English Lesson #1 - Winning Letter

Dear Sir or Madam:

RE: Appeal Against Notice of Traffic Offence (Ref: xxxxxxxxxx)

I am writing in as an appeal against the above-mentioned Notice of Traffic Offence for vehicle number xxxxxxx. I am appealing against the amount of SGD70 that I now have to pay (add in some wicked sense of sarcasm but don't go overboard).

In the morning of 4 May 2005 at 0825h, I had driven past the ERP gantry on the PIE (toward Changi) after Adam Road exit, with insufficient value in my ERP card unknowingly (this is probably the only 100% real fact).

However, I have also subsequently been traveling on business trips to the U.S.A. (Portland, Oregon) for a few weeks in the month of May/June (just two weeks actually, but always remember to exaggerate decently). I did not receive the first notice before I had left Singapore; it must have been delivered to my mailbox after I had left (actually I might've received it before I left but I might've also just chucked it one corner... hiak). No one took notice of the first notice, until the 2nd registered letter from LTA arrived (this is true, Pop freaks out at every registered letter I receive, especially from traffic authorities). But by then, the offence amount (which, I believe, would originally have been only SGD11 or SGD11.50 if I had been aware of the first notice and paid on time) had already been compounded to SGD70.

I saw the second notice only after I had returned to Singapore on 9 June (the other fact).

I would appreciate much if amount payable could be re-looked into and reduced to the original amount, as I believe this is a true mistiming between my business travel plans and the receipt of the 2 traffic notices (always assert your point of view succinctly but not curtly).

You may contact me at xxxxxxxxx.

Thank you very much for your time (ah... sweet).

Yours sincerely..



So, this is the winning formula for writing successful appeal letters to higher authorities:

Be forceful.
Be sure of your facts (twist it slightly but not outrageously, if need to, to save your ass).
Be assertive, but not too bitchy.
Be sweet and thank nicely.

Hey, it works for me. Not the first time.

Now I only have to pay $11.50. Ha.

The above material is copyrighted. Do not plagarise without owner's permission.

Nice!

I love green.

And apparently green loves me too.

I bought a cheapo US$1 ring in Portland, that has garnered me a lot of attention - unintentionally, of course. Maybe simply cos it's huge and green, making it an eye-sore. Haha.

"What stone is this made of?"

Er... it's just a plastic one-dollar ring. Hmm.



Eeww... my fingers are so wrinkly. And I don't really do household chores, except maybe washing the girls' dishes. Hand-cream time.


I also received a new handbag as a gift - in my favorite green again. Great, now at least I can alternate between this leather one and my cotton one.

It's bigger too. But as my habits go, the bigger the bag, the more things I'll stuff into it.



Yes, and my big fat camera, with which I used to capture this image, goes into it everyday as well.

I just never change.


It was pouring again this morning just as I was about to leave for work. I decided against pulling the 'breakfast-before-driving-off" stunt with Ed again.

It's been a long while since I drove in the rain with my wipers switched on.

I mean, I've been driving in the rain, yes. But I never like switching my wipers on, at least not in a continuous motion.

I love raindrops on my windscreen. I love the big and tiny dots and patterns they form as they land on the glass pane.

But what I love even more, is watching the repeated patterns as the raindrops get sweeped over by the wipers, and then more raindrops fall again to form the dots, and then the sweeping and then the dots again. I also like observing how 'clean' my wipers sweep off raindrops from my windscreen. I like also the sounds of the wipers.

I am so obsessed with raindrops and wipers that if I'm ever sitting in a cab on a rainy day, all I ever do to pass time in the cab is to stare at the wipers.

But see, you're not supposed to be watching wipers and raindrops and indulging in the music of the wipers while you're driving. Not especially in the heavy rains.

I love my wipers, but they distract me too much. So I'd rather not switch them on.

Contradictory again, aren't I?

What I really hate though - fast-speed wiper motion. Now, that is really distracting, but in an irritating way. I hate it even when the car behind me has got wipers moving at high-speed. It gets me distracted too because it makes me stare at them from my rear-view mirror - wondering what the heck that driver is thinking.

I think I'm weird. I don't even know why I'm talking about wipers.


I am supposed to be planning for my side-trip in July, after my Portland meeting. But I haven't really gotten started on it.

I can't even decide where to go. I don't want to do touristy stuff; I just want to explore.

Maybe L.A. (but that's too touristy) or maybe a solo drive along the Californian coast down from Oregon (but that's too dangerous and costly).

A new idea worth exploring just popped up yesterday. I've received an invitation to Nice, France in July.

Maybe... just maybe.


My day has started off well today.

Right from this morning, just before I left home for work.

I haven't stopped smiling since. =)

Man or Woman?

I don't get it.

Why am I feeling not that anticipated sense of excitedness, but instead a rather heavy tinge of uncertainty? Not a feeling of guillt, but rather an uncanny feeling that I've placed some sort of mistrust in myself again.

Still, what's decided been decided.

No regrets.


Had yet another talk with yet another girlfriend who has yet another man-problem.

Why?

Why can't we for once invoke the same kind of despondence in men, the way they do us? Why must it always be us women who feel the most, get the most dejection and rejection, and appear to be the race who cannot get over matters of the heart?

Maybe because it is only us women who appear to have hearts. Or maybe we just use them differently.

Almost similar situations but different perspectives.

The talk interested me, and sparked off more thoughts in my mind. Just ended up with a lot more 'whys' than I already had.


Sometimes I wish I knew men's minds. Sometimes I don't really think I want to know.

Will knowing actually make things better? Will knowing actually make me feel better about myself and about the world?

Knowing might change me and all the beliefs I've had in me, and I'm not sure if I want to change. Then, I might as well have been born a man in the first place, and start regretting being a woman.

Which might lead to a whole new different set of troubles in me.

No - perhaps, I don't really want to know men. Perhaps I should just accept the way they are, and mind my own business as a woman. And the only thing I can do is just to gripe about how farked-up this world has become.


Shoot - I've just gotten myself pretty confused there.

Baby Oil?

Heard over the FM while out on a lunchtime drive:

If olive oil comes from olives, and peanut oil comes from peanuts, then where does 'baby oil' come from?

Ok, that doesn't sound as funny, as I was writing it. But it really got me chuckling for a while in the car. Quite a 'duh' joke.


Have you ever done something that's potentially a wrong thing to do, possibly quite an impulsive move, definitely not a practical decision, and yet you're feeling really exhilarated and strangely excited about it?

Ok, I haven't quite 'done' it yet, but I'm already feeling the aftermath. The excitedness, that is.

I have kinda made up my mind. And I wanna act upon it real fast, before I think myself out of it. Which would have been a big disappointment.

Whatever it is - no regrets whatsoever. That, I'm sure.


There are some adidas jackets that are pretty cool, I hate to admit.

But I will never allow myself to even set my hands upon them.

Yeah, right. Not only did I set my 'filthy' hands on them, I even tried one on.

It kinda looked right on me. It's so me.

"Too bad," I can only tell myself.

Haha.


Starhub is not failing me today, but I need to get my naughty ass back to work.

Good Riddance, PMS

There are three possibilities:

1 - Bad things just always happen to coincide with your PMS;

2 - Your PMS mood actually fouls everything, even good ones, up;

3 - Everything, even good ones, just seems bad, no matter how good they really are.

Whatever the conclusion is, things seem to be looking upward now - by chance or by perception, I'm not sure. Very timely indeed.

Let me pore over this when my next cycle comes.


We had a crabby dinner last night. Back at my favorite crabby stall in Ang Mo Kio.

It was heaven.

I think I didn't eat enough, though. My stomach has been growling non-stop since I awoke this morning.


Just when I had gotten my math done and ready to make a decision, some folks have just managed to make me a little confused and hesitant about the choice I was about to make. All with good intention, of course. Women will always be women.

Now, I have to re-do the math and re-make a choice.

This is, again, one that will entail some self-sacrifice of my own needs.

BIG sigh.

Lobangs, Please!

Sheesh. That's what happens when you don't network enough - you cannot find 'lobangs'.


The lady-boss sat down to chat with me today. We exchanged names and a little of our backgrounds - turns out we have almost similar names. She used to run her own company, got sick of corporate life after 16 years, and decided to run her own cafe. I told her, I'm sick of corporate life too, and would die to run my own dog business too. Do I have to end up waiting 16 years too? I really hope not.

I hope, just as similar as our names are, my dreams will come true one day like hers.

Anyway, I feel bad coming here just to drink kopi-o and surf for free. I expressed sincere gratitude for her providing free wi-fi; she said, "People here (referring to other cafe owners, not me) really stinge, don't they?" So I promised I would come here for dinner the next time.

Oh, and she asked me to bring more friends to her three-week-old cafe. She says the graveyard silence in her cafe at nights is making her depressed. I promised her I would, too.

Sweet. I hope I've made a new friend.


If there's one change I've noticed in myself since my last Portland/Seattle trip, it's that I've become a more open person. I've been talking to strangers I meet at cafes, making friends with people I've never met, making small talk with shopowners and shop assistants, chatting with fellow shoppers.

I've been 'chatted up' unexpectedly by countless people in Portland - homeless on the streets (there's one old man whom I've met for a few days in a row while sitting at the same cafe and who actually remembered my name - I was touched), folks on buses, fellow coffee-drinkers in cafes. Anywhere, everywhere, people have no reservation talking to strangers. I realized I like that.


