, and of our (near-)future home. To stop myself altogether, I have stopped even window-shopping. A message to the cynics: this method really helps. I even stop hanging out at my favorite Borders... which is good cos I have stopped buying all those magazines since as well.
I was walking around in Bedok Town Central the other day when I passed by one of those neighborhood stores that sell (cheaper) electrical household appliances. The very first thing that caught my eye, naturally, was this huge, metallic, futuristic-looking refrigerator that, probably due to its size, was displayed right outside the store. I thought, Hmmm... very neat, something I could possibly use for my own home in future. And then, it suddenly struck me that the refrigerator is only but one of many household items that we'll need to buy for our house - what about the washing machine, the cooking stove, the baking oven (yes, I need a big one cos I'm intending to experiment with recipes), the air-conditioner, the television (plasma?)? And that's when I started to worry we might not have the money to buy them when the time comes. Ok, I can do without a dryer or a home theatre system for now, but I cannot imagine having to handwash all the clothes nor missing out on StarWorld and all the sports channels, or worse, my Ben & Jerry's and ice-cold Coke Light.
From that moment on, I stopped thinking about the boyfriend whenever I had the urge to purchase anything possibly impulsive. Instead, I keep telling myself: "If I buy this *insert item* now, I will not be able to buy my refrigerator." And let me tell you, this horrifying method does work.
So far, I have turned down an invitation to join a bunch of fun-loving friends at Bintan over the long Easter weekend, stopped myself from buying a Gwen Stefani CD and resisted the oh-so-cute! undies at Topshop. And I am considering skipping Attica (and possibly ruffling the feathers of some girlfriends) tonight, and for a few months as well.
Do I feel sorry for myself? No... I actually am proud of myself.
This really makes me wonder about the realities of life and the importance of money in this society. It is weird when the gah-men laments of the younger generation getting married later and procreating even later and yet makes it so damn tough (read: expensive) for us to buy a flat, get married, set up home and then to give birth.
Here's my estimated costs of 'starting a new life with your loved one':
- Getting ROM'ed: $620 (pair of rings + ROM fees)
- Buying a flat: $10 application fee + $60,000 downpayment (if you don't have enough CPF to cover, you're doggone here)
- Getting married: ha! at least $40,000 methinks
- Setting up home: $40,000 renovation + $10,000 furniture/appliances
- Giving birth: $2,000 check-up fees + $5,000 to give birth! (I should've studied to be a gynae!)
So, let's see... what do all these total up to?
So the gah-men says we are too caught up with career-building. Hmm, that's quite true. Because if we don't work our asses off while we are still young, we might not be able to buy that flat, get married and reproduce the next generation in time.
Oh, one more suggestion, if you would pay us to be members of SDU, that might help too.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Achy breaky thighs
Oh! How my lightning thighs ache! So much for not keeping to a strict running regime.
Two nights after my gungho run-up-the-slope, my poor thighs are still feeling sore. No, in fact, my thighs weren't as sore yesterday, strangely. They became more achy today, and every step I take down the stairs, or even down any slightest slope gives me untolerable pain. I walked so awkwardly today I invited so much unwanted stares.
Was planning to run today actually, but with my thighs still in un-working condition, I decided against the swell idea. I have to 'save' them for my basketball training tomorrow instead.
The running's still gotta start soon though. All for pride's sake. I raised a challenge today with Ed, my officemate-cum-drinkbuddy-cum-housingadvisor, who by the way seems quite pleased he has been permanently exempted from IPPT, for God-knows-what-reason.
To say Ed loves drinking (beer, no less) is an understatement. This man downed 15 shots of pure alcohol in 2 hours, and was still standing after that. What kind of a monster is that? While we normal human beings fill up drinking water in waterbottles or used mineral water bottles, he fills up his drinking water in used beer bottles, much to the chagrin of his wifey, because he likes drinking his beer-flavored water. He says his fridge is full of beer bottles, but half of them really contains 'drinking water'. I pity his wifey.
So because I was flabbergasted with his exemption from IPPT for the rest of his life, I taunted and challenged him to a 2.4 km race. Of course I boasted I could do my 2.4 in sub-10 seconds, just to bruise his ego. But that failed. He was almost going to give up the race and resign to the eventual fate that he would lose to me anyway, no matter how much he was going to train for it.
So, we kinda changed the format of the 'race' - I'll run the 2.4 km, and, at the same time, he'll down 5 jugs of beer. And the one who finishes first is the winner. This got him interested.
Now I feel so dumb.
Two nights after my gungho run-up-the-slope, my poor thighs are still feeling sore. No, in fact, my thighs weren't as sore yesterday, strangely. They became more achy today, and every step I take down the stairs, or even down any slightest slope gives me untolerable pain. I walked so awkwardly today I invited so much unwanted stares.
Was planning to run today actually, but with my thighs still in un-working condition, I decided against the swell idea. I have to 'save' them for my basketball training tomorrow instead.
The running's still gotta start soon though. All for pride's sake. I raised a challenge today with Ed, my officemate-cum-drinkbuddy-cum-housingadvisor, who by the way seems quite pleased he has been permanently exempted from IPPT, for God-knows-what-reason.
To say Ed loves drinking (beer, no less) is an understatement. This man downed 15 shots of pure alcohol in 2 hours, and was still standing after that. What kind of a monster is that? While we normal human beings fill up drinking water in waterbottles or used mineral water bottles, he fills up his drinking water in used beer bottles, much to the chagrin of his wifey, because he likes drinking his beer-flavored water. He says his fridge is full of beer bottles, but half of them really contains 'drinking water'. I pity his wifey.
So because I was flabbergasted with his exemption from IPPT for the rest of his life, I taunted and challenged him to a 2.4 km race. Of course I boasted I could do my 2.4 in sub-10 seconds, just to bruise his ego. But that failed. He was almost going to give up the race and resign to the eventual fate that he would lose to me anyway, no matter how much he was going to train for it.
So, we kinda changed the format of the 'race' - I'll run the 2.4 km, and, at the same time, he'll down 5 jugs of beer. And the one who finishes first is the winner. This got him interested.
Now I feel so dumb.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
"Yao gui"
People say I eat like a bird and that's true.
Birds eat just enough to fly.
All those birds that eat a lot end up getting eaten themselves.
Turkeys, chickens.
They can't fly.
The others eat just enough to get by, just enough to fly.
That's how I am.
- Rare Air, Michael Jordan
I've been eating a lot of late. Eating like a cow, a horse, a pig, anything but a bird. I can't help it. I just feel like my worms are very lively and awake these days. I feel like they devour every single piece of food I put into my body. Instantly. How else can you explain my incessant hunger an hour after lunch or dinner?
Last night, I ran a good 30 minutes. Haven't done that for a long while, and I felt pleased I even did a slope. But after that one run, I felt so ravenous I ate up one bowl of porridge, one bowl of minced meat noodle, and finished off with two chicken wings. The hunger continued even after lunch today, and it made me lose concentration at work (ok, maybe that's an excuse).
My mass is stabilized right now. There were times, just recently, when I kept shrinking despite my massive appetite. That scared the shit outta many people.
I wanna be like Mike. To fly like a bird, though I know I can never. So, maybe I should just learn to eat like a bird. But then, if I do that, what will be left of me, I wonder?
Birds eat just enough to fly.
All those birds that eat a lot end up getting eaten themselves.
Turkeys, chickens.
They can't fly.
The others eat just enough to get by, just enough to fly.
That's how I am.
