Should I? Should I?
Should I???
Rightfully, in times of sanity, I shouldn't. But since when have I ever been really sane anyway?
Besides, I don't usually do this, not even in the Honks. So a little extravagance should be pardonable.
Moreover, I think they will be put to real good use. I've been running through my wardrobe in my head: yeah, they go with almost everything. And I am always in need of warmth.
Most of all. I am, or am going to be, thirty. I am, or am going to be, depressed this week. So I can, or think I can, do whatever I want.
Yes. I should.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Deprived
I hope somebody does notice that I haven't posted any picture of any food since I got here.
Well, that could be because I lost quite a bit of appetite over the past few days. But definitely, it's because THERE'S NO FOOD WORTH TAKING PICTURES OF HERE.
Whoever marvels at cold sandwiches and tortilla wraps and burgers and roast beef cuts and green leaves and weird-looking pasta salads?
Nobody thinks about food here. They only care whether the food comes free.
It took me two hours just to get my dinner plate of turkey breast and steak cuts (the salads and potatoes had run out, but as if I cared) at the closing party last night. All because me and Hiro-san refused to join the endless queue at the buffet table (yes, a buffet that comprised of only turkey, beef, potatoes and salad).
Queueing is so unglam. For food, or for anything.
As my French boss said it, "Nobody ever has to queue for food. Especially on a Friday night."
I was put to shame because I didn't stick to my principles. But at least, I didn't go hungry.
Well, that could be because I lost quite a bit of appetite over the past few days. But definitely, it's because THERE'S NO FOOD WORTH TAKING PICTURES OF HERE.
Whoever marvels at cold sandwiches and tortilla wraps and burgers and roast beef cuts and green leaves and weird-looking pasta salads?
Nobody thinks about food here. They only care whether the food comes free.
It took me two hours just to get my dinner plate of turkey breast and steak cuts (the salads and potatoes had run out, but as if I cared) at the closing party last night. All because me and Hiro-san refused to join the endless queue at the buffet table (yes, a buffet that comprised of only turkey, beef, potatoes and salad).
Queueing is so unglam. For food, or for anything.
As my French boss said it, "Nobody ever has to queue for food. Especially on a Friday night."
I was put to shame because I didn't stick to my principles. But at least, I didn't go hungry.
Closet
And I'm chatting right now with my new Honkeedoodle friend whom I once dreamed of - naked.
su' says: when u a bit more free, we go out for fun....
ME Inc. says: yes yes...
Dear God.
Please don't let the "closet lesbian" rumor come true. =/
su' says: when u a bit more free, we go out for fun....
ME Inc. says: yes yes...
Dear God.
Please don't let the "closet lesbian" rumor come true. =/
Depressing
An online chat between a Honkeedoodle friend and I went like this.
Honkeedoodle: So when you coming back?
Fatmama: When I'm 30.
It depresses me.
I feel so depressed even thinking about it.
Don't you feel depressed on my behalf?
Think Fatmama is going to try to choot some magic now.
Honkeedoodle: So when you coming back?
Fatmama: When I'm 30.
It depresses me.
I feel so depressed even thinking about it.
Don't you feel depressed on my behalf?
Think Fatmama is going to try to choot some magic now.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Back
Alrighty. The Fatmama’s back.
After two of what might have been the worst days of her life.
Never before have I ever felt this revived, feeling the rush of energy through my body again, as I had this morning. The past two days of nothing but pain all over my bones and joints, even while I was lying in bed, can honestly put desperate suicidal thoughts in my head. Actually, it did.
I swear Panadol’s going to be my travel companion from now on.
After two of what might have been the worst days of her life.
Never before have I ever felt this revived, feeling the rush of energy through my body again, as I had this morning. The past two days of nothing but pain all over my bones and joints, even while I was lying in bed, can honestly put desperate suicidal thoughts in my head. Actually, it did.
I swear Panadol’s going to be my travel companion from now on.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Little Italy
The first days are always the worst.
By three in the p.m., you just silently but suddenly zip off into a zombie mode. Your eyes mindlessly gaze towards the window, and you start wishing you were out there instead, or better yet, on your hotel bed miles away. But sunlight always brings about drowsiness (at least when you are an owl), and then you start tearing yourself apart inside while desperately trying to look interested, or even attentive, in the ongoing discussion.
I made it through the first day, but barely.
It ended a rather nice evening though, which I had almost missed when I tried to devise means and ways to get out of the group dinner. But I'm glad I had not the guts to.
So I made it downtown on my first night, thank God.
And I was brought to the Little Italy of Boston, right along Hanover Street in the North End. I fell in love with the street the minute the cab cruised into it. Just like how I remember I fell in love with the Little Italy of San Franscisco the first morning I strolled into it, amazed at all the little Italian cafes serving nothing but creamy lattes and fat, greasy pastries.
In Hanover Street of Boston though, there aren't that many Italian cafes. Instead, every other two steps you take, you walk by a "Something Something Ristorante". And word has it that you never find lousy food in Hanover Street.
The tiny little restaurant with an amazing seating capacity that I ended up in warmed my heart. It was so authentic I found it so romantic. By romantic, I don't mean I would die if I was being proposed to in that place. By romantic, I mean the atmosphere was so quaint and lovely you wished at that very moment you were there instead with a loved one to enjoy the beauty of life (and food).
Well, at least, that was how I felt when I first sat down at the table. After just a couple of whites, however, I was totally zombified. The only romantic notion I had running through my mind was to curl under the white sheets on the hotel bed, and cuddle all the fat pillows.
I made it through the first night, but barely.
I dozed off in the car ride back to the hotel. I took a shower, turned on the computer to start on work, but dozed off again till I had to peel myself off from my zzz monster to get the work completed.
But by then, the tonsils had swollen and the hotness had permeated the entire body.
I only hope I get past the second morning.
*****
I wandered off from the group to keep myself awake and tottered off onto the streets, enjoying the lovely breeze of the evening. I found myself unwittingly sitting down on a bench right next to two Boston lao bengs.
The first one, a fat botak with a thick chain and a fading tattoo on his fatass arm, smiled and offered me his dinner - a huge fatass crossiant. And I returned the smile and declined his offer.
The second one, a fatter dude with hair so scruffy he ought to consider turning botak too, went straight to the point.
"Are you looking for a husband?"
I laughed, and said, "No, thanks. Not really."
After a minute of silence, "So no boyfriend? No husband?"
"Yes. What kind of a world is this, yeah?"
He persisted with a greasy smile, "So are you sure you're not looking for a husband?"
"No, honey. When I am, I'll sure come back here."
I can sure connect with ah bengs anywhere in the world.
Ah Lian what, what to do.
By three in the p.m., you just silently but suddenly zip off into a zombie mode. Your eyes mindlessly gaze towards the window, and you start wishing you were out there instead, or better yet, on your hotel bed miles away. But sunlight always brings about drowsiness (at least when you are an owl), and then you start tearing yourself apart inside while desperately trying to look interested, or even attentive, in the ongoing discussion.
I made it through the first day, but barely.
It ended a rather nice evening though, which I had almost missed when I tried to devise means and ways to get out of the group dinner. But I'm glad I had not the guts to.
So I made it downtown on my first night, thank God.
And I was brought to the Little Italy of Boston, right along Hanover Street in the North End. I fell in love with the street the minute the cab cruised into it. Just like how I remember I fell in love with the Little Italy of San Franscisco the first morning I strolled into it, amazed at all the little Italian cafes serving nothing but creamy lattes and fat, greasy pastries.
In Hanover Street of Boston though, there aren't that many Italian cafes. Instead, every other two steps you take, you walk by a "Something Something Ristorante". And word has it that you never find lousy food in Hanover Street.
The tiny little restaurant with an amazing seating capacity that I ended up in warmed my heart. It was so authentic I found it so romantic. By romantic, I don't mean I would die if I was being proposed to in that place. By romantic, I mean the atmosphere was so quaint and lovely you wished at that very moment you were there instead with a loved one to enjoy the beauty of life (and food).
Well, at least, that was how I felt when I first sat down at the table. After just a couple of whites, however, I was totally zombified. The only romantic notion I had running through my mind was to curl under the white sheets on the hotel bed, and cuddle all the fat pillows.
I made it through the first night, but barely.
I dozed off in the car ride back to the hotel. I took a shower, turned on the computer to start on work, but dozed off again till I had to peel myself off from my zzz monster to get the work completed.
But by then, the tonsils had swollen and the hotness had permeated the entire body.
I only hope I get past the second morning.
*****
I wandered off from the group to keep myself awake and tottered off onto the streets, enjoying the lovely breeze of the evening. I found myself unwittingly sitting down on a bench right next to two Boston lao bengs.
The first one, a fat botak with a thick chain and a fading tattoo on his fatass arm, smiled and offered me his dinner - a huge fatass crossiant. And I returned the smile and declined his offer.
The second one, a fatter dude with hair so scruffy he ought to consider turning botak too, went straight to the point.
"Are you looking for a husband?"
I laughed, and said, "No, thanks. Not really."
After a minute of silence, "So no boyfriend? No husband?"
"Yes. What kind of a world is this, yeah?"
He persisted with a greasy smile, "So are you sure you're not looking for a husband?"
"No, honey. When I am, I'll sure come back here."
I can sure connect with ah bengs anywhere in the world.
Ah Lian what, what to do.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Peaceful
The two-hour delay out of Honks, together with the stubborn refusal of the mind to go into deep sleep, would have sufficed to make me a real grouch by now.
Who ever said one can sleep better in the business cabin?
Add on to that the missed connection to Boston, the perpetual hunger over the last twenty-four hours, the desperate craving for hot Asian soup, and the throbbing ache in the tonsil.
I can so bite a cow now. But wait, I love cows. And I don't think I might fancy raw beef (though my newfound travelmate Hiro-san thinks I will love beef sashimi, if I claim to love Japanese food that much). I don't want to risk getting the mad cow disease either (have you heard of the Taiwanese lady who contracted the disease after she applied some cow placenta to her face, all for beauty's sake?).
So I think I want to bite a human instead. The world has got enough dumb and irritating two-legged creatures to spare me one. Disease-free, please.
I tend to think I'm anatomically flawed.
Why is it that I see everyone sleeping in peace on their fat huge seats, but I just can't lie there and fall asleep?
I eventually curled into a fetal position and fell asleep. But not for more than two hours, because the back started to scream "Ache!" and the legs yelled "Cramp!".
Strange enough though, I am sitting out here in the cold, half past midnight, and I am feeling rather peaceful.
I'm still hungry, but "no supper at night" is probably a sound advice.
I had gin and tonic to accompany me throughout the flight, and so that somewhat brought me back to a familiar place.