The appraisal session with boss went well - no fights, at least. We kinda have this love-hate relationship for God-knows-how-long. No talk about bonus, no promise on pay rise for my new job. That made me displeased. I shall work my magic on the new boss, who's coming in on Friday.

He said though, that I have been 'identified' as one of the selective few "high-potential employees" to be "groomed for development". He encouraged me to think and go regional.

Should I? Should I really go away?


I will have to make some decisions some day. Perhaps sooner, perhaps later. I am in no rush now.

I Want My Big Fat Bonus

I said something to someone last night.

Not on impulse. It was a well-deliberated move - just to ease some load off my leaden heart for a moment.

It helped me a little. I hope it didn't have a detrimental effect on the other, though.

It was but three simple words, that might not seem so simple now.


Meanwhile, the math is done. I just have to decide now.


I am so sleepy at work today. Have loads of work piling up: the phonecalls don't stop, the emails don't end, the meetings don't conclude.

I am going through my year-end appraisal with my outgoing boss in ten minutes. I have bought kopi for him already. Haha. Hope he gives me a big fat bonus this year.

Actually, I just hope we don't end up fighting.

To Do or Not To Do?

There's one thing I've been wanting to do badly for the longest time. And there's no better time than now. It's like a now-or-never kind of feeling.

Correction: there's one thing my heart's been wanting to do badly, but my mind keeps saying, "No, it's a bad idea," and gives me one thousand and one reasons not to.

Sometimes I really cannot figure out which is playing the angel and which the devil: my heart or my mind?

Still, my heart will eventually win over my mind, I know. My mind gives up, whether succumbing or acceding, I don't know. Sometimes I think my mind can't be bothered with me no more - I think that's when I shut out my mind and stop thinking myself to death.

Sometimes I might act on my heart's instruction before my better senses take over me. Rash act? Maybe, but I try to convince myself, at least I've not let myself down.

I just have to do some math first this time - both literally and figuratively.


It really has been a full day indeed.

Piper's appointment was a breeze - there was no one else at the clinic. The "yeasty schnauzer" got a jab and some medicine, costing her mommy a hefty seventy bucks. Thing is, I've kinda resigned myself to the fact that she'll be a chronic "yeasty schnauzer" for the rest of her life.

Put her home. Realized the girls have finished up their food - again. I think they might just eat more than I do.

Got out of the house again. Drove to Thomson to find that the pet store had already closed for the day. Desperately trying to recall where else I could possibly find a pet store at that hour.

Bugis.

Which led me back to Purvis Street. I think I need to slow down my excitedness at that newfound haven. The lady-boss (I presume she is, unless she's the boss-mother, which I kinda doubt) already recognizes me: "Another kopi-o?" Oops.

Phone-call came and I drove back to pick up my bike. Finally.

Chucked the bike in my car. Rushed to the airport to pick up a friend coming back from China.

Drove the both of us to Bishan, where I had to drop the bike off.

All three of us ended up having late dinner and kopi-o (again) till late. Talking about nothing but the troubles in our lives - men.


Surprisingly, I'm still not tired. Maybe because my stomach is still growling.

I am just going to sleep it off.

F.A.R.K.

Fark. Fiak. Fwuk. Fuck.

It's been a long time since any variation of this foul word appeared in my spoken or written vocabulary.

I haven't uttered a word of it, except secretly under my own breath, in my thoughts, in my mind, in my heart, when I drop a carton of samples on my foot, or bump my knee against the drawer, or when my side mirror gets busted.

I just want to let loose now.


Someone whose words matter to me a lot once commented I was getting too foul-mouthed. Well, maybe more than once. It was put across to me light-heartedly, almost jokingly but definitely not harshly. For instance, we would, as a favorite pastime, look at vehicle license plates and think of the first three alphabets as acronyms for some phrase. When it came to "SFU", I naturally said, "So Fark U".

"See, you're very dirty one leh these days."

I laughed it off, "Yah, as if you wouldn't think of the same."


But, underneath all the jibing and joking, I could sense that there was also some disapproving in those words. Just like I know the "3 Big No-No Rules for Girls" - girls shouldn't fart; girls shouldn't burp; girls shouldn't dig their noses - are really simply just jokes, I know too that the fourth one, "Girls shouldn't swear", wasn't really a joke.

So I stopped. If the word wasn't nice coming out of my pretty little girly-mouth, then maybe I should stop it coming out of my girly-mouth.


Some time later, the comment became: I don't like you trying to be bad. What's this whole thing about trying to be a bad girl?

I thought about it for a while.

I am not trying to be bad. I'm just a bad girl, trying to be good my whole life. Just ask my mom. I'm the kind of baby who bawled and wailed endlessly at the top of my fragile lungs in the delivery room the minute I popped out of my mother's womb, and had to be labelled a 'shrew' by the missies themselves. How good is that?

It can get a little stifling at times, stupid even, especially when you try so hard to be good, and no one appreciates it.


Why change me, when you cannot change for me? When I cannot make you change, and I don't even try to at all?

Why stifle me, when you can be who you really are, who you want to be, and not give a damn about it? If you don't even know you, do you think you know me? I thought I knew you, maybe I still do, maybe not anymore, maybe I thought wrongly. But I definitely think I lost myself.

One is loved because one is loved.

There are no reasons to give, but for one, you have truly been loved for being able to be yourself. Regardless of anything else, anyone else. Maybe that was our bane.


The recent episodes have got me thinking about things larger than the issue per se. I have finally begun to think about myself, for myself.

Does unconditional loving inevitably entail self-sacrifice?

Piper loves me unconditionally. She will come running to me anytime, no hesitation, at my beck and call. But in the hot nights when I bid her to come to bed with me, she climbs dutifully next to me, lies down with deceitful half-asleep eyes, and then jumps down to sleep in her own cooler spot on the ceramic floor the minute I shut off myself. Yes, she loves me but she is not going to sacrifice the comfort of her own furry skin just to be with me when I sleep.

Do I doubt her love? No.

Being able to sacrifice yourself is a gift. Being on the receiving end of someone else's sacrifice is an even greater gift - that, most often than not, goes unappreciated to the extent of being ridiculed at times.

"Why sacrifice yourself when you get no returns? Why be so stupid?"

When self-sacrifice brings about the happiness of someone who matters to you, it truly is a gift to both ends.

Self-sacrifice is not like exchanging gifts at Christmas parties. You don't expect anything in return. That is not self-sacrifice; that is simply sacrifice.

I have been proud of myself, for having understood the gift of being self-sacrificial.

It is just time to see for myself if it has been worth its while.


It is not a matter of change on my part. It is not a matter of whether I am willing to change for someone. It is simply a matter of worthiness: are you worth changing for?

One day, when you prove your worth to me, or when I repulse myself extensively, then perhaps I would change.


But in the meantime, here I am. Cussing and swearing my way back to life.

Fuck. Fwuck. Fiak. Fark.

Fated

Oh my gawd. Oh my gawd. OH. MY. GAWD.

For the uninitiated, I've been recently getting very pissed at the Starhub wireless connection at Coffee Bean cafes. And I don't know if I should be more pissed at Starhub or Coffee Bean.

Me (to the Starhub technical consultant): I've been very annoyed at the wireless connections. Making me spend money on Coffee Bean coffees unnecessarily, and even more money on calling you guys everytime to troubleshoot. And you guys don't even provide any help at all.

Tech consultant: Er, Miss... just to let you know, the Starhub helpline is toll-free.

WTF???!!!???!!!


So, fate brought me today to Purvis Street to run some errand. And fate has me finding the one and only one available parking lot right in front of this cafe. And fate has it that I was to turn my head to check out the cafe, and find out it sells kopi-o at only $1 and offers free wi-fi!

Someone up there has been listening to my grouches after all!

Goodbye, Coffee Bean. Goodbye, $5 skinny-lattes.


I was sitting al fresco right next to my car. I ordered a kopi-o, and then added a tuna puff on top of that, just to 'repay' my gratitude for free wi-fi. Still got so much spare change left.




I've a full day today.

Sent my car in for regular servicing in the morning. As usual, I woke up much later than I planned to, and had to hail a cab to work, instead of the planned MRT ride. The servicing cost me more than I expected to.

Had a 10am meeting with some new account, and I realized I absolutely have no patience with a sales job. Thank goodness.

Took off after lunch. Picked up my car. Had a bad experience at Coffee Bean. Headed for the Skin Center for my follow-up consultation.

Realized the benefit of arriving way earlier than my appointed time. I got to see the doctor sooner, I waited less for the payment and at the pharmacist. The time saved led me to 'shop' leisurely at the pharmacy, looking for my skin-care products - which led me to spending more money again.

I'm going to swear off cosmetic brands for my face's sake: no more Clinique, no Biotherm, no Estee Lauder. They don't deserve the bomb-price they carry, and it's really all about the advertising and packaging.

I'm sticking to pharmaceutical brands like Avene, RoC and La Roche-Posay. They look more 'serious' and less 'frill-y'.

Word of advice: they cost much MUCH cheaper at the National Skin Center pharmacy. A LOT cheaper.


Had a lot of time left before my vet appointment (Piper's actually, not mine). So, I decided to embark on a gift-searching project. Which brought me to Purvis Street.