- Rare Air, Michael Jordan
I've been eating a lot of late. Eating like a cow, a horse, a pig, anything but a bird. I can't help it. I just feel like my worms are very lively and awake these days. I feel like they devour every single piece of food I put into my body. Instantly. How else can you explain my incessant hunger an hour after lunch or dinner?
Last night, I ran a good 30 minutes. Haven't done that for a long while, and I felt pleased I even did a slope. But after that one run, I felt so ravenous I ate up one bowl of porridge, one bowl of minced meat noodle, and finished off with two chicken wings. The hunger continued even after lunch today, and it made me lose concentration at work (ok, maybe that's an excuse).
My mass is stabilized right now. There were times, just recently, when I kept shrinking despite my massive appetite. That scared the shit outta many people.
I wanna be like Mike. To fly like a bird, though I know I can never. So, maybe I should just learn to eat like a bird. But then, if I do that, what will be left of me, I wonder?
I've got another "WHY?"
Why is it so difficult for me whenever I try to dress up?
It happens when I start wearing skirts. Wait, let me correct that. Skirts that are flowy and girlie, not the usual mini denim or camo-print skirts that I wear. Ok, so I've only got two such recently-owned 'girlie' skirts, but in every occasion that I've worn them, I've not failed to garner unwanted attention and comments: "Wah!!! Hwee Cheng/Huijing!! So girly today ah? Hot date issit?", from women or men, young or old alike.
My point: aren't skirts just skirts? Don't all skirts make a woman instantly feminine, no matter the length/cut/design? What's the difference between wearing minis and 'girlies'? And isn't wearing mini-skirts supposed to be more girlie or sexy (ok, ok, maybe not in my case)? WTF?!
And then there's my also-newly-acquired dangly earrings. So gypsy, so pretty. I actually fell in love with them the minute I set my eyes on them. Almost classified as an impulse buy, but I had a plan for them - to complete the gypsy-inspired look I'd decided to try out this year. It worked; I did get comments that I looked like a gypsy (and all I needed to make it whole was just one more headscarf), though I thought I sensed some sarcasm in those remarks. But I don't dwell on them. So anyway, just as I dreaded, the earrings also became a catalyst from some jibing from 'friends': "Wow, what's with the earrings, man?!"; "Check out those earrings on Hwee Cheng!"; "Shake those things for me!".
And then, there are the heels that I occasionally don. Well, correction again: I only once dug out this pair of once-favorite heels that had been well-kept in a well-hidden shoebox (for maybe 4 years?) and thought I should wear them to work with my cropped black pants for a nice change. The ammo came almost immediately: "Wah!! *My nickname* (to protect identity of evil friends) wearing high heels today ah!!!". As if this wasn't bad enough, I got an even ruder comment that I looked like an "auntie" in those heels. WTF? I happen to love those shoes, ok.
Yet another new acquisition was this slightly (note: slightly, not totally) off-the-shoulder top that I happen to be wearing to work today. Pair it off with jeans and birkies, and my dangly earrings no less, and I thought the look was casual enough for a weekday. But nooo... the minute I stepped into the office, my friend grinned strangely at me, and asked, "Hot date tonight?" "No! I'm actually washing my car tonight!", I almost growled. I know the underlying thoughts, and it makes me uncomfortable again. Well, the one good thing that almost happened was I almost got a free 'tau sar pao' from the coffee-boy. Yes, that beefy coffee-boy. Heh heh, bite that, Leng.
*Ok, colleague number two just looked at my earrings and asked cheekily, "Aiyo, how come nowadays so hiao?" Urgh.
And of course, there are those wedding dinners that I attended. Dress, make-up, heels, jewelry, the full works. 'Nuff said.
Don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't like compliments, nor that I'm uncomfortable with them. I take compliments pretty well, I guess, but only if they are nicely administered. I like people telling me I look great in a dress, my skirt is so sweet, my earrings are so pretty, my mascara-ed eyes make me look different, and I always return a gracious thanks. (Actually, I suspect I like people telling me the things I have are nice, so it makes me feel less guilty for having spent those kind of money! Haha.)
But the comments and remarks that some friends have given make me feel like a small girl over again. Like I was simply playing 'dress-up', that it's not really me in those clothes, that they really expect to see me tomorrow in my tees-and-jeans get-up again. Why all the weird comments? Is it because I look funny? I don't look right? I wear them all wrong? What's wrong??? Can somebody tell me?
Maybe I only have myself to blame - for being a 'tomboy' for way too long.
By the way, call me 'tomboy', can. Because I really am one. But call me 'ah lian', I cannot accept.
But fear not. I am not quite bothered by these. I just simply wonder why. I'm already planning to buy that ultra-mini leather skirt and a pair of knee-high boots, so I can continue to sock 'em in the eye and make their jaws drop.
It happens when I start wearing skirts. Wait, let me correct that. Skirts that are flowy and girlie, not the usual mini denim or camo-print skirts that I wear. Ok, so I've only got two such recently-owned 'girlie' skirts, but in every occasion that I've worn them, I've not failed to garner unwanted attention and comments: "Wah!!! Hwee Cheng/Huijing!! So girly today ah? Hot date issit?", from women or men, young or old alike.
My point: aren't skirts just skirts? Don't all skirts make a woman instantly feminine, no matter the length/cut/design? What's the difference between wearing minis and 'girlies'? And isn't wearing mini-skirts supposed to be more girlie or sexy (ok, ok, maybe not in my case)? WTF?!
And then there's my also-newly-acquired dangly earrings. So gypsy, so pretty. I actually fell in love with them the minute I set my eyes on them. Almost classified as an impulse buy, but I had a plan for them - to complete the gypsy-inspired look I'd decided to try out this year. It worked; I did get comments that I looked like a gypsy (and all I needed to make it whole was just one more headscarf), though I thought I sensed some sarcasm in those remarks. But I don't dwell on them. So anyway, just as I dreaded, the earrings also became a catalyst from some jibing from 'friends': "Wow, what's with the earrings, man?!"; "Check out those earrings on Hwee Cheng!"; "Shake those things for me!".
And then, there are the heels that I occasionally don. Well, correction again: I only once dug out this pair of once-favorite heels that had been well-kept in a well-hidden shoebox (for maybe 4 years?) and thought I should wear them to work with my cropped black pants for a nice change. The ammo came almost immediately: "Wah!! *My nickname* (to protect identity of evil friends) wearing high heels today ah!!!". As if this wasn't bad enough, I got an even ruder comment that I looked like an "auntie" in those heels. WTF? I happen to love those shoes, ok.
Yet another new acquisition was this slightly (note: slightly, not totally) off-the-shoulder top that I happen to be wearing to work today. Pair it off with jeans and birkies, and my dangly earrings no less, and I thought the look was casual enough for a weekday. But nooo... the minute I stepped into the office, my friend grinned strangely at me, and asked, "Hot date tonight?" "No! I'm actually washing my car tonight!", I almost growled. I know the underlying thoughts, and it makes me uncomfortable again. Well, the one good thing that almost happened was I almost got a free 'tau sar pao' from the coffee-boy. Yes, that beefy coffee-boy. Heh heh, bite that, Leng.
*Ok, colleague number two just looked at my earrings and asked cheekily, "Aiyo, how come nowadays so hiao?" Urgh.
And of course, there are those wedding dinners that I attended. Dress, make-up, heels, jewelry, the full works. 'Nuff said.