I watched two (yes, only two in all of fourteen hours) great movies, both of women and their struggles. They stirred my emotions, which I'm thankful for because it only reminds me I still have what I thought I had. And it reminds me I still believe in what I thought I used to believe. That great life-changing love perhaps does exist out there in the world, and that you don't have to go out to look for love. The great life-changing one comes to you. In ways most unexpected.
I took opportunity of the inability of the mind to rest, and the quietness of the cabin, to do some thinking. I thought, I remembered, I smiled, I made silent thanks. Most of all, I remembered me, and the incidents in my life that have brought me to where and who and what I am now. And so, I decided.
But most of all, I read. I should've done more reading over the past couple of weeks, but I was just too zombified most of the time. So I am rather grateful for the long flight, because I read again. And I am grateful because I should have read this long ago.
I have never felt I belonged. I have never felt understood. I have never felt anyone really knows what I say, what I think. Most of all, I have never felt anyone gives consent for the way I am, for the way I feel, for the way I want to be now. But I think I found a somewhat reflection in Elizabeth. We even 'talk' the same, heck.
The next ten days or so might not be so pleasant for me for now, but I am sure the days beyond will be fine.
It'll be fine. We'll all be fine.
I will be fine.
I just want to catch some real good sleep now.
*Paws crossed*
Who ever said one can sleep better in the business cabin?
Add on to that the missed connection to Boston, the perpetual hunger over the last twenty-four hours, the desperate craving for hot Asian soup, and the throbbing ache in the tonsil.
I can so bite a cow now. But wait, I love cows. And I don't think I might fancy raw beef (though my newfound travelmate Hiro-san thinks I will love beef sashimi, if I claim to love Japanese food that much). I don't want to risk getting the mad cow disease either (have you heard of the Taiwanese lady who contracted the disease after she applied some cow placenta to her face, all for beauty's sake?).
So I think I want to bite a human instead. The world has got enough dumb and irritating two-legged creatures to spare me one. Disease-free, please.
I tend to think I'm anatomically flawed.
Why is it that I see everyone sleeping in peace on their fat huge seats, but I just can't lie there and fall asleep?
I eventually curled into a fetal position and fell asleep. But not for more than two hours, because the back started to scream "Ache!" and the legs yelled "Cramp!".
Strange enough though, I am sitting out here in the cold, half past midnight, and I am feeling rather peaceful.
I'm still hungry, but "no supper at night" is probably a sound advice.
I had gin and tonic to accompany me throughout the flight, and so that somewhat brought me back to a familiar place.
I watched two (yes, only two in all of fourteen hours) great movies, both of women and their struggles. They stirred my emotions, which I'm thankful for because it only reminds me I still have what I thought I had. And it reminds me I still believe in what I thought I used to believe. That great life-changing love perhaps does exist out there in the world, and that you don't have to go out to look for love. The great life-changing one comes to you. In ways most unexpected.
I took opportunity of the inability of the mind to rest, and the quietness of the cabin, to do some thinking. I thought, I remembered, I smiled, I made silent thanks. Most of all, I remembered me, and the incidents in my life that have brought me to where and who and what I am now. And so, I decided.
But most of all, I read. I should've done more reading over the past couple of weeks, but I was just too zombified most of the time. So I am rather grateful for the long flight, because I read again. And I am grateful because I should have read this long ago.
I have never felt I belonged. I have never felt understood. I have never felt anyone really knows what I say, what I think. Most of all, I have never felt anyone gives consent for the way I am, for the way I feel, for the way I want to be now. But I think I found a somewhat reflection in Elizabeth. We even 'talk' the same, heck.
The next ten days or so might not be so pleasant for me for now, but I am sure the days beyond will be fine.
It'll be fine. We'll all be fine.
I will be fine.
I just want to catch some real good sleep now.
*Paws crossed*
Monday, September 24, 2007
Grouch
I am actually early enough, for once, to sit at the cafe with my soy latte before I decide to check in my luggage at the in-town station.
But I am feeling real woozy now.
I think I must've clocked in barely five hours of sleep over the past two nights, after a twelve-hour binge on Friday though.
The headache is sinking in. I cannot process my thoughts at Pentium speed. The Typhoon One blowing outside is only making my head spin more. On my five-minute cab ride to the station, I actually drifted into half-sleep again, and thought I saw my Ah Beng sitting right next to me.
I hate all these hallucinations. They're making me so uncool.
I know I'm going to be very grouchy for the next two weeks.
It's Typhoon One day, it's a half-day off work tomorrow and then a public holiday the next - the first of two in the next two weeks - all in the Honks.
I want to bite someone.
RARR.
But I am feeling real woozy now.
I think I must've clocked in barely five hours of sleep over the past two nights, after a twelve-hour binge on Friday though.
The headache is sinking in. I cannot process my thoughts at Pentium speed. The Typhoon One blowing outside is only making my head spin more. On my five-minute cab ride to the station, I actually drifted into half-sleep again, and thought I saw my Ah Beng sitting right next to me.
I hate all these hallucinations. They're making me so uncool.
I know I'm going to be very grouchy for the next two weeks.
It's Typhoon One day, it's a half-day off work tomorrow and then a public holiday the next - the first of two in the next two weeks - all in the Honks.
I want to bite someone.
RARR.
Drab
I don't know what brought the rain since yesterday.
I just wish it would go away.
Go airport very ley chey.
I just wish it would go away.
Go airport very ley chey.
Fatmama's Eggs
I have been planning for this since yesterday's breakfast.
I have been pining for it since last night, as the stomach growled while I was struggling to concentrate on football and ironing at the same time.
(One of the worst possible kinds of physical discomfort is having an angry stomach weighing down right on the core of you as you lie flat on bed.)
I jumped out of bed this morning, and got started on it immediately.
Fatmama's Three-Mushroom, Lettuce & Chives Omelette.
I know, the combi's weird. All I really wanted to do was to clear the stuff in the fridge before I left - especially the eggs.
Omelettes are easier than soft-boiled eggs. Still, Fatmama's not too pleased with today's work: a little too dry on the outside, a little too runny on the inside. I gotta figure out that silly toy of an induction hob I have.
Anyway, I can't really tell you if it was awesome because I wolfed the whole two eggs down.
I have been pining for it since last night, as the stomach growled while I was struggling to concentrate on football and ironing at the same time.
(One of the worst possible kinds of physical discomfort is having an angry stomach weighing down right on the core of you as you lie flat on bed.)
I jumped out of bed this morning, and got started on it immediately.
Fatmama's Three-Mushroom, Lettuce & Chives Omelette.
I know, the combi's weird. All I really wanted to do was to clear the stuff in the fridge before I left - especially the eggs.
Omelettes are easier than soft-boiled eggs. Still, Fatmama's not too pleased with today's work: a little too dry on the outside, a little too runny on the inside. I gotta figure out that silly toy of an induction hob I have.
Anyway, I can't really tell you if it was awesome because I wolfed the whole two eggs down.
Still Ironing
If I wasn't packing ten days' worth of clothes for that stupid trip, I wouldn't be ironing this much tonight.
I deserve it anyway.
Ten days in a cool weather/freezer-office make that somewhat double the amount of clothes to pack. Add in one or two spare ones, just in case... you know. I don't know, actually, so I should just skip that.
After these many years of travelling, I have finally wisened up and learned to travel lighter. I used to bring along my wardrobe. Now I just decide and skip the maybes. Which is the tough thing to learn, really.
Besides, I need space in my luggage this time round. I am so going to hunt them Uggs down.
Pardon the suaku in me, but after all these years of living in birkies and sneakers, I am rather excited at the thought of booting up my wardrobe.
But if there's one thing I'm good at already, it's gotta be the underwear load.
I never bring excess, and I never bring the same number of underpants as the days I'm travelling.
Because I do bring my laundry powder and wash them at the end of the day.
BECAUSE I CAN NEVER, FOR THE LIFE OF ME, UNDERSTAND HOW SOME PEOPLE CAN BRING HOME TEN DAYS' WORTH OF DIRTY UNDERPANTS.
I deserve it anyway.
Ten days in a cool weather/freezer-office make that somewhat double the amount of clothes to pack. Add in one or two spare ones, just in case... you know. I don't know, actually, so I should just skip that.
After these many years of travelling, I have finally wisened up and learned to travel lighter. I used to bring along my wardrobe. Now I just decide and skip the maybes. Which is the tough thing to learn, really.
Besides, I need space in my luggage this time round. I am so going to hunt them Uggs down.
Pardon the suaku in me, but after all these years of living in birkies and sneakers, I am rather excited at the thought of booting up my wardrobe.
But if there's one thing I'm good at already, it's gotta be the underwear load.
I never bring excess, and I never bring the same number of underpants as the days I'm travelling.
Because I do bring my laundry powder and wash them at the end of the day.
BECAUSE I CAN NEVER, FOR THE LIFE OF ME, UNDERSTAND HOW SOME PEOPLE CAN BRING HOME TEN DAYS' WORTH OF DIRTY UNDERPANTS.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
以毒攻毒
I needed pain therapy today.
After a morning of laundry, crappy-but-cooked-with-pride-nonetheless porridge, quite some ironing and other supposedly soul-calming household chores, I decided I was going crazy staying in and about to break down.
So then, I decided I needed pain.
Sometimes, it's more like a game to me. It's about how much further I could push my own threshold.
If I could actually feel the pain, then perhaps all else doesn't matter.
So, I picked up the phone and made an appointment with Mean Fingers Bobo.
I had no qualm booking ninety minutes with her today. Give me two hours, if you insist.
Though still pain-inducing, I felt a tad disappointed that it didn't bring me as much pain as it had a week before. And it didn't give me the pain I was so desperately looking for.
How could my tolerance have increased over a week? Or, was it just immunity?
Yes, I did wince at times, I did raise my arms in moments of reflex, but I also actually drifted into half-sleep because I was certain I thought I saw Ah Yue in the room with me.
Great. Pain-induced hallucinations. Just about what I needed most.
Meanwhile, MFB remembered me and, like what all other therapists would, said to me today, "Wa, le ge yok hou saat ah."
Hmm. I am pretty sure she didn't mean the saat in saat saat bo chio.
I think she basically said I am tough meat.
I do try to take it as a compliment though, since she followed up with a comment that most people train all they want but can never get my kind of 'tough meat'.
Whatever.
Since my intended pain therapy failed me, I decided I would go for round two.
A Thai restaurant that actually plays Thai soft rock. How cool is that?
Remembering also that I would be stuck with two weeks of cold salads and sandwiches, I decided there was no better time than now to spice my life. With porkless yum woon sen with lots and lots and lots of Thai chili padi.
It was a terrible experience.
Breaking out in sweat from within, yet shivering on the outside from the coldness of the restaurant.
I almost wanted to puke. So I decided to numb myself further by chomping down the generous serves of chili padi.
And now I have a complaining tummy to deal with.
So nothing worked.
But I am glad I got out of the house.
