Wimpy Photographer

Eilin is a wimp because she has no guts to ask strangers for permission to take photos, nor to blatantly whip her camera out and start snapping away.

So she either regrets sorely for missing great photo ops, or resorts to using her pathetic phone camera to sneak shots incognito.

What a loser.

Beijing, Beijing

I am misty-eyed and in love with Beijing.

Misty-eyed, not because I have to part with a Beijing boy, but because I had just braved dusty winds to walk on miles of the capital's sidewalks. Some say the particles in the winds are Gobi Desert sand, but I have a nagging feeling that they are in fact due to ubiquitous piles of dirt left by the roads for the let's-use-them-if-we-ever-decide-to-build-something-but-not-now construction, the same conclusion that I had drawn about Hanoi.

Never mind that.

And in love, because Beijing is like no other:

Where else in the world can an old man drive a tiny boxed-up scooter, bring a dozen songbirds in a dozen birdcages, hang them all up like artwork right by the palace wall, then leave to take a leak (right by the palace wall too) while an old lady stops to listen for a while?

Where else do they bundle up your book/CD/DVD purchases like packets of Chinese medicine?

Where else can you be with 17 million people and yet have an entire stretch of pavement all to yourself?

And Peking Duck. Need I say more?

The Worst Thing About Traveling Solo

The worst thing about traveling solo is eating alone. 

I usually end up:

• giving large-party meals such as hot pots and BBQs a miss. [Though there was once I had a Swiss cheese fondue, a basket of bread and two side dishes all to myself. It really depends on how courageous I feel at the point of time.]
• giving roadside snacks a miss because it takes half the fun away eating those alone. [A good compensation to this is to have two portions then :)]
• having a tough time deciding which one dish to order, resulting in a really boring meal. [In which case, I'd usually rather not eat.]
• ordering too much food and getting stuffed because it's not so nice to waste food, especially good food. [It happens to me ALL the time.]
• ordering too much food and wasting it because it's not so nice to stuff myself, especially when the food's revolting. [I subscribe to the philosophy of not wasting calories on undeserving food, but am secretly worried for my next life.]
• ordering too much and having to eat the leftovers on the the next morning. [Sometimes, I get a room with a kitchenette, which could be a blessing or a curse, mostly the latter.]
• ordering too much and bringing the leftovers back to the hotel, only to leave them in the fridge forgotten until the last hour before I check out, by when have no choice but to throw them away. [It happens about 100% of the time.]
• having to settle for the tiniest table at the most awkward corner in the restaurant where no waiter can see my frantically waving arm and hopeful eyes. [Then those eyes start shooting daggers. There is only so much patience in my 4"11' body.]
• having to sit at the bar/counter and eat while the bartender/chef is staring down my throat. [While I try like crazy to eat as elegantly as I possibly can.]
• having nothing to do while waiting for my food, so I pretend to look admiringly at ugly wall decorations. [This accounts for 50% of the time. The other 50% is when I put up with absurd music.]
• having nothing to do while waiting for my food, as I pretend to study the menu and jot down notes as if I were a no-nonsense food critic. [This is a little tricky, especially if you have Lonely Planet on the table.]
• not taking photos of my meals because it is too darn tacky and there is no one to share that tacky quotient with. [But then being Asian, I have license to be tacky!]
• taking way too many photos of my meals because there isn't much else to do, plus I need to show them off to my gluttony friends! [Sadly, I tend to forget about my camera when food is in my face.]
• eating too fast because I cannot wait to get the hell out of the almost-empty restaurant before the awkward silence kills me. [Luckily, I don't get this often, because it is my usual policy to avoid empty restaurants.]
• eating too fast because I cannot wait to get the hell out of the restaurant where wait staff and diners stare as if I were the saddest thing in the world because I have no one to eat with. [The saddest part is I think the same way too, sometimes.]
• buying junk food back to the hotel room to eat while I watch junk TV. [Oh, my favorite pastime!]
• not having dinner at all. [Probably because I had too much at lunch. Belch.]

Thanks, Bro!

Birthday chocolates from Confiseur Läderach. Yum!

Nagano to Gifu, Edo Style

"For one?"

The matronly ticket lady looked at me with interest. I nodded, smiling apologetically for my lack of companion. As much as I love to travel solo, I have not gotten used to the occasional bout of loneliness. At that moment, I wished I had some company, for it was going to be quite a walk.

"There you go. Please take care!"