Don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't like compliments, nor that I'm uncomfortable with them. I take compliments pretty well, I guess, but only if they are nicely administered. I like people telling me I look great in a dress, my skirt is so sweet, my earrings are so pretty, my mascara-ed eyes make me look different, and I always return a gracious thanks. (Actually, I suspect I like people telling me the things I have are nice, so it makes me feel less guilty for having spent those kind of money! Haha.)
But the comments and remarks that some friends have given make me feel like a small girl over again. Like I was simply playing 'dress-up', that it's not really me in those clothes, that they really expect to see me tomorrow in my tees-and-jeans get-up again. Why all the weird comments? Is it because I look funny? I don't look right? I wear them all wrong? What's wrong??? Can somebody tell me?
Maybe I only have myself to blame - for being a 'tomboy' for way too long.
By the way, call me 'tomboy', can. Because I really am one. But call me 'ah lian', I cannot accept.
But fear not. I am not quite bothered by these. I just simply wonder why. I'm already planning to buy that ultra-mini leather skirt and a pair of knee-high boots, so I can continue to sock 'em in the eye and make their jaws drop.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Killed
The freakin' weather is killing me. I don't know how hot it really gets, but methinks NEA is trying to deceive us with a "high of 34 degrees" everyday. C'mon.
I got 'sick' in the office this morning, and decided to take a trip out to town over lunch - to cool over and, at the same time, try to snap more pictures of the "consumers". What a wrong move. I got even more hot and bothered, walking around in jeans and leather flats. My tank didn't help cos it felt more like perspiration seeping in than cooling out. I ended up wanting to rush back to the coolness of the usually-freezing office.
Mission failed.
Sitting at the cafe now, and I can feel the barely-there evening breeze. Sounds more like chilling out.
I got 'sick' in the office this morning, and decided to take a trip out to town over lunch - to cool over and, at the same time, try to snap more pictures of the "consumers". What a wrong move. I got even more hot and bothered, walking around in jeans and leather flats. My tank didn't help cos it felt more like perspiration seeping in than cooling out. I ended up wanting to rush back to the coolness of the usually-freezing office.
Mission failed.
Sitting at the cafe now, and I can feel the barely-there evening breeze. Sounds more like chilling out.
Why?
I have a lot of questions on my mind lately... accummulated over days, weeks, even months. I can question no one, nor do I really expect anyone to be able to answer them.
Why do people get complacent easily?
Man tends to get so hung up on his strengths, and tries to suppress his weaknesses. He sees and recognizes only his good, and tries to hide or ignore the presence of his bad. I see self-praise more than I do self-criticism. When Man fails, he tends to self-berate, cower, wallow, or worse, blame others or the predicament. Once success is achieved, even only for an instance, Man seems to think he can get no better than this, or rather, he can't get any worse than this. Sometimes, I'm guilty of this complacency. Why can't we continuously criticize ourselves, and aim to be even better, even when we seem to have accomplished what we should? Why is it so hard to accept that we are neither faultless nor infallible? When will we start to accept ourselves, mistakes and all, and see that nothing is forever? As the cliche goes, this is always much easier said than done.
Why do circumstances always turn around when you have made up your mind on something?
Why is it that just after I've paid $89 for the skirt that I've been eyeing and contemplating for weeks, it goes on sale the next weekend? Why is it that just when I'm feeling guilty about my spendings and making up my damn mind to save some money, the car has to break down, the dog has to start barfing, the phone bill suddenly shoots sky-high?
As recent as a couple of months ago, after some painful struggles and hurtful words, it came to one particular almost-fateful night when I was ready to let go of my faith and of my six-year relationship. But somehow, over that same night, the loved one came back to me and suddenly made things seem normal again. It caused me unwanted confusion at that time. The pain takes a while to dissipate, and the trust to be regained, but the love has come back stronger than before.
And then, after months and months of procrastination and self-doubt, I finally made up my mind to (eventually) quit my job and start chasing after my dreams. Then my boss called me into his room just days after I've announced my plans to close friends, and started talking about my frustrations, my apparent lack of interest in work, my unmotivated attitude, and the most mind-boggling of all, my career advancement and future plans in the company. Yes, he noticed it all, and even gave me a little monetary reward to top it off.
Why can't my life be a little less complicated? What am I to do?
Why does time fly by me before I can catch it and take a breather?
I try not to think too much of my age. Nor do I try to recount the accomplishments and the experiences in my life, because these are the stuff that people do that make them lament they're old. I am not old, nor do I think I am. I think I still have energy in me to chase after all the big things in life, whatever they may be at any point in my lifetime. I just need energy to unleash the energy.
But I do count the number of days that have passed by in the year. I commonly tell the boyfriend, "Wow, so fast... it's already the end of January/February/March/the year." And the biggest regret I have as I say this, is that I seem to have done little in the amount of time that has quickly passed. Maybe I procrastinate, or maybe I'm just a slacker. I think but I don't do. But can't time slow down a little and let us human beings work around things on our own pace?
Why do older folks get so hung up on your marital status?
Yes, I admit. When I was much much younger, I used to want to get married by 23, so I could have my kids by 25, and so when my kids turned 18, I would let them stand on their own feet and I'd still be young enough to re-start my life - travel the world with the husband, re-locate somewhere else in the world with the husband, spend a long honeymoon with the husband - just me and the husband. And I realized it was almost every young girl's dream (yes, believe it or not) to get married young.
And then I realized reality doesn't really work your way. And as you grow older and into your adulthood, you learn getting married young isn't quite an easy feat. First, of course, you gotta find the right man that early, which is virtually impossible. Then there's the career thing to consider. Getting married at 30 or something seems more achievable.
I've more or less resigned myself to that fate. What am I talking about? I'm already way past 23 and I'm not getting married yet. And it really doesn't help a local girl when she gets herself a man who's the same age as she is. (Honey, if you're reading this, I'm NOT pressurizing you yah.)
But it really really doesn't help either when you're already in the relationship for 6 years, and, for better or for worse, in one that seems to be going trouble-free. My parents, grannies, uncles and aunties, even the cleaning auntie in my office, all belong to the generation who believes there's no reason why a couple would stay together for so long and not think of getting married. I'm at that age now (I empathize with all my cousins and friends before me now) where I dread attending family functions. At any available occasion these elder folks get to be alone with me, the question inevitably pops up. Even my mom. Especially my mom. Sometimes I wonder if she is being pressurized herself by other family members.
I have devised all sorts of answers to that one question, I could've written a dictionary on them. But for sake of not being deemed rude, I have not used them. I totally understand if they are asking for the first time. But what I don't understand is why the questions still come even when I've implored them to stop asking, and shown unwillingness to answer. Can't they see the wedding is not impending anytime soon? And when it finally comes, I'll send them an invitation for sure?
I probably have a lot more 'whys' in my head... but writing about this seems to be a bad idea at the moment because I've gotten myself more befuddled than I should be. Why?
Why do people get complacent easily?
Man tends to get so hung up on his strengths, and tries to suppress his weaknesses. He sees and recognizes only his good, and tries to hide or ignore the presence of his bad. I see self-praise more than I do self-criticism. When Man fails, he tends to self-berate, cower, wallow, or worse, blame others or the predicament. Once success is achieved, even only for an instance, Man seems to think he can get no better than this, or rather, he can't get any worse than this. Sometimes, I'm guilty of this complacency. Why can't we continuously criticize ourselves, and aim to be even better, even when we seem to have accomplished what we should? Why is it so hard to accept that we are neither faultless nor infallible? When will we start to accept ourselves, mistakes and all, and see that nothing is forever? As the cliche goes, this is always much easier said than done.
Why do circumstances always turn around when you have made up your mind on something?