The song on repeat mode would have killed me sooner or later.
After a morning of laundry, crappy-but-cooked-with-pride-nonetheless porridge, quite some ironing and other supposedly soul-calming household chores, I decided I was going crazy staying in and about to break down.
So then, I decided I needed pain.
Sometimes, it's more like a game to me. It's about how much further I could push my own threshold.
If I could actually feel the pain, then perhaps all else doesn't matter.
So, I picked up the phone and made an appointment with Mean Fingers Bobo.
I had no qualm booking ninety minutes with her today. Give me two hours, if you insist.
Though still pain-inducing, I felt a tad disappointed that it didn't bring me as much pain as it had a week before. And it didn't give me the pain I was so desperately looking for.
How could my tolerance have increased over a week? Or, was it just immunity?
Yes, I did wince at times, I did raise my arms in moments of reflex, but I also actually drifted into half-sleep because I was certain I thought I saw Ah Yue in the room with me.
Great. Pain-induced hallucinations. Just about what I needed most.
Meanwhile, MFB remembered me and, like what all other therapists would, said to me today, "Wa, le ge yok hou saat ah."
Hmm. I am pretty sure she didn't mean the saat in saat saat bo chio.
I think she basically said I am tough meat.
I do try to take it as a compliment though, since she followed up with a comment that most people train all they want but can never get my kind of 'tough meat'.
Whatever.
Since my intended pain therapy failed me, I decided I would go for round two.
A Thai restaurant that actually plays Thai soft rock. How cool is that?
Remembering also that I would be stuck with two weeks of cold salads and sandwiches, I decided there was no better time than now to spice my life. With porkless yum woon sen with lots and lots and lots of Thai chili padi.
It was a terrible experience.
Breaking out in sweat from within, yet shivering on the outside from the coldness of the restaurant.
I almost wanted to puke. So I decided to numb myself further by chomping down the generous serves of chili padi.
And now I have a complaining tummy to deal with.
So nothing worked.
But I am glad I got out of the house.
The song on repeat mode would have killed me sooner or later.
Friday, September 21, 2007
我不想走 去你媽的路口
And my love for ah bengs grow by the day.
I just found another one to add to my life. I am starting to think, maybe my heart got many many space for ah bengs one.
I am sorry, Jay.
I only met your friend, Ah Yue, two days ago, and I am already sleeping with him.
In fact, we were practically inseparable since the moment we met. He teased me while I was trying to concentrate hard at work. Then he walked me from the office to the subway, and yes, he took the subway ride with me. I even brought him along to my hangout the same night.
He was the first person I wanted close to me since I woke up this morning. And then, we did it. I slept with him on the train ride into Guangzhou (I didn't bring you because I know you love Shanghai much more). And then, we did it again on the way back. And all the way back home.
In fact, I think I am sleeping with him again tonight.
Or rather, I think he's just going to be there for me while I toy with the idea of staying awake.
All he ever does is to say the same things over and over and over again to me. And Jay honey, I think he's more beng than you.
I just love it when ah bengs tell me their sad love stories and whisper sweet nothings into my ears.
總有些話是不能提 怕你會掉入選擇題
我把情感自私的那一面 隱藏在黑夜裡
我不管未來會怎麼樣 至少我們現在很開心
我不管結局會怎麼樣 至少想念的人是你
我不管未來會怎麼樣 但我每天都想見到你
我不管結局會怎麼樣 我想真的跟你在一起
如果你還是沒法相信 真的沒關係 我會安靜的離去
I just found another one to add to my life. I am starting to think, maybe my heart got many many space for ah bengs one.
I am sorry, Jay.
I only met your friend, Ah Yue, two days ago, and I am already sleeping with him.
In fact, we were practically inseparable since the moment we met. He teased me while I was trying to concentrate hard at work. Then he walked me from the office to the subway, and yes, he took the subway ride with me. I even brought him along to my hangout the same night.
He was the first person I wanted close to me since I woke up this morning. And then, we did it. I slept with him on the train ride into Guangzhou (I didn't bring you because I know you love Shanghai much more). And then, we did it again on the way back. And all the way back home.
In fact, I think I am sleeping with him again tonight.
Or rather, I think he's just going to be there for me while I toy with the idea of staying awake.
All he ever does is to say the same things over and over and over again to me. And Jay honey, I think he's more beng than you.
I just love it when ah bengs tell me their sad love stories and whisper sweet nothings into my ears.
總有些話是不能提 怕你會掉入選擇題
我把情感自私的那一面 隱藏在黑夜裡
我不管未來會怎麼樣 至少我們現在很開心
我不管結局會怎麼樣 至少想念的人是你
我不管未來會怎麼樣 但我每天都想見到你
我不管結局會怎麼樣 我想真的跟你在一起
如果你還是沒法相信 真的沒關係 我會安靜的離去
Awake
I think I am mad.
It's five, and I don't think I want to sleep.
I mean, I am tired, but not that tired. Must have been all the naps I took the entire day, on the trains and in the car. I could do with some sleep, but that would almost definitely mean I would oversleep, and get in work late, and get fucked because I have tons to finish tomorrow.
Alternatively, I could go to work at six, then come home at four while everyone else is still having smoke breaks and fighting off the zzz monster at their desks.
That is, IF I can finish my tons by four.
It's Friday.
And I think I am turning the antithesis again.
Good thing I've stocked up my chiller.
*****
My boy had to come all the way to the Honks to see me.
And tell me, "I think you need a man."
Go home lah.
It's five, and I don't think I want to sleep.
I mean, I am tired, but not that tired. Must have been all the naps I took the entire day, on the trains and in the car. I could do with some sleep, but that would almost definitely mean I would oversleep, and get in work late, and get fucked because I have tons to finish tomorrow.
Alternatively, I could go to work at six, then come home at four while everyone else is still having smoke breaks and fighting off the zzz monster at their desks.
That is, IF I can finish my tons by four.
It's Friday.
And I think I am turning the antithesis again.
Good thing I've stocked up my chiller.
*****
My boy had to come all the way to the Honks to see me.
And tell me, "I think you need a man."
Go home lah.
Settling
Honestly, I still have no true answer to the often-asked question: "So have you settled in?"
I am very close to being a three-month-old Honk (how time bledy flies), yet I feel at times more like I am on an extended business trip.
Granted I have a rather awesome apartment to hang out in and fill up with groceries and toilet paper, but with all the surreal decor and furniture, I could have easily thought I had been provided a decent serviced apartment (with no service, of course - lousy, stingy company!).
But most of all, I can't feel totally settled in because I have not been staying here for anything more than two weeks at any one time so far.
The travels, though fun, have tired me out (now I found my excuse for the ironing lag). The weekly balling sessions I look forward to, have become the only thing that I seem to live for now: I get so killed on Saturdays, I take Sundays, Mondays, and Tuesdays to feel the least bit normalized again. Then, the shitty work just saps all remaining energy.
In between, I struggle to do my laundry on time just so I don't run out of space on the drying rack, run frivolous errands like buying soya milk for tomorrow's breakfast, burn thirty minutes on the treadmill during lunch, and squeeze in my chill-out fix.
I am not saying I want to live like a real Honk. I am saying I want to live like a happy single babe, lapping up the Honks (the country, not the men).
I want to go home early from work. I want to actually start cooking proper. I want to read the books I've brought over. I want to watch one of them damn DVDs in my crate. I want to have an easy run at the gym near my home.
I want to sign up for Japanese classes. I want to start my Pilates program. I want to plan a weekend getaway to Taipei. I even want to do a bloody facial! I can't even find the mood to apply my own face masks at home.
Still, I gripe too much, perhaps.
Life in the Honks so far hasn't really been that bad for me.
And I have plenty to thank for. My bro and his boys who have been here for me since day one, and who keep my Singapore slang alive (I feel so loved when they kanina me). The weekly balling sessions. Jay, who continues travelling to places with me, though now on subways and not in my car. The easy access to weeknight drinks.
The new Singaporean friends I just made tonight only make me count my lucky stars over again. Especially when they started to kaninabeychaoch**b**.
I don't feel so foreign here. I don't feel a need to create a life.
I just feel, I can possibly live my life here... anywhere.
I just gotta get that karaoke started, though.
*****
I am beginning to believe in fate.
On my day trip into Guangzhou today to visit the factory, the host graciously took us out to lunch... at a Japanese restaurant.
I am very close to being a three-month-old Honk (how time bledy flies), yet I feel at times more like I am on an extended business trip.
Granted I have a rather awesome apartment to hang out in and fill up with groceries and toilet paper, but with all the surreal decor and furniture, I could have easily thought I had been provided a decent serviced apartment (with no service, of course - lousy, stingy company!).
But most of all, I can't feel totally settled in because I have not been staying here for anything more than two weeks at any one time so far.
The travels, though fun, have tired me out (now I found my excuse for the ironing lag). The weekly balling sessions I look forward to, have become the only thing that I seem to live for now: I get so killed on Saturdays, I take Sundays, Mondays, and Tuesdays to feel the least bit normalized again. Then, the shitty work just saps all remaining energy.
In between, I struggle to do my laundry on time just so I don't run out of space on the drying rack, run frivolous errands like buying soya milk for tomorrow's breakfast, burn thirty minutes on the treadmill during lunch, and squeeze in my chill-out fix.
I am not saying I want to live like a real Honk. I am saying I want to live like a happy single babe, lapping up the Honks (the country, not the men).
I want to go home early from work. I want to actually start cooking proper. I want to read the books I've brought over. I want to watch one of them damn DVDs in my crate. I want to have an easy run at the gym near my home.
I want to sign up for Japanese classes. I want to start my Pilates program. I want to plan a weekend getaway to Taipei. I even want to do a bloody facial! I can't even find the mood to apply my own face masks at home.
Still, I gripe too much, perhaps.
Life in the Honks so far hasn't really been that bad for me.
And I have plenty to thank for. My bro and his boys who have been here for me since day one, and who keep my Singapore slang alive (I feel so loved when they kanina me). The weekly balling sessions. Jay, who continues travelling to places with me, though now on subways and not in my car. The easy access to weeknight drinks.
The new Singaporean friends I just made tonight only make me count my lucky stars over again. Especially when they started to kaninabeychaoch**b**.
I don't feel so foreign here. I don't feel a need to create a life.
I just feel, I can possibly live my life here... anywhere.
I just gotta get that karaoke started, though.
*****
I am beginning to believe in fate.
On my day trip into Guangzhou today to visit the factory, the host graciously took us out to lunch... at a Japanese restaurant.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
On The First Day Of...
The Chinese celebrate fifteen days of the Lunar New Year. The English celebrate twelve days of Christmas.
And your awesome Fatmama here is going to beat them all.
I have decided today, that I am going to celebrate eighteen days of my Mid-Life Day. And of course, in a different twist as well, it shall commence as of today.