The lady handed me my ticket and a map, looking slightly concerned. It was a slow day at the valley, and there weren't more than a handful visitors going on the trail beyond the first village. She was probably worried that I might get lost, and thus shouted after me to keep going on my left.

I started off a little disconcerted, as I was expecting more tourists at this Tsumago end of the trail, since it was so accessible -- just barely a minute from the JR Nagiso station. I've read that the Kiso Valley is a very popular tourist destination in this part of Japan, and the lack of visitors seemed most strange.

Five minutes down the path, I still did not see anyone else within sight. Not that I minded, of course, I was just worried that I was going the wrong way. Fortunately, the trail was well marked by signs, and after ten minutes, I forgot about navigating. Instead of looking out for directions, I was soon absorbed by the changing scenery at every turn of the trail. The idyllic forest and smattering of traditional houses, combined with the calls of birds and insects made it more than just picturesque. I didn't have the foresight of bringing my own water (I really thought they put vending machines everywhere and anywhere in Japan), and almost wanted to take a sip from the refreshing streams of water running alongside the pavement, where bunches of lovely wild flowers danced in the sun's reflection.

The valley had the kind of tranquil beauty that could move a grown man to tears, although I most certainly did not weep that day. I was too busy for that. As an avid photographer, I was stopping after every other step to take pictures. Pictures of flowers, birds, trees, butterflies, manicured gardens, rice fields, graveyards, stone Buddhas... It was indeed a very fruitful morning, and more importantly, I was walking on the famed Nakasendou!

The Nakasendou is the name of one of the two Edo period routes that connects Kyoto to Edo (present day Tokyo), and one of the five official routes for the Tokugawa shogunate. Cutting across the central mountains, it spans 544km with a total of 69 stations. Today, a few stretches of the original route remains, including this 8km trail between the post towns of Tsumago in Nagano Prefecture, to Magome in Gifu Prefecture, which has been painstakingly restored and preserved. As such, the architecture style of the houses along this trail remains mostly unchanged, and walking down the restored paving evoked nostalgia even to an outsider like me. I could almost imagine samurais hurrying by as I strolled along this historic path.

Come to think of it, I came close to being history there and then, together with those aristocratic warriors, when I nearly stepped on a snake! I was ambling along the wooded trail, and boy, am I glad to have looked up the slope ahead of me! It was approximately 6 ft long, lying straight across the road. It must have felt my footsteps, for it had its head up high when I approached, ready to attack. I did not scream, only because I was instantly devoid of breathe. My legs seemed to take on a mind of their own and managed to scramble backward until it was far enough for the snake to understand that I wasn't keen on intruding. In fact, the thought of turning back to avoid the path of a sunbathing serpent did crossed my mind, but I soon decided that it was too wimpy a choice for someone in the origin of kamikazi. I mustered all the courage I could possibly have to stand still for a good minute before the snake slithered off the pavement and into the bushes. Very much later, I continued on my hike, quickly.

The episode with the snake shook me up a little, especially when there seemed to be no one else in the vicinity who could possibly come to my rescue if I did get bitten by it. I never felt worse about traveling alone. In a desperate bid to keep calm, I started a funny conversation with myself, taking longer and faster strides as I rambled on, and finally saw the first person in the valley, across the rice fields. It was an elderly local resident in yellow rubber boots and a big floppy cloth hat who seemed to be in a great hurry. Either that, or she must have seen me talking to myself and thought I was a madwoman, for she sped into her cottage before I could smile and say hi. I bowed to the koi in her fish pond anyway.

Finally, after passing some of the most beautiful rural homes I've seen in Japan, I entered the Tsumago post town. Yes, it was just the beginning, but I wasn't in a hurry to walk to Magome, my feet were tired and I need something to drink quite badly. I hesitated outside an old, pretty teahouse, wondering if they specialize in strange food like horse sashimi, a regional delicacy that I wasn't too keen to embrace, yet. Most of all, I wondered if they serve soft drinks. I was really, really thirsty.

After walking up and down the charming cobbered main street and not finding any better bets, I decided to take a risk at the teahouse I had came upon earlier. A friendly staff led me to a table by a pretty Japanese garden, I almost gave a loud whoop when I saw the wide open view of it from my seat. The ambiance was amazing -- imagine a dining area on tatami, with low, aged tables and cushions dyed in traditional indigo. The only illumination was the soft sunlight peeking through the row of pine trees lining the garden. Sounds of chopsticks against rice bowls reverberated in the light breeze like a wind chime tinkling softly.