Why is it that just after I've paid $89 for the skirt that I've been eyeing and contemplating for weeks, it goes on sale the next weekend? Why is it that just when I'm feeling guilty about my spendings and making up my damn mind to save some money, the car has to break down, the dog has to start barfing, the phone bill suddenly shoots sky-high?
As recent as a couple of months ago, after some painful struggles and hurtful words, it came to one particular almost-fateful night when I was ready to let go of my faith and of my six-year relationship. But somehow, over that same night, the loved one came back to me and suddenly made things seem normal again. It caused me unwanted confusion at that time. The pain takes a while to dissipate, and the trust to be regained, but the love has come back stronger than before.
And then, after months and months of procrastination and self-doubt, I finally made up my mind to (eventually) quit my job and start chasing after my dreams. Then my boss called me into his room just days after I've announced my plans to close friends, and started talking about my frustrations, my apparent lack of interest in work, my unmotivated attitude, and the most mind-boggling of all, my career advancement and future plans in the company. Yes, he noticed it all, and even gave me a little monetary reward to top it off.
Why can't my life be a little less complicated? What am I to do?
Why does time fly by me before I can catch it and take a breather?
I try not to think too much of my age. Nor do I try to recount the accomplishments and the experiences in my life, because these are the stuff that people do that make them lament they're old. I am not old, nor do I think I am. I think I still have energy in me to chase after all the big things in life, whatever they may be at any point in my lifetime. I just need energy to unleash the energy.
But I do count the number of days that have passed by in the year. I commonly tell the boyfriend, "Wow, so fast... it's already the end of January/February/March/the year." And the biggest regret I have as I say this, is that I seem to have done little in the amount of time that has quickly passed. Maybe I procrastinate, or maybe I'm just a slacker. I think but I don't do. But can't time slow down a little and let us human beings work around things on our own pace?
Why do older folks get so hung up on your marital status?
Yes, I admit. When I was much much younger, I used to want to get married by 23, so I could have my kids by 25, and so when my kids turned 18, I would let them stand on their own feet and I'd still be young enough to re-start my life - travel the world with the husband, re-locate somewhere else in the world with the husband, spend a long honeymoon with the husband - just me and the husband. And I realized it was almost every young girl's dream (yes, believe it or not) to get married young.
And then I realized reality doesn't really work your way. And as you grow older and into your adulthood, you learn getting married young isn't quite an easy feat. First, of course, you gotta find the right man that early, which is virtually impossible. Then there's the career thing to consider. Getting married at 30 or something seems more achievable.
I've more or less resigned myself to that fate. What am I talking about? I'm already way past 23 and I'm not getting married yet. And it really doesn't help a local girl when she gets herself a man who's the same age as she is. (Honey, if you're reading this, I'm NOT pressurizing you yah.)
But it really really doesn't help either when you're already in the relationship for 6 years, and, for better or for worse, in one that seems to be going trouble-free. My parents, grannies, uncles and aunties, even the cleaning auntie in my office, all belong to the generation who believes there's no reason why a couple would stay together for so long and not think of getting married. I'm at that age now (I empathize with all my cousins and friends before me now) where I dread attending family functions. At any available occasion these elder folks get to be alone with me, the question inevitably pops up. Even my mom. Especially my mom. Sometimes I wonder if she is being pressurized herself by other family members.
I have devised all sorts of answers to that one question, I could've written a dictionary on them. But for sake of not being deemed rude, I have not used them. I totally understand if they are asking for the first time. But what I don't understand is why the questions still come even when I've implored them to stop asking, and shown unwillingness to answer. Can't they see the wedding is not impending anytime soon? And when it finally comes, I'll send them an invitation for sure?
I probably have a lot more 'whys' in my head... but writing about this seems to be a bad idea at the moment because I've gotten myself more befuddled than I should be. Why?
Friday, March 11, 2005
Commando
Wah. Almost went 'commando' today. Not by intention, of course. (I was going to work, not on a hot date, whaddya think?!)
You know how most women go about their daily dressing-up process. I say 'most' because I do know of some girlfriends who really don't give a heck about what they are going to be wearing for the day. Ok ok, the results of such heck-care attitude of certain friends may not be exactly aesthetically pleasing; I shan't comment further on this. But I must admit (and do envy) that there are those few who could just pull out stuff from their wardrobes and yet look so perfectly coordinated in just 5 minutes (or less, scary). Perhaps they have secretly-employed stylists at home who've picked out outfits for them the night before, I don't know, but I don't think so.
Unfortunately, I don't belong to the latter category. Well, if I do own a whole collection of Club21 in my wardrobe, then perhaps that cuts down my dressing time to like 10 minutes. But nooo... I'm not so fortunate.
Dressing up can be a personal chore. And it doesn't help that I am vain - to a certain extent. No, don't get me wrong; I'm not that kind of girly-girl vain, but rather, I'd like to know that my dressing makes a statement of who I am. (Whoa... so cheem. Like the Yix would philosophize: hiao, say hiao.) Which can actually go awry sometimes, I realize, because friends have perceived my sense of dressing as "weird", "strange". Whatever. I serve to please only myself.
So, I stand in front of my mirror every morning, mixing and matching tops and bottoms, shoes and accessories. There are many methods of mixing-n-matching, endorsed by different folks. Some folks pick one top they'd like to wear that day and start off matching the rest of the look from there. Some decide on shoes first. Most days I start off with the particular piece of pants or skirt I'd like to wear, then I embark on the 'choosing-which-top-to-match' bit of the whole process. I can be trying on five different tops before deciding the whole look is just wrong. Maybe it's the skirt that's wrong in the first place. So I pick out another skirt or pants and then start the whole 'choosing-which-top-to-match' process again. And then, after the top is chosen, there's the shoes bit to work on now.
Sometimes, I try to think of what to wear the next day, while I'm taking my shower the night before. Well, it's not because I'm that obsessed with my dressing, but because I'm not a disciplined 'waker' and I always wake up much much later than I should every morning. Considering that my office is a good 30 minutes' drive away from home, and I take about 10 minutes to wash up before dressing, it really does not work in my favor that I have poor decision-making skills when it comes to dressing.
On good days, I take only about 5 minutes to dress up (and this usually happens when I've already decided on a good combination of top-bottom-shoe in my shower the night before) and I get to work on time even if I wake up super-late. But hah! On bad (read: normal) days, I can take up to 20, or even 30 minutes to try, test, wear, un-wear, fret, decide on what to wear. Don't ask me what time I usually arrive at work - Boss has not found out the real reason as well. It's too embarassing for me to admit; I aim to look 'effortless' in my dressing.
So it happened this morning, that I've picked out the skirt-of-the-day... without undies on at first of course, like I usually do. And because I had woken up super-duper-late this morning, and I had to slug through my shower, try on numerous tees and tanks and shirts, stand and stare and ponder at my mountain of shoes and slippers... one thing led to another, and by the time I rushed out of my house and down the stairs, I realized a tad too late that I seemed to have forgotten one very important piece of clothing article.
It delayed me a further couple of minutes. But I couldn't help but keep chuckling to myself as I ran up the stairs and back into my house. The girls were so puzzled to see me back through the door in less than 2 minutes.
I've gotta tell the Yix about this.
And speaking of the Yix, I envy men. Most men, anyway. Especially the Yix. They survive on few essentials and they seem to pull off their tee-and-berms/jeans stunt pretty well, no matter the combination. The most amazing thing about the Yix is that I am the one who picks out his outfits most of the time (on his request, no... demand) and he wears them with no qualms. Wait a minute, he's just plain lucky he's got a good stylist in me. For free as well.