Eighteen days sound like a whopping party, but hey, only once in every thirty years, I think I can pardon myself.
Back at home, I might have eighteen friends (yes, I am pretty sure at least eighteen of my MSN friends would) to make merry with on that one day. But here, if I can't have eighteen friends, I will find eighteen MEs. One for each day.
Sounds awesome, doesn't it?
Then again, eighteen days really aren't a lot. If you'd consider my eleven days of non-stop working in Boreston in the midst of The Celebration, you would feel very cheated on my behalf, wouldn't you?
So I am really left with seven days. Only seven freakin' days. Thank God I will have my very last day of The Celebration back here in the Honks.
Hmm. Seven days... seven days. One for each sin, how about that?
Mmmm... let's see.
Greed: I could go shopping and pick up as much freebies as I can from the cosmetic counters.
Sloth: I could just do nothing by not getting out of bed. That's gotta be a weekend, though.
Wrath: This is tough. Should I go around killing stupid people? That's actually not tough, hmm.
Envy: Another tough one. Maybe I could go to the beach, get a tan, and ogle at the beautiful bodies. That's another weekend trip, and I don't think I have enough.
Pride: Hmm. Go facial? Put on my best dress? Wear heels? Pretend I am some B-grade actress (which I think, with my excellent Oscar-deserving acting skills, I can easily pull off because they are apparently everywhere) and make a scene in a restaurant?
Gluttony: No need to think, this one. I could very possibly self-combust without having to get past the Hellgates.
Lust: *Zip*
Sigh.
I think I will just settle for seven days of gluttony. And a day of karaoke.
And your awesome Fatmama here is going to beat them all.
I have decided today, that I am going to celebrate eighteen days of my Mid-Life Day. And of course, in a different twist as well, it shall commence as of today.
Eighteen days sound like a whopping party, but hey, only once in every thirty years, I think I can pardon myself.
Back at home, I might have eighteen friends (yes, I am pretty sure at least eighteen of my MSN friends would) to make merry with on that one day. But here, if I can't have eighteen friends, I will find eighteen MEs. One for each day.
Sounds awesome, doesn't it?
Then again, eighteen days really aren't a lot. If you'd consider my eleven days of non-stop working in Boreston in the midst of The Celebration, you would feel very cheated on my behalf, wouldn't you?
So I am really left with seven days. Only seven freakin' days. Thank God I will have my very last day of The Celebration back here in the Honks.
Hmm. Seven days... seven days. One for each sin, how about that?
Mmmm... let's see.
Greed: I could go shopping and pick up as much freebies as I can from the cosmetic counters.
Sloth: I could just do nothing by not getting out of bed. That's gotta be a weekend, though.
Wrath: This is tough. Should I go around killing stupid people? That's actually not tough, hmm.
Envy: Another tough one. Maybe I could go to the beach, get a tan, and ogle at the beautiful bodies. That's another weekend trip, and I don't think I have enough.
Pride: Hmm. Go facial? Put on my best dress? Wear heels? Pretend I am some B-grade actress (which I think, with my excellent Oscar-deserving acting skills, I can easily pull off because they are apparently everywhere) and make a scene in a restaurant?
Gluttony: No need to think, this one. I could very possibly self-combust without having to get past the Hellgates.
Lust: *Zip*
Sigh.
I think I will just settle for seven days of gluttony. And a day of karaoke.
Tongued
So the love affair continues.
With nihon ryōri, of course. But silly me, I was feeling so delirious over dinner (or, was it supper?), probably thanks in part to the sake (the wine, not the fish), I forgot to whip out my well-loved camera-phone. Next time, confirm - promise.
And abundance there was last night.
From the toro, to the tempura, to the saba, to the gyutan, to the shabu-shabu.
We ate like we never tasted food that good before. We ate like we had a bottomless pit in us.
We ate like it was our last supper.
If good food makes me happy, stumbling unexpectedly into good food makes me high.
So I fell asleep on the couch, and woke too early this morning.
The lids are heavy, the mind's groggy, but at least the sake put me to deep, undisturbed sleep, so the body's strangely alive. The hobble is almost gone. It has to go, before Saturday, at least.
I had some thoughts that went into slumber with me. And then I had a really weird dream, and come to think about it, now I remember what jolted me awake at half-past-six.
Standing in the hot shower fifteen minutes later, I stopped thinking about the weird dream, but I went back to the thoughts that had gone to bed (or, couch) with me. And I just stood right there for another fifteen.
Then I stepped out, checked myself in the mirror again, and the rosy cheeks were still there. Right beneath the puffy eyebags.
And then, I decided.
Nothing will take anything away from me.
No one will ever take anything away from me. Ever again.
There are many ways I can make myself happy, I learn. There are many things I can do.
Like, for instance, playing dress-up.
Sounds stupid, but hey, it works. Like it did today. After a couple of mixing and matching, I unwittingly found myself in the 'Oliver Twist' theme today.
Very, very cool.
Someone special's in town to see me tonight.
Okay, that's make-believe.
He's not exactly that special (yes, don't pout, you are not). He's not in town to see me.
Still, I am seeing him, and it is making me excited.
P.S.: And in the morning after, I am still not quite sure about the gyutan. I mean, while undoubtedly yummsy, it is still a tongue. I like eating tongues, but not this way.
With nihon ryōri, of course. But silly me, I was feeling so delirious over dinner (or, was it supper?), probably thanks in part to the sake (the wine, not the fish), I forgot to whip out my well-loved camera-phone. Next time, confirm - promise.
And abundance there was last night.
From the toro, to the tempura, to the saba, to the gyutan, to the shabu-shabu.
We ate like we never tasted food that good before. We ate like we had a bottomless pit in us.
We ate like it was our last supper.
If good food makes me happy, stumbling unexpectedly into good food makes me high.
So I fell asleep on the couch, and woke too early this morning.
The lids are heavy, the mind's groggy, but at least the sake put me to deep, undisturbed sleep, so the body's strangely alive. The hobble is almost gone. It has to go, before Saturday, at least.
I had some thoughts that went into slumber with me. And then I had a really weird dream, and come to think about it, now I remember what jolted me awake at half-past-six.
Standing in the hot shower fifteen minutes later, I stopped thinking about the weird dream, but I went back to the thoughts that had gone to bed (or, couch) with me. And I just stood right there for another fifteen.
Then I stepped out, checked myself in the mirror again, and the rosy cheeks were still there. Right beneath the puffy eyebags.
And then, I decided.
Nothing will take anything away from me.
No one will ever take anything away from me. Ever again.
There are many ways I can make myself happy, I learn. There are many things I can do.
Like, for instance, playing dress-up.
Sounds stupid, but hey, it works. Like it did today. After a couple of mixing and matching, I unwittingly found myself in the 'Oliver Twist' theme today.
Very, very cool.
Someone special's in town to see me tonight.
Okay, that's make-believe.
He's not exactly that special (yes, don't pout, you are not). He's not in town to see me.
Still, I am seeing him, and it is making me excited.
P.S.: And in the morning after, I am still not quite sure about the gyutan. I mean, while undoubtedly yummsy, it is still a tongue. I like eating tongues, but not this way.
Monday, September 17, 2007
ID'd
Oh yay. I am finally no longer an U.F.O. in the Honks.
What a hassle it has been, just to be able to borrow library books.
What a hassle it has been, just to be able to borrow library books.
=/
I woke up this morning with flushed cheeks and rosy lips.
And I smiled. I must've done something good for myself.
And then I frowned, 'cos maybe it might just be a sign of impending sickness. Which explains the other symptom of an aching body.
=/
*****
I was walking into my favorite store to grab a quick buy when, all of a sudden, my flushed cheeks burned with embarrassment.
I hope none of the folks actually thought I was a walking mannequin.
=/
And I smiled. I must've done something good for myself.
And then I frowned, 'cos maybe it might just be a sign of impending sickness. Which explains the other symptom of an aching body.
=/
*****
I was walking into my favorite store to grab a quick buy when, all of a sudden, my flushed cheeks burned with embarrassment.
I hope none of the folks actually thought I was a walking mannequin.
=/
Carpaccio'd
*Grrrr*
*Slurp*
Well, the *Grrrr* might have been the gas still churning in my stomach, but I definitely thought it was the calling of a hunger pang.
I sake'd (the fish, not the wine). I maguro'd. I saba'd. I miso'd.
And then, I carpaccio'd.
I had eaten in the whole week. I deserve this, don't I?
Dozo, dozo.
*Slurp*
Well, the *Grrrr* might have been the gas still churning in my stomach, but I definitely thought it was the calling of a hunger pang.
I sake'd (the fish, not the wine). I maguro'd. I saba'd. I miso'd.
And then, I carpaccio'd.
I had eaten in the whole week. I deserve this, don't I?
Dozo, dozo.
Lum Ba
My latest and newest obsession.
And no, it is NOT that dirty word.
It all started shortly after I arrived in Honks and decided it was probably the best time to revamp my life. I could no longer run away from the fact that in the ten months that I had been shaking legs, I had also been bloating up, nurturing some unnecessary blubbs, becoming more sluggish than a slug.
The fact also that the knee is slowly but surely busting up again, very possibly breaking down under the extra blubbs as I intensify my activities, was the last straw.
So I decided, enough is enough. And I made up my mind, I need to learn to detox and eat better, and I need to embrace more good habits. With that, I have subconsciously created two new Fatmottos.
One: I will eat to live - so I can eat.
Two: For every one bad habit I have, I shall practise ten good ones.
So, I don't aim to give up the good food. I just don't have to have it everyday. And I will save my palate for only the best. No mediocre wannabes. No three-stars, only five-stars.
Neither do I aim to give up the bad habits. Thank God I have very few, like maybe two. Ok, maybe three.
So I started reading about glycemic indices and low-carbohydrate recipes. I learnt about eating six small meals over three big ones and resistance training to keep the muscles going. I am going to look for a real Pilates teacher once I am done with all the travelling, to balance out my strenuous activities.
But before that, I found out about lymphatic drainage treatments and got hooked on the idea.
Thus began my fervent search for lum ba.
But these aren't cheap deals, as I soon found out. And being the kiam ku that I am, I decided to hold the seemingly professional and authentic ones and seek the cheaper alternatives at the massage parlors first.
The first three places I went to, I had an easy time and I came out feeling good and all. But it just didn't feel right. Like I would know what was right since I had never had a real lymphatic treatment before, but something in my head just told me, "This is not it. There must be something better."
After all, I felt more like I had a good relaxing body massage than anything different.
And then, today, I attained enlightenment. Or so, I'd like to think.
I really wasn't planning for a massage. I really only wanted to be a coffeeship girl today.