Of course, a major source of happiness for me was that they had Kirin orange soft drink! I ordered the local specialty, goheimochi, a skewered and grilled rice cake smeared with a sweet miso paste. It was excellent, much to my surprise, as I was never a big fan of mochi. The lone ojisan sitting at the next table had a huge bento set, which looked really... erm... huge, I was quite glad I didn't order one of those, or I'll be there all day. As I was paying at the counter, I read from one of the signs that the teahouse had been in business since Edo times, and warriors actually frequented it! This information really made my day, for I had walked, and now dined, in true samurai fashion. I left feeling immensely smug.

Back on the street, I took in Tsumago with renewed enthusiasm. It is a wonderful little town with quaint teahouses, traditional inns and omiyage shops that are usually packed with tourists who arrive by the busloads. I mingled among them, happy to eavesdrop on a tour guide's commentary at the post office museum. An ice cream, countless photos and some sightseeing later, I proceeded on the next stage of my Nakasendou hike. I headed out of Tsumago feeling energetic, happy to note that there were a few other people on the same trail this time. However, I was soon left behind by them, despite valiant attempts to keep up. Till now, I really wonder if they were ninjas.

It was amazing how different the touristy main street was from the trail further down. I seemed to have left the rest of the world behind, it was just me alone, again. This part of the trail was just as attractive as the one just preceding Tsumago town, but it required much more effort as there were some steep slopes involved. I slowed down to a crawl after twenty minutes, and raindrops began to fall. Dang, I had no rain gear!

It must be due to my good karma that I had just crossed a motorway and was halfway up the steps when it rained. I couldn't possibly walk any further in the rain and it was getting dark too, so I ran back down to the road and voila, a bus stop sign! I didn't have to wait long in the rain before the bus plying between Tsumago and Magome arrived. Acknowledging how ridiculously lucky I was, I made a mental note to buy some sort of lottery when I get back to the city, and drifted to sleep on the cushy, air conditioned bus.

When I peeled my eyes open after what seemed like a long time, I was in Magome. It looked bigger and more touristy than Tsumago, but I didn't quite have time to sight see. It was getting late, and I really didn't want to continue on the trail to the JR Nakatsugawa station and risk getting lost in the woods in the dark. The only option for me is to catch the last bus to the train station, which was scheduled to depart in less than thirty minutes' time. I was pretty disappointed for not being able to take more photographs of the Nakasendou, but I managed to console myself by browsing the omiyage shop just opposite the bus stop and spending some yen on two packets of traditional chestnut cakes. Shopping does heal, and I was soon over the fact that I did not complete my hike.

By the time I got on the bus, then the train, and arrived back in Gifu, it was past dinner time and everything reverted back to normal. There was no death threatening reptile, no post office from the past, no obasan and her koi pond, no delicious goheimochi on a stick, much less sword wielding samurais. Why, I couldn't even find that Kirin orange soft drink in any of the convenience stores! It was as if I had just returned from a visit to the past... Or was I simply dreaming?

Maybe. The Kiso Valley is such a beautiful place, it can't be real.

Unadulterated Bathing

Strip. Scrub. Soak.

Aahhh... I'm finally back in home base. While I can't say that I have accustomed myself to all things Japanese, one practice I've taken like fish to water is, literally, Japanese-style bath water -- still, steaming and stylishly zen.

Looking back, I was quite abruptly introduced to the wafu way of self-cleansing twelve years ago, when I joined the Yoshimuras-and-friends on a camping trip to Fukui. We drank, made merry and hardly slept. On the next morning, everyone agreed that a bath was the next sensible thing to do. Before I could protest that I just had my morning shower, I was whisked off to a nearby sento, shoved the standard two towels, one large and one small, and told to undress in a room with two dozen other stark-naked women. I felt strangely dizzy.

Putting on a brave front, I knew I had to do what the nihonjin do and recovered quickly to to strip myself into my birthday suit, not daring to stray my eyes all the while Keiko and her mom peeled off their layers. For the record, I had never bathed with my own mother before this, let alone someone else's. With steam floating around my giddy head, I was initiated into the surreal world of Japanese mass bathing.

For the uninitiated, communal bathing in Japan involves taking off your shoes at the entrance, stowing them on shoe racks or shoe lockers and changing into slippers. Then, you enter the correct changing room for your gender (look out for blue curtains for male and red for female), you undress and put your clothes into individual baskets or lockers. Towels are usually provided and are either found in these baskets or given to you earlier at the reception. However, some establishments expect you to bring your own or you can buy a small one cheaply from them. Once you're stripped to nudity, grab the smaller towel and head for the shower area (usually separated by a glass door).

