Fatmama Tour

So Fatmama has been on her China tour and back. Guangzhou to Shanghai to Shenzhen, to be precise.


There's nothing really much memorable about Guangz, except I really kinda disliked it. Thanks, in part, to the stories of pickpockets and snatch thieves who cut off little fingers while going for the cell phones. I left my little sparklies in my wallet all the time as a result, and I practically walked around with my left wrist stuck inside the bag all the time. Damn bo ji.

But the one biggest peeve that really got to me was the toilet.

They all looked exactly like this. Bloody must squat all the way down. And, no toilet paper.


So let's just move on to Shang. Which I actually love.

Maybe because of the toilets. No need to squat all the way down, hallelujah to the Fatknees! And... there's actually toilet paper. In every cubicle.

I last came to Shang three years ago. And I remember I loved it even then, despite the lack of proper toilet facilities.

I loved the quirkiness of the city, how the old mixed with the new.

I knew there must have been great changes to the city since then, but I was hoping the quirkiness remains.

Indeed, it does.

I finally had a pool to swim in. I had some four hours' worth of lymphatic drainage massage, the authenticity of which was in question, but it was still damn shiok nonetheless. And I had an awesome room in the Regent, though I couldn't figure out what I would do with a bathroom like that.

Still, for the first time in my life, I actually missed home while on the road. My own Phadhome, that is. : )


I was pretty well-fed too, the Chinese way.

And that's chai po neng for you.


I am not sure now. Tokyo, or Shanghai, next.

Banned

The following conversation with my very smart and very good friend should explain my absence from blogosphere the past one week.

SLM: oh, u in china ah. china cannot access blogspot one. but u can post. hahaha
ME Inc.: huh?!?
ME Inc.: how come?!?!
SLM: u can post via email. or post via microsoft word. but u cannot access blogspot. it's blocked.
SLM: welcome to china.

KNN.


My very smart and very good friend also happens to be a well-known brand in her favorite country.

Resting

The yuckiest hei mee I have ever tasted in my life.

Can you even spot the hei?

Pui!




I have never left a single drop of hei mee soup behind. But I just committed the crime today.

What to do? I do feel like going back for the mee siam. =/


I spent four hours in the morning ironing just ten tee shirts and one skirt.

I might have done way better if I wasn't watching four episodes of my Korean drama at the same time.

I think I would make a really bad mom/housewife.


So the chick has gone home.

I am missing her, but I need the rest as well.

The boys are still around, the sis-in-law has come to town too. But I am going to chill. Got no choice, I won't be around anyway. Come to think of it, I do hope I get any rest at all.

The reasons why I need a rest badly.



That's the chick. That's the crazy family. That's the gorgeous one, and my drunk neighbor at the back.


So how do I get along with my brother?

Very fine, thank you. I really do love him tons.

Typical (read: daily) things I'd say to him:

1. My dad's got better looks than yours.
2. My dad's a better drinker than yours.
3. Our mom's got nice arms.


I'm done.

My itch has been soothed.

Two more hours to pack. And watch one more episode.

Pleased

I'd say I was a very happy girl yesterday.


For one, I finally have the other half of my life here in the Honks.




Then, I dragged my arse out for some lousy yu dan mai fun lunch and was cussing myself for settling for crappy food when just about a couple hundred steps away from my apartment, I stumbled upon this rusty little store manned by two grumpy old folks which I would've usually ignored, if not for something that caught my eye.

I finally found my clothes rack, all for only a hundred Honks dollars. : )

For all the search around the island, it was there right outside my doorstep! It didn't come exactly like this, it was way taller. I made the grumpy old man saw it into half.




And most of all, the real reason why I was really happy yesterday.




Finally. I feel whole again.

Well, almost.


So my new friend from the work place, let's just call him T-Rex, offered to bring me along to his pick-up games. And trainings. I was exhilarated about the former, but not too sure about the latter.

But there was initially a small problem.

Me: Er... but I have to confess something first.
T-Rex: What?
Me: I couldn't find any basketball shoes in Boston, so now I only have my er... LeBrons.
T-Rex: (whispering) It's ok. I have something to confess too... I wear them as well.

We turned up at the courts yesterday, looking like nothing representative of the brand that feeds us. 'Cept maybe for the socks.

Oh, and it came back to me. That I do have a thing for guys with slim, almost hairless legs.


So, housewives have their own toys too, okay.

Which I really wouldn't have known if I hadn't been a self-made one.




I am thinking of those soups my mom always cooked for me. Mmmmm.

And I am also thinking, how come everyone likes to give shower gels/creams/scrubs and candles as Christmas gifts?

I think I might have enough to last me till the next one.

Last

Two nights in a row, I am the one shutting off all the lights in the office.

What is this?

And I am supposed to be the pollutant who should be resting at home.


I think I need to catch up on some ironing before I meet Pi.

Am so tired. Part-time yuppie. Part-time housewife. Not say very young some more.

Irony

The soap dispensed from the pump bottle in my office bathroom looks so disgusting, it's just like a huge glob of spit on my palm.

Yucks.

The Original Phatmama

HS says: your fatpad is so phat
HS says: you are now the phatmama
HS says: ms. tow fu phaaaa

I dig the first part, but not the last.

Does that mean I have to change my web address?

Sniffles

Fatmama: is piper still sad?
Sis-in-law: Yup.. piper always sad after u left.
Fatmama: aiya... i think of her, i get so sad
Sis-in-law: Her face only light up when there's food. other than that, she'll lie on ur dad's chair.. moody whole day lor..
Fatmama: really ah
Sis-in-law: night time will sleep on sofa, wait for u till ur dad sleeps in the early morning, then she'll go inside ur room.. disappointed i guess
Fatmama: still like that ah???
Fatmama: aiya...

I can't tell if that's a sore throat or a lump in my throat. I can't tell if that's sniffles from the cold or something else.

I am such a bad mom.


I heard the pet hotels here have rooms huger than the one I stayed in Yau Ma Tei last year.

I should really consider.

Bored Busy

I am writing emails, updating my facebook (finally some) and of course, blogging while being stuck in the middle of a conference call with the folks who are enjoying their Starbucks on their Thursday mornings.

