See the New ME!

Ok, I've had it.
This slack of mine.
Very, very, very large inertia, and I'm still not quite over it yet.
Still trying my very best.

I love you, blogspot.
I'll still come back to see you.
But I need to go away somewhere else.
Maybe for long. Maybe for a short while.
Maybe I'll even be back.

Trust me, you've got nicer fonts here.
Wordpress ones, eeew.


Folks, come see me at my new place: http://theoriginalfatmama.wordpress.com/

Let's hope this works out this time.
*Toes crossed*

S-L-O-W

AARRRRRRGGGGGH!!!

I'm so fuckin slow in my blog updates!!
Totally uninspired!!!

"Happy"

If I can wear Alden, dudes should wear mary-janes, no?

Eeeew though.

Day 135

I just realised... tears for my baby haven't yet stopped.

Red Kung Fu Shoes

My red kung fu shoes are dope, aren't they?

Have them in blue too. No cushioning, can't wear in the rain - but sure I feel like I can fly.

Moncler Retrievers

This. Is. Soooper duper cute.

Bruce Weber for Moncler.



The campaign features some interesting images including Weber’s own Golden Retrievers donning customized quilted down dog hoodies...

I refuse to believe these are all his.

Kitchen

One of my most favorite places in the world now has got to be my kitchen.

And it must've been rather obvious; as Simon says, "You really take pride in your kitchen huh." With a chuckle, as he watches me wash up every single equipment and clean out every corner of the countertops - before and after our feast.

It's true. I love my kitchen.

Times when the nighttime social activities seem to intensify a bit, and I don't get to hang out in my lovely apartment or lie in bed and pop in a movie after a long day at work, I start to feel dissociated from my flat.

Recently, for a couple of odd reasons, I've started waking up at six on a couple of mornings so I can prepare lunch from scratch. (Why do you have to wake at six, asks a friend. Because I have to cook rice. Why can't you cook it overnight so you can sleep an extra hour?? I don't know... Because I like to cook it fresh. Inexplicable. Incomprehensible.)

Waking at six probably ranks high up on Mom's list of Top Ten Miracles in the world. I would definitely top that list if she knows I wake at six to cook.

There's nothing quite as peaceful for me these days, as a peaceful morning spent in my kitchen. The first fifteen minutes would be - as per any other usual morning - part groggy, part irritable. But I'd never known I could feel this fresh in the morning, as I start putting the rice into the cooker, make a cup of coffee, sometimes a smoothie, check some web sites on the mac, and then start cooking.

Most mornings I'd put music on in the living room, and dance in the kitchen. I'd open the windows in the kitchen, listen to the morning sounds outside - birds that sing, cars that pass, not too much but just about enough to indicate the springing of life to the world. In summertime, this is also probably the best time of my day, you get a cool breeze passing through your kitchen, and the sun has not yet shone onto my white walls.

For the next hour or so, I'd flit to and fro between mac and kitchen. Maybe make a second cup of coffee. No one's awake online yet. So I check really frivolous web sites. Maybe pop my head into the wardrobe and think about what to wear. Then when I think it's time, I start the real work. I don't really check recipes these days. I cook really simple. And I just know what I want to eat - usually fish, since it's always easier to get chicken or other meat when I eat out. And as long as I have soy sauce, vinegar and mirin these days, all's good to go. Sometimes, I start ransacking the fridge box and see what else I could throw into the lunchbox that day. Mushrooms, spinach, chilli, peppers, eggs are the usual accomplices.

The funny thing is, when all's done (including the obsessive washing up) and I'm all showered and dressed up, I get out of the house and still get to work earlier than usual.

Well, I just get zonked out after lunch.



Maybe I have my continued insomnia to thank for these beautiful, peaceful mornings I'm enjoying these days.

"Don't Tell Son!!!"