Now, at this point, if you are expecting to see shower cubicles, you are in for a shock. What awaits ahead is a long row (or more, depending on the scale of establishment) of mirrors, taps, removable shower heads, toiletries, plastic basins and stools, on which women (I suppose the same goes for men on the other side) of varying shapes and sizes are busy engaging in head to toe scrubbing, scrubbing and more scrubbing. The idea is not to fix your gaze on anyone (it's rude to stare, as in most other cultures) but go about cleansing yourself in a matter-of-factly manner.

Quickly, find an empty stool, sit down, and start soaping and shampooing. Next, fill the basin with water, wet the small towel and scrub every part of your body with the towel. Some ladies bring their own little bathing kit that includes scrub pads, razors, brushes and whatever they may need for a bath. There's no right or wrong procedure here, just take your time and wash yourself like how you'd do it back home. The only thing to make sure is that you clean yourself thoroughly before stepping into the pool, as it is very, very inappropriate (not to mention unhygienic) to share the bath with others otherwise.

Once you are squeaky clean, you may step into the oyu, or hot bath water. Note that long hair should be tied up or wrapped with the small towel so that stray hair will not find its way into the water. If you are shy, feel free to use the small towel to cover up a little (frankly, there's not much you can hide with a towel that tiny), but never put the towel into the bath! The Japanese will feel offended by such inconsiderate behavior. Remember, that towel just scrubbed every single inch of your body.

If you're in a regular, no-nonsense sento, or public bathhouse, there will probably be just one pool for everyone. Enjoy the hot soak for no longer than 15-20 minutes (less if you are a first-timer), and rinse in cold water before going back in the bath. The hot-cold-hot cycle aids blood circulation and I heard it's better to end with a cold shower. Again, there is no rule to the number of times you go into the bath, the point is to enjoy and relax yourself fully after a hard day's work (or travel).

However, if you are in one of those more touristy hot spring bathhouses, usually in famous onsen towns, expect multiple pools containing different combinations of minerals or herbs, each touting to relieve a different ailment, which is why onsen-visiting is a popular recreation among seniors. Most of these upmarket establishments have outdoor pools with pretty Japanese-style gardens or rock features. Some have great mountain, sea or city views, and some are open round the clock for those who want to combine a hot spring bath with sunrise viewing. I had personally tried a few outdoor baths on snowy winter nights, and I must say that the combination of snow flakes falling on your head, semi-frozen cheeks and a hot, almost scalding, body is one of the most wonderful things that can happen to anyone.

I remember one time in Tokyo, I stayed in a dorm-style hotel that didn't come en suite, and had to take my bath at a specific time in the common bathroom downstairs (it was same bath but different time slots for men and women). Believe it or not, after I checked out one week later, I actually felt lonely bathing by myself. Somehow, it had become a cleansing ritual performed with strangers; there was an unspoken camaraderie among all who shared that same pool of water.

As you can see, I am totally sold on this bathing-together business. And it's not just out in the public; the Japanese people bathe in a similar manner at home, with stools and mirrors for careful scrubbing, and a common bathtub of hot water for the whole family. From the way I see it, it's an art that embodies attitude. The Japanese take pride in their bodies, like how they take pride in everything else.

Why so serious?

Why not.

Truckload of Old Fashioned Ingenuity

Drink a Glass of Tradition

September 1st - Hong Kong - Blistering hot

Trudging over to Central and up the Midlevel escalators (thank god for these!), hastily sweating my morning congee and breakfast tea away, I met up with KFC (his birthright initials, I swear), who was standing outside an authentic Chinese herbal tea shop with a sweaty lunchtime crowd, drinking a special 'cooling' brew.

The contrast was amusingly stark -- well-heeled workers from the excruciatingly chic IFC offices nearby, standing around drinking bitter age old potions at a shop so ancient-looking that I won't be surprised if Wong Fei Hong walked right out of it. Just try imagining the after-work clientele at Harry's, then take the beer bottles away and replace them with murky concoctions in chipped glasses on a stainless steel countertop and surgical-green mosaic walls. There you go, a real, breathing Hong Kong.

I tried to hide my Starbucks Caramel Creme Frappuccino from view as KFC (alright, for the very last time, before he protests) offered to buy me a glass of that mysterious tea, feeling slightly ashamed for drinking something so foreign, so pretentious and not too beneficial to the body. I turned down his offer anyway, and looked around curiously.