And Auntie here is chewing on her nails, hungry like fark, and thirsty like hell!


I had nothing better to do other than writing more emails before the call at eight.

So I went to count some more calories.

Bittersweet

My life is indeed like a box of bittersweet chocolates - coincidentally, my favorite kind of chocolates.

Most people dislike it because they taste only the bitter bits. I love it for how it tastes bitter yet sweet at the same time.

Maybe I choose to taste the sweetness out of the bitterness.

Something you can't really argue with me about, because they are my chocolates.


Thank you, friend.

Thank you for the chocolates.

I hope they will last me for my lifetime.

Break

The one that gave me the sweetest surprise in weeks, maybe months.

I'd gladly sacrifice every other plan to spend every single night with her. Except tonight. 'Cos we got too excited on Night One and Two, we decided we need a rest for better nights to come. We are old chicks, after all.

All of a sudden, it feels like home again. : )




And then, the officially unemployed brother-who-loves-me-lots decided to join.

He had no reason not to.




I am a very good mom. I listen to my daughter a lot. I went on the elliptical today.

And I felt like a complete idiot.

Thirty minutes, and only one kilometre and 150 calories burned?

Absolutely ridiculous. I have to do better.

And that's why I can only have a pathetic salad tonight.

Spilt

The return of the Old Habit.

The Klutz strikes back.

Whatever. You get the idea.

"Tonight!!"

The unexpected text on a sleepy Monday afternoon that is going to change it all.

"You ain't in HK yah?"

So much for wanting to take it easy and couch in this week. Bye bye, couch.


I am going to be a very happy chick this week!

: )))))

The Fatpad

The tiny fatpad that's just big enough for the Fatmama. : )

Just about ninety percent there.

I desperately need a clothes rack, I don't know where to find bamboo ladders in the Honks. =/



See that big brown couch there? Very comfy-looking, right? It is.

Yeah, that's where you're sleeping, whoever's thinking of bunking in. Hiak.


I have this very bad habit of falling in love with every other cool dude I see on telly or the big screen. And only when they are acting out someone else.

I saw Mr Wu, but I didn't fall in love with him at first sight, not even with his cute ass. But then, if he were jumping off moving trains, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, crashing through window panes, fist-fighting baddies with guns, strangling baddies with a towel, just about doing every possible cool thing in the world, I might have.

Today, I fell in love with Bourne. Jason Bourne.

So fucking cool.

Still Ill, But Still...

Despite the lingering flu, I decided I wasn't going to stay in bed today.

Okay, actually I did intend to. But the phone call came in at ten in the morning.

"Eh, want to watch Barcelona game?"

Before I could clear the bak sai, the mind was already stumbling around. Barcelona? Er... on TV tonight? What?

"2.30. At the stadium."

Oh. Of course, then.


It actually turned out an awesome game.

Four goals to nothing. Two of my loves, the monkey and the botak, they wowed me.




Me: Eh, I think tonight they might probably be out prowling some clubs.
Bro: How you know?
Me: Because the Liverpool guys did.
Bro: Why? You want to bed Ronaldhino ah? He's a player, you know.
Me: Of course, I know he's a player. DUH!!!

So witty.


And despite the lingering flu, I decided I was still going for a run. An easy one, that wasn't quite.

6k. 35:58m. 421kcal.

Of course, it was all rendered useless by this thousand-calorie-monster.



Yumms anyways.

*****

Me to Bro: I have never felt vertigo until I sat in this stadium today.

From Chill To Ill

I thought I was really lucky. I actually still am gloating over it.

Some people waited for ten months. Some, a year.

I am only one-month-old here, and I've already had my first Typhoon Holiday.

No big fuck, really. Not especially when you are already at work, and you have to squeeze and shove your way home.

The one I'm really waiting for is the one where you don't even have to crawl out of bed in the morning.


So I got home at four. Took a shower. Dressed in my PJs. Popped in Episode 3 of my new Kamsahamida series. Fluffed the pillow. Tucked myself nicely under the fleece. And decided that was where I was going to stay put the entire night.

Except by seven, I suddenly starting sniffing and coughing really hard. The throat became scratchy. The face started heating up. And by eight, the flu bug had successfully stripped me of my voice.

I decided that lying down watching DVDs was the crime. So I got up, did laundry, ironed some clothes, took a con-call. Of course, running was out of question.

By ten, I couldn't take it anymore. That was also when I realized, if this Typhoon Holiday was to take place for three consecutive days, I might have ended up dead and alone in my apartment. How to survive with only apples and pears and soya milk?

I put on my clothes again, took a walk on the streets looking for munch, and found myself back at somewhere more like home. No, worse than home. I think Clementi Central looks more busy with life-form at this hour.

The cafe was closed, so were most other muncheries. I didn't see any yellow-skinned life-form on the street, only the white-skinned ones. I thought this might be a prelude to the Lunar New Year holidays. I ended up lugging the lappie for nothing.

Two rounds of walking later, I decided to rest my ass at a tiny Japanese restaurant.

It was Friday night, after all. I really do miss the Friday beef carpacios and sakes with the chick.



And of course, I got take medicine lah.

Lucky Number 8

The office is abuzz.

The skies are dark.

The rain has started.

Everyone's heading home.


This is so exciting.

But can I still run?

Systems

I used to hate CLP.

Now I hate RMS.


I can feel the muscles itching to go at it again.

Deskview

New toy.

Excitement.

New project.


The bad girl has quite a cool view from her desk. Like she is the first one to spot the looming dark clouds and hear the pitter-patter of the first raindrops.

She hasn't spotted any nude being in the opposite blocks though.

Maid

ME Inc. says: very messy
max & marcel says: well it's always messy in the beginning...
ME Inc. says: it IS messy before i came
ME Inc. says: come here clean shit
ME Inc. says: foreign maid

Hahahaha.

Good thing I still have it.

My intense wit.

Ed

So I spent my mid-week night with my other Ed who had come to town for work. My good ol' beer buddy who got me all hung over this morning with six pints.

And it struck me last night how my fate entwines with the two "Ed Tan"s in my life.

If I meet a third, maybe I should just marry him.


What better way to negate the negative effects from the night before than a good hard run?