TRAVEL INFORMATION

Here is your arrival and departure information, including any connecting bus transfers:

-------------Trip to TORONTO, ON-------------
06/26/09 05:00pm GLI-0277 * Depart BOSTON, MA
06/27/09 04:05am GLI-0277 * Arrive BUFFALO, NY
06/27/09 04:45am GLC-5566 * Depart BUFFALO, NY
06/27/09 07:00am GLC-5566 * Arrive TORONTO, ON

-------------Return Trip to BOSTON, MA-------------
06/28/09 09:30am GLC-5569 * Depart TORONTO, ON
06/28/09 04:25pm GLC-5569 * Arrive SYRACUSE, NY
06/28/09 05:15pm GLI-0218 * Depart SYRACUSE, NY
06/28/09 11:55pm GLI-0218 * Arrive BOSTON, MA
Note: * denotes Carrier and Bus Schedule Number.
GLI: GREYHOUND LINES, INC.; GLC: GREYHOUND LINES OF CANADA


I love impromptu road trips.
And surprises too.
And being in love.

Can't wait.

Beantown

Me: Hello!
LT: Hai!
LT: Are u in the Bean?
Me: Bean??
LT: Beantown is the nickname for Boston
LT: Not sure y
Me: Oh
Me: Yeah then i guess i'm in the Bean
Me: Is it cos the men in Boston mostly look like Mr Bean?

I always love the "Hahahahaha" that ensues. No matter how corny I seem to be.

I just wanna make you laugh.

Hua Hin

The crew - yes, the whole crew - actually pulled it off one weekend in March.

The getaway. From the office, to the beach.

We kinda got ourselves into deep shit after. We are now banned from taking mass leave. Hiak.


A rather bad timing for me, I was grieving for my baby during the trip. I had no real interest for anything else but just lying under the sun and drinking Bailey's coffee every morning. I finished a book, and I missed my baby terribly. Especially every time I tried to go into the waters.

Nonetheless, we had good fun. The whole crew did.

We ate. We played cards. We dumped losers into the pool at 3 in the morning. We devoured the night markets. Some even got tattoos and learned how to ride a bike.

I am thankful, I feel very blessed. That wherever I have called my workplace, I have found real good friends.

Change

I kinda think, every now and then, this page needs a revamp altogether.

I don't know.

Change is always good, I suppose.

Bentos & Onigiris

Been waking up at six in the mornings. Just like that *snaps finger*

So far, two bento boxes and eight onigiris.

Mom would've been so proud of me.

Toast to Toastbox

Joy to the world!





Kopi-O in my neighborhood!

Even if it costs bloddy two-fifty sing-dollars, and I have to walk an extra 10 minutes in the sweltering summer-mornings to get hold of it.

Spam

Courtesy of my Pi-chick...

*Pi-chick* says: i have to tell you something that;s quite funny..

*Pi-chick* says:
xxx@hotmail.com sent 08/06/2009 8:34 AM:
*Pi-chick* said (Yesterday at 12:19 PM):
I just have to let you know, I actually ordered those acai berry pills that I heard about on oprah and in messages on here, well I been on them for two weeks and lost 21 pounds so far, so I am living proof that they really do work, they are only five dollars over at http://lampkey.com

*Pi-chick* says:
xxx@hotmail.com sent 08/06/2009 8:35 AM:
girl, are you taking this, better stop

*Pi-chick* says: there was this spam emial
*Pi-chick* says: and my mum actually thot i was on pills


And the perils of having your mom on msn.

Rain Rain, Go Away

The fuckin rain has to go away. Cos I want to come out and play.

NOT THE FUCKING COCKROACHES.

Love, St Maarten

"U can drive thru whole island in hour... w no traffic"

"Hmm that's kinda like my hometown"

Bye Bye, Love

Another baby gone.

One more load off, another attachment less.

We've All Been Swoosh'd

My old friends from my old playground are probably not a very happy bunch at the playground this week.

Table tennis partners separated. Swimmers and runners diverted. Hoops teammates ejected. Travel buddies gone. Lunch companions no more. Compatriots torn apart.

Folks rudely snatched from their dreams. People cruelly thrown into unbeknownst realities. Captains forced to change their course. Sailors forced to jump off the boats. Moms and Dads left with unthinkable worries. The faithful bereft of faith.

Those who are left behind probably feel lost with the emptiness that surrounds them, literally. How am I going to fight on my own?

Those left behind probably feel anger at the brutality and coldness of the axe that was raised and dropped, just like that. Why? Does any of this make sense? Why them? Why?!

Those left behind might feel ashamed. What have I done, that they have not, to deserve this?

Those left behind must feel disappointment. Why good people who have done nothing but good stuff, who have been nothing but goodness?

They must feel sadness. For sure.


Those who leave are probably just too numb right now to decide how they really feel.

Anger may mask relief. Fear may cover courage. Sadness may hide excitement. Uncertainty will overshadow hope.

We don’t know. They don’t know. Heck, we don’t have to know. Not for now.


I no longer belong to that playground. But I have never forgotten that playground, because that’s where I grew up, and where I made friends I hope remain so for the rest of my life. Even if we no longer balance our sheets on the see-saw or get drunk on the swings together or thrash-talk in front of the hoop anymore.

I am not part of that playground this week. But once upon a time, I left that playground too.

Not to my keenest wish. Not to my greatest desire. Not in my wildest dream. But I did make that choice even then.

It was a you-go-or-I-go kinda choice. And who the hell was I to get rid of a multi-billion global giant who pays me less than the cheapest of peanuts to make money to pay for their landscaping expense every year?

In that playground, choosing to leave is probably one of the toughest things to do (not the forecasting at adoption meetings, countrary to popular belief). Being asked to do so, takes it to another level altogether.

I couldn’t figure out then how I felt. That day when I left. The whole week. The following week. The weeks after. The many months, many years later.

When all feelings from all different polar ends conjoin within you, you get confused, no? Angry to tears one day, sad to more the next. Crushed one day, all-exciteable the next.

It will be tiring. And when you’re tired, you don’t want to figure things out.

But no, I will never regret ever being part of that playground, for all of six years of my youth. And even more so, I will never regret having ever left. Because I am so proud and happy with who I am today.

Let’s just put it this way. If I hadn’t been part of that playground, I wouldn’t have been the “me” I am today. If I hadn’t left too, I wouldn’t also have been the “me” I am today.

One thing has to lead to another, then another… and then to others.

In leaving, I thought I lost something, many things, things that mattered to me.

Truth is, I found myself. Which is the only thing that should ever matter to me.


I digress. This isn’t about me.

To my friends who are feeling sad for those who leave, don’t be. Be happy for them. Because they are your friends. And people can’t be happy nor strong if their friends aren’t. Something’s just lying in wait for them out there, somewhere – as it is for you. Be patient.

Don’t be angry. Because anger begets more anger, and makes you an unhappy person. And refer to the above, if you are unhappy, your friends will not be.

One day, maybe years later, or heck, maybe even next week… trust me, you’re all gonna be bitching about “you-know-who” over Tigers and Heines, and rojaks and chicken wings (mmmmmmmmm…).


To those who have to graduate from the playground this week, I’m happy for you. It’s another wonderful episode in our stories we can close, just so we can start on the next.

The opportunity to have new opportunities in one’s life is often an underrated gift.


I am, in all honesty, still quite nowhere in my journey of life.

I still have a long way to go (I sure hope), and I don't know where I'll go, what I'll do, who I'll meet, how I will be.

I don't know how many more sad episodes and heartaches I will have to experience. I don't know how many more happy days I will live.

All I hope is, when I am crushed, I am going to remember the times when I was happy. Wonder how I got there, and try to get there again.

And when I am happy, I am going to try to be happier.

All I have, is really just me.

I Love You, Mom

So lazy.

Such a lazy Mom's Day Sunday.

I'm so, so faraway from Mom, I can't have any Mom's Day plan - today nor any other day. There's no sun on Sundays, I can't go lie on the beach. I am resisting the unnecessary foot massage.

I really ought to sort through my pictures, and my thoughts, and write today.

Sigh.


LT: Did u call your mom yet?
ME: Nope its still Saturday night yah?
ME: I'll call when it's sunday morning for her
LT: I have sat, but u sun no?
ME: Yup yup
LT: Ah so
ME: She's still in Smutland
LT: Hahahaahaa

Yeah. Smutland. : )

Pad Number Two

It's been 52 days.

52 days, 5 countries, 9 cities, one new pad coming to life, and still my baby has not come home.


I can't really grasp the flight of time, but almost a third of the new year has gone by. And I still think it's a new year. Hmm.

The new year, with all due respect, had promised some new excitement to my life. No, wait. Correction: I had promised myself some new excitement this new year.

For a start, I finally made up my mind to get myself out of that sunlight-deprived, fresh air-deprived, roach-infested (okay, I exaggerate, but I am paranoid too), pipe-leaking, sink-congested, drain-clogged, dust-collecting apartment. Nah, the apartment isn't that bad if I could discount all of the above, I've been telling my lazy ass for the longest time. Then, with all the economic crises, job losses and pay freezes happening around me, I gave myself one last motivation: get a cheaper place.

And get a cheaper place, I did. My lazy ass wasn't all out in the flat-hunting, especially when I couldn't usually get off work early and I refused to skip Saturday hoops and I only wanted to lie in bed all of Sundays. All the "cheaper" places I had seen somehow couldn't convince me to get my lazy ass up and leave the sunlight-deprived, fresh air-deprived, roach-infested, pipe-leaking, sink-congested, drain-clogged, dust-collecting apartment. Err... too small. Too noisy. Too faraway. Too small. Not dog-friendly. Not cheap enough. Too small. Too ugly. Can't cook. Not me.

Until I saw it.

You know you see something when even before you can understand why, your heart just starts pumping a little faster and a silly smile creeps up on your face. Pretty much the same for me when I think of someone. That's when I know I'm in love.

And yes, I knew I was in love barely ten minutes after I saw it.

That is "me", that is mine, I decided. The next couple of flats were just to convince me I was already in love. I made quick friends with the tenant - my "new friend Tim". He saved the flat for me and turned away all others while I went back to Singapore to collect ang pows. The day after I returned, I signed for my new love.

Completely bare naked, the flat had only an air-conditioner left behind. I had to build a nest from scratch. But I did my math, and figured this was still a better deal. I had gotten myself something not just "cheaper", but really "much cheaper". Sweet.

The flat is not exactly bigger, but it has a kitchen and it has space. There is only one flat on every floor, and I have the highest one on the fourth - complete with a kick-ass rooftop. It has more windows than I've ever seen anywhere else. I am sunlight- and fresh air-crazy after more than 18 months.

The first thing I decided for my new love: the red wall has to go. I'm perhaps not one for fiery passion.



In the two weeks that followed, I repainted all the walls. I scrubbed down all the walls and floors. I expended cash like never before. I became first-time owner of a bed, a wardrobe, a couch, a shelf, a cabinet, a coffee table, a TV, a fridge, a washing machine, a dehumidifier (my next newfound love) and a blender. I packed and moved my stuff over bit by bit. I fixed up the internet and cable TV and set up new accounts for electricity and water. I realized how many shirts, tees, shoes, stuff, I really have. I realized too how many more I yearn to have so I had to start some wardrobe planning and make some extra space for the future. I put up shower curtains and almost lost both arms. I packed and moved some more. I cleaned the floors over again. I tried to put up my curtains but I failed and cursed and swore. I lost my wallet and got it back. I probably lost a few pounds too.

And then I lost my Piper somewhere in between those two weeks.




Since the big move, I've made a home trip to look for my baby, then a big outing with the office gang to Hua Hin, then a week-long freezing trip to northern China.

And now I'm finally back to reality after three long weeks in the US. I don't think I've slept on my new bed for more than ten days.

For some reason, I wish that one weekend didn't have to end... and I didn't have to come back.

Day 9

Mommy's back, but not her baby.

Empty

Why am I feeling like the only one thing I have left has been taken away from me?

A Mother's Tears

My beloved Piper has run out of the house and gone missing since Friday morning, Feb 27, sometime around 8 in the morning.

She should hopefully still be around the area, though we are worried she might have walked further to other neighborhoods.

Apparently, just at my void deck, she had rushed out to the carpark, and she was hit by a car. There was a loud bang, but she got up, limped, and ran off.

Piper is very likely injured now, and even more so, traumatized and distressed, so she might have lost her way back home or even to familiar grounds.

We have put up some posters around the blocks. A mini search party has been out since Friday morning. Leads have been very, very sparse.

We will continue to search for her - finding her is very crucial, especially considering she might be badly injured and helpless. We will also put up more posters, and in more areas.

Anyone who knows me, will know Piper. And what she means to me.

I am unfortunately still in Hong Kong, and unable to fly back to Singapore immediately.

Please help me in any little way you can:
(1) send and pass on this notice to as many friends as you can (you may send the link to this post),
(2) help disseminate posters,
(3) help look for Piper - in open areas, in neighborhoods, asking around.

Please remember Piper is in need of urgent help - she is likely injured from the car accident, and on top of that, she has a chronic skin problem that is easily triggered off by stress.

I don't quite expect anyone to actually help with (2) or (3), but please do help send this notice to as many people as you can - for all we know, you might know someone who knows someone, or who might know someone who knows someone else, who might have picked up my baby or seen her scurrying somewhere.


I will be eternally grateful to everyone, anyone.

*****

My baby is the most incorrigible dog ever. If you think Marley's worst, that's because you haven't met Piper. She's always the problematic one, everything from her chronic stressed-out skin, to her perpetual hunt for food in every nook and corner, to her immense greed for every thing edible, to her runaways from home, to her unfailing ability to make me worry endlessly.

When I am not home, she's the one who pouts and lies lifelessly on the front door mat.

When I am home, she's the one who defies Grandma's orders and jumps up onto the bed to crash into my lap.

She is probably one of the smelliest dogs in the world, but to me, it's just Piper. I wear Piper like my favorite everyday scent.

She's too rough for a girl. She plays taunt with you. Stick out your hand to pat her, and she lowers into her crouching stance, thinking you're up for a jaw fight. Reach out further, and she starts growling and barking - and then backs off and scampers away. Loser.

Run after her, grab her, and flip her over belly side up, and she squirms like you're trying to throw her into a pot of boiling oil.

Trying to give her a shower (which she always badly needs) entails chasing her around the whole house, and sometimes having to lie face-down on the floor, straining your arm to grab her from under the bed. It also means having your couch and bed all wet after she dries herself from the painful ordeal. Just ask Grandma.

She sticks to no one, but treats you like you're her best friend if you happen to be eating. When I'm home, however, she sticks to me like 3M tape, everywhere from the bathroom to the bed, never letting me out of sight. Everyone else in the house is practically non-existent. When I go out, she scolds me, "Where the hell do you think you're going again?"

When I pack my luggage, her ears stick up, her eyes widen, I swear I can see her tiny heart pumping away really fast beneath her furry chest. She jumps into the work-in-progress when I turn my back.

And when I eventually roll the luggage out of the room and step out of the house, she looks at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen on anyone - human or dog.

And this is the precise moment I start tearing.


Piper,

What the hell are you doing now? Where are you?

Aren't you hungry? Aren't you tired? Are you in pain? Did you make new friends?

Are you ever coming home? Are you ever coming back to Mommy?

You know, don't you? You know, Mommy's has been seriously thinking of bringing you over to the Honks. The new place Mommy's just got, you and your sister, you two are going to live like crazy in that quirky place. And Mommy got a queen bed, and it's a spring!

Come home, Piper. Come home, and then come back with Mommy.

I'm waiting.

You can't do this to Mommy.

Happy 2*

Big boy already (well, er...).
Don't pout.




Faster grow up faster.