Around me, deep in the bowels of Asia's financial center, voluntarily removed from the air-conditioned comfort of their state-of-the-art offices, are men and women decked in smartly pressed shirts and dresses, probably from Lane Crawford or the likes, now soaked and stuck to their backs like clingwrap, their carefully tousled hair wilting in the midday heat, all for barely half-a-pint of traditional goodness.

In a heartbeat, I remembered why I love Hong Kong. Here, people live with their heritage, and I really dig that.

Travel Companions

Hong Kong International Airport - Sep'08

Published Work - Club Med Sahoro

Simply Her, Aug 2008

* What Goes Around Comes Around

London Eye, UK - Summer 2001

An Abandoned Sail

Whenever I suffer from writer's block (maybe 'blogger's block' would be a better term), I could almost always look to Benkei for inspiration. His words could discover and pull mine out like a strong, reliable magnet, and I had never been failed.

He was like the wind, sometimes swift and furious, sometimes easy and gentle. He pervaded every nook and cranny of humanity. There was nothing he could not write about, I thought.

However, the wind had ceased. He stopped writing. I had lost my muse.

My sail is forsaken. I wonder if it will ever be picked up by another.

I'm on Taiwan News! Almost.

Woooaah... I'm famous!

Haha. Not exactly, but this is the closest I've gotten to fame. I have been featured (term used very loosely here) on Taiwan's Liberty Times in a travel article.

http://www.libertytimes.com.tw/2007/new/dec/24/today-travel1.htm

By the way, you can skip the text, I've no business in there. Look at the photos instead. Yeah, that long-range one of some blue people skiing on virtually slopeless ground. See the one looking lost and drowned in a ski jacket that is way too large? THAT'S ME! (Grin.)

Pretty pathetic, I know, but nonetheless amazing to be on a foreign national daily. I've not even been in the locals!

Published Products Writeup - Organic Asian Foods

Simply Her, Feb 2008

Published Products Writeup - Organic Asian Foods (cont'd)

Simply Her, Feb 2008

Published Products Writeup - Kids' Musical Toys

Simply Her, Feb 2008

Published Products Writeup - Kids' Musical Toys (cont'd)

Simply Her, Feb 2008

Touched

Today is Christmas eve, and I received yet another a surprise parcel from Hiroko. It contained a box of delicious Aomori candied apple slices, a Christmas card and her very own custom-made New Year postcard.

It made me feel really blessed this Christmas to have such a great friend in her.

Mrs Sawada, Merry Christmas!

Not Your Pet

I like my Facebook despite detractors calling it 'a total waste of time' (which I can attest to) and 'only for those with no life' (excuse me?!). I feel quite at home with the 111 people I know enough to add to my Friends list, and I enjoy throwing cakes in their faces once in a while, or leaving virtual post-it notes to cheer them up. Indeed, most of my closest and most outrageous friends are on FB, and they make FB-ing a whole lot more fun. That was how I became a convert. Having said that, I think it is still important to stay vigilant and in control of our lives, virtual or not. And practice cyber-sanity, no pet rearing.

Call me a prude, but I had to draw the line when people start to think I'm some unwanted kitten from SPCA. That's was exactly what I found happening to me this morning when I logged in to my Facebook account. It sent me a notification saying someone actually owns me as pet.

Initially, I thought it was probably a close friend with a sense of humor. But no, it wasn't. Although I have a general lack of mental facility to remember faces and events, I do quite well with names, and I was quite certain I've never seen my so-called new owner's name in my entire life. Yes, I had just been sold to a complete stranger.

I was tempted to delete that Human Pets application immediately, which I had previously added without much thought (as with many other FB applications), purely as a favor to a friend who had wanted to earn some points. But I didn't want to offend the poor guy or appear unfriendly to a fellow FB-er. After all, I did put myself up for adoption unwittingly. I deliberated for a while, and decided that I really didn't want to be kept. I clicked on the 'secretly escape' button and the rest is history.

Friends, in case you see a missing pet notice, don't turn me in.

* Pretty Please?

Grandparents' at Toa Payoh, 1978

Not Really Mothers' Day

This is something I wrote years ago in my ugly brown jotter book. I rediscovered these thoughts while going through the junk I was about to clear out. Somehow, when I read it again, it seemed like I was reading someone else's words. This is why writing is so fun.

Yesterday was Mother's Day and I hope everyone's moms had a terrific time.