You know how most women go about their daily dressing-up process. I say 'most' because I do know of some girlfriends who really don't give a heck about what they are going to be wearing for the day. Ok ok, the results of such heck-care attitude of certain friends may not be exactly aesthetically pleasing; I shan't comment further on this. But I must admit (and do envy) that there are those few who could just pull out stuff from their wardrobes and yet look so perfectly coordinated in just 5 minutes (or less, scary). Perhaps they have secretly-employed stylists at home who've picked out outfits for them the night before, I don't know, but I don't think so.
Unfortunately, I don't belong to the latter category. Well, if I do own a whole collection of Club21 in my wardrobe, then perhaps that cuts down my dressing time to like 10 minutes. But nooo... I'm not so fortunate.
Dressing up can be a personal chore. And it doesn't help that I am vain - to a certain extent. No, don't get me wrong; I'm not that kind of girly-girl vain, but rather, I'd like to know that my dressing makes a statement of who I am. (Whoa... so cheem. Like the Yix would philosophize: hiao, say hiao.) Which can actually go awry sometimes, I realize, because friends have perceived my sense of dressing as "weird", "strange". Whatever. I serve to please only myself.
So, I stand in front of my mirror every morning, mixing and matching tops and bottoms, shoes and accessories. There are many methods of mixing-n-matching, endorsed by different folks. Some folks pick one top they'd like to wear that day and start off matching the rest of the look from there. Some decide on shoes first. Most days I start off with the particular piece of pants or skirt I'd like to wear, then I embark on the 'choosing-which-top-to-match' bit of the whole process. I can be trying on five different tops before deciding the whole look is just wrong. Maybe it's the skirt that's wrong in the first place. So I pick out another skirt or pants and then start the whole 'choosing-which-top-to-match' process again. And then, after the top is chosen, there's the shoes bit to work on now.
Sometimes, I try to think of what to wear the next day, while I'm taking my shower the night before. Well, it's not because I'm that obsessed with my dressing, but because I'm not a disciplined 'waker' and I always wake up much much later than I should every morning. Considering that my office is a good 30 minutes' drive away from home, and I take about 10 minutes to wash up before dressing, it really does not work in my favor that I have poor decision-making skills when it comes to dressing.
On good days, I take only about 5 minutes to dress up (and this usually happens when I've already decided on a good combination of top-bottom-shoe in my shower the night before) and I get to work on time even if I wake up super-late. But hah! On bad (read: normal) days, I can take up to 20, or even 30 minutes to try, test, wear, un-wear, fret, decide on what to wear. Don't ask me what time I usually arrive at work - Boss has not found out the real reason as well. It's too embarassing for me to admit; I aim to look 'effortless' in my dressing.
So it happened this morning, that I've picked out the skirt-of-the-day... without undies on at first of course, like I usually do. And because I had woken up super-duper-late this morning, and I had to slug through my shower, try on numerous tees and tanks and shirts, stand and stare and ponder at my mountain of shoes and slippers... one thing led to another, and by the time I rushed out of my house and down the stairs, I realized a tad too late that I seemed to have forgotten one very important piece of clothing article.
It delayed me a further couple of minutes. But I couldn't help but keep chuckling to myself as I ran up the stairs and back into my house. The girls were so puzzled to see me back through the door in less than 2 minutes.
I've gotta tell the Yix about this.
And speaking of the Yix, I envy men. Most men, anyway. Especially the Yix. They survive on few essentials and they seem to pull off their tee-and-berms/jeans stunt pretty well, no matter the combination. The most amazing thing about the Yix is that I am the one who picks out his outfits most of the time (on his request, no... demand) and he wears them with no qualms. Wait a minute, he's just plain lucky he's got a good stylist in me. For free as well.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
"Kar cheng jio"
Backside itchy... that was how I must've felt last night.
Have been playing 'mama' to my own mom and the Yix for the past few days, bringing them to doctors, waiting with them, shuffling them around from clinic to clinic, making appointments for them, making sure they're well-fed. To a certain extent, I kinda had a feel of how being a full-time mom would be like. In my state of boredom at times of waiting, I imagined driving my unborn kids to school, picking them up at lunch, queueing for chicken rice for them, sending them to whatever classes they might have after lunch and then waiting, waiting, waiting. Oh, then maybe picking up the father as well. Wow, I may love driving, but not to this extent, I guess.
The Yix's been visiting a particular Chinese physician for three days in a row. So chummy? Well, no. He didn't go there to hang out, say hi, have coffee. His visits there are all painful experiences, no less - soaking his elephant foot in hot hot hot medicinal water, then having that poor foot massaged vigorously to dissipate the blood clots (ok, I may be dramatizing a little here, but I personally like to think it that way...), and finally having that abused foot wrapped up tightly in layers of bandage with pasty medicine in between that makes you itch a few hours later. And after a couple of hours, you'd see the whole foot turn blue-black - "That's where all the blood clots are dissipating to, it's a good sign", so says the man, who then limps out of the clinic with satisfaction plastered all over his face and determination to play his next game on Sunday.
I just think he's psycho, or for that matter, anyone who finds thrills in such pain-inducing experiences. My first and only experience with a Chinese 'therapist' 14 years ago when I sprained my ankle for the first time as a 13-year-old schoolgirl trying to become a basketballer has made me sworn off such treatment... ever. It's pure self-torture.
So anyway, thanks to my wonderful, ever-informative good friend, Miss Tan, I found out that that particular Chinese physician whom my man adores (who by the way is apparently very famous in the TCM industry for treating sports injury) also provides back 'massages' for athletes - under the highly-deceptive treatment method called "tui na". I clarified, "You mean no injury, go massage shiok shiok also can?" and I got an affirmative reply. So, my backside started itching. I decided last night that since I was going to be waiting for the man anyway while he indulged in his pain therapy, I would get myself a 'back massage'. Aahhh.... how enjoyable that sounded.
What I didn't expect, however, was that I would get poked by four (I think, big) needles on my shoulders ("Hmm... you've got very very tight shoulder muscles," so the therapist diagnosed), undergo an electrolyzed acupuncture treatment that left my muscles feeling so sore and vulnerable, before I could get the "tui na" I was looking forward to. And by that time, the "tui na" was no longer the enjoyable massage I was hoping for. It HURT. Big-time. To round it all up, I was prescribed medicine that looked like Dynamo tablets and the medicinal water that the Yix had soaked his foot in. Regardless how they looked, they all tasted the same - bitter.
There was no one I could blame, though I desparately needed to. So I blamed it on my itchy backside... "kar cheng jio" - that's what they say.
Have been playing 'mama' to my own mom and the Yix for the past few days, bringing them to doctors, waiting with them, shuffling them around from clinic to clinic, making appointments for them, making sure they're well-fed. To a certain extent, I kinda had a feel of how being a full-time mom would be like. In my state of boredom at times of waiting, I imagined driving my unborn kids to school, picking them up at lunch, queueing for chicken rice for them, sending them to whatever classes they might have after lunch and then waiting, waiting, waiting. Oh, then maybe picking up the father as well. Wow, I may love driving, but not to this extent, I guess.