But as I limped down a dirty little street off Lyndhurst Terrace that I usually don't take, the bright yellow signboard of the reflexology parlor hanging prominently above the otherwise nondescript street caught my eye - and tickled my backside - immediately. I remember noticing the signboard before, but never bothering to take those extra few steps down to check it out.
Well, I did today. And I even walked in. And in less than five minutes, I was stripped down to my undies again.
What would happen to me for the next sixty minutes turned out to be one of the most painful moments of my life.
"OOH! AAH! EEW! WAH LAU!"
This must've been the very first time I went through an entire massage session without snoring one bit. God, I actually wished she would take a club and knock me flat out at some point - and that was even before she had finished with the first leg.
There I was, squirming and squeezing my butt, flailing my arms, even raising my head. But she wouldn't relent.
In fact, she seemed to ignore my reactions altogether, never once asking if I was still alive. But I actually like that.
She wasn't unkind. Just very matter-of-factly cool.
"WAAH. This part is so knotted up, can you feel it?" she asked as she hardened her fingers and pressed with all her life to sort out the knots behind my right knee. I raised my head at that point, but it wasn't to answer her question. Besides, I was in no right frame of mind to think of the right Cantonese words to say.
The legs were the worst - from the calves, to the back of the knees, to the thighs. The shoulders and back were terrible too, especially the flanks. I almost died when she worked on my neck and chest (and thankfully no boob job). And when she started on the stomach... ok wait, I take back my words. The stomach is THE worst.
Half the time she was pressing and rubbing around the mid-torso (there are many lymph nodes around the tor zai, so I found out), my stomach was just churning and growling.
"Mmm, a lot of gas you have," she offered. I had to squeeze the butt harder, because I really couldn't embarrass myself any further by farting now, could I?
The ordeal ended after what felt like two hours.
Other than some sores in my calves still, I actually felt more alive than when I had first walked in. I actually felt less bloated too - which was a bad thing because I mistook that as having more space for food in my stomach. =/
"Sixty minutes too short. I cannot clear everything for you in sixty minutes. Sixty minutes means I can spend only ten minutes on each body part. Next time, do ninety minutes at least."
*Gulp*
Yes, Bobo.
What a cute name for such strong hands.
And no, it is NOT that dirty word.
It all started shortly after I arrived in Honks and decided it was probably the best time to revamp my life. I could no longer run away from the fact that in the ten months that I had been shaking legs, I had also been bloating up, nurturing some unnecessary blubbs, becoming more sluggish than a slug.
The fact also that the knee is slowly but surely busting up again, very possibly breaking down under the extra blubbs as I intensify my activities, was the last straw.
So I decided, enough is enough. And I made up my mind, I need to learn to detox and eat better, and I need to embrace more good habits. With that, I have subconsciously created two new Fatmottos.
One: I will eat to live - so I can eat.
Two: For every one bad habit I have, I shall practise ten good ones.
So, I don't aim to give up the good food. I just don't have to have it everyday. And I will save my palate for only the best. No mediocre wannabes. No three-stars, only five-stars.
Neither do I aim to give up the bad habits. Thank God I have very few, like maybe two. Ok, maybe three.
So I started reading about glycemic indices and low-carbohydrate recipes. I learnt about eating six small meals over three big ones and resistance training to keep the muscles going. I am going to look for a real Pilates teacher once I am done with all the travelling, to balance out my strenuous activities.
But before that, I found out about lymphatic drainage treatments and got hooked on the idea.
Thus began my fervent search for lum ba.
But these aren't cheap deals, as I soon found out. And being the kiam ku that I am, I decided to hold the seemingly professional and authentic ones and seek the cheaper alternatives at the massage parlors first.
The first three places I went to, I had an easy time and I came out feeling good and all. But it just didn't feel right. Like I would know what was right since I had never had a real lymphatic treatment before, but something in my head just told me, "This is not it. There must be something better."
After all, I felt more like I had a good relaxing body massage than anything different.
And then, today, I attained enlightenment. Or so, I'd like to think.
I really wasn't planning for a massage. I really only wanted to be a coffeeship girl today.
But as I limped down a dirty little street off Lyndhurst Terrace that I usually don't take, the bright yellow signboard of the reflexology parlor hanging prominently above the otherwise nondescript street caught my eye - and tickled my backside - immediately. I remember noticing the signboard before, but never bothering to take those extra few steps down to check it out.
Well, I did today. And I even walked in. And in less than five minutes, I was stripped down to my undies again.
What would happen to me for the next sixty minutes turned out to be one of the most painful moments of my life.
"OOH! AAH! EEW! WAH LAU!"
This must've been the very first time I went through an entire massage session without snoring one bit. God, I actually wished she would take a club and knock me flat out at some point - and that was even before she had finished with the first leg.
There I was, squirming and squeezing my butt, flailing my arms, even raising my head. But she wouldn't relent.
In fact, she seemed to ignore my reactions altogether, never once asking if I was still alive. But I actually like that.
She wasn't unkind. Just very matter-of-factly cool.
"WAAH. This part is so knotted up, can you feel it?" she asked as she hardened her fingers and pressed with all her life to sort out the knots behind my right knee. I raised my head at that point, but it wasn't to answer her question. Besides, I was in no right frame of mind to think of the right Cantonese words to say.
The legs were the worst - from the calves, to the back of the knees, to the thighs. The shoulders and back were terrible too, especially the flanks. I almost died when she worked on my neck and chest (and thankfully no boob job). And when she started on the stomach... ok wait, I take back my words. The stomach is THE worst.
Half the time she was pressing and rubbing around the mid-torso (there are many lymph nodes around the tor zai, so I found out), my stomach was just churning and growling.
"Mmm, a lot of gas you have," she offered. I had to squeeze the butt harder, because I really couldn't embarrass myself any further by farting now, could I?
The ordeal ended after what felt like two hours.
Other than some sores in my calves still, I actually felt more alive than when I had first walked in. I actually felt less bloated too - which was a bad thing because I mistook that as having more space for food in my stomach. =/
"Sixty minutes too short. I cannot clear everything for you in sixty minutes. Sixty minutes means I can spend only ten minutes on each body part. Next time, do ninety minutes at least."
*Gulp*
Yes, Bobo.
What a cute name for such strong hands.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
A Brother's Pride
Bro: I am really very proud of you.
Me: Huh? Why leh?
Bro: No lor, just very proud of the fact that my sis is playing basketball with the boys.
: )
Just like a little girl who plays with Lego and toycars and watches Mask and Transformers so her big brother would always approve of the little sis, I was feeling so very pleased.
Me: Huh? Why leh?
Bro: No lor, just very proud of the fact that my sis is playing basketball with the boys.
: )
Just like a little girl who plays with Lego and toycars and watches Mask and Transformers so her big brother would always approve of the little sis, I was feeling so very pleased.
Coffeeshop Auntie
It is such a lazy Sunday afternoon. Just like all the ones before, for the past two months.
Especially the past few ones, where I just wish I could lie down in bed forever after crawling home from the courts the evenings before.
And, by the way, your Momma here is heating up the courts. Mai siao siao, ok. I am slowly, one by one, chooting all my pattern.
Now those boys have got nothing else to say but "pass the ball to the lui zai".
But life, like always, is never fair.
While the form is getting better, the body is not.
I didn't crawl home last night; I limped. The ice pack did nothing to take away the excruciating pain in the knee.
Anyways, I had crashed into the couch and was about to root my butt there when I decided, no way am I going to stay home. What better time than Sunday to get out there and take in the eclectic smells of conpoys and mushrooms?
And so I did.
And I slowly find my way to the cafe. Pacific today, after stupid Starbucks failed me.
Then I pull out the mac. And here I am typing away.
I can't help it. I am such a coffeeshop girl.
Oh, and it has been one of the best weekends of my life.
Sometimes, I wish time could stand still.
Especially the past few ones, where I just wish I could lie down in bed forever after crawling home from the courts the evenings before.
And, by the way, your Momma here is heating up the courts. Mai siao siao, ok. I am slowly, one by one, chooting all my pattern.
Now those boys have got nothing else to say but "pass the ball to the lui zai".
But life, like always, is never fair.
While the form is getting better, the body is not.
I didn't crawl home last night; I limped. The ice pack did nothing to take away the excruciating pain in the knee.
Anyways, I had crashed into the couch and was about to root my butt there when I decided, no way am I going to stay home. What better time than Sunday to get out there and take in the eclectic smells of conpoys and mushrooms?
And so I did.
And I slowly find my way to the cafe. Pacific today, after stupid Starbucks failed me.
Then I pull out the mac. And here I am typing away.
I can't help it. I am such a coffeeshop girl.
Oh, and it has been one of the best weekends of my life.
Sometimes, I wish time could stand still.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Escalators
So I came from a place where I could stand wherever I wanted to on the escalator, to one where I had to line up on the right. Then, to another where I had to, albeit for a short while, realign myself to the left.
And now, I'm back to the right side. Or, is it the left?
Wait... I think it's the right.
Ah, the milder complications of my life.
And now, I'm back to the right side. Or, is it the left?
Wait... I think it's the right.
Ah, the milder complications of my life.
Lagging
I used to love Math. Math was one of my favorite, and one of my best, subjects in school.
At least in high school then.
Give me any 'E' Math or 'A' Math assignment any day, and I'd get it all done in a jiffy.
When it came to the dreaded preparation for exams, everytime I got frustrated and stressed out over Physics or Chinese Literature or Chemistry, I would pick up the Math books and start finding solutions.
Ah, the immense pleasure it gave me - cranking up the brain juices again and reaching enlightenment on my own.
And then, I went to junior college.
The new Math 'C' still got me a little excited, though jolted at the same time. But man, I hated 'F' Math. 'F' Math single-handedly killed all my love and passion for the subject I used to turn to in times of distress.
I could never catch up on the subject. I was always behind the classes. All while trying to grasp the other brand new subjects of Accountancy and Economics.
Slowly, but surely, I started to hate symbols and equations. I shut off during lectures. I pouted and dozed off during tutorials. I kept all the sheets of tutorials and assignments as fresh and crisp as they'd been when they first came out from the photocopying machine. I slacked and I lagged further and further behind.
Three months later, I quit the faculty.
I returned to a single Math class. And I regained my passion too.
No prizes for guessing my final grade for my favorite subject.
In the very same way I loved Math, I love ironing too.
Ah, the pleasure it gives me - the hissing sounds from the steam iron, and the final crisp product that emerges from my meticulous pressing.
But in the very same way I developed a resentment toward Math when I finally could not cope with it, I am beginning to resent ironing. Especially when I stare at the mound of freshly (or maybe not-so-freshly-anymore) laundered but still crumpled clothes I mindlessly throw into the wardrobe.
I am feeling so defeated. I am washing faster than I can iron. And I hate this feeling.
Dear God, please give me the faith, and the strength, and the will to finish all the ironing quick.
Pleeeaaase. Before I start on the next batch of laundry.