For me, I wished my mom a Happy Mother's Day and had a simple supper with her last night. That was about it, since we are having our weekly dinner with my sister and brother-in-law tonight (as usual Monday is our family day), plus two weeks ago I had already bought her the deepfryer she wanted from Robinson's.

But that is not the point. What I really want to share here is a thought that had dawned upon me in between watching the heartfelt wishes and giant carnation displays on TV.

Why on Mother's Day and not on our birthdays?

Just think about it, a child's birthday should be more significant to a mother because that is also the day that she would think, "Gee, I gave birth to my baby today x years ago!" Probably the most memorable, if not painful, day of her life.

Also, the official Mother's Day date is different on each year (and celebrated on different days throughout the world!), which is such a pain in the a** to remember. It doesn't make a lot of sense at all.

On the other hand, maybe it's just to make the fathers feel better, coz 'third Sunday of June' isn't exactly a breeze either. Now we know.

* Black - The New Red?

Sahoro, Hokkaido - Dec' 07

Carbon - Would You Buy It?

No ladies, I am not referring to your diamonds.

It's about the recent Virgin Atlantic move to offer passengers carbon offsets alongside in-flight duty-free items. Although the initiative hasn't taken off in Asia yet, I already wonder if Singaporeans will actually pay a fee for own carbon emissions, or even be remotely interested in how large their carbon footprints are. My guess is, people would probably shrug it off since it's optional. And if the offset is made compulsory, most Singaporeans will see it is a penalty rather than their responsibility, and trust me, they will make a lot of noise. A LOT of it.

It's sad to see how our nation has developed, and how it hasn't at the same time. I always had this rosy picture painted of us being abreast of issues of the world because we have quality media coverage and a large number of highly educated and well travelled Singaporeans. However, it seems to be contrary in reality. Granted, many go through the motion of reading their papers daily, but what information they are picking up is debatable.

The majority of local readers are reading news for updates on what affects them most personally and directly instead of focusing on the fundamental issue. They want to know, say, how a new labor policy is going to affect them. Will they lose their jobs? Will they get a pay increment? But they probably couldn't care two hoots about the social repercussions of a large foreign work force or the extent of our country's widening rich-poor gap. At least not until something tangible takes form.

For a relatively developed nation like ours, such general apathy is actually quite appalling. Maybe it is a syndrome of hardware growing faster than heartware. After all, mindsets take time to develop, and money apparently doesn't take so long to generate, so let's be patient. Take heart, for there is also a strong minority out there who is genuinely concerned about the world and its well being, and doing their best to make a difference. That's all we need, just some belief.

So for the rest who are still unsure, take your time, ponder over your carbons.

* Counting Down to Christmas

Hokkaido, Japan - Dec' 07

Blur Queen

If you recall from my previous blog post, I am also Miss Mess Queen. So that makes me a double-title holder. Sigh. If only this was a beauty contest.

About being Miss Blur, all I got to say is, it really isn't my fault. I am absolutely certain that at some point in time, I was abducted by aliens and hence had my intellectually superior mind altered in some big experiment, leaving me with a half empty skull that has trouble processing memories lasting more than two seconds.

Mmm... What was I saying again?

Ha ha. Alright, things aren't that bad yet, I was just having a little fun writing silly stuff like that. But seriously, I am quite a loser when it comes to remembering things. Big things, small things, they all elude me.

Just barely three days ago, I had left my passport in an airplane seat pocket and conveniently forgot all about it. I then happily swapped seats and spent the next seven hours not realizing what I've done. Fortunately, I always have eagle-eyed friends to watch over me. At the end of the flight when we were all standing up, waiting to leave the plane, Irene coolly walked up to my original seat and pulled out my passport -- leather cover, boarding pass, the entire works. The same thing happened to me another time, also when I was on board a plane and about to disembark. Trusty Huifen pulled my passport out from in-between two seats. On both instances, I swore not to do it again. Obviously, my swearing didn't help at all. I was just as hopeless.

Misplacing items, remembering the wrong names, mixing dates up, misadventures like these happen to me all the time, and I've since gotten used to being a blundering idiot. I just hope I don't frustrate my friends too much.

To you all, thank you for being my guardian angels. Just bear with me until I get a chance to speak to those aliens. I want my brains back.

* Dream House

Hokkaido, Japan - Dec' 07

Japanese, Or Not

I have a strange affinity for Japanese things. It's really not the kind of fervent passion that you see in people chasing the Japanese culture. I'm just not the pursuing type. Rather, it is an innate familiarity that I had somehow developed for a culture that seems so different to many others.