The Yix's been visiting a particular Chinese physician for three days in a row. So chummy? Well, no. He didn't go there to hang out, say hi, have coffee. His visits there are all painful experiences, no less - soaking his elephant foot in hot hot hot medicinal water, then having that poor foot massaged vigorously to dissipate the blood clots (ok, I may be dramatizing a little here, but I personally like to think it that way...), and finally having that abused foot wrapped up tightly in layers of bandage with pasty medicine in between that makes you itch a few hours later. And after a couple of hours, you'd see the whole foot turn blue-black - "That's where all the blood clots are dissipating to, it's a good sign", so says the man, who then limps out of the clinic with satisfaction plastered all over his face and determination to play his next game on Sunday.
I just think he's psycho, or for that matter, anyone who finds thrills in such pain-inducing experiences. My first and only experience with a Chinese 'therapist' 14 years ago when I sprained my ankle for the first time as a 13-year-old schoolgirl trying to become a basketballer has made me sworn off such treatment... ever. It's pure self-torture.
So anyway, thanks to my wonderful, ever-informative good friend, Miss Tan, I found out that that particular Chinese physician whom my man adores (who by the way is apparently very famous in the TCM industry for treating sports injury) also provides back 'massages' for athletes - under the highly-deceptive treatment method called "tui na". I clarified, "You mean no injury, go massage shiok shiok also can?" and I got an affirmative reply. So, my backside started itching. I decided last night that since I was going to be waiting for the man anyway while he indulged in his pain therapy, I would get myself a 'back massage'. Aahhh.... how enjoyable that sounded.
What I didn't expect, however, was that I would get poked by four (I think, big) needles on my shoulders ("Hmm... you've got very very tight shoulder muscles," so the therapist diagnosed), undergo an electrolyzed acupuncture treatment that left my muscles feeling so sore and vulnerable, before I could get the "tui na" I was looking forward to. And by that time, the "tui na" was no longer the enjoyable massage I was hoping for. It HURT. Big-time. To round it all up, I was prescribed medicine that looked like Dynamo tablets and the medicinal water that the Yix had soaked his foot in. Regardless how they looked, they all tasted the same - bitter.
There was no one I could blame, though I desparately needed to. So I blamed it on my itchy backside... "kar cheng jio" - that's what they say.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Just cannot wake up
I can't believe what I did yesterday at eight in the morning.
Extreme exhaustion and severe sleeplessness accummulated over the past few days left me feeling so worn out, by the time night fell I was actually quite a grouchy bitch (thanks sweetie, for being so forthright with me) - for a good three nights in a row. No, make that a half-conscious grouchy bitch. Someone who's probably really born in the year of the Owl, I'm usually unusually perky at nights, hitting a high from ten-to-two (and starting with a low in the mornings from nine-to-five). So it was pretty obvious the past few nights when I turned grumpy and eerily silent at dinner tables that I wasn't quite myself.
Monday night, I had dinner at a restaurant where the ambience was so perfect... for sleeping, I almost immediately regretted chugging down two bottles of Hoegaardens. What wasn't exactly helpful either was the seat I'd chosen - a two-seater couch (yes, at a dinner table - I shall leave the restaurant as a mystery for now) - for me, myself and I. Half the time at dinner, I was slouching on the couch, ready to fall into sleeping position anytime. Had to drag myself off the couch right after dinner was done (and before I could really doze off), so I could drop by to pick up the Yix while I was still capable of keeping my eyes open at the wheel.
Big mistake. HUGE mistake.
A couple more Tigers later, the Zzz Monster was seductively beckoning to me. Can't actually quite remember how I managed to drive home (oops... not-too-good news), but I do remember falling straight into a slumber, filthy clothes and all, on my bed the minute I put my bag down. After an hour or so, I stumbled to the bathroom in a stupor and gave myself a good scrub-down, but only after I'd shown the Yix some really dirty grouchy faces - all for waking me up to clean up and dress up. Poor man.
After the good warm shower, I really had such a good time with the Zzz Monster that I felt I just couldn't get enough sleep. At eight the next morning, I pried my eyes open with such strong will and force to pick up my phone and send a message to my boss, telling him I'd take the day off because I needed to bring my mom to the doctor's.
What I didn't realized, until I checked my phone later in the day during lunch, was that I had sent him this message instead:
"Boss, I'll take my time off today. Just cannot wake up."
WTF??!!?? This was like digging my own grave.
Extreme exhaustion and severe sleeplessness accummulated over the past few days left me feeling so worn out, by the time night fell I was actually quite a grouchy bitch (thanks sweetie, for being so forthright with me) - for a good three nights in a row. No, make that a half-conscious grouchy bitch. Someone who's probably really born in the year of the Owl, I'm usually unusually perky at nights, hitting a high from ten-to-two (and starting with a low in the mornings from nine-to-five). So it was pretty obvious the past few nights when I turned grumpy and eerily silent at dinner tables that I wasn't quite myself.
Monday night, I had dinner at a restaurant where the ambience was so perfect... for sleeping, I almost immediately regretted chugging down two bottles of Hoegaardens. What wasn't exactly helpful either was the seat I'd chosen - a two-seater couch (yes, at a dinner table - I shall leave the restaurant as a mystery for now) - for me, myself and I. Half the time at dinner, I was slouching on the couch, ready to fall into sleeping position anytime. Had to drag myself off the couch right after dinner was done (and before I could really doze off), so I could drop by to pick up the Yix while I was still capable of keeping my eyes open at the wheel.
Big mistake. HUGE mistake.
A couple more Tigers later, the Zzz Monster was seductively beckoning to me. Can't actually quite remember how I managed to drive home (oops... not-too-good news), but I do remember falling straight into a slumber, filthy clothes and all, on my bed the minute I put my bag down. After an hour or so, I stumbled to the bathroom in a stupor and gave myself a good scrub-down, but only after I'd shown the Yix some really dirty grouchy faces - all for waking me up to clean up and dress up. Poor man.
After the good warm shower, I really had such a good time with the Zzz Monster that I felt I just couldn't get enough sleep. At eight the next morning, I pried my eyes open with such strong will and force to pick up my phone and send a message to my boss, telling him I'd take the day off because I needed to bring my mom to the doctor's.
What I didn't realized, until I checked my phone later in the day during lunch, was that I had sent him this message instead:
"Boss, I'll take my time off today. Just cannot wake up."
WTF??!!?? This was like digging my own grave.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Numero Uno?
I've been wondering about this for the longest time: do most people in love wish, or even demand, that they be placed numero uno in the lives of their partners? I actually suspect so, because of the various conversations I've had with friends. Well, I've never really talked about such stuff with the guys, but girlfriends have invariantly commented or suggested that they have to be number one, no doubt. Second place is not acceptable. Second place means their boyfriends care about something else more than them, and what can that something be? If it's football, those men are dead meat. If it's their guy buddies (y'know, the 'brotherhood' thing), so elicits the response "then what for be with me?". If it's their momma, the girlfriends would initially feel touched ("oh so sweet, still a mama's boy") but then eventually freak out because the whole 'evil mother-in-law' scenarios would play over and over again in their paranoid minds. All these spell nothing but trouble for the relationship.
Me? I'm not so sure actually. I suppose it would feel so on-top-of-the-world, so blissful to be regarded number one in someone else's life. I know that, because I know Piper regards me so.
But I've kinda resigned to the fact that I'm probably not number one in my man's life - well, I'm just contented enough to know I'm in the top three... I think... hmm, I hope. (Well, it'd better not be just in the top five, damn it.) And I surprise myself even, when I realize I'm pretty ok with that arrangement. Not words of self-consolation, I hope, but searching deep inside of me, I think I'm really contented with just being number three (see, not even number two).
Why all the sudden talk about this?