It's all fated - that I was to be pissed off by Coffee Bean/Starhub, that I was to collect my car earlier, that I was to arrive at the skin center earlier and thereby finishing my consultation there in less than an hour, that I decided to spend the time saved searching for the gift, that I was brought here to Purvis Street.

You cannot imagine my joy now.

And now, because of my unplanned 'coffee break' here, I'm going to be late for Piper's appointment. Damn. That's fated too, I suppose.

Still Managing

I can't believe I'm just done at the office - on a Sunday evening.

I probably took this long to complete my work, partly because of a malfunctioning brain and a reluctant heart.


What a boo-boo. I didn't manage to retrieve my bike after all.

I got past the combination lock, yes. But I realized the bike was locked up in my aunt's room. And it seemed nobody had the key to her room. Urgh.

I turned back towards the office, and felt real bad toward my friend.

Now, I've got to somehow help her source for another one.


Just received disheartening news about a couple, both of whom are friends to me, who have just parted ways a few days ago. Under sad circumstances, it seemed. For my girlfriend, at least.

It is always especially sad when it seems you have no choice but to let things go, just when you thought you have finally found the perfect one, after all these years of searching and maybe some 'trialing'. I absolutely know that.

I spoke briefly with her over the phone, partly to let her know I understand, and without even telling me anything much at all, I could tell she was badly hit this time round. I wish I could give her a hug.

She sent me a message a while later: "... read your blog, not sure how you managed then."

I replied: "... I'm still managing and things are still in limbo stage for me... you'll probably pull through faster and better than me." And I honestly meant that.

Managing your feelings. Managing circumstances, most of which you have no control over. Pulling yourself together. Stifling your tears. Consciously pulling away from thoughts. Having inner voices talking to you all the time, some of which you're trying to ignore, others you're struggling to comprehend.

Making decisions. Or, at least, trying to.

I know all these you're going through.

I still am going through them myself. Everyday.

Lazy Sunday

Nice, breezy Sunday afternoon - and the Procrastinator-Queen has to get her ass back to the office to finish up some work. All thanks to a darned Monday morning meeting.

It's already four, and I'm supposed to have gotten started on what I have to do. But a nice lunch of Yong Tau Foo and yam rice is making me so sleepy. I haven't gotten my caffeine fix today, so I thought I deserve a detour to the cafe first before heading to the office. I'm feeling so lazy now. I have time today anyways.

Mmm mmm... yam rice. I miss that good stuff. And cabbage rice too. No one really knows where to find yam rice these days - not to mention, how to cook it. Not even my mom. Nor his mom.

Maybe the cookbooks can help me. But only when I get my own cooking space, in my own home. Someday.


I retract my statement. I don't really have time today.

I need to pass my road-bike to a friend, who's using it for a triathlon next week. Triathlon - I haven't decided if I should resume it, but in the meantime, I'm staying away. I still have sea-phobia; I don't mind swimming with my dogs, but not with hundreds other crazy people kicking you in the face.

My bike is locked up in my aunt's place (because Mom insists we don't have space at home for another plaything of mine). The place is empty because she works overseas - just perfect as a 'cold storage' for my bike. Problem is, there's a new lock never seen before, and I don't have the combination to it. I'm just waiting for a phonecall so I can go pick it up. Then send it to my friend. All before six.


The phonecall just came, and I have to get the bike now. And send it to my friend. Before six.

I think I might just end up going to work at 7.

Nice Shoes

It was such a whirlwind afternoon.

Since I was already late for my original hair appointment, I decided there was no point rushing there, and maybe it would be a better idea to scour for my shoes first. That, I thought, would be a much tougher task-on-hand.

Again, I hit the usual Shaw-Tangs-Taka-Wisma loop. Small circle it may seem, but if you were to be as indecisive as I was and bounce from shop to shop to shop all around the loop, you'd get irritated by the crowded underpass and weekend shoppers who didn't seem to be rushing at last-minute shopping for a wedding dinner like I was.

Well, it was a tough shopping trip, having to imagine the dress everytime I saw a pair of shoes or tried one on. I'd stare for a long while at the shoes, or at myself in the mirror with the shoes on, while I tried to imagine how the dress would go with the shoes. I had something ideal in mind, but you know, you'd never get your perfect shoes, or dress or anything for that matter, when you're doing last-minute shopping.

Gee, I never learn that lesson.

I was almost proud, in the end, that I made a good buy. A $300 pair of heels that cost me only $80 - all because of an original 50% discount, an additional 10% discount slapped on top of it (because it happened to be the last second day of sale at Tangs) and a $50 voucher I had redeemed months ago. I got such a kick outta it.

I vow to shop more often for dresses and shoes, even when I don't have a wedding to attend anytime soon.

Ha.


I got my hair done at six, and reached home only at seven.

The mad rush happened after.

Ironing. Showering. Dressing. Face-painting. Looking for ang-pow. Looking for spare change.

I reached the Pines only at 8. It was the first time ever I drove in heels. In my mad rush, I had lost the good sense of taking off my shoes. My already-worn-out calves almost cramped up. Yes, try driving a manual in heels, and in a slow evening-dinnertime traffic.

Dinner didn't start till 9. I was so famished, and all I had the whole day was only ice-cream - haven't bought shoes, haven't cut hair, how to sit down for lunch?

The man was so exhausted having spent the entire day up and running about. We left earlier than the gang, and without even a shower-down, he's been slumped in bed since. He's got an important 'flight' tomorrow.

I showered and felt sleepy all of a sudden (the red wines I had must've a very slow effect). I don't know why, though, I woke up at 4.30 and couldn't sleep again.


Just as dinner was ending, I started thinking how 'ordinary' this wedding dinner felt to us invited guests. It was just like any other dinner I've attended. It usually ends up as some sort of 'gathering' for me; I chat and catch up more with the table of friends than with the couple themselves. What a pity, I've always felt.

I looked at the man, and thought, this is the first time I'm seeing him in a dress suit (uniform not counted). He's wearing too the tie I got him in Frisco. It suddenly got me thinking how old we already are. Dressing up like this is somehow expected of us now.

I received a couple of compliments on my dress too. Then I remembered, other than the one time I got up for the restroom, no one has really seen my shoes. Nor my earrings. Nor my rings. Nor my dress.

I think it's funny. You get so anxious about finding the dress, the perfect shoes and accessories to go with it, and wanting to look pretty for the night. Then the day comes, you attend the dinner, sit at the table for 2 hours, have a half-body picture taken with the roaming couple, get up and leave for home after the dinner. Is it really worth the pain (and money)? Is anyone really gonna care if you don't wear the right shoes to go with your outfit?

Haha, the answer I think is: I don't think so. It's all but a feel-good sensation - wearing beautiful clothes and looking good. Even if no one else really cares. And the shopping bit can get quite fun as well.


Oh. The first thing the man said to me as we left the dinner was, "Nice shoes."

At least, someone noticed. =)

Late Late Late

Argh! I grossly overslept.

I was supposed to be at Dean's by 11, but I jumped out of slumber at 12 noon. I am supposed to be shopping for my shoes by now. ARGH.

And my eyes are puffed up too. I have absolutely no idea why.

Could it be the beef again?


I had so much self-cooked medium-rare beef in me last night, my stomach felt so queasy when I got home. The steamboat fare in Geylang was pretty good - I arrved late and so all I had to feast on were merely beef slices, vegetables and mushrooms. And soup - lots and lots of beef-flavored soup. The beef slices were cut so thin, all I had to do was just to dip one slice into the hot hot soup for a second and voila! I had medium-rare beef, parts of it still rosy pink, juicy and chewy.

Mmm...

I almost regretted eating so much beef the minute I got home. My stomach made me feel so ill, I couldn't do anything else but to try to sleep it off.


Now, the stomach seems alright. I just hope I have not developed any allergic reaction to beef because of my puffy eyes.

There's no joy in life in eating beef if you can't have it medium-rare. (Sorry, vegetarian friends.)


Gotta go now - I'm starting to feel nervous.

Shoe-less

Day Four. Still no shoes. Only one bag, which was definitely not in the shopping list, and some... er... double-sided tape.

Day Three was by default a goner because it was basketball night.


I popped by Dean, my hair stylist. It's so much easier to just 'pop by' now that he's moved to town. I like seeing Dean - he makes me feel good, well, at least about my hair.

I finally had to ask him if I needed a hair job. I have a wedding to attend, I have a nice dress to wear, I don't wanna have unkempt hair that looks 'ok' for an out-of-bed look for work everyday.

He fluffed my hair, gave me an eye, and agreed, "Yeah, we need to tame the bush at the back."

Great - my long-awaited haircut is finally happening tomorrow. Not shorter, just better - hopefully. I have to remember to tell him to leave my fringe alone - he has a thing for short fringe, urgh.


I'm not seeing the man tonight. He's gone off to the 'brothers' camp' at the groom-to-be's place. Sweet. I hope he has fun.

Glad that, at least, we spent some breakfast time together this morning. It started pouring just as I was about to leave home for work, so I told Ed I'd wait till the rain subsided before I drove off. We had lousy bee hoon that tasted like it was cooked the day before and had spent the night in the fridge before landing up on my plate. The man was up and out with me because he wanted to tag along the car ride to work. It's been eons since I drove him to STC.