A really good, hard run. I really needed that.

7 klicks of intervals, 39 minutes, 465 calories.

And then a huge-ass plate of salad with balsamic vinaigrette, grilled chicken and the most runny poached egg I've ever eaten.

This place just hasn't failed me. Yet.



Yes, yes. I cheated.

Seeing

Seeing is believing, so they say.


Just like how I saw Mr Wu, right before me, within touch (though I didn't, but I should have).

Mr Daniel "Goddamn Gorgeous With A Tiny Tight Ass To Boot" Wu, who looked me right in the eye, then brushed past me.

For a moment, I thought the dude looked familiar. Then I realized.

Of course, I turned around and stared after his ass back.

Then it struck me, that no doubt the gorgeousness, Mr Wu never really quite stood out amongst the crazy packed Honks crowd. Dressed my kinda way in a grey tee over rugged jeans (that accentuated his ass) and Swooshes, he caught my eye with his NS-crew cut. And those brown eyes. And that manly nose. And those chiselled cheeks. Poor dude was on a crutch on his right though, I don't know what the hell he did to himself.

No airs, no flair, it could've been just any cute dude (with the cutest ass) on the streets.

And they say, the biggest movie stars are but human beings like you and me. Okay, except maybe they've got better asses than you and me.

Seeing is believing.


Seeing is believing.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Checkpoint #1

I really can't say much whenever someone asks, "So how's work? How's your new life?".

Simply because I really don't know what to say. And I've learned when you don't know what to say, it's best to not say anything at all.

Just smile, and give the most casual shrug and the honestly most irritating "OK lor, like that lor", in a weak bid to shrug off the questions altogether.


I can't complain. I really can't. And I really shouldn't.

I took on a chance to escape from a pit. A less-than-perfect chance. But who am I to choose?

The strong-willed ones take a less-than-perfect opportunity to make it work, don't they?

Then again, am I strong-willed enough? Is it a strength that lies beneath, or it it weakness I really am?


As days go by here, as I try to fill my mind by filling up the fatpad, I wonder more and more if I made the right move.

Did I just jump from one pit to another?

Then again, this is the only move for me. Take it, or leave it. I couldn't find a reason to leave it, I found vague ones to take it.

And I scream hard in my own face everyday, this has to work.

This will work.

My life has to work.


Am I lonely?

No, not really. 'Cos I already had been.

This, the fact that I threw myself into a new scenario altogether, only makes it more bittersweet. But let me emphasize on the 'sweet'.

I've gotten a hold on the urge to call someone in times when I used to have a need to. I've gotten numb to eating alone at places. I no longer need to switch on a light when I sleep at night. I no longer find a need to tell someone of my exciting dreams.

Life is really like a box of chocolates. Bittersweet ones.


Do I miss anyone?

Yes. And no.

Yes, because I really do. But no, because I now know all these will pass. Like most people who walk me by. And because I know however much I miss anyone, no one will miss me that much.

It's just a self-defence mechanism I've learnt the hard way. Much more effective than karate or whatever martial art shit.


Am I sad?

No. Just pensive.

Like I always am.


I just looked at the calendar, and it's really been a little more than a month since I landed upon my new destination.

How time zips by.

One day. One fine day. I can't wait for my next destination.

Now that's one goal for me to work towards.

But before that, let's see what else I need to fill up my fatcosypad.

Bye

6 days. 11 kopi-o's. 17 good ol' faces. 1 skirt. 1 noisy kiddo. 2 naggy parents.

And 1 faithful old bitch who stuck to me like Snowy to Tintin.

And then, I am back to surreality.


The first night was admittedly tough, so tough I almost fell sick the next day. Especially when the noisy kiddo had just held on tightly to my hand and bade farewell to his mommy and daddy, trying to walk past the immigration gate with me.

Not to mention the sad eyes that gazed up at me from the bedroom doorway as I walked out the front door.


You know what?

I can still smell Piper.

Some things from home, you'll never forget.

The Real Last Yummers

Now, this is what I call real yummy yummers.

Tenfold cheaper. Hundred-fold yummiers.

The Last Supper

Yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms yumms...

... NOT!

What a shame. What a disgrace.

Absolutely overrated. =/

Dumb or Dumber

I'd like to say that cockroaches in the honks are dumb, but the politically correct way of putting it would be that honkie roaches are more chilled.

They don't actually flinch an inch when I walk by.

Tried and tested.


Not like the dumber ones in singas.

The Badminton Court

I walked past the badminton court on my way home from grabbing a Coke Zero at seven-eleven tonight.

The badminton court where, I remember, I would spend hours sitting and crying alone every night. For weeks, perhaps. If I weren't at the court, I would sitting by the sea. I would be sitting there for hours, not because I was crying for that goddamn long, but because I was crying so hard I needed that long a time to let the puffiness subside before I could go back home and pretend nothing had happened.

To think of it now, I laugh to myself. What a sorry (little) ass I'd been.

That was exactly two years ago.


I have indeed taken a long while to get this far today. No apologies about it, the key point is that I've gotten this far. In my own time.

If you'd ask me, I don't think I could've done it any better.


The strength that belies the weakness.

Or I suppose, the other way round.

Crazed + Obsessed

I actually, seriously have all these friends who log into Facebook the minute they get their asses into the office.

So what if it's a Friday?

Bad, bad people. Even I have quit my blogging habit... I think.

Packed

The movers have just carted off the large bulk of my life, including that brand-new ultra-techy induction cooker Mom got me eventually.

Now, I feel I am finally all good to go.

Actually, right now, at this very moment, I just feel I am finally ready to zzz.


I weeded out plenty in my life. Finally. The black garbage bags that I threw out seemed endless, it was incredulous.

No "excess baggage", like they always like to say.

Not to Hong Kong. Not in my life.


I can't wait to get back to the fatpad and fill it up once everything gets shipped to the doorstep.

I can't wait to get to the gym.

I can't wait for my trips too.

And I can't wait to finally see my chick tonight.

I am a little too woozy now, I think a rest would be good.

Unpacked

In thirty-six short hours, I have eaten one sweet Mom-cooked meal, met up with nine folks from four different parts of my life for lunch/dinner/drinks/la-kopi/supper, done some (more) shopping for the fatpad, and settled some bank matters.