The Yix (I kinda like this nick, my dear Shanghainese friend gave it to him and I just think it's so Brad-Pitt-cool) played his second game last evening really hard. He gave it his all, even when the whole team was going down down down. He gave so much for the game, he gritted his teeth in pain (literally) and played it to the end even after he sprained his ankle early in the first period. Numerous times, he had to come off the court and taped his fat swollen ankle over and over again before hobbling back oncourt. And everytime he checked back into the game, all I was thinking was if he realized how much he's putting his job at risk. If his ankle gets really bad, he probably won't be able to report for work three days later. The way he was limping after the game really broke my heart.
So, from that night, I deduce the orders of things: basketball, work, me. Yeah, running on the basketball court beats flying.
And I'll tell ya why I'm ok with that.
Basketball is his life, in his blood. It turned his life around just when he was getting pretty messed up in his younger days. I can't tell you exactly how bad life could've turned out for him, but he breathed the game ever since a good friend advised him to vent 'it' all out in basketball. 'It', I suppose, would have been anger, frustrations, whatever. He adores Jordan. He dreams about playing basketball and has got hand-jerk movements while he sleeps, as if he were going for the hoop. He reads the game with such finesse, he tell mes so much about it with fervor.
Flying is his dream. His one and only dream, I suppose. It is going to be his life. And it'll be really terrible if you take someone's life away from him. I was the one who encouraged him to sacrifice two good years of his life to pursue his big dream. Despite his doubts, and mine. So, I know how much this job means to him.
Me? I'm just someone who's always been there for him and who loves him a lot, probably more so than he loves me. Someone who never quite demands anything from him, and who's always racking her brains out to help him out, to cheer him up, to surprise him in all sorts of crazy ways, hoping to add some spice into his life. Someone who does all these on her own accord, no condition attached. Ain't this quite a good deal for anyone?
All because I have big love in me, and that's how I believe loving someone should be. You can't really fault me for that, can you?
So, if you can't find someone else like me, get a dog.
Me? I'm not so sure actually. I suppose it would feel so on-top-of-the-world, so blissful to be regarded number one in someone else's life. I know that, because I know Piper regards me so.
But I've kinda resigned to the fact that I'm probably not number one in my man's life - well, I'm just contented enough to know I'm in the top three... I think... hmm, I hope. (Well, it'd better not be just in the top five, damn it.) And I surprise myself even, when I realize I'm pretty ok with that arrangement. Not words of self-consolation, I hope, but searching deep inside of me, I think I'm really contented with just being number three (see, not even number two).
Why all the sudden talk about this?
The Yix (I kinda like this nick, my dear Shanghainese friend gave it to him and I just think it's so Brad-Pitt-cool) played his second game last evening really hard. He gave it his all, even when the whole team was going down down down. He gave so much for the game, he gritted his teeth in pain (literally) and played it to the end even after he sprained his ankle early in the first period. Numerous times, he had to come off the court and taped his fat swollen ankle over and over again before hobbling back oncourt. And everytime he checked back into the game, all I was thinking was if he realized how much he's putting his job at risk. If his ankle gets really bad, he probably won't be able to report for work three days later. The way he was limping after the game really broke my heart.
So, from that night, I deduce the orders of things: basketball, work, me. Yeah, running on the basketball court beats flying.
And I'll tell ya why I'm ok with that.
Basketball is his life, in his blood. It turned his life around just when he was getting pretty messed up in his younger days. I can't tell you exactly how bad life could've turned out for him, but he breathed the game ever since a good friend advised him to vent 'it' all out in basketball. 'It', I suppose, would have been anger, frustrations, whatever. He adores Jordan. He dreams about playing basketball and has got hand-jerk movements while he sleeps, as if he were going for the hoop. He reads the game with such finesse, he tell mes so much about it with fervor.
Flying is his dream. His one and only dream, I suppose. It is going to be his life. And it'll be really terrible if you take someone's life away from him. I was the one who encouraged him to sacrifice two good years of his life to pursue his big dream. Despite his doubts, and mine. So, I know how much this job means to him.
Me? I'm just someone who's always been there for him and who loves him a lot, probably more so than he loves me. Someone who never quite demands anything from him, and who's always racking her brains out to help him out, to cheer him up, to surprise him in all sorts of crazy ways, hoping to add some spice into his life. Someone who does all these on her own accord, no condition attached. Ain't this quite a good deal for anyone?
All because I have big love in me, and that's how I believe loving someone should be. You can't really fault me for that, can you?
So, if you can't find someone else like me, get a dog.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
No life
It's Saturday, 8 in the evening, and I'm back at my office desk trying to get my presentation done. This weekend is no weekend at all. Meeting started Friday evening, and will go on through the weekend till Monday night. How no-life can this get?
This is usually the time of the season when the feeling of wanting to quit reaches a high. Mad rush to prepare presentations, coordinating room set-up, sorting samples and worse, stuffing them, staying late in the set-up room to merchandize samples, preparing all the sales tools, having to avail myself for activities and dinners - all these used to be fun, but too much of it leaves you feeling only too jaded after a few years.
Maybe I'm complacent, but maybe I'm just too jaded, unmotivated, uninspired. I just can't bring myself to start on my presentation slides just until the very last minute. No creative juices, I really have no idea how to present my stuff in 'new exciting ways' every single season anymore.
And I don't like myself this way. I don't like feeling unmotivated and so passive. It makes me feel like I'm being coerced to work. It makes me hate work, and I don't want that to happen. But it has.
Have a couple more hours here, before I go off to pick up the man. Which is what I'm so looking forward to now.
Let me garner up whatever creative juice I have leaking from my brain cells now and try my darnedest to complete the stupid preso. *Huff*
This is usually the time of the season when the feeling of wanting to quit reaches a high. Mad rush to prepare presentations, coordinating room set-up, sorting samples and worse, stuffing them, staying late in the set-up room to merchandize samples, preparing all the sales tools, having to avail myself for activities and dinners - all these used to be fun, but too much of it leaves you feeling only too jaded after a few years.
Maybe I'm complacent, but maybe I'm just too jaded, unmotivated, uninspired. I just can't bring myself to start on my presentation slides just until the very last minute. No creative juices, I really have no idea how to present my stuff in 'new exciting ways' every single season anymore.
And I don't like myself this way. I don't like feeling unmotivated and so passive. It makes me feel like I'm being coerced to work. It makes me hate work, and I don't want that to happen. But it has.
Have a couple more hours here, before I go off to pick up the man. Which is what I'm so looking forward to now.
Let me garner up whatever creative juice I have leaking from my brain cells now and try my darnedest to complete the stupid preso. *Huff*
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Blank
Blank is the state of my mind, most of the times I'm awake these days. Absolutely unmotivated at work and in my daily life, I'm only always plotting big plans in my mind. No, plotting is a wrong description; it implies real plans and subsequent actions. Dreaming is more like me.
Had a 'farewell' dinner with a close friend from work, who's finally picking up the courage to quit after eight good years in the company. Most friends I know face an incomprehensible resistance to quitting. Some have not developed a dislike for their jobs, but are increasingly becoming bored at work finding no more challenge in their daily chores. Some simply hate what they have to do every single day. Some are just so comfortable in some aspects at their workplace - near home, trouble-less boss, easy job, satisfying pay, good friends - that they forego the other crappy ones. Some are just getting so disillusioned with a workplace becoming more bureaucratic, more political, yet they stay on, gradually turning into deprecating cynics, slowly hating their jobs and/or lives, and eventually losing sight of who they really are and what they really stand for.