I'm tasked with the 'stylist' job again. Good because I like dressing men up. Not-so-good because I don't have a mannequin in my house - how to see?


Going off to meet some friends for a late-night steamboat feast in Geylang. Lorong 13 - isn't that right where all the 'red lights' are?

I-Seek-You

Ha... been so long since I logged onto my ICQ account, hearing the familiar 'uh-oh!'.

Surprised to still see a couple of friends logged on in there. Even more surprising is that these few friends have somehow not 'upgraded' to the uber-cool MSN.

And then, I have a few more friends on Yahoo! Messenger - only.

Wow - now I must login three different IM programs just to keep in touch with everyone. Duh.

Just Cry

Right now, I just wanna cry.

I thought I was getting a little stronger, a little better. But now I think the well in me has just dried up for a while, that's all.

The rains these days seem to have filled it up again.

I've been spending more time alone. By myself. To myself.

I just wanna get out of here; I'm so looking forward to July.


Thoughts of loneliness keep making me want to cry. Thoughts of the unknown too.

And constant thoughts of these words: what goes around comes around.


I really hope this downward feeling is all due to PMS.

"you are a funny/sarcastic individual..."

... someone wrote that to me over email.

Someone who is way higher than me in the corporate food chain. Someone who is new to the organization, doesn't sit in the same office as I, and whom I've only met and conversed (amicably) with a couple of times.

It all started with an email I sent out, to her and other folks in the bigger region, announcing my own... er... 'promotion' - just so all the email communications go out to the right persons and I don't have to keep forwarding them. And all because my dear ex-boss had forgotten to do that little bit.

I mean, it is weird, right - to have to make an announcement about yourself - though I've always fantasized about making my own announcement (note: not a farewell email) the day I decide to quit. So I tried to inject some lighthearted wit in the email to make myself seem not so self-conscious.

On first look at her reply, I had doubts about her intentions - am I stepping on the wrong toes?

"... just like me." The latter part of her sentence eased off my tension a little, after I tried for a while to diagnose her words.

Probably she just likes my guts. My guts at poking fun at myself and maybe at others, to a less and more-harmless extent.

I hate superficial "office-like" emails anyways.

"Hi xxx... Please kindly... Thanks & best regards."

I mean, if you use 'please', you don't need to say 'kindly' after that. It makes you sound so imploring.

And I think you don't have to say 'Hi' all the time when you're emailing the same person like ten times in a day, and when it's supposed to be simply an online working discussion - or worse, when it is an email chain.

And you don't have to send your best regards all the time, do you?

To-Do List

I was actually out in town practically the entire afternoon today - out on a work mission to be a shopper-spy and check out the Yoga bags business here.

I used to hate pretending to be a clueless consumer and having to dig out market or competitor information from retail shops; these days, I quite look forward to such missions because they bring me out of the icy freezer of an office, and keep me away from emails and the stifling atmosphere of a deskbound job.

So for almost three hours today, I sauntered into studio after studio, on the pretext of checking out the Yoga classes and class fees. But the pretext became a personal conquest, when it suddenly dawned upon me that Yoga or Pilates is one activity I've been wanting to regulate in my life.

I tried Bikram once, and then twice, and then no more - because the money I had to pay per session put me off. I'd rather engage in outdoor sports - where the profuse sweating makes me feel more like my body is actually being worked out. Why pay money to work out in a time-calculated air-conditioned environment when you can do a better job running in the trails or playing basketball with a bunch of friends?

I tried Pilates too, and liked it better - but then, the classes were provided free by the company for a couple of months.

Still, money aside, I would actually like to pick up yoga/Pilates again. I think it would add a different dimension to my overall physical work-out, strengthening and lengthening my muscles - a perfect compliment to my rigorous basketball trainings.


Then, I got to taking stock of all the things I've been wanting to do in my life, but never gotten to doing them, for some reason or another.

1 - I would like to wear long flowy yoga pants instead of my basketball shorts, and do some mind-relaxing Yoga/Pilates.

2 - I would like to try some real Hip-Hop dance class - I have newfound admiration in Jamie King.

3 - Salsa-dancing would be sweet too.

4 - Lindy Hop (or was it Tap?) was recommended but I think I should be realistic and start off with two dance classes first.

5 - Learn and master tennis. Somehow I make people think I'm a (good) tennis player.

6 - Pick up golf. Hahahahaha.

7 - Continue my diving, so there's an excuse for a Redang trip. I think by now, I'd probably need some refresher course.

8 - If diving is still too expensive, sailing would do too.

9 - Master my lousy roller-blading skills once and for all.

10 - Go fishing out in the sea.

11 - Learn horse-riding in Malaysia. It's so much cheaper there.

12 - Learn jet-flying in Malaysia. It's so much cheaper there (as recommended by the man).


Above all, I just really want to explore a foreign land with the man one day. If that day should ever come.

Two Dresses and Another One

Day Two is surprisingly more productive.

I actually bought my wedding dress.

No, wait. I got two of 'em. And almost a third blouse. All thanks to the glib-tongued slightly-effeminate (what else would you expect of a man who sells dresses to women?) at-times-overly-friendly shop assistant.

I picked out 2 dresses to try on; he handed me like five more. "Try this for me to see, pur-lease... no one could fit into it... oh, you carry it off so well... perfect, no alteration needed."

Ok, fine. His earnest prompting wasn't entirely to blame. The dresses were simply too pretty, and unique - and branded (read: good-quality) too, but I suppose they must've bought them off outlet racks overseas, so what you find is probably the one and only piece available in the shop. Hmm... exclusivity - I like. And quite honestly, they were priced way below what I had originally planned to fork out for the dress this time.

Still, I hadn't planned to buy two dresses. But when another woman shopper walked past and eyed one of my dresses droolingly, I immediately brought both to the cash counter.


While I have committed (my money) to two dresses, my heart lies yet with another one.

I saw, and fell immediately in love with it in another shop before I found the other two. I tried it on, and almost refused to take it off. It looked too good on me. And it was also a one-piece-only item. Isn't it fated that it should fit me so perfectly?

I had to leave it behind though. And resolved never to see it again, lest my heart gets soft.

It costs $948.


So the dress bit is done.

Now I've got to find the shoes. And maybe a pair of earrings.


Shucks - I'm giving myself another headache having to decide which to actually wear between the two on Saturday.

Urgh.

Living A Life

Just like how I had once asked the man, very much early on in our days together, "Do you think we would ever run out of things to say to each other?", I wondered if I would ever run out of things to write about.

We both agreed then: No, that would be tough to happen; if we had truly lived our lives together, how could we ever reach a stage where we had nothing to talk about?

And if I were ever to have nothing to write about one day, it probably would mean I hadn't lived a life that day.

Living a life doesn't necessarily mean having to encounter an extraordinary or newsworthy event everyday. It doesn't mean you have to party everyday, go on a hot date, get yourself invited to events. It doesn't mean you have to be preoccupied with something different all the time.

You live a life everyday, if you live everyday with no yesterday nor tomorrow.

If you go about your daily routine on a very normal day - waking up, showering, dressing up, driving to work, working, emailing, lunching, dining, walking, driving home, lounging, going to bed - and you think nothing much of the day because it was exactly the same as you've experienced the day before and it's probably going to be the same experience tomorrow, then you're not living a life.

You live a life everyday, if you really open your eyes and look around your same surroundings everyday.

Nothing stays the same. Nobody dresses the same, says the same things, or even eats the same stuff for lunch. I sit at cafes almost everyday, sometimes the same cafes, and I see different things around me all the time. Even the trees don't stay the same.

You live a life everyday, if you truly perceive every simplest thing, even the tiniest matter, to have a life on its own.

If you truly subscribe to that, everything starts evoking some sense of thinking in you, and you start to understand how truly unique every moment is.

In other words, you live a life everyday when your heart is alive every moment.


I am supposing now that's how my love for the man has been kept alive everyday for the past six years. You see the same man in front of you but look at him in a new, different way everyday. He does the same things, you both do the same things everyday, but everyday is never the same because you speak different things, you laugh at different things, you fight over different things. Sure, love goes through its cycle of ups and downs, but in the end, nothing really matters if you look at the big picture and sieve out matters that really don't matter.

You look at the man everyday, and every single sight evokes love in your heart.

You love the man everyday in a refreshed way - like he's your newfound love everyday. He may make you so upset tomorrow, but why care about tomorrow when you only have today right now?

Like I always tell myself, the man I'll marry and grow old with, will be the man I want to wake up to and kiss every morning, no matter what happened the day before.

It is never a chore if your heart doesn't think it is.


That was how I had lived my life. I don't want to be told I was foolish or that I believed in the wrong things.

I don't think the thing that went wrong was me.

If this whole thing was wrong, it's probably because I had loved the wrong person.


I don't think I'd ever run out of things to write about (well, unless I'm lazy to). This thing is keeping my mind and heart alive everyday. I like psychoanalyzing myself.

The day I stop writing would be the day my heart dies, the day my heart becomes detached from my physical being.

Just like how two lovers have nothing to say to each other when they start living separate lives.

Maktub

I was introduced to "The Alchemist" perhaps about three or four years ago. By a friend, whom I was never close to but whom I shared a sense of mutual respect with. She was an ex-colleague-turned-friend-turned-colleague-again.