All, but finished packing. The one most important mission for this trip, and for which I now have only twenty-four hours left.

I still have to meet Miss Agent in the morning to settle car matters and to buy her lunch, get my stupid mobile phone line back, and do yet more shopping 'cos Mom has promised to buy me that uber-super-duper electric hot pot as a housewarming gift. In the meantime, she has also kindly donated one awesome piece from her ridiculous collection of irons. Yes, irons, that piece of equipment you use to press your clothes.

For the uninitiated, lousy irons really suck and make your life worse off.

*****

Pa is making me sell the car. I can't decide if I should heave a sigh of relief, or if I should really weep. But I suppose, I should really do the smarter thing.


Ma is having a cold war with me. We fought over my next home leave.

She doesn't want me to come home in November.

Fine. Whatever.

This is absurd.

*****

The one thing I am probably never going to enjoy in Hong Kong is the late-night la-kopi session at 24-hour kopitiams.

Not to mention, the kopi-o itself.

No more "Hello? Eh, Adam's? Ok, see you in 15".

*****

I really love Singaporean babes lor.

: )

I Love Singaporean Babes

"You know my friend, the girl you just met? She thinks you are hot."

Er... well, I suppose.

I am always more gracious towards receiving compliments from babes (the non-"L"-plate ones) than from the dudes.


Woohoo!

So, in my frumpy Mujified do, I am still hot.

Phew.

Home

The air at home just smells... less humid and musty. And less mushroomy.

Not much of a diff.


So I realize. I love home, and I miss home, but only bits of it.

And I realize, I can't wait to get back to my new home.

S-C-A-A-A-R-R-Y.

In the meantime, till I get my ass back, I am going to devour all the yong tau foo, and mee pok ta, and zhay bee hoon, and hei mee, and of course, kopi-o.


*****

"Monkey, gorilla, chimp-pan-zee... Monkey, gorilla, chimp-pan-zee..."

I have been singing this to Donald for the longest time, but he has just been refusing to learn it.

But today, as I was hugging my little man as I carried him to the carpark, he started singing on his own.

"Monkey, gorilla, chimp-pan-zee... Monkey, gorilla, chimp-pan-zee..."

Who's monkey?

"Me!"

Who's gorilla?

"Percy Gu-gu!"

...

I couldn't even be bothered to find out who chimpanzee is.

*****

I can't quite believe that I've been Dragonflied on my first night home.

And I can't quite believe too that the first person I met up with on my first day back home was the one I was "not supposed" to meet in the first place.

What an irony.

*****

Friend introduces me to a girlfriend.

Girlfriend whispers (rather indiscreetly) to friend: "Is your friend local?"

I jump in and chirp: "Mmm hai er. Ngo hai heong kong yan."

*****

There's this very strange sense of comfort and familiarity that has been lingering since the moment I landed.

No, not the comfort and familiarity of being at home where my life had been.

But the comfort and familiarity of how some things had been.

And perhaps, that's how things should have stayed.

Mmm Goi

Did I say I am speaking more Canto?

Not that it is getting any better, but I decided to fuck it and speak up. 'Cos I need to buy my dustpan, tell the taxi uncle how to bring me home, and find out what the hell I am ordering from the menu.

The broken Canto sounds kinda cute anyway, I reckon. At least I think the fruit seller thinks so.

I should go back more often, 'cos pretty soon I think I will have free apples and bananas coming my way.


Auntie hands me my boxed lunch...

Me: Mmm goi.

Taxi uncle drops me off...

Me: Mmm goi.

Stranger bumps into me and apologizes...

Me: Mmm goi.

WTF?!?!

Jay & I

I snogged Jay.

I'd like to offer you the sordid details, which I still do remember vividly, but I think I'd spare you the envy. And agony.

It was forbidden love, however. Just because I was goddam two years older. What crap.


Oh, I so love my new bedding. Giving me such wonderful nights. Though the ergonomic pillow is still not helping my bad neck.

I am still smiling.

Well, like they say, everything in life begins with a dream. No?


I do think it all started with this:

koonie: jay coming on 30 jul
ME Inc.: !!!!!!!!!
ME Inc.: where?!?!?!?!?!?!??!
koonie: cathay la
koonie: aiyo
koonie: you DON't know
koonie: ?????

And I was so excited because I thought it was all fated since I was due back home on that day.

Until Boss ruined it all.

Dammit.

Move

It's only Saturday, but it feels like donkey years since I last journalled. I really hate the idea of not being connected to the world wide web, that vast vulnerable place without which I feel strangely lonely.

Which explains why I am sitting here at the cafe having a late dinner, after a lazy housewifey Saturday.

This is the third dish I've tried so far, and it still pleases me. I can't wait to try the rest. She says I should try the salmon.

I realize, to some degree of horror, that my food expenses have more than tripled. Not that I can help it. Maybe I should just cut down on the number of meals. =/


Much has happened this week. My life just doesn't seem to cease being eventful.

And I am not complaining.


Let's start with the bad.

I got nicked. And I wasn't even in Mongkok.

There goes all my cards, credit and bank. And there goes the green spade.

I didn't lose no money - thankfully. But queueing up at the bank to draw a wad of cash every other day is not exactly the most fun thing to do.

The only good thing I can conjure up out of this entire experience is that living without credit cards is such a liberating feeling.

Oh, and I got some free sake out of it too. Awesome.


And then, finally, there's the little Fatmama pad, spacious enough to put her in comfort.

It's a quirky little old walk-up, right at the end of a commercial street, rather void of human traffic in the day but eerily quiet in the night.

Before you would pooh-pooh at my dingy apartment, I'd like to have you know that it comes with a gym. But there is only one piece of equipment: the Stairmaster. Free for all to use. Climb as high as you like. Drunk or not.

The Fatpad came furnished to the finest detail - I even got a free wine rack. I think it was meant to be.

But things started breaking down, and then I realized what they really mean when they say, cheap stuff can also look good. Much of my afternoon today was spent idling on the couch, flipping amongst the four channels I have on TV - it was so darn hard to make a choice - while the contractor dude fumbled around with the leaking pipes and malfunctioning rain shower.