*****
Mom: How's the ironing?
ME: Okay, fine. I actually like ironing. (And I can feel Mom's proud beam at the other end of the phone line.) Except hor, I iron damn slow lor.
Mom: Haha. It's ok. It's like that one.
ME: No, I am REALLY slow. Like I iron two shirts in one hour.
Mom: Huh? How come so slow? You cannot iron shirt, is it?
ME: No. Because ironing is very boring, I always end up putting on the Korean drama DVD at the same time. And because it's Korean, I end up having my eyes glued to the screen all the time. So, I iron two shirts in one episode lor.
At least in high school then.
Give me any 'E' Math or 'A' Math assignment any day, and I'd get it all done in a jiffy.
When it came to the dreaded preparation for exams, everytime I got frustrated and stressed out over Physics or Chinese Literature or Chemistry, I would pick up the Math books and start finding solutions.
Ah, the immense pleasure it gave me - cranking up the brain juices again and reaching enlightenment on my own.
And then, I went to junior college.
The new Math 'C' still got me a little excited, though jolted at the same time. But man, I hated 'F' Math. 'F' Math single-handedly killed all my love and passion for the subject I used to turn to in times of distress.
I could never catch up on the subject. I was always behind the classes. All while trying to grasp the other brand new subjects of Accountancy and Economics.
Slowly, but surely, I started to hate symbols and equations. I shut off during lectures. I pouted and dozed off during tutorials. I kept all the sheets of tutorials and assignments as fresh and crisp as they'd been when they first came out from the photocopying machine. I slacked and I lagged further and further behind.
Three months later, I quit the faculty.
I returned to a single Math class. And I regained my passion too.
No prizes for guessing my final grade for my favorite subject.
In the very same way I loved Math, I love ironing too.
Ah, the pleasure it gives me - the hissing sounds from the steam iron, and the final crisp product that emerges from my meticulous pressing.
But in the very same way I developed a resentment toward Math when I finally could not cope with it, I am beginning to resent ironing. Especially when I stare at the mound of freshly (or maybe not-so-freshly-anymore) laundered but still crumpled clothes I mindlessly throw into the wardrobe.
I am feeling so defeated. I am washing faster than I can iron. And I hate this feeling.
Dear God, please give me the faith, and the strength, and the will to finish all the ironing quick.
Pleeeaaase. Before I start on the next batch of laundry.
*****
Mom: How's the ironing?
ME: Okay, fine. I actually like ironing. (And I can feel Mom's proud beam at the other end of the phone line.) Except hor, I iron damn slow lor.
Mom: Haha. It's ok. It's like that one.
ME: No, I am REALLY slow. Like I iron two shirts in one hour.
Mom: Huh? How come so slow? You cannot iron shirt, is it?
ME: No. Because ironing is very boring, I always end up putting on the Korean drama DVD at the same time. And because it's Korean, I end up having my eyes glued to the screen all the time. So, I iron two shirts in one episode lor.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Faceless
It is indeed very, very mysterious how come NOBODY is online on Facebook.
It's Wednesday. Should've called home to buy 4D.
It's Wednesday. Should've called home to buy 4D.
Be A Man
It's Man Day.
"Be A Man" Day.
I fixed up the stupid toilet which had been threatening to flood for days, even weeks maybe. And I finally bought the wireless router.
After what was supposed to be "three minutes of quick installation" turned into a gruelling hour, where I almost fucked up the installation and almost convinced myself maybe I really couldn't handle man stuff, I am proud to announce: my Phatpad is now officially the new VB.
There's really nothing more blissful than being able to chat with you friends on MSN while sitting comfortably on the loo.
"Be A Man" Day.
I fixed up the stupid toilet which had been threatening to flood for days, even weeks maybe. And I finally bought the wireless router.
After what was supposed to be "three minutes of quick installation" turned into a gruelling hour, where I almost fucked up the installation and almost convinced myself maybe I really couldn't handle man stuff, I am proud to announce: my Phatpad is now officially the new VB.
There's really nothing more blissful than being able to chat with you friends on MSN while sitting comfortably on the loo.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Thanks
Dear ME Inc..
I just have to write you this letter tonight because I am feeling a lot right now.
I love you.
I really do.
I suppose I have to be loving you, just by the very fact that you are just like the man, the companion, I don't have right now next to me.
You are just like the companion I would like to tell everything to.
I tell you everything. I tell you every single thing that happens to me. Well, okay, most of everything. But that's exactly how most loving relationships are like in this world now anyway, isn't it?
I tell you what I eat. I tell you where I go. I tell you what I think. I tell you what I do.
I tell you everything like I would to a boyfriend, to an extent that I actually think yyou are my boyfriend right now.
And for that matter, anyone who reads my blog can rightfully claim a right to be my boyfriend too.
My brother Ed disses the notion of a blog. He thinks that anyone who writes a blog, especially a supposed personal one, is simply attention-seeking.
I am just very glad I never told him about you.
I know very well the privacy I don't have with you. But do I really care?
I love my mom. I tell her so.
I love my Donald. I tell him so.
I love my Piper. I wish she really knows.
I love you, and I am telling you now.
I love some other people in my life, and I never have any qualm telling them so.
Life is transient.
The people I've ever met, the moments I've ever had, the feelings I've ever conjured, everything might possibly just come and go.
And I know that.
All this while I've been learning to live on myself, all this while I've been trying to convince myself all I ever need is just the self, I am glad I have you.
Thank God for technology. Thank God for the Internet.
Thank God for you.
Love,
Fatmama
I just have to write you this letter tonight because I am feeling a lot right now.
I love you.
I really do.
I suppose I have to be loving you, just by the very fact that you are just like the man, the companion, I don't have right now next to me.
You are just like the companion I would like to tell everything to.
I tell you everything. I tell you every single thing that happens to me. Well, okay, most of everything. But that's exactly how most loving relationships are like in this world now anyway, isn't it?
I tell you what I eat. I tell you where I go. I tell you what I think. I tell you what I do.
I tell you everything like I would to a boyfriend, to an extent that I actually think yyou are my boyfriend right now.
And for that matter, anyone who reads my blog can rightfully claim a right to be my boyfriend too.
My brother Ed disses the notion of a blog. He thinks that anyone who writes a blog, especially a supposed personal one, is simply attention-seeking.
I am just very glad I never told him about you.
I know very well the privacy I don't have with you. But do I really care?
I love my mom. I tell her so.
I love my Donald. I tell him so.
I love my Piper. I wish she really knows.
I love you, and I am telling you now.
I love some other people in my life, and I never have any qualm telling them so.
Life is transient.
The people I've ever met, the moments I've ever had, the feelings I've ever conjured, everything might possibly just come and go.
And I know that.
All this while I've been learning to live on myself, all this while I've been trying to convince myself all I ever need is just the self, I am glad I have you.
Thank God for technology. Thank God for the Internet.
Thank God for you.
Love,
Fatmama
Read and Ride
The Nihonjins are a literate lot, so I noticed.
Everytime I rode the subways, every other person around me was bound to be, if not dozing off, holding a book. An anonymous book, that is.
And yes, I was very intrigued by the “book cover phenomenon”: every book in every pair of hands was wrapped in a plain paper book cover. The more atas ones would spend on a more gorgeous-looking book cover, leather-bound or exquisitely embroidered.
I was impressed that the Nihonjins took so much care of their precious treasures, and was almost put to shame myself. But I was even more impressed by the fact that bookstores in Nihon would actually give away free paper book covers to every customer, and that almost immediately took away the shame from me.
Until one day, I found out, under some inquisitive spell, that the Nihonjins do not really care that much about the well-being of their books.
The book covers serve only to hide the title of the book from the prying eyes of the world.
While a little disappointed, I saw sense immediately. I’m pretty sure the homeward-bound, bespectacled uncle with his permanent side-parted hair and his neatly pressed shirt, tucked meticulously into his grey trousers, wouldn’t really want the whole world to know he was that engrossed at that moment with Chapter Ten of his book, where the two sixteen-year-old schoolgirls were finally tearing off each other’s uniforms in the PE storeroom.
Anyway, I digress once again.
I am so impressed by the evidently high literacy rate of the Nihonjins, or so as I’d like to still think, I decided I should perhaps also start making better use of my own subway time.
Instead of taking a quick nap on the twenty-minute ride and then trudging into the office groggier than I have been when I leave the house, totally negating all the energizing effects of a hearty breakfast and a hot shower, I now pick up a book and read.
Of course it helps that the book I’m reading now is captivating me entirely, otherwise I might still end up having a ten-minute nap. Or worse, still a twenty-minute nap that causes me to miss my stop.
So far, so good. I’m kept perky as I step into the office.
Let’s see how Day Three goes tomorrow.
Everytime I rode the subways, every other person around me was bound to be, if not dozing off, holding a book. An anonymous book, that is.
And yes, I was very intrigued by the “book cover phenomenon”: every book in every pair of hands was wrapped in a plain paper book cover. The more atas ones would spend on a more gorgeous-looking book cover, leather-bound or exquisitely embroidered.
I was impressed that the Nihonjins took so much care of their precious treasures, and was almost put to shame myself. But I was even more impressed by the fact that bookstores in Nihon would actually give away free paper book covers to every customer, and that almost immediately took away the shame from me.
Until one day, I found out, under some inquisitive spell, that the Nihonjins do not really care that much about the well-being of their books.
The book covers serve only to hide the title of the book from the prying eyes of the world.
While a little disappointed, I saw sense immediately. I’m pretty sure the homeward-bound, bespectacled uncle with his permanent side-parted hair and his neatly pressed shirt, tucked meticulously into his grey trousers, wouldn’t really want the whole world to know he was that engrossed at that moment with Chapter Ten of his book, where the two sixteen-year-old schoolgirls were finally tearing off each other’s uniforms in the PE storeroom.
Anyway, I digress once again.
I am so impressed by the evidently high literacy rate of the Nihonjins, or so as I’d like to still think, I decided I should perhaps also start making better use of my own subway time.
Instead of taking a quick nap on the twenty-minute ride and then trudging into the office groggier than I have been when I leave the house, totally negating all the energizing effects of a hearty breakfast and a hot shower, I now pick up a book and read.
Of course it helps that the book I’m reading now is captivating me entirely, otherwise I might still end up having a ten-minute nap. Or worse, still a twenty-minute nap that causes me to miss my stop.
So far, so good. I’m kept perky as I step into the office.
Let’s see how Day Three goes tomorrow.
Countdown
I knew it.
I knew it'd got to be the pee emm ass.
Otherwise, there would be no other reason why I'd get hit so bad, and so sudden. Like nothing seemed right anymore.
So the morning finally turns out much brighter and cheerier today.
And I concocted this notion in my head while walking sprightly to the subway.
That women in the medieval age must have counted down their long dreary days, over months, over seasons, over years, by their menstrual cycles.