One day, after she had already left the company, we met up during one of those gatherings - it was a Hari Raya dinner hosted by one other colleague. She sat with me for a while, and started asking about my life, my job. I thought she saw something in me, that I didn't quite see clearly myself.

Then she surprised me by revealing she had made the decision to leave after a long deliberation (anyone who has worked for the brand long enough will always go through this stage of heart-wrenching deliberation - which probably explains why I'm still here) - and after reading the book. She said, "The book made me decide to leave my job and pursue my dreams."

I think she had meant to encourage me to go buy the book and read for myself.

Either that, or God had put her next to me that fateful evening.


Buy and read the book, I did.

And for the first time in my life, I could see my dreams clearly, and see myself living my dreams. I was suddenly enlivened by a force of will and energy. I didn't make plans to quit immediately, but I started exploring my opportunities - other opportunities that would make my life more meaningful in the way I wanted to live. I knew I could never be a veterinarian in this lifetime of mine; but I could always do other things around dogs - train dogs, care for dogs, work in the SPCA, or even make a business out of dogs.

The man surprised me by offering to pay for my veterinary medicine course - once we had the money. To which, I said smilingly, "Sweetie, it's going to be a six-year course, it's going to cost us a six-figure amount, and I don't know if I can cram all those medical terms into my declining cerebral cells at that age when we finally have those kind of money."

The gesture touched me immensely though, and it made me even more certain I was on the right track, with his blessings.

Months passed, and now years have passed. Nothing has materialized that seems to indicate my dreams are anywhere near being fulfilled. I am still stuck where I was four years ago. And I have pathetically blamed the lack of finances to fund whatever course I had wanted to pursue.

Life, in fact, is steering in a direction where I am about to lose the biggest dream I thought I had safely kept in my pockets, and I'm losing control of it.


A few weeks ago, before I had left for Seattle, it occured to me that I had forgotten about the book that had almost turned my life around, and that perhaps it's time I revisited its wise pages.

"I don't know what I want in life."

The very words that startled me, that prompted me to rediscover the book - but not just for myself. Before I was to read the book again, I gave it to someone who, I thought, perhaps needed it more than I did.

That was the most I could help as a friend, at that moment in time.

I hope he had found the book wise as I've found it to be.


"The Alchemist" is, by first look, a story about a shepherd boy, written in a very simple manner, who dreams of travelling the world and of finding his treasures at the Pyramids. But it is also written with such deep meaning by Paul Coelho that you will only perceive the wisdom and the lessons the way you want to perceive it. Like the writer says, "'The Alchemist' is a symbolic text."

Every page I read, though I've read them before, presented some form of renewal to my mind and soul.

The words seemed to strike my innermost chords, as if Mr. Coelho had written those words especially for my eyes and my soul.


We only accept a truth after we have first wholeheartedly rejected it.

We mustn't run away from our own destiny.

The hand of God is firm, but infinitely generous.

The jacket had a purpose, and so did the boy.

It's the possibility of a dream come true that makes life interesting.

And dreams are the language of God.

At a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what's happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. That's the world's greatest lie.

Everyone, when they are young, knows what their destiny is. At that point in their lives, everything is clear and everything is possible. They are not afraid to dream, and to yearn for everything they would like to see happen to them in their lives. But, as time passes, a mysterious force begins to convince them that it will be impossible for them to realize their destiny. It is a force that appears to be negative, but eventually shows you how to realize your destiny. It prepares your spirit and your will, because there is one great truth on this planet: whoever you are, or whatever it is that you do, when you really want something, it's because that desire originated in the soul of the universe. It's your mission on earth.

To realize one's destiny is a person's only real obligation.

And when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.

People learn, early in their lives, what is their reason for being. Maybe that's why they give up on it so early too.

If you start out by promising what you don't even have yet, you'll lose your desire to work toward getting it.

Never stop dreaming. Learn to recognize omens, and follow them.

Every blessing ignored becomes a curse.

Maktub - it is written.

Making a decision is only the beginning of things. When someone makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision.

We are afraid of losing what we have, whether it's our life or our possessions and property. But this fear evaporates when we understand that our life stories and the history of the world were written by the same Hand.

Don't be impatient. Eat, when it's time to eat. Move along, when it's time to move along.

The most important part of the language that all the world spoke - the language that everyone on earth is capable of understanding in their heart. It is love. Something older than humanity, more ancient than the desert. Something that exerts the same force whenever two pairs of eyes meet.

It is the pure Language of the World. It requires no explanation, just as the universe needs none as it travels through endless time.

When you know that language, it's easy to understand that someone in the world awaits you, whether it's in the middle of the desert or in some great city. And when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant. There is only that moment, and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. It is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. Without such love, one's dreams would have no meaning. Maktub.

It was those omens that brought you to me.

If I'm really a part of your dream, you'll come back one day.

When you are in love, things make even more sense.

It's not what enters men's mouths that's evil; it's what comes out of their mouths that is.

Love never keeps a man from pursuing his destiny. If he abandons that pursuit, it's because it wasn't true love.

One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.

I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.

I'm a woman of the desert. But, above all, I'm a woman.

If what one finds is made of pure matter, it will never spoil.

Listen to your heart. It knows all things.

The fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself.

When you possess great treasures within you and try to tell others of them, seldom are you believed.

Because when we love, we always strive to become better than we are.

When you are loved, there's no need at all to understand what's happening, because everything happens within you.

Everything that happens once can never happen again. But everything that happens twice will surely happen a third time.


The book writes of love in the end. And of love the way I've known it to be. Maybe I was not wrong after all.

Wedding Dress

This is just great - just what I needed. A reason to shop.

I am invited to the wedding dinner this Saturday, after all.

Yay: I can buy myself another pretty dress and doll myself up again (making good use of those silly cosmetics I've amassed but underused).

Nay: The dresses I like are never affordable; the dresses that are affordable, I never like.

Yay: I can give myself a good reason to leave work early these few days, though without one, I still do.

Nay: Knowing my fussiness and short attention span, I don't really think I can achieve anything within these few evenings. I have a good mind I might just end up buying something only three hours before the wedding - as usual.

Yay: I love attending weddings, especially of close friends, because I love how happy and beautiful they always look.

Nay: I fear weddings. But then again, they are never about me.

I'm full of contradictions, aren't I?


Day One of attempt is already futile.

All because of Jay Chou.

Yes, because of him, Orchard was crowded with crazy screaming girls, all thronging - just great - the shopping mall I was planning to go. I didn't try to but I almost could've caught a glimpse of him - he was going up one escalator while I was coming down another, trying to flee the maddening scene. Not fated.

I mean, I like the guy - his is after all the first Mandarin CD I've bought my entire life.

But because of him, I couldn't shop in peace.


Anyway, the mood to shop was already lost even before I reached town.

Of Secrecy and Stupidity

I'm a 'secret' aunt.

I didn't know the extent of reality nor how much it would touch me, until I saw the 'secret' kiddo yesterday.

And he smiled at me, the very first time we met - a sweet shy smile that indicates liking... an affinity.

Now, I have legitimate reasons for shopping at Baby Gap and Baby Old Navy.


There is a reason for everything that happens on the surface of this Earth. Nothing happens for no reason. Everything is created by the Hand.

The kid is here in this world for a purpose.

I'd like to believe, so am I.


Speaking of existence, I was so frustrated at work today, I wished I had the means there and then to annihilate the entire species of stupid thick-headed people in this world. People who don't listen. I immensely detest people who don't listen.

Or is it that I don't speak simply enough to be understood?

If this were the States, I'd have done on impulse, no less, those pull-out-a-machine-gun-and-go-on-a-shooting-spree-at-office-mates kind of action shit. And appear front-page on the Straits Times tomorrow morning.

There you go - my third stab at fame.

Maybe, that's my purpose for being put into this world - to save humankind from being infested with the deadly disease called Stupidity, that, to date, has no permanent cure. If you'd thought the short outbreak of SARS was a rude awakening to our peaceful little green island, pry your eyes and wake up - stupidity is here to stay.


Never ever get me started on the topic of stupidity. My friend Les knows best. I'd get so aggitated and I'd be so mean and I would know no end. I don't claim to have an IQ of 180 but I'd like to think I have some good common sense at least to interact with other human beings.


Ok, stop Fatmama... STOP.

Dinner for Pop

It was a somewhat odd Fathers' Day dinner at the much-hyped-about but overrated Muthu's Curry at Race Course Road. Heck, I didn't even know it was right smack in Little India - I thought it sounded somewhere situated at Bukit Timah, at the former race course.

The famous Fish Head Curry was actually just blah, to me. I much prefer the one at Forture - this caucasian-favored local seafood kopitiam along Bukit Timah Road (whose unfortunate name, we suspect, was mis-spelt from the intended "Fortune"). I like Muthu's bryani though.

I felt odd, because the four of us fitted perfectly into a small square table. My brother's wife was of course not present, while I was there without the man. I felt odd because I have been getting so used to parties of six at our small nuclear family dinners for the past few years - birthdays, Mothers' Days, Fathers' Days, Chinese New Year Reunions. Suddenly, we were just back to our usual group of four - father, mother, son, daughter. No spouses, no partners. It was some odd sense of familiarity, like deja vu.

I thought to myself, how long ago was it that we had dinners only amongst the four of us? Wow, that must be some years ago when we were still kids in school. I wondered if anyone else at the table thought the same.