I finally got to clean up the place too. For the past three days, I hated having blackened feet after walking around the house. So I got the drying rack fixed up so I could finally do the laundry. No more tumble-drying.

Then I got down on my fours to clean the floor. I am so thankful I wasn't greedy for a 'bigger' place.

I am quite anal when it comes to my house. I've just got to have the good stuff, if not the best. I tossed the sheets out and crashed on the couch on the first night, and then went on to spend a bomb the next day on new bedlinen, down quilt and all. And I slept like a baby on the second night.

There are still some stuff to get to fill up the house. Shoe racks, though I still can't quite figure how many would suffice. I've got the cutlery but I have no bowls or plates. I can't really cook in the open kitchen but I'd still like to have a tiny stove to poach some eggs and boil some pasta. I am eyeing that electric hot pot so I can have free flow of green tea without having to reboil again and again. I don't even have a decent thrash bin so I just make do with a floating plastic bag on the kitchen counter now. I think I need a wall clock because I have been jumping out of bed wondering if I had overslept again. The refridgerator needs some serious stocking up.

And even if it's not quite necessary, I'd like to have a tiny table for two. I'd never know. : )

A little bit of this, and a little bit of that. And I think the Fatpad's good to go.


It's half-past-ten.

Time flies while I'm sitting here. I really need to wire up the Fatpad soon.

I think I might try the eggs tomorrow. Or the salmon.

Newfound Freedom...

... or, an onset of trauma?

What's it gonna be?

"Free Circulation"

I am such a thief. I stole a magazine.

I am potentially deportable.

Shhh...

Torn

Too much of good stuff is never good. Especially if they give you headaches.

And no, I am not talking about alcohol.


And it doesn't help that I am not a very good decision-maker. Sometimes I just take way too long a process to make one decision, and worse, I take way too long a time just to make a bad decision.

So I drew up a chart today. Hopefully, it might help me 'see' things clearly.

Then again, seeing things clearly does not necessarily help me make the right decision.


I think I am not going to complicate my mind any further.

I am going to whittle it down to just five, and I'll crack my brains over them. It's bad enough.

Or maybe, I should just...

Fuck.


It should've been a lazy sleep-in Saturday.

Instead I dragged myself out of bed at noon and met up with the agent who bought me one round of beer for every stop we made before I could settle down for lunch. Which eventually turned out to be some really good aglio olio.

People here are crazy. But at least the food is good.

Nails

"Oh, you have short nails."

Oh. What's wrong with my short nails?

Pacific Coffee Break

This is not fun at all.

I think I am going to be homeless soon.

Question

Does abstinence lead to intolerance?

Will it?

Hope not.

"What Happened To Your Girls?" x 100

I saw two schnauzies scurrying towards me on my way home tonight.


'Nuff said.

Ridiculous

Can't believe it.

It was supposed to be an early night. Some good eight hours of beauty sleep were in the plans, supposedly eased with a run earlier in the evening.

Instead, I did laundry till half-past-eleven. Mourned over my shrunken clothes. Googled on stuff for an hour. Chatted with a couple of folks on the messenger. Before I would peel meself off the chair and tuck myself into bed.

And then, the itchy fingers reached out for the remote, and the surfing started. And stopped when Meg Ryan and Andy Garcia appeared on the screen.

I must've like watched that show five times, or maybe even more. But that didn't stop me from watching it for the sixth time, or maybe twentieth time, last night.

I almost forgot how much I love that show. It has got to be one of the most realistically beautiful love stories ever played out on silver screen.

But most of all, it speaks right to me. I've always thought, I'm just like her.

I could end up just like her.

I didn't get to finish the movie, because I had to switch off the damned telly when I saw the clock at half-past-two.


I opened my eyes at five. Wide open. And hard as I shut my eyes, I just wouldn't drift back into bed.

By six, I decided I should just get my ass outta bed. If I were to really fall asleep then, I would never make it to work by nine.

Googling continued at six, and by seven, I decided I should just get to work.


Let's see.

What was supposed to be eight hours turned out three instead.

What a waste of my mask and creams. I think I am going to crash after lunch.


Yes. I am blogging at work.

Kill me.

"Shit Happens"

Fuck.

Now I've got a tip of my own to offer. I learned it the heart-wrenching way.

Always read the fucking care instructions on the labels of your favorites and try not to fucking act smarter.

What's not meant to be tumble-dried ought not to be tumble-dried. Even though they do look like cheap cotton clothes.

Aaarrggghhh.


For now, I am only feeling so thankful there's a huge-ass Muji right at my building.

Dammit.

Laundry Night

I can't believe I took almost three hours just for laundry tonight.

Including the time I took to get sixteen floors down to ground, walk over to the next tower to climb up another twenty-one, get down twenty-one to ground again just to change some notes for dollar coins and then back up twenty-one again to start the stupid machine. And the one hour I took just to google on "how long should I tumble-dry my clothes for". And the extra time I took to set the dryer on another run again because I didn't follow my gut feel the first time round to set it at thirty minutes.

Yeah, three hours sound just about right.

But look what life-saving tips I gained during that hour-long googling.

- Washing only your whites in hot water and the rest in cold water, will save you energy dollars and will still result in a clean wash.
- Use liquid detergents for cold water washes; powders will not dissolve well and will leave a white residue on dark clothes.
- Fold clothing immediately when the dryer cycle ends; it will reduce wrinkles.
- Half or a third of a fabric softener sheet works as well as a full sheet and saves you money.
- Dryer timed cycles may possibly be reduced. Experiment to reduce uneccessary drying time; you may only need 15 minutes and not 30 to dry your load.
- Too much detergent in your load will leave a soapy residue on your clothing.

Hmm.


Now, don't get me wrong.

I love household chores. I love the process of shopping for laundry powder and softeners along the aisle of the supermarket.

I love the smell of freshly laundered clothes. I love the feel of warmly spunned clothes.

I can't wait to get down on all fours to mop my own floors.

Kopitiam Price

Discovery of the day:

If I get to the supermarket just before it closes at nine, I'd be damned if I could get meself a darned decent Japanese take-home dinner at half the price.