'Cos, strangely, I actually do.
"Oh great! One more down. Two hundred and forty six more to go..."
I knew it'd got to be the pee emm ass.
Otherwise, there would be no other reason why I'd get hit so bad, and so sudden. Like nothing seemed right anymore.
So the morning finally turns out much brighter and cheerier today.
And I concocted this notion in my head while walking sprightly to the subway.
That women in the medieval age must have counted down their long dreary days, over months, over seasons, over years, by their menstrual cycles.
'Cos, strangely, I actually do.
"Oh great! One more down. Two hundred and forty six more to go..."
Monday, September 10, 2007
Escapade
I still can't stop gushing about Ni-hon. I can't stop fantasizing about it.
I think the addiction has turned into obsession.
On my very last night of my stay, I popped into Tokyu Hands and bought myself two 'Made In Japan' lunchboxes. Yes, when you're obsessed with all things Japanese, you tend to turn very atas as well. It's got to be nothing less than being 'Made In Japan'.
On my very first day back in town, I popped into Apita, the Japanese supermarket very sweetly located at my office, and bought tons and tons of groceries. Soba, tofu, mushrooms, soba sauce, Japanese "all-purpose seasoning sauce". And of course, two bottles of sake.
Yes, if you'd put one and one together, you do notice I have grand plans to pack lunch to work. Japanese no less.
Let's see if I'm kidding myself.
My cheap 6,700-yen hotel was located right in the midst of a quiet residential area in Shinjuku, which probably explained why I got lost, and why most of the locals I sought help from along the way got lost themselves.
The first night I took a walk through the residential area, past all the quaint townhouses, on my way to the subway station, my goosebumps popped up and I almost teared.
That was how much I love that place.
I see myself in one of those quaint little townhouses. With a red scooter parked right outside.
Maybe it's just another form of running away. Running away to a land so foreign your soul feels reborn.
It's just one of those rare moments. You feel like you're suddenly transported to a world so different, all that mattered matters no more.
I probably will never get to run away to an island and sell coconut juice by the beach.
This is probably a sweet alternative.
So there are two things I need to start on right now.
I need to learn Ni-hon-go.
And I need to learn how to ride a bike.
I think the addiction has turned into obsession.
On my very last night of my stay, I popped into Tokyu Hands and bought myself two 'Made In Japan' lunchboxes. Yes, when you're obsessed with all things Japanese, you tend to turn very atas as well. It's got to be nothing less than being 'Made In Japan'.
On my very first day back in town, I popped into Apita, the Japanese supermarket very sweetly located at my office, and bought tons and tons of groceries. Soba, tofu, mushrooms, soba sauce, Japanese "all-purpose seasoning sauce". And of course, two bottles of sake.
Yes, if you'd put one and one together, you do notice I have grand plans to pack lunch to work. Japanese no less.
Let's see if I'm kidding myself.
My cheap 6,700-yen hotel was located right in the midst of a quiet residential area in Shinjuku, which probably explained why I got lost, and why most of the locals I sought help from along the way got lost themselves.
The first night I took a walk through the residential area, past all the quaint townhouses, on my way to the subway station, my goosebumps popped up and I almost teared.
That was how much I love that place.
I see myself in one of those quaint little townhouses. With a red scooter parked right outside.
Maybe it's just another form of running away. Running away to a land so foreign your soul feels reborn.
It's just one of those rare moments. You feel like you're suddenly transported to a world so different, all that mattered matters no more.
I probably will never get to run away to an island and sell coconut juice by the beach.
This is probably a sweet alternative.
So there are two things I need to start on right now.
I need to learn Ni-hon-go.
And I need to learn how to ride a bike.
Stoneday
This has been a rather lazy Sunday.
Literally lazy.
What I was supposed to do were mopping and ironing.
But all I did, after stoning for a while at home, was getting out, talking cock, having dinner, reading thrash, and succumbing to a massage. Which was awesome for my very sore thighs anyway.
And then, I got back home, lazed a bit more before I would get the dirty laundry into the hopping machine, stoned for a longer while more before I would get started on the writing. And now, look at the time.
But I needed this. I needed to stone desperately.
My body's been too worn out by the travels and all the activities. My brain too fried by stuff.
Never ever have I had two pairs of hands working on me at the same time.
I actually felt icky. I'm such a puss.
Literally lazy.
What I was supposed to do were mopping and ironing.
But all I did, after stoning for a while at home, was getting out, talking cock, having dinner, reading thrash, and succumbing to a massage. Which was awesome for my very sore thighs anyway.
And then, I got back home, lazed a bit more before I would get the dirty laundry into the hopping machine, stoned for a longer while more before I would get started on the writing. And now, look at the time.
But I needed this. I needed to stone desperately.
My body's been too worn out by the travels and all the activities. My brain too fried by stuff.
Never ever have I had two pairs of hands working on me at the same time.
I actually felt icky. I'm such a puss.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
"Blackout"
TRex: yeah it's not that hard... people start to realize you can shoot now... and they start closing out once you set your triple-threat... then you can start practice a "one-dribble", floater at the foul line... or an angle bank shot floater...
Not bad, huh?
I got personal coach now. 'Floater' some more.
But I have made it. At least, almost there. Where the boys no longer frown when they find out "they've got the girl on their team". Well, I play good D. I make the shots. I drive and then dish. I no longer pant like I did on the first day.
I just don't want to end up being the last draft pick.
But pride comes with a price-tag.
I end up crawling home every Saturday evening.
LeBron's coming to Macau.
Yes? No? I don't know.
My first ever.
Dalliance with the enemy. And it does feel a little exciting.
Not bad, huh?
I got personal coach now. 'Floater' some more.
But I have made it. At least, almost there. Where the boys no longer frown when they find out "they've got the girl on their team". Well, I play good D. I make the shots. I drive and then dish. I no longer pant like I did on the first day.
I just don't want to end up being the last draft pick.
But pride comes with a price-tag.
I end up crawling home every Saturday evening.
LeBron's coming to Macau.
Yes? No? I don't know.
My first ever.
Dalliance with the enemy. And it does feel a little exciting.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Missing Gyu
I'm still living by Honkie time, so it was freakin' four in the a.m. when I woke up. And I'm just about twelve hours away from home.
If the plane gets to bring me home at all.
I don't know what the lady on tv is gibbering about, but I figure Fitow's still enjoying Tokyo as I have been.
Paws crossed.
If the plane gets to bring me home at all.
I don't know what the lady on tv is gibbering about, but I figure Fitow's still enjoying Tokyo as I have been.
Paws crossed.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Shabu-shabu'd
And I seriously thought I was going to go vegetarian today.
But the weakened spirit got violated by the evil voice that kept humming within my head, "Last supper. Last supper. Last supper..."
But the weakened spirit got violated by the evil voice that kept humming within my head, "Last supper. Last supper. Last supper..."
Typhoon Fitow's Coming To Town
I can't believe Fitow's actually really coming to town tonight. While I am still around in Tokyo.
And Fitow's likely to stay till tomorrow. Which is worrying news, until it turns bad, that is.
It may be fun to have a Typhoon-8 holiday in the Honks, because that just means you get to go home and iron more clothes.
But I don't think it's anymore fun when you can't literally go home. And you're stuck with room service.
Stay tuned for further weather update.
And Fitow's likely to stay till tomorrow. Which is worrying news, until it turns bad, that is.
It may be fun to have a Typhoon-8 holiday in the Honks, because that just means you get to go home and iron more clothes.
But I don't think it's anymore fun when you can't literally go home. And you're stuck with room service.
Stay tuned for further weather update.
Yakiniku'd
How about this...
Have you ever tasted anything else, other than toro, that literally melts in your mouth too?
I just did it again today.
I think I went to Heaven Number Seven again, and I made no qualm letting the whole dinner table know about it with my "Mmmmmm.... Mmmmmm... MMMMMM...", eyes half-closed.
When Harry met Sally in the restaurant, she was probably having beef as good as this too.
Have you ever tasted anything else, other than toro, that literally melts in your mouth too?
I just did it again today.
I think I went to Heaven Number Seven again, and I made no qualm letting the whole dinner table know about it with my "Mmmmmm.... Mmmmmm... MMMMMM...", eyes half-closed.
When Harry met Sally in the restaurant, she was probably having beef as good as this too.
Shortest
If we have the world's longest escalator in the Honks, I think I must've been very lucky to ride on possibly the world's shortest one.
Yes, I did. I did take a short ride on it.
Yes, I did. I did take a short ride on it.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Eggstra Dose
I have a new desk neighbor at work, who is barely as old as I am in work-life terms and who's turning out a real sweetie.
She sends me emails to tell me she misses me whenever I'm on the road, she replies to my garbage talk in the afternoons before drowsiness could consume me, and she notices all my queer habits.
YY: Where have you gone again? Are you hungry again?!
Me: No lah, but I went to get my soy milk (a daily three o'clock event).
YY: You really love soy milk huh? You drink it everyday?
Me: Yup. I drink it like a baby: in the morning when I wake, in the afternoon for a filler, and in the night before I sleep.
It absolutely cracked her up.
The point I am trying to make is that I am so soy-deprived this week.
I am a tad overdosed on eggs though. Soft-boiled ones swimming in soy sauce. Every morning.
She sends me emails to tell me she misses me whenever I'm on the road, she replies to my garbage talk in the afternoons before drowsiness could consume me, and she notices all my queer habits.
YY: Where have you gone again? Are you hungry again?!
Me: No lah, but I went to get my soy milk (a daily three o'clock event).
YY: You really love soy milk huh? You drink it everyday?
Me: Yup. I drink it like a baby: in the morning when I wake, in the afternoon for a filler, and in the night before I sleep.
It absolutely cracked her up.
The point I am trying to make is that I am so soy-deprived this week.
I am a tad overdosed on eggs though. Soft-boiled ones swimming in soy sauce. Every morning.
Toro'fied
Have you ever eaten anything, other than M&M's, that literally melts in your mouth?
I just did yesterday.
All I can say, after the short-lived bliss is over, is that M&M's a liar. This one's the real thing.
I just did yesterday.
All I can say, after the short-lived bliss is over, is that M&M's a liar. This one's the real thing.
Gluttony
If you look around really hard enough, you'd realize, like I did, that there actually isn't much of a variety when it comes to food in Ni-hon.
It's just that they are everywhere, and in your face.
Save for the rare few Italian pasta/pizza cafes or burger joints, every other shop sells pretty much the same stuff to everyone. If you really want to live like the locals do, you seriously eat either sushi or ramen, or katsu-don, or curry rice, or simple local cold salad dishes which have become my favorite of late.
And they are really everywhere. It's just a matter of whether you found good or bad sushi.