And then I thought grimly, is this how it's going to be for the next few dinners to come?


Man wasn't around at dinner because he was getting some rest at home before reporting for work at 10 in the evening. And reason why he had to be resting at home and skipping dinner was because we had yet another feast for lunch. Late lunch at 4.30 in the afternoon - as usual. I couldn't resist the late-lunch temptation - it was my favorite prawn noodle, though we had crabs instead. I was overstuffed two hours before dinner.

And I couldn't possibly skip dinner. I'm the daughter.


He was supposed to have taken the company-provided transport (aka free taxi ride) to the airport, but he cancelled it since he wanted to pop by his teammates who were having their usual training. I knew he was itching to touch the ball today.

We chatted a little in the car, actually quite a fair bit, from home to the court to the airport. He didn't fall asleep tonight.

We're talking more and more, bit by bit.

Sunday Morning

I have a new addiction: my prized PowerBook.

It's so portable, it practically goes wherever I go - whether or not I really need it or would eventually use it. What others might call 'dead weight' is my all-essential feel-good companion. It's like the little brolly other girls have in their handbags - you never know when it might come in handy.

It's the first thing I touch when I arise from slumber these days, and the last I hold with care before I rest every night as I carefully perch it on top of whatever's next to my bed.

When Piper (or was it Gracie?) ran over my newly acquired pbook and the letter "L" key flipped out, I flipped too. Whoever caused the 'accident' didn't escape my wrath. Of course I felt guilty afterward; it is after all just a piece of metallic plaything, albeit an expensive one.

My pbook goes to work with me every morning, and sometimes is my one and only lunchtime companion. It had also the fortune of taking a plane with me all the way to Seattle/Portland a few weeks ago. Wherever I went, whatever majestic sight I gazed upon, it was there with me (in my bag though), and it was the first to know whatever that excited me enough to want to tell someone. It has probably become good friends with my camera. The both of them have been bonded by a USB cable and exchanging information almost everyday.

It was also the one who kept me company during those nights/days I had wanted to cry while I was alone in Seattle, the one who explored the cities alongside me for free wi-fi cafes. It was the one who kept me close to the man when we were thousands and thousands of miles apart in two different continents, separated by time zones and the oceans.

I'm not a cyber-geek, but I'm not a tech-bimbo either.


A slow Sunday morning. I woke up pretty early for my own weekend standards.

I decided to be alone for a while, and finish up my book. So I took the girls down with me and sat at the kopi-tiam for about an hour, enjoying my kopi-o (ok, the fella downstairs makes a pretty mean kopi-o, it's just that I never wake up early enough every morning to enjoy a cuppa before heading to work) and reading the last few pages of the book.

The girls, never mind where they are going, are always so excited to just step out of the house.





That's Piper, always on the alert and looking out for other four-legged friends to play with.

I have an urge to finish the book, and I have. It got me psychoanalyzing a lot again. I'll share that with you in a while.

Shopping

What an ironic turn of events, indeed.

Today was, by far, the most 'fun' day we've had yet in the longest while (actually, about six weeks). We were out to run quite a few errands - from mending my five-year-old birkies to altering his new suit and trying to find him a fresh white shirt. All for a good friend's wedding next weekend (well, no, not my birkies, his shirt and suit).

Well, we had fun - or at least, I know I had - the entire afternoon. It felt so good and warm again, picking out stuff for him, having him ask for my opinion on stuff, and just shopping together. I even felt good enough for my Mango-Tiramisu gelato. And, true to our usual selves, we got distracted from our main goal, and ended up buying other 'extra' stuff.

The evils of wealth and power, I say.

And, true also to our usual selves, we couldn't spend more than half a day walking up and down the crowded streets of Orchard between the two of us - not to mention, having to jostle with the sale-rack-swarming crowds and to deal with the stifling heat everytime we stepped out of a mall.

In short, we aren't exactly the best kind of Singaporean shoppers you can find around town - no patience, no endurance, no stamina.

I could run a 10km easily anytime, no qualms at all. Shop for more than 3 hours? My legs, body, mind all start begging for a break from the torture.

So, before we could even think of dinner, despite my hunger, we headed straight home for a nap. And I took my nap more seriously than he did - it became a 5-hour sleep for me.

Dinner was confused with supper again at 1.30am. We feasted. All for less than 10 bucks in total.

I was so famished I felt I could eat up a whole cow. But I notice these days the size of my hunger does not equate the size of my appetite.

(I've increased social awareness these days, and I know by saying "I could eat up a whole cow", I might have ruffled the feathers of some animal-rights activist or vegetarian friends out there, though they know perfectly well I'm just being metaphoric and there's no way I could bring myself to literally finish up a whole cow. Eating a fat slab of steak is already a consideration to me most days. Then again, what would vegetarians say: I'm so famished I could eat up a whole bunch of broccoli? Or a sack of potatoes?)

Which probably explains my awakeness at this ungodly hour again.


I'm a little devoid of emotions now. Or rather, overwhelming emotions. I could say I'm happy today, but I'm just fearful of overstepping into that territory unknowingly.

I know I couldn't possibly ask for more now. The signs seem obvious enough. I am satisfied. For now.

Psychoanalysis

Psychoanalysis - that's what I'm undergoing right now. What it really means is that I'm just thinking.

Psychoanalysis - I much prefer the sound of that.

It makes me seem more serious, less crazy - or more appropriately, it makes me more justifiably crazy.

By comparison, compulsive 'thinking' makes you look like an obsessed nut.

So, from now, I am not gonna think - I'm gonna 'psychoanalyze'.


What an ironic twist of events tonight.

I was trying to login at the cafe again, and write. But the stupid connection failed me - totally. Cheesed off by Starhub, I decided to have a change of venue - somewhere I know where I can get free internet, and booze to go along - Villa Bali.

I rushed there before 10, hoping I could get a table before the crowd invaded the place. Unfortunately, the crowds were smarter than me, and I was about to leave after being told I couldn't possibly get a 'table for one' tonight, when my phone rang.

And it was... him. "I saw you."

His friends spotted me, I suppose. So I joined them, simply just glad my purpose here tonight was fulfilled anyhow.

And I'm still writing right here, at this very moment, sitting with the guys, across from him, nonetheless. I have a purpose to fulfill.


I've learnt one thing tonight.

I've learnt there's absolutely nothing wrong with psychoanalyzing, with listening to what your heart has to say, with talking to your heart. Even if you do so all the time, every minute, every day. Because the day you stop doing so, your heart stops living. Then, you're just as good as dead.

Never stop thinking. Never fear loving. Never be afraid of asking questions.

They are the very essence that keeps your heart beating.


I'm reading a book that is making me psychoanalyzing a hell lot. What it is doing to my emotional state is not material; how I reach my decision and what decision I'm exactly making is.

Back from the Dead

It's lunch-hour still; I've had a pretty quick bite since it's pouring outside and I hate bringing umbrellas along. So I suppose it's legitimate for me to be journalling right now.


Things are like so dead after the nostalgiamania died down.

For one, I felt particularly dead yesterday. Just two hours of jigging the night before, and I was walking into the office the next morning with a stiff back, creaky joints and a slightly hoarse, almost sexy, voice. The 'recovery' time sure is taking way much longer than before; it took me almost an entire day before the joints felt well-oiled and the voice sounded more plain ol' me again.

However much our psychological selves want to believe we can still do what we used to do (six years ago), our physiological functions work extra hard to remind us aging is a reality and perhaps our energies (whatever's left of it) could be better channeled into other avenues of reminiscence.

Still... I wanna go Mambo again!!


The evening was spent by myself at the beach cafe, where I thought I could relax and enjoy the breeze and do some writing, before I was to meet a friend for dinner at 10.

Relaxing... my foot!

The wi-fi connection was so-o-o-o snail-speed slow, I've had better experience with dial-up connections. What subsequently followed was an hour-long phone-call with the service provider, who provided absolutely no help at all in the end.

I ended up reading a book, and surfing at the same time - better not try to write anything in case nothing gets posted and every single drop of brain juice is wasted.

I picked a quiet corner, where I thought I could have some peace and privacy. What I didn't realize was that there were two or three spotlights right above me. Oh, and maybe a baby-lizard breeding ground too, because one just fell off and landed right on my lap. So I ended feeling more hot and bothered than anything.

By the time it was 10, not only was I famished, I was totally tired, irritated, and dry-eyed. Dinner was practically gobbled up.

I tried to watch Baz Lurhman's "Romeo and Juliet" after a hot shower. Of course, I dozed off.


Time to get back to work. The energy to work is back - but too bad... it's already Friday.

All of a sudden, I don't know why but I'm homesick. I am missing a lot of things.

Nostalgiamania

I knew it, I knew it - I knew it!

They really played my song!


My all-time high nostalgiamania just got me doing the second crazy thing: I got my friends to relive our good ol' Mambo days by... asking them to Mambo once again. The one thing I have not done for... gosh! Six years!

I sent out this message, absolutely out of the blue, to the Mambo bunch: "Wed Mambo nite. Meet inside at our usual spot. No spouses/girlfriends/boyfriends allowed - unless you're Fifi or Eric (they were part of the Mambo bunch as friends, but now they're married). Only rule: we are to dress like how we would dress then - i.e. NO working attire. No talk about work. The only adult thing we can do is to make sure we don't get so smashed we can't even crawl to work the next day. Just say yes."