Awesome. Awesomely cheap.

Miss Tan, if you ever do come visit me, dinner's on me.

Feeling PUMPed up

I think I know why the mood dip.

I haven't run, I haven't swum, I haven't done anything remotely aerobic for weeks - except maybe walked here and there and everywhere, up the slopes and stairways, in the Kong.

So I decided to do a little recce 'round the temporary neighborhood, just to get the heart going and the sweat flowing. And hopefully the mood rising.


I almost died.

The smothering heat and the fuzzy air almost asphyxiated me. I loved the slopes though.

I did a short one today, and I'd love to do a longer one tomorrow... but I really don't know about running out there again.


So I ran in my smokin' hot new pumps today.

No, not the girly pumps.

It's the Pumps that every mother's son wanted to get his hands on twenty years ago.

Beef Noodles Beef Noodles Beef Noodles

In another twenty-four hours, the plane should be taking off.

I am rather looking forward to it. I have been so deprived of noodles and hot soup, I am already getting giddy deciding what to gobble down the moment I dump my bags.

The only thing that keeps me sane here is soy latte. Three cups a day keep the madness away.

Starbucks soy lattes. They taste the same everywhere. If that's some gratification.

Long Shot

My heart skipped many many beats when I saw this strange email.

Abbiamo ricevuto il Suo curriculum vitae e La ringraziamo per l’attenzione che ha riservato nei confronti della nostra azienda.

Sarà nostra premura contattarLa non appena si evidenzieranno opportunità aziendali consone al Suo profilo ed alle Sue aspettative.

In attesa di incontrarLa personalmente, Le porgiamo i nostri più cordiali saluti.


What?! What the fuck are they saying? They've finally got news for me?


Then I decided, maybe I should scroll it down a bit.

We have received your Resume and we would like to thank you for your interest in our company.

Please, rest assured it will be our commitment to contact you immediately in case there is a position that is available and suitable to your skills and expectations.

Thanking you very much for your attention.


Then I realized. It probably took them three months to translate.

Cuter

Aiyoo... I am so naughty.

Flexi-hour, Flexi-life

The weather here is nutty.

Warm one night, refreshingly cool the next. Then chilly the following. Like it is right now.

Still, I love it. I'd rather be cold anytime than warm. When it's cold, I can pile on the clothes. But when it's hot, I can't bledy walk around topless. =/


I am absolutely bushed. And I haven't even gotten started on the real thing.

I am probably on the very steep slope of the learning curve right now, and if I don't get a grip on myself, I might just slide and crash any moment.

But all's good. I'm impressing myself by the day. And most of all, Boss has given me the green light to be absolutely autonomous.

"It's your baby."

I am loving the sound of it.


It's going to be a road trip for the next few weeks. My luggage is going to be overworked.

All of a sudden, I'm going places once more. Places I've been dying to go to. I so can't wait.

God is indeed good.

All that, but not before the trip back home to pack up all my stuff for good. So I really can't wait as well to find meself my new home in the next two weeks. Because I don't want to fuckin' return to the depressing hole all the time.

I so want to be able to lounge in my undies and sip on Penfolds and watch crappy DVDs till I fall asleep on the couch at the end of the day.


But the news that really made my day wasn't the road trips. It was something else even way better.

So I work in a flexi-hour company.

How's that for awesomeness?!?! No more guilty feeling for all those jump-out-of-bed-forty-five-minutes-after-the-alarm-rings mornings!!

This has definitely gotta be more awesome than those business class seats.

*****

So I am packing my bags for good.

Something I can't really tell to my folks.

I just really don't know where I'll eventually end up. I don't want to think, I don't want to plan. This is only but the beginning. I hope.


If you'd ask me, I'd have to say I think I am one of them women who have decided to throw all my life into my work because love has eluded me.

Upping My Cutesiness

I am so very impressed with my Samsung phone.



But I am even more so impressed with the Eleanor Grosch Keds I've finally hunted down!


I don't need to spend half my salary on SKIIs. I just need shoes.

But wait... I am not thirty-five yet.

Dammit.

Part II

I am very tempted to delve deeper into the men-versus-women career-myth hypothesis I've crafted, but it touches on emotional and behavioral issues.

So maybe I should refrain here, just in case I ruffle some feathers. Or at least, till I am in a more foul or emotional mood.

...

What the heck. This is the Fatmama blog.

Moreover, I could probably not be in a more foul mood than I am now.


So men get married to get promoted. Because the conventional view is that men portray a (sometimes misleading) image of stability and trust when they flaunt a wedding band.

Let's see. It is all very logical, very natural if you were to try understanding your male friends around you.

Men don't usually rise to boss-hood in their twenties. Which pretty much coincides with their behavioral stage where they just want to play. (At this point, I do note that the few men who do rise to boss-hood in their twenties are usually nerds who have no life.)

So one fine day, usually taking place some time in their thirties, men decide they are done with their frivolous lives and they ought to start working hard at their jobs because they decide they have squandered away too much of their moolah and it is time to earn it all back at an accelerated rate. But men being men, they do feel the need for some companionship, maybe just more constant this time round. So how about getting a wife too?

The rate of getting a wife seems definitely faster than the rate of getting a promotion, because you only need to compare the number of 'nice girls' out there versus the number of bosses you can have in a company.

So men start slogging long-er hours at work and stop spending time at the bars, sufficiently motivated by the soothing companionship of a loving woman at the end of the day. Women, simply impressed by the hardworking men they have snagged, surely cannot resist the allure of a marriage proposal.

Bam! Men get married. Give them some time, and a letter and a pay rise come along the way.

It all pans out well for men. And it doesn't hurt much too. After all, they will always have secretaries and pretty girl colleagues in short tight skirts to ogle at.


Women, on the other hand, get promoted when they are single, and may usually stay that way for a long while.

Blame it on television. Blame in on the culture of feminism. Blame it on girl power. Blame it on the newfound independence and freedom. Whatever. But there are largely two kinds of women in existence these days: women who only yearn to find love and get married to the One, and women who believe in achieving success in what they want and like to do.

Of course, it doesn't have to be a compromise, but I have to stop believing in fairy tales.