In spite of all these, people do not choose to quit because surety is too comforting to let go of - sure knowledge of the present, and the future if things remain status quo, security of a steady financial income, and ability to simply know. But I think a bigger and more imperative reason is that people, like you and I, are unsure and to an extent, fearful, of the world beyond their current comfort zone. What am I going to do if I really quit? Will it better out there for sure? Can I find another job? Will it pay better? Will it be more crappy than the current crap I'm going through now? Will I be happier?
So, they end up taking weeks, months, and even years to 'decide' when to quit and where to move on to. And in the meantime, they gripe about work on a daily basis and bitch about everything from the boss to the water-dispenser.
I am one of 'em people. And it is not making me a nice person at all.
I can't remember when I started feeling dissatisfied with work and disillusioned with the corporate rat-hole, but I do remember there was once a time I felt proud telling everyone I loved my job when every other friend I met was experiencing the opposite. It was like I actually felt bad admitting it to my disgruntled friends. Life experiences probably had a role to play in changing my views about work. Work no longer means anything to me, other than paying my mounting bills, if it doesn't fulfill any of my values in life. To live is to love, not to work your ass off to pay your bills.
The place I work in thrives immensely on brand passion. As a true-blue brand-loyal employee, I could tell which new colleague would stay and which would not. I once had that kind of fiery passion. I would imagine the big things our brand could do, and would fight all obstacles and bureaucracy that came my way just so the brand would continue to be loved by consumers. But that passion has gradually waned off. I woke up one day when I realized our brand is nothing more than a big player in the new evil phenomenon of consumerism. At one point, I even harbored the thought that we were nothing more than 'cheats' who tell stories to get people to want to buy our stuff.
I didn't quite realize I have become a bitter person at work. And this fact hit me real hard during the dinner when my now-ex colleague commented he found me a serial mood-swinger, chummy at times but unapproachable at others. I am not that sort who aspires to be well-liked by the general public; I only need those few whom matter to me to understand me. But this comment made me realize my unhappiness at work has changed the better person I used to be; it has changed me. It has made me turn from cheerfulness and confidence to anger and bitterness. The underlying message was clear: I need to get out.
Events in my personal life made me also think of what I am doing and what I really want to do in my life. I have unfulfilled dreams and dissatisfied convictions. Neither is being satisfied by what I am doing everyday. I am a person full of big love (though it is really quite hard to tell) and when I think of the amount of love I have in me, I feel surges of energy inside me waiting to bound out. I feel like there's so much I want to do, and there's so much I am capable of contributing to the world. Spread the love around and help others.
Sounds noble, eh? Actually, all I really wanna do is to work with and around dogs. My dogs, especially.
Don't get me wrong. I still love the brand I'm working for now, and I wish it all the best in scaling greater heights and inspiring more folks out there, but I am just way out of the phase where I would sacrifice my own life, my own time working for it and where I would just eat, sleep, breathe the brand. I just feel I don't belong here no more. I need to find my rightful place in the world, and I just have a feeling it's outside of here. I just feel I would be happier doing other stuff more true to myself.
My ex-colleague-now-dear-friend said also that I'm someone who knows what she wants, and who stands up for what she believes in, and who acts it. Something not everyone is able to do. I am amazed honestly that such is perceived of me. And it spurs me on. Thank you, friend.
My mind is still a blank, because there are a couple of big life decisions waiting for me to be made. And the factors around it are perplexing. When will I know where my route lies? I don't know, but I'm not rushing. I just really need more zzz right now.
Had a 'farewell' dinner with a close friend from work, who's finally picking up the courage to quit after eight good years in the company. Most friends I know face an incomprehensible resistance to quitting. Some have not developed a dislike for their jobs, but are increasingly becoming bored at work finding no more challenge in their daily chores. Some simply hate what they have to do every single day. Some are just so comfortable in some aspects at their workplace - near home, trouble-less boss, easy job, satisfying pay, good friends - that they forego the other crappy ones. Some are just getting so disillusioned with a workplace becoming more bureaucratic, more political, yet they stay on, gradually turning into deprecating cynics, slowly hating their jobs and/or lives, and eventually losing sight of who they really are and what they really stand for.
In spite of all these, people do not choose to quit because surety is too comforting to let go of - sure knowledge of the present, and the future if things remain status quo, security of a steady financial income, and ability to simply know. But I think a bigger and more imperative reason is that people, like you and I, are unsure and to an extent, fearful, of the world beyond their current comfort zone. What am I going to do if I really quit? Will it better out there for sure? Can I find another job? Will it pay better? Will it be more crappy than the current crap I'm going through now? Will I be happier?
So, they end up taking weeks, months, and even years to 'decide' when to quit and where to move on to. And in the meantime, they gripe about work on a daily basis and bitch about everything from the boss to the water-dispenser.
I am one of 'em people. And it is not making me a nice person at all.
I can't remember when I started feeling dissatisfied with work and disillusioned with the corporate rat-hole, but I do remember there was once a time I felt proud telling everyone I loved my job when every other friend I met was experiencing the opposite. It was like I actually felt bad admitting it to my disgruntled friends. Life experiences probably had a role to play in changing my views about work. Work no longer means anything to me, other than paying my mounting bills, if it doesn't fulfill any of my values in life. To live is to love, not to work your ass off to pay your bills.
The place I work in thrives immensely on brand passion. As a true-blue brand-loyal employee, I could tell which new colleague would stay and which would not. I once had that kind of fiery passion. I would imagine the big things our brand could do, and would fight all obstacles and bureaucracy that came my way just so the brand would continue to be loved by consumers. But that passion has gradually waned off. I woke up one day when I realized our brand is nothing more than a big player in the new evil phenomenon of consumerism. At one point, I even harbored the thought that we were nothing more than 'cheats' who tell stories to get people to want to buy our stuff.
I didn't quite realize I have become a bitter person at work. And this fact hit me real hard during the dinner when my now-ex colleague commented he found me a serial mood-swinger, chummy at times but unapproachable at others. I am not that sort who aspires to be well-liked by the general public; I only need those few whom matter to me to understand me. But this comment made me realize my unhappiness at work has changed the better person I used to be; it has changed me. It has made me turn from cheerfulness and confidence to anger and bitterness. The underlying message was clear: I need to get out.
Events in my personal life made me also think of what I am doing and what I really want to do in my life. I have unfulfilled dreams and dissatisfied convictions. Neither is being satisfied by what I am doing everyday. I am a person full of big love (though it is really quite hard to tell) and when I think of the amount of love I have in me, I feel surges of energy inside me waiting to bound out. I feel like there's so much I want to do, and there's so much I am capable of contributing to the world. Spread the love around and help others.
Sounds noble, eh? Actually, all I really wanna do is to work with and around dogs. My dogs, especially.
Don't get me wrong. I still love the brand I'm working for now, and I wish it all the best in scaling greater heights and inspiring more folks out there, but I am just way out of the phase where I would sacrifice my own life, my own time working for it and where I would just eat, sleep, breathe the brand. I just feel I don't belong here no more. I need to find my rightful place in the world, and I just have a feeling it's outside of here. I just feel I would be happier doing other stuff more true to myself.
My ex-colleague-now-dear-friend said also that I'm someone who knows what she wants, and who stands up for what she believes in, and who acts it. Something not everyone is able to do. I am amazed honestly that such is perceived of me. And it spurs me on. Thank you, friend.
My mind is still a blank, because there are a couple of big life decisions waiting for me to be made. And the factors around it are perplexing. When will I know where my route lies? I don't know, but I'm not rushing. I just really need more zzz right now.
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