I couldn't gather the whole bunch together, but the bunch that turned up was just good enough.








Since we were supposed to "meet inside at our usual spot", naturally everyone was later than the stipulated 2230h. The first thing that greeted me when I met them at the usual spot - that familiar jug of Long Island Tea. I thought someone said, no long island tonight?

Thank goodness, that was the one and only chance I had to taste the sorely-missed drink. We weren't supposed to get smashed tonight.


The second thing that greeted me was... my song.

I knew they were going to play my song. Actually I was just hoping, because I can't remember if my song was a 'Mambo song'. Well, it was.

My friends all looked at me and exclaimed, "Your song! Your song!"


We all left just half an hour past midnight.

I think I made everyone happy tonight, to have revived the Mambo days for them. This is probably the only reason why a gathering among us could actually happen, all in such short notice - I think everyone secretly wanted to feel how it was like again.

Thanks guys.


I didn't head for home straight.

I took a drive to East Coast Park instead. I thought I could do nicely with some clean quiet air and some Happy Fries (that's what I call McDonald's fries - I think they make me happy).

It was just time for my nostalgiamania to cool off.

This Feels Like A Badly-Needed Toilet Break

Said totally clueless but absolutely well-meaning colleagues to me: "Wah! We've been noticing you: dressing up in pretty skirts and girly shoes more often recently, and hair growing so long. Is it because your boyfriend just came back, huh? Or is it you're getting married already?", complete with the *wink wink*.

Ha. I wish ah.

But I simply replied by rolling my eyes and frowning at them with a "What the hell you talking about?" look.

Just for the record, the man didn't just come back; he's been back almost a year. My hair is long because I have no money for a bloody haircut, and my stylist just refuses to cut my hair - "Your hair growing so nice! No need to cut! Nice nice!"

?!?!?!


I suppose I have been in a much better mood these days. Or maybe I'm just immune to everything - for now.

I'm kinda throwing myself headlong into my new job role, trying to find new responsibilities and create more interesting work for myself. Hopefully, I'm getting more money out of this. But at the very least, it is saving my sanity at work by keeping my mind off certain stuff for nine hours everyday. So far.

Maybe I'm just numb by the supposed peace that's going on in our life right now. Peace because of love, or peace because of no-war? I don't know. Whatever it is, it is making me a little less sad, a little more positive, though a little apprehensive as well. At times, it feels like he's trying to lead me ahead but I'm fearful of following blindly into the next step.

Still, I'm grateful to him for making things that much easier for me, and perhaps for himself too, to bear from now till the deadline.

For the past few weeks, I thought I had enough and was done with all the self-torturing thinking. I thought I had the answers for myself, and had only to wait for his.

Today, I realize I thought wrong. The thoughts, all those thoughts, just hit me with a whammy out of nowhere. I think I had simply stopped thinking; I wasn't quite done yet, I suppose.

There is no coldness, but there is no warmth either.
There are no upsetting fights, but there are no loving words either.
There is no silence, but there is no hearty carefree laughter either.
There is no shunning, but there are no open arms either.

Everything is just so... normal.

Sometimes I want to believe that we're on our road to recovery; sometimes I want to stop myself from believing. Because reading into signs can either make or break you, and I'd rather stay complete and alive, for now, to enjoy the good things while I still have the chance to.


Biggest mind-boggling question: What went wrong? Was it me?

There is still too much left unsaid between us, and I still have a lot of questions that I need answers for. In questioning him, I have uncovered questions for myself. So now I have double the number of questions in me, and I have no energy to conjure up answers. I have no energy to think too.


I still believe, when love is real and well, sometimes you don't even need answers.


I found myself thinking about love, in a different perspective, these days, though.

Maybe, just maybe, there is no such thing as true love - just like what 'they' always say. Maybe love is meant to come and go, to flit past you as quickly as you should change partners. Maybe there is never such a thing as 'forever' nor 'happily ever after' - they are merely Webster words that storytellers use in their fairy tales. Songs that sing of everlasting love, and about dying for true love, are all just frauds. For suckers like us to believe endlessly in, with no real ending in store.

Maybe there is no such person in this world as "The One".

Maybe I've been wrong all my life.

Against my utmost beliefs and ideals, I've been hearing from people around me that things change, people change, feelings change, and that there's nothing I can do about it but to accept them. The world changes all the time as well.

Why is it then that I can find myself staying unchanged - with all willingness and faith? Am I wrong? Do I not belong to this world then?

I can't accept excuses and defences. But I will learn to let go, if there's no more faith to hold on to.


Still, the questions I have will not escape from my mouth just yet. It is still not the time to do so, and I will learn to honor that.

Things seem to be looking up, and I'll just leave myself to the hands of God. I'll have to bear every moment deep in my mind now, for they may be all I am left with.


Good - I feel less constipated now.


Don't come round asking me again, if the man reads this.

I don't ask him questions.

Tikam

It all started with this, the 'yellow' band.



Look how the craze has culminated into - a 'tikam' baller band machine. Sold at your local neighborhood coffeeshop, all for a dollar.




Three mornings in a row, I've sent the man to the airport. It almost feels like a routine since three-in-a-row (at almost the same hour) is pretty unusual for his schedule - so far.

A little earlier than I have to report for work myself, I've been getting some morning coffee time to myself. Putting it more correctly, it's 'kopi-o' time - at old dingy kopitiams, sitting amongst white-haired men in singlets and shorts who smoke, read the papers and gripe loudly about everything around them. I never fail to attract attention from these men - they would always stare, sometimes frown, at me quizzically, and I can almost always read their thoughts: "Who is this strange young woman and what is she doing here alone, sitting in my kopitiam?"

I try to avoid looks by usually pretending to fiddle with my cell phone, while sipping my kopi-o. So far, in the past three mornings, I have managed to:
- delete duplicate phone numbers in my list;
- send messages to friends I've not seen for a while;
- add pictures to names on my list;
- clean up my messages;
- explore all foreign functions in the new phone.

Making pretty good use of time, huh.

I don't stick to any one particular kopitiam. I 'kopitiam-surf' - simply because making the perfect kopi-o is such a rare skill, most kopi-o's actually suck. And trust me, kopi-o can really suck big-time. Sometimes it gets so bad you're almost drinking sewage water. Other times, you're just drinking coffee-flavored sugared water.

It's not so much of the grade of coffee beans the kopitiams use - honestly, you don't really expect the beans to be of any high quality, though they sure smell good enough.

It is them kopitiam 'baristas'.

I can find one place that serves me pretty good kopi-o one morning, then return the next to taste another totally different substance. I don't proclaim to be that excellent a 'kopi-o connoisseur' but just one whiff and one look, I can usually tell if it's going to be good stuff.


I have absolutely no idea how and why I got to talking so much about kopi-o.

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

Something just got me wondering.

I don't know who reads this crapshit, nor how many folks actually bother to surf by. (For one, I know my dear friend Miss Tan does.)

But I aim only to please myself and save my sanity, and perhaps to entertain your boring mundane life.


Mister/Miss Anonymous,

Your maybe harmless question threw me off-guard completely.

But I like it, because it gets me thinking about it, about you.

I don't know if you're a friend or foe.
A supporter or a detractor.
An angel or a fiend.

But I don't need either. I just hope you wouldn't remain anonymous.

Thanks for reading my crapshit. Keep those questions rolling - at least I know I elicit some form of response. Haha.


Hmm... maybe I should just concentrate on getting my story on Charles' wedding up soon.

I know someone's dying to see his gorgeous face.

You To Me Are Everything

Do you actually have a song - your song - that you can turn up the volume and listen to, over and over again, whether you're happy or sad?

I do.

I would take the stars out of the sky for you
Stop the rain from falling if you ask me to
I'd do anything for you
Your wish is my command
I could move a mountain when your hand is in my hand

Well, if you happen to know me that well enough, you would've known this is my song. My song - the words "all-time favorite" just sound too feeble (and too cliched) to justify the emotions it never fails to arouse in me everytime it is played. I have never loved '70s discos more than this.

I am especially touched by those few who have always remembered my song, and who have never failed to make a bargain with the DJ to play my song, just to see my jubilant smile. I don't know, but I'm guessing the way my face lits up when my song gets played is likened to a child's innocence joy when he sees a new plaything.

Everyone probably just thinks I like this song because it makes my head bob and my body break into a boogie, and just because it makes me so happy.

No one walking on the face of this Earth, however, probably understands what, and how much, this song means to me.

Words cannot express how much you mean to me
There must be some other way to make you see
If it takes my heart and soul
You know I'd pay the price
Everything that I possess I'll gladly sacrifice


If I ever do have my history to be written in a book, or to be played out in a movie, this song would never be missed.

Would it be my theme song? Haha, yeah, maybe.


This song became mine, probably way back sometime in 1998. I just turned a final-year undergrad, and Wong San's was my favorite hang-out then.

It was also around this time, that I met the man and had my first few brief, but deeply impressive, encounters with him, all by the act of chance and fate. It wasn't love at first sight for sure (I thought he was just a punkish freshie - but then I've always had a thing for bad boys). There was nothing of a strong vibe, but the impressions strangely lingered on. I didn't think about him all the time, in fact I thought of him none at all, but whenever he was around, the heartbeat somehow raced so fast it would skip a bit now and then. What started out, I thought, as a harmless flirt, grew unwittingly into a strong inexplicable crush.