Women who get married and enjoy a better work-life balance in their twenties tend to find tough competition against their single girlfriends who decide that if love eludes them, they would spend all their time and efforts at work instead.

It's a vicious circle. When the babies come, it spells bigger trouble in the ladder-climbing, even after the tummy is long gone.

Women who decide that they have no better luck in the love department than in the work department and therefore decide to throw their youth into Excel spreadsheets end up getting booted out of the love department altogether eventually.

Bosses love women workers, not so much for the short skirts they wear sometimes, but because women workers can be a crazy bunch of workaholics. What depression underlying the drive and motivation usually escapes the notice of the bosses.

If Mrs X is always running home for dinner with the hubby, or if Mrs Y has possibly two more maternity leaves to apply for in the next three years, why not give the job to Miss Z who has no life but finishes her assignments by midnight everyday?

So Miss Z gets the job, works till three in the morning, turns old and haggard, and starts spending half her salary on SKIIs when she realizes she is in real deep shit at thirty-five. The toilet uncle in her office would not even take a second look at her.


I am so scaring myself now. =/

Six-and-a-Half Inches

Or, seventeen centimeters.


Donald's feet lah.

FatQuote of the Day

It is always easy to spot the 'Inflatables' guy.

"The 'Inflatables' guys always look... inflated."

Men versus Women

Ah. One of the better snoozes I've had since I arrived.

I crashed right into bed and six hours straight without a jolt out of sleep. Still, too late to catch a run. That should be tomorow then.

Yes, yes. First thing I did on Monday was to get meself new running shoes. And shorts. And a top. That should suffice for now.


I woke up to an equally bright, fogless morning. Not absolutely clear, but the skies don't seem that fogged up today. Pretty much mirroring the state of mind I woke up with. Sweet.

Until I stepped out of the room to grab a coffee, only to see a note stuck on my neighbor's door, signed off by the room service waiter as...

@*&%^!&^%!!!!!


Anyhoos. It was rather strange as I got to do some thinking while in the bathroom this morning. I was that awake.

I thought about where I am now. And I thought about where I'd really like to eventually be this time round. If I were to really stick around in this game for real this time, there's only one way for me - and that is 'up'.

So I looked at the possibilities. The realities. And then the people who've made it 'up' there.

There are men, and of course these days, there are women up there. I thought about the ones I know of. Men bosses, women bosses. And I recognized what I'd only, up till now, read in magazine articles. A strange, but seemingly real pattern of the corporate shithole.

Men bosses are usually married. I haven't seen one that isn't yet. Career myth: Men who are married portray an image of stability and therefore trust in a high-level position.

Women bosses are sometimes not married. In fact, I note that there are more unmarried women bosses than the married ones. Career myth: Women who are married would naturally tend to split time more equally (or, unequally sometimes) between work and family, and worse, sometimes they take a long time away from work to make babies. On the other hand, unmarried ones usually stay that way even at a certain age and therefore make better, harder-working, more 'lifeless' slaves at work.

Myth or not, I actually can't be sure of now.

But I shudder.

So this is how it really is. Men get married to get promoted. Women get promoted and stay unmarried.

I shudder.

"Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen!"

I haven't been this tired in a long while.

Jet lag that I can't deal with suddenly. Thoughts in the head that wouldn't bug off. Eyes that wouldn't stay moist and open. Problems that I can't solve... yet.

So I can't help it if I am acting this cranky.


I did feel good at work today, though.

After all these days of worrying and wondering, I think I still have some, if not all, in me.

Which is a pretty good start. All very crucial for the building up of my well-being, I suppose.

Sometimes it's all a matter, for me at least, of heart versus head, mind versus body. I just have to get it right.


I have my personal maxim. And I stick by it.

Sometimes it matters not to me if what I do per se is right or wrong in itself, but it matters more to me if what I do is what I really want to do.

Yes, sometimes it's not a matter of heart versus mind, but rather one of whether my heart gets to fulfill its wishes.

But people around me translate that to me being stupid, me being too stubborn. Even the close ones. Especially the close ones.

Is that all that wrong?

I have lost faith in many things, in love even.

I just don't want to lose that precious faith in myself, however tiny it may be.


I don't think I have a point to make tonight.

I just need to babble. To cut it loose a little.


You must be better than just getting by.

Frustrated

These spooky manifestations - in the names of random strangers, names of new work people, names of pubs, in stupid fortune cookies - are absolutely fuckin' spooking me out and driving me nuts.

I have never in my life seen so many... never mind.

Dammit.


And I just had the strangest dream ever. A bit hilarious, though.

I think I'm suffering from hallucinations instead.

Chilly Summer

"So do you have a family?"

?????

"I mean, are you moving over with your family? I mean, do you have a husband, or a boyfriend?"

Oh. Duh. Check-out.


Not a rather easy third day at work. As I start to realize my floating device is faulty with a tiny hole somewhere and I am instead getting thrown deeper and further away into the deep blue ocean. And no one would bother saving me because the lifeboat is only that big for say, hmm, maybe the rest of my teammates.

I can't really complain. I can't say anything about the mess nor the mess. Because I had seen it coming. Especially because I had seen it years before. Just that I had not been the one to have to fix it before. Though now, it's my job to.

I had always been an 'unwanted' child. But I grew up fine. I am just being adopted into another new family as the 'unwanted' child again. So I should be fine.

I should know how to deal with this.

I am in fact beginning to adore this 'unwanted' child syndrome. There I am, always part of the family dinners and outings, all the big brothers all laughing and joking with me. But no one really cares how I am doing.

So it's good. No one fusses when I sneeze, cos I hate that sort of attention. No one breathes down my neck, scrutinizes my every single move, no one stops me from making any one step beyond my realm. It's great. I can run around, bare-footed, exploring the new world, venturing into unchartered territories, making up crazy ideas and putting them into plans. So long as I bring food home to the family on that very tiny little platter. And so long as I don't give trouble to the big brothers.

First thing though, I have to sort out the messy little room I've been suddenly thrown into. Before I can step outside to all the fun.

Dammit.


Retail therapy works.

Especially when you're busy picking out all the baby Gaps on the sale rack. Because when you're doing that, you only have all your little ones in your mind and it is such thoughts that warm your heart up and make you wonder, "Things aren't really that bad, are they?"