When it's lunchtime, you could possibly be worse off. Because if you don't bring a lunchbox from home, you're probably reduced to either rice-balls or packed cold soba with chicken or pork from the fridges in the convenience store. If you're lucky, you might get some western-style sandwiches and salads. Which is what's exactly happening to my colleagues here, and which was what exactly happened to me yesterday.
When it's dinner, you could throw in small servings of deep-fried or barbequed or grilled pieces of meat together with your Ni-hon-shu. Otherwise, it's still sushi, or ramen, or rice.
As a Singaporean, you'd probably die of horror if you thought about it this way: imagine you could only choose between wanton mee, or fishball mee, or chicken rice, or western food, or McD's everyday.
But when I thought about it, I really didn't think I would die. In fact, it made me more alive. And then I started fantasizing about living in Japan and eating Japanese food everyday. And then I realized, yeah I might just die too - from gluttony.
I thought also about how the people here are so simple about their food quest. While others might contort their faces with disgust at the thought of eating the same foods everyday, the J-folks take much pride in savoring their rice-balls and simply aim to gain energy for the rest of the day.
After all, when you have food this good, why fuss about the others, or the lack of others?
I actually didn't mean to talk so much about food.
I had only wanted to say, I am so darn happy I actually found that darn awesome kaiten-sushi bar I went to once but three years ago.
And I didn't get lost.
It's just that they are everywhere, and in your face.
Save for the rare few Italian pasta/pizza cafes or burger joints, every other shop sells pretty much the same stuff to everyone. If you really want to live like the locals do, you seriously eat either sushi or ramen, or katsu-don, or curry rice, or simple local cold salad dishes which have become my favorite of late.
And they are really everywhere. It's just a matter of whether you found good or bad sushi.
When it's lunchtime, you could possibly be worse off. Because if you don't bring a lunchbox from home, you're probably reduced to either rice-balls or packed cold soba with chicken or pork from the fridges in the convenience store. If you're lucky, you might get some western-style sandwiches and salads. Which is what's exactly happening to my colleagues here, and which was what exactly happened to me yesterday.
When it's dinner, you could throw in small servings of deep-fried or barbequed or grilled pieces of meat together with your Ni-hon-shu. Otherwise, it's still sushi, or ramen, or rice.
As a Singaporean, you'd probably die of horror if you thought about it this way: imagine you could only choose between wanton mee, or fishball mee, or chicken rice, or western food, or McD's everyday.
But when I thought about it, I really didn't think I would die. In fact, it made me more alive. And then I started fantasizing about living in Japan and eating Japanese food everyday. And then I realized, yeah I might just die too - from gluttony.
I thought also about how the people here are so simple about their food quest. While others might contort their faces with disgust at the thought of eating the same foods everyday, the J-folks take much pride in savoring their rice-balls and simply aim to gain energy for the rest of the day.
After all, when you have food this good, why fuss about the others, or the lack of others?
I actually didn't mean to talk so much about food.
I had only wanted to say, I am so darn happy I actually found that darn awesome kaiten-sushi bar I went to once but three years ago.
And I didn't get lost.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Dai-juu-bu
So I have spent almost thirty-six hours in the land of Muji, and trust me, that was the very first store I popped into in Harajuku.
I thought I would've been thrilled to death. I mean, I am still so in love with this city, I can't stop thanking my lucky stars for bringing me back here again. But for some reason, here I am sitting in front of the keyboard, looking through the few pictures I have only managed to capture, and I just can't find the words to describe how I really feel.
I must be really tired. Really, really tired.
So I will simply jot here in my journal with the few mere words I can conjure up.
I love Tokyo. I love Japan. I still haven't been to Hokkaido, or Kyoto, or anywhere else but I know I will love them all.
My memories of the city from my last and only trip that took place three years ago haven't failed me. I recognize the streets. I remember some shops (like where Muji is located). I still know where that ramen shop is, the one who purportedly sells one of the best ramens in town. I still get appalled at the price of a tee shirt. I even know my way around, though ironically, I got lost and spent two hours getting to my favorite place, Daikanyama.
It took me three or four regular trips to Bangkok before I would recall places.
Ok, I got lost yesterday too. After taking almost three hours to reach Shinjuku after jumping off the plane, I spent more than an hour, trying to walk toward my cheap 6,700-yen hotel, lugging the luggage with one hand, juggling three lousy maps with the other. It took a friendly local babe the last half hour to search for the bloody cheap hotel with me. And then, I found out the hotel was really just five minutes from the subway. I just didn't know. Because the stupid hotel web site never gave the damned directions.
I have never spent five hours getting settled into a hotel.
But I actually liked the cheap 6,700-yen hotel. Maybe because it's a Japanese budget hotel. I love anything Japanese. Despite the size, it was clean, cosy and actually comfortable - and it has silent air-conditioning. But the bathroom impressed me the most - it even has that butt-washer on the toilet. Ironic as it might sound, perhaps you might find the best cheap hotels in Japan.
But the greatest satisfaction from the 6,700-yen hotel came when I realized I had unintentionally found a cheap place just ten minutes away from the Hilton, where I moved to today. I can't believe I'm this smart.
I am on a eating spree, I have decided.
Whether I am hungry or not, I am going to eat every three or four hours while I am here. I did a quick calculation, I don't have enough time to finish everything I want to ravage.
One of the best places in Tokyo are those food streets at the basement of the departmental stores. I spend half an hour circling the stalls, wondering if I should or should not, and then I buy take-out, when I really have no reason to. Except maybe I might get hungry working in the room tonight.
The salad bars are the most amazing.
I need to try a Freshness burger.
And I did whale last night. I really shouldn't have. But I did.
I can't believe this.
I can't find a single fucking Taiwanese channel or program in the Honks, or even in Shanghai.
And I am watching a crappy Taiwanese drama in the room now.
I think I am really tired.
I thought I would've been thrilled to death. I mean, I am still so in love with this city, I can't stop thanking my lucky stars for bringing me back here again. But for some reason, here I am sitting in front of the keyboard, looking through the few pictures I have only managed to capture, and I just can't find the words to describe how I really feel.
I must be really tired. Really, really tired.
So I will simply jot here in my journal with the few mere words I can conjure up.
I love Tokyo. I love Japan. I still haven't been to Hokkaido, or Kyoto, or anywhere else but I know I will love them all.
My memories of the city from my last and only trip that took place three years ago haven't failed me. I recognize the streets. I remember some shops (like where Muji is located). I still know where that ramen shop is, the one who purportedly sells one of the best ramens in town. I still get appalled at the price of a tee shirt. I even know my way around, though ironically, I got lost and spent two hours getting to my favorite place, Daikanyama.
It took me three or four regular trips to Bangkok before I would recall places.
Ok, I got lost yesterday too. After taking almost three hours to reach Shinjuku after jumping off the plane, I spent more than an hour, trying to walk toward my cheap 6,700-yen hotel, lugging the luggage with one hand, juggling three lousy maps with the other. It took a friendly local babe the last half hour to search for the bloody cheap hotel with me. And then, I found out the hotel was really just five minutes from the subway. I just didn't know. Because the stupid hotel web site never gave the damned directions.
I have never spent five hours getting settled into a hotel.
But I actually liked the cheap 6,700-yen hotel. Maybe because it's a Japanese budget hotel. I love anything Japanese. Despite the size, it was clean, cosy and actually comfortable - and it has silent air-conditioning. But the bathroom impressed me the most - it even has that butt-washer on the toilet. Ironic as it might sound, perhaps you might find the best cheap hotels in Japan.
But the greatest satisfaction from the 6,700-yen hotel came when I realized I had unintentionally found a cheap place just ten minutes away from the Hilton, where I moved to today. I can't believe I'm this smart.
I am on a eating spree, I have decided.
Whether I am hungry or not, I am going to eat every three or four hours while I am here. I did a quick calculation, I don't have enough time to finish everything I want to ravage.
One of the best places in Tokyo are those food streets at the basement of the departmental stores. I spend half an hour circling the stalls, wondering if I should or should not, and then I buy take-out, when I really have no reason to. Except maybe I might get hungry working in the room tonight.
The salad bars are the most amazing.
I need to try a Freshness burger.
And I did whale last night. I really shouldn't have. But I did.
I can't believe this.
I can't find a single fucking Taiwanese channel or program in the Honks, or even in Shanghai.
And I am watching a crappy Taiwanese drama in the room now.
I think I am really tired.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Fresh Laundry
The sweetest thing about this tiny pad is that the fresh laundry smell permeates the entire place.
Still.
Sweet. : )
Still.
Sweet. : )
One More
I love love love the smell of freshly laundered clothes.
And that's why I love doing laundry. : )
And that's why I love doing laundry. : )
Pleased, and At Peace
All I can say is that this has been one crazy, happy, awesome week.
No pictures. Just lots of words. Thoughts. Laughter. Looks. Songs. And homemade turkey breast sandwiches. Yumms.
In fact, everything was yummers.
The images that keep running through my mind are better than photographs I keep in my notebook because they are the ones that keep you alive.
I am pleased too because I was back to the courts again today, after lousy weather marred last week's plans. I am still taking so darned long to warm those fatlegs up. The touch is creeping back though.
And I am absolutely exhilarated because the cable guy finally came today, and gave my life back to me. I actually realize I have not been journalling at this ungodly hour for a long, long while. Hmm.
I watched Man U score while basking in the comfort of my couch, underneath my fleece blanket.
This is rather surreal.
Still, I'm heading back to the cafe on weekends.
I love that place too much.
Oh. Oh. Oh. And I am utterly, devastatingly intoxicated.
From the thought of landing my feet upon Nippon in less than twelve hours.
AAaaaaaAAAAhhhhHHHHHHh!!!!!
I just hope the cheap 6,700-yen hotel room I booked for the night isn't located in "one of Asia's biggest red-light district".
: )
No pictures. Just lots of words. Thoughts. Laughter. Looks. Songs. And homemade turkey breast sandwiches. Yumms.
In fact, everything was yummers.
The images that keep running through my mind are better than photographs I keep in my notebook because they are the ones that keep you alive.
I am pleased too because I was back to the courts again today, after lousy weather marred last week's plans. I am still taking so darned long to warm those fatlegs up. The touch is creeping back though.
And I am absolutely exhilarated because the cable guy finally came today, and gave my life back to me. I actually realize I have not been journalling at this ungodly hour for a long, long while. Hmm.
I watched Man U score while basking in the comfort of my couch, underneath my fleece blanket.
This is rather surreal.
Still, I'm heading back to the cafe on weekends.
I love that place too much.
Oh. Oh. Oh. And I am utterly, devastatingly intoxicated.
From the thought of landing my feet upon Nippon in less than twelve hours.
AAaaaaaAAAAhhhhHHHHHHh!!!!!
I just hope the cheap 6,700-yen hotel room I booked for the night isn't located in "one of Asia's biggest red-light district".
: )
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