Doing laundry suddenly became a more meaningful activity that I looked forward to.

You to me are everything
The sweetest song that I can sing
Oh baby, oh baby
To you, I guess I'm just a clown
Who picks you up each time you're down
Oh baby, oh baby

Anyway. I was newly single too - fresh out of the relationship with the Ex that I had almost unwittingly become a wife to. I wasn't looking for anything, and was just glad I had gotten out of a potentially messy future. But in doing so, I had myself totally befuddled: if I was so sure that wasn't Love, then what is?

I had never been so wild and carefree. Free of other activities than studies, I knew of nothing else but party, make merry, and play sports like a real collegiate athlete. When mid-term exams were over, I would typically play sports in the morning, sleep in the afternoon, play more sports in the evening, then head out for a night of fun. How I loved hostel life.

And that was when Edmund came into my life.

Edmund is one friend I'll always be thankful for, just for having appeared in my life at the right time and for having been there for me in one of my most crucial times of need. We had probably known each other for about a year then, but somehow really only hit it off during that last mid-term break. Maybe because we both had something in common - we were both newly single yet pining for love.

To date, it still amuses the two of us when we think about how we had never fallen for each other, given we were both in a very vulnerable state and had only each other to depend on. Sometimes, we would be having a coffee session, and then matter-of-factly ask each other, "Eh, how come last time you never fall for me ah?" before starting to jibe each other again. He was the reason that made me believe in pure platonic friendships.

We grew so close, we would wait for each other for lunch after our morning sports, then wait for each other for dinner after our evening sports, and then head out to Wong San's when night fell. Sometimes when we wanted more peace, we would take a train to City Hall, pop by 7-Eleven for bottles of e33s, then sit down at the Padang, doing nothing but staring up at the sky and giving the other a listening ear. Just the two of us.

He would talk about his lost love, and I? I had fallen in love with the man unknowingly.

You gave me just a taste of love to build my hopes upon
You know you got the power, girl, to keep me holding on
So now you've got the best of me
Come on and take the rest of me
Oh baby


We set many tongues wagging for sure. But we were so enjoying the company we gave each other, we couldn't give a hoot. We were, in fact, so proud of the fact that we never jeopardized a true friendship by letting romantic feelings get in the way - we called each other 'brother' and 'sister'.

Wong San's was a place we stumbled upon together. To me, it was the best place then - it was really popular then, with caucasians and SPGs, and on a good night, you could catch a glimpse of sleazy acts getting on around the dance floor. It was pure fun for me. And best of all, they always played the song, that would become my song, all the nights I was there.

Whenever my song was played, I would start thinking about the man, and starting thinking how complicated things were because they weren't what they seemed then. The song would make me sad.

Though you're close to me we seem so far apart
Maybe given time you'll have a change of heart
If it takes forever, girl
Then I'm prepared to wait
The day you give your love to me won't be a day too late

Eventually, Edmund fell in love with a waitress working at Wong San's (which explained why we became more and more frequent patrons there). In no time, I realized I was always being left alone in the pub, and I stopped going with him altogether. I didn't blame him though. It just made me a little sadder, and more lonely.

All these happened in the short 2-month mid-term vacation.

I went out and bought a CD from HMV that contained my song. It cost me 40 bucks then, which was a lot of money to me.

You to me are everything
The sweetest song that I can sing
Oh baby, oh baby
To you, I guess I'm just a clown
Who picks you up each time you're down
Oh baby, oh baby


If you'd thought this was a story about the man and me - well, it's not.

This was a story about how a song became my song, and the circumstances around it that made it my song.

Which is all very important to me right now.


I always still do think about the man whenever I hear my song.

Whether I am happy or sad, because it always makes me relive those days when unspoken love consumed me.

I have long ago lost the $40 CD that contained my song. Don't know what happened to it, but I think I must've lent it to someone.

So, some time ago, I decided I would create my own compilation of driving songs - that no one, not even the man, appreciates. "You call these 'driving songs'???"

Mostly they are songs I've liked a lot, over the past - wow - 14 or 15 years. All of them are songs that remind me a lot of some part of my youthful past. I don't just start bobbing my head in the car, while listening to them; I start reliving my past.

Of course, my song is in that self-created CD.

In the past few days, I've been listening to it - and only it. I've put the song on 'repeat' mode. And I'm still not sick of it. These days, I notice I'm smiling as I sing to the song. A drive to the airport probably lets me play the song at least 10 times. It's been giving me a little peace these days on the long way there.

You gave me just a taste of love to build my hopes upon
You know you got the power, girl, to keep me holding on
So now you've got the best of me
Come on and take the rest of me
Oh baby


My song is making me so nostalgic it's making me do two crazy things.

One is to tell you this story.

Two is to relive my past a little sometime soon.

We'll see.

Our Games

It's been three days in a row that I've woken up at like 4 in the predawn hours, no matter how long I've slept for, and just couldn't get back to snooze.

For the past two days, since it was the weekend, I didn't waste time tossing and turning in bed just to try to fall asleep again. I just plopped my pBook back in front of me and started surfing and writing. I didn't feel sleepy again till it was about 7 in the morning, when the sky had brightened and the hustle and bustle of the neighborhood had begun.

But today, when my eyes opened at 4 in the morning, I had to force myself to get back to sleep, simply because it's Monday - yes, working day. But I couldn't, so I tossed and turned and tossed and turned again. Drifting in and out of sleep, woken easily by any slight shuffle on the bed, confused by dream and reality. Until my alarm rang at 6.30.

Now, I feel like a zombie. But I can't get back to bed, I can't afford to oversleep today.

Important task on hand, this morning.


It has been a nice weekend. Almost great, but I think I should just leave it at 'nice', for my own sanity's sake. It was already much more than I could wish for, in times like this.


It's also been a long while since we played basketball together. Well, he's been playing, I've been playing, but not for a long while with each other. But we did yesterday, out of the blue. We used to try to make it for the weekly basketball sessions with his good buddies - well, to us, these sessions are more like a get-together than a real basketball game. But since the man started flying more, he was seldom in town on Sundays - so we had been missing the Sunday games for the longest time (well no, the longest time was when he was still in Brisbane). Wow, come to think of it, the last time we played was before the Chinese New Year in February this year.

Some time ago, probably after one of our small fights (I can't really remember, but it has to be, for me to have said this), we took a drive back to our old varsity one afternoon to play basketball with his hall-mates. Playing ball on those courts - something I'd done almost everyday while I was still a student there, and something I've definitely terribly missed. Pick-up games with the guys gave me the challenge I sought.

That day, in the midst of our game, I said to the man: I think we're happiest together when we're playing ball together.

I think he pretty much agreed with me then too. In our games together, all our unhappiness with each other seems to fade away - albeit temporarily. We only care about challenging each other, tackling each other (actually more me than him), disturbing each other (actually more him than me), talking and thinking about nothing but basketball.

Is this an upsetting thing? No, I don't think so. A love for a common passion. I think that's one reason how it all started.


So, today, everything went on court, as if nothing happened between us, again. I pushed, jostled, tackled him. He teased, joked, laughed, taught me stuff.

Maybe that's why I'm happy, for a moment.

Me and My Lip Balms

I know, you know, everyone knows that a girl needs her lip balms and glosses.

But, how many exactly does she need?



I thought I only needed maybe a couple. But I didn't know it would become an addiction. Addiction to buying, that is, not exactly an addiction to consuming.

On a 'high', I just bought and bought - simply because lip balms don't really cost you much... individually. I was, ashamed to say, attracted to packaging, supposed product benefits, and really just packaging. I was so into actually shopping for lip balms, I snubbed the free tubes given out by airlines (I know Northwest does).

At any time, I have at least 5 balms and 3 glosses in my bag (now you know why I need a big bag). Well, you never know when any one might come in use. I have everything (I think) from clear to sheer to pinks to mauves. I have stuff from L'Occitane, Burt's Bees, MAC, Clinique, Neutrogena, Bloom, Red Earth... hell, even Gap.

I know, balms are balms, but I try to at least take turns with each one. Sometimes I like it a little glossier, sometimes I want just a more natural pout, but most times, my bloody lips are just dry and cracked (that's when they turn bloody). Then the glosses may come in timely when someone asks me out for dinner, out of the blue. Times like this, you just want to try to look a little prettier for the date, especially when your lips look abused after a day of cursing and swearing at work.

I didn't really plan to do a stock-take of those lying around every nook and corner of my room. Until I caught myself almost spending money on more balms in the US. Then somehow my senses got me thinking, hey you already have a lot and probably enough. Do I really need any more?

Oh, I realised I missed one out hiding under the table.



So that makes what - 27? Wow, one more and the toll will be the same as my age.

Hmm, this gives me an idea. Perhaps I should restrict myself to buying only one for every year I get older.

Haha... as if.

Lip balms to women are like beer to men... they are never a need.

I think I feel good enough to get more of these feel-good stuff.


*P.S.: If you need, or just want, Burt's Bees are fantastic, but only if you can get your hands on them. I haven't seen them in Singapore. L'Occitane is great too, though a tad pricey. I have these on me ALL the time.


*P.P.S.: I didn't know I'm capable of such girly talk... EEeeeeeEEEWw!