I'm not quite sure how I did it. Maybe I was born with a Japanese gene by mistake, or maybe it was those Japanese beers. Whatever it was, I took it for granted and didn't think too much about it. It was not until I went on this recent media trip to Japan with fellow Singaporeans that I realized just how strange it was for me to be so at home with quirky Japanese ways.

For example, I did not learn how to bow and exchange pleasantries in the Japanese fashion. I simply did. I'd say a quiet "itadakimasu" when I start eating, and "gochisousama" when I finish, even when I eat alone. When it gets cold, I'd let out a "Samu(i)!" under my breathe without thinking. They all seem so natural to me. And I definitely did not grow up taking baths with strangers, but I love to. The practice of communal bath grew so much on me that I began to feel melancholic if I had to take my shower in solitude.

Now there are some truly Japanese things that do not go down so well with me. Take sashimi for example. If you have already read my previous blog posts, you'd have gotten an inkling that Japanese food isn't quite my cup of tea. And if you're thinking, "What about those ramen and stuff?" Let me tell you that ramen is originally Chinese. So are gyoza dumplings. There you go.

So in conclusion, despite having quite a bit of Japanese in me, my stomach is essentially Chinese.

* Cousins' Bonding Day

East Coast Park, Singapore - Nov'07

Can't Do It For Food

I don't normally do food reviews for a few really good reasons.

Reason #1: No photos for illustration.

If you are a true foodie, you'd understand my predicament. I have absolutely zero control over my enthusiastic taste buds when confronted with highly delectable food. Out of ten times, I'd forget to take pictures a good eight times. Even if I remembered, it would be a tad too late. Before I can say "cheese!", the damage will have been done, and any enticing presentation of a dish will inevitably be ruined and reduced to an appetite-inhibiting splotch. Garnishes overturned, meat dissected, gravy dribbled all over. Not a pretty sight, especially for a food review.

Reason #2: Lack of recollection of details.

I am not one for note-taking during the course of my meal. In fact, I think that is counter-productive to fully appreciating food. The hand, at the fine moment of food tasting, is for holding cutlery, not stationary; the mind, at the same said moment, is to be experiencing pleasurable sensations, not sidetracking to remember the right spelling for exotic ingredients.

Hence, without the aid of a trusty notebook, it is quite unlikely for me to remember a thing about really good food. I wonder how anyone can. Especially those who can list every single detail from the price of the entire menu down to the types of tableware used in presentation.

Reason #3: Lack of words for description

How do you say something tastes really good, other than saying it tastes really good? Pardon my bluntness but I do find words like oozing (warm chocolate cake), slippery (udon), firm (fish) and bloody (steak) quite disgustingly sexual, or medical, or both.

I don't know about you, but to me, mind-blowing orgasmic food (some people prefer to describe it this way) just ain't something you can recount and retell with precision. (Which is also why I can't understand people who blog about their... ahem, other orgasmic-inducing pursuits.) The joy of eating is an intimate personal experience, quite indescribable in words. You can't just tell someone how good it is, he's got to try it for himself.

So my conclusion is, food bloggers must be food lovers who have remarkable self-control or a remarkable memory. Or they are not real food lovers at all, just people who find eating otherwise too boring. Whatever it is, I know I can never aspire to be one, and I shall count on the goodwill of these industrious people to write good reviews so that I know where to go for my next... errr... pleasurable moment.

* Have the children forgotten about us?

Inokashira Koen, Kichijoji
Summer, 2007

Lost Things

I got a little sentimental last weekend when our home was finally sold. Not that I minded the sale; I was eager to move to my spanking new apartment after all. But somewhere deep down inside, it hurt to say goodbye to this familiar place where I grew up in, the safest and warmest I've known so far, for a good twenty-odd years.

At this point, I've got to admit that I am a sucker for old things. Books, clothes, jewellery, furniture, anything. You'd find me happiest thrifting at a surplus shop. Even when I buy new items, I like them to look like they have been used forever. I would try to wear and tear down my belongings as soon as I lay my hands on them. My motto: The tattier, the better! I'm absolutely not a leave-that-film-protector-on-my-cellphone/digicam/Ipod-to-prevent-scratches kinda girl. Instead, I leave clear, deep impressions on my stuff like how animals scent-mark their territory, as if to say, "IT'S MINE, IT'S MINE, IT'S MINE!!!"

Maybe it's prehistorical human instinct and I'm just less evolved, but I prefer to think of it as an affectionate attachment to my belongings. To me, used items have the ubiquitous quality of being exceptional. No two are the same. New things start off looking bland and characterless, but over time, moments add up and relationships develop between men and their things. Then one day, they become precious. Precious with lots of memories. And I dig memories.

So, I'm an oldie and I like my things ancient. That's why I'm feeling rather melancholic about the loss of my old abode. I'll miss viewing the brilliant sunset colors out of the creaky old window. I'll miss looking up at the uneven plastered ceiling when I'm lying sleepless in bed. Most of all, I'll miss being able to come up to the door step and just step right into my "home".

The precious thing is no longer mine.

* Do Not Disturb

Bangkok, Thailand - Sep' 07

The Dichotomy of Self

I am the embodiment of extremes. Well, I guess there's nothing wrong with it.

Two minds, two stances, two halves of an identity;
Never compromising, only winning or losing;
One way or another, it has got to be.

Good or Evil? The angel and devil plays
Hide-and-Seek, Police-and-Thief;
Within one entity, a dichotomy.

Not unlike the push and pull of gravity;
The true and false of assumptions;
The null and alternate hypotheses.

Not unlike the left and right of crossroads;
The maddening to and fro of traffic;
The rising and falling of tides in the sea.

As sure as each breath taken in and out deeply;
The heart muscles expand and contract, rhythmic;
Such is it, the Yin and Yang of nature's harmony.

* Colors of Food

Bangkok, Thailand - Sep' 07

Meat, Give Us Meat

It was a hilarious weekend. What was supposed to be a genteel lunch get-together turned out to be rather disastrous. Six pairs of pretty pumps, three designer handbags, and a smart casual dress code, all waltzing gracefully into the green serenity of a cafe-in-the-park, thinking just how holistic it was to bask in some sun and phytoncide for a change.

Moments later, we fled.

No, it wasn't the mid-day sun, nor the lunch crowd. It wasn't the music they were playing, and it certainly wasn't the color of their furniture either.

It was the VEGETABLES.

We spent a good ten minutes staring horrifically into the Menu of Are You Serious Vegan Food before finding our voices and blabbering incoherently about the severity of the situation.

NO MEAT.

Gosh, I did not intend for that. Luckily, it didn't take long for us to devise a new strategy, not when we had the alpha male with us - the man who make the decisions and ate a darn lot of meat. We had unanimously decided to ditch that forsaken Cafe of Mock Meat to go somewhere else with a lot of flesh and blood. Well, the pregnant lady has got to get her proteins...

So it was with much anticipation that we transported ourselves in record time to the nearest carnivorous haven, where the greens were where they were supposed to be - garnished under the meat. It was an old, uninspiring coffee shop packed with ravenous like-minded foodies like us, savouring various animal body parts with much glee and a lot less style.

But never mind style. The food is good, and we were all happy. That was despite us having to devour tricky trotters and licking off near invisible fish bones while clutching handbags tightly under our arms and perspiring our makeup away. What is a little discomfort compared to the euphoria of tummy satisfaction? Suddenly, the world seemed much more agreeable.

We ended lunch with a few big burps and very hefty stomachs, and I made a mental note to check for meat in the menus in future. A true carnivore never makes such an abominable blunder. Rather no food, then no meat. I have let my friends down.

Apologies to all vegan friends. I hope you didn't retch after reading this. I'm just really not a leaves and roots kinda person, so leave me to my fried chicken, and you can have the coleslaw.

* For Good Luck

Asakusa, Tokyo - Jun' 07

Up In The Clouds, Those Books

I have habit, a small pleasure really, to always buy a paperback from the airport bookstore each time I travel. And on its first page, without fail, I'd scribble the date and city of departure before I start reading.

It may seem like a mindless entry, and in fact it really is. But I am so used to the routine that I find myself obsessing about it the moment I step into an airport, so much so that I get frantic when I can't find a decent title to procure. Then, I'll spend another ten minutes pacing around the bookstore aisles and wringing my clammy fingers in anxiety before settling for one with a dubious title such as "The Deafening Whisper" or "Antartica - More Than Ice", after watching about a dozen transit shoppers come and go with a copy of it each. The logic behind this is, better to read a lousy book than to be airborne without any. Another one of my quirky little philosophies.

Thus, you can imagine how many books, good or otherwise, I have stashed away all these years from my travels. They have become my proud collection and many of which are so enjoyable that I read them over and over again. And each time I do, I would take a quick glance of my entry on the first page and reminisce fondly of that particular trip. Yes, most people use photographs, postcards or journals