And especially because when you're doing that right in front of the sale rack, you get all excited and sweaty, running complicated math calculations in your mind - "$4.99? $6.99? $4.99 x 2? $7.99 x 2 x 2?..." You really don't have much more space left in your brains for anything else more complicated than that.

Before you know it, you have enough to set up a weekend flea market store.

Yes, things just don't seem that bad during a retail therapy session.

Boston

I can't believe I am actually back here. The air just feels different.

I can't especially believe it actually brings back the déjà vu feeling - the one where you feel glad for a while, as if you're momentarily taken away to a faraway land, far away from shit. The one where you just feel different. I can't explain if it's 'different' in a good or bad way. But just different.

The air here, so dry and so merciless at times. It just seems to suck you up so dry. Then you feel so crinkled, so shrivelled, sometimes you wish you could cuddle and hole up in your mother's womb again.

Sometimes you take the chill right in the face, and you smile as you notice your lips cracking from the creases around your lips.


Right. Anyhoo.

I miss this shit alright.

I saw Mount Rainier on my way in. Good shit.

Remorseful

Do you know how it feels inside, to know that you must've done something really bad yet not know exactly what bad thing you've done?

You just know you'd done something. And you just know it had to be something bad.

It happens. I know it does to me.

I knew it happened again.

I think I just turned into a stupid monster again. I gotta quit that stupid shit.


And then you just realise, it doesn't matter even if you're feeling really sorry.

It doesn't matter at all.

Sweaty Armpits

The weather's a little awful now, but I can't really complain since I am supposed to be "used to it".

Still, I get sweaty armpits just from grabbing my soy latte from the Starbucks across the street. And just minutes ago, I was freezing my ass off in the hole. Not sweet.

Which brings me to the next point: the air-conditioning here and everywhere is driving me insane. In the malls, in the trains, in the supermarkets, in Starbucks, even in the pubs, and of course, in the office.


Rightee. Shutting down and heading to the "Gei Chiong Fai Xun" (I hope I didn't write "Gong Xi Fa Cai") in another... oops, now.

Everything seems very surreal.

All of a sudden, I'm thrown back into a work desk, with meetings to attend and emails to reply, lunches to pack and co-workers to get to know. Suddenly, I have to remember how to think 'business'. Suddenly, I have to remember how to pack fast and efficient. Suddenly, I am earning mileage again.

I'll talk more about that another time... cos for now, I am just looking forward to my next destination.


Oh, and by the way, did I mention soy latte has just overtaken skinny latte as my new Starbucks favorite?

Blame it on the lack of kopi-o here.

I Miss My Friday Chick

"So this is your second day?"

"Yes! And it's already the weekend. Yay."

Not too bad, methinks.


Second day, and the Zzz monster has already tracked me down in some ulu 20th-floor corner in the Kong. Dammit.

Zzz monsters should just keep their activities to the night.

Actually, all monsters should.


It seems the new folks have a problem with my clothes. They had just stuffed a bunch of weirder-looking but brand new clothes in my face.

Don't tell me they think I am 'strange' too. I mean, c'mon, this is the Kong.

Or perhaps, I have just infiltrated yet another crazy cult who is so brainwashed by this thing called 'brand passion', it is already plotting to brainwash me and tarnish my awesome dress sense.

Although I am still very Singaporean, I am not very excited about the 'free' clothes.

This one, must 'D-A-M-M-I-T' loud loud.


I feel very much like a visitor still.

One who just can't stand the idea of being cooped up in her depressing hole, though she has tried to.

I need my VB.

DAMMIT.


I'd better find my new pad soon.

I'll call it my very own 'VB' then. :)

Fatheongkongmuimui

"I hate PCs."

"Get used to it. You are not being paid to blog."

Dammit. Dammit. DAMMIT.


Now, let me see what new things I have learnt in my first day as a new resident...

So my canto sucks. I just 'mmm koi' everything.

I so swear by internet banking. Queues kill me.

I see so many new numbers in my life now in the past week, I really feel like calling Mom and asking her to buy some 4Ds on my behalf.

I am really very 'sua ku'. I am actually very excited about taking business class to Boston. Though it's going to be freakin' eighteen hours up there.

Yogurt in Hong Kong is very expensive.

The only awesome thing about this hole is the free internet access.


Hole? What hole?

This "serviced apartment" in which I sleep right next to the sink.




*****

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't really know.

No "Goodbyes", Just "See-You-Soons"

So this is it.

I am finally like the sheperd boy, taking my first baby steps out of my world. In search of a new one, may it be better or not.

The road ahead leads only to a horizon so far and wide, I can never imagine what may lie ahead for me.

Remember my friends, Fatmama loves all of you. :)

Hometown

I did the last kopitiam session with my baby girl, our usual weekend shit.

Well, this one was a little more memorable. For obvious reasons, of course. But also because this was the one where my baby girl got that usual pick-up line I'd have heard elsewhere, where erm... 'drinks' would have been more worthwhile.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Let's disregard the fact that it came from an ah neh uncle, who might have gone on home to beat up the wife if we'd taken up the drinks offer. Still... it was totally out of whack.

My baby girl said the right thing her fatmomma would have said: "No, thanks."


So, me and my baby girl sat al fresco in the droning heat for a little longer than usual.

It was not only my last, but hers as well.

By the time I am next back in August, I'll be gorging on Ben & Jerry's with her new dessert spoons at her house-warming party in ulu Seng Kang.

So, between mom and daughter, that was our farewell kopi session in our hometown.

I think I choped the "Penguin". Oh no, maybe not. Maybe it was the "Cow". Or was it the "Pig"?


So, as usual, I took a stroll back home after we bade our goodbyes. And this time, I took a long, hard look at the apartments along the way. The trees, the roads, the bus-stop. The basketball court where I swore I would pick up the game when I was only all of twelve. The primary school that is in the process of resurrection.

The everything I had grown up with over the past twenty-nine years.

The familiarity and the comfort zone that I am removing myself from.

...

And I feel exhilarated.


I will never, ever forget my hometown.

But it doesn't mean I will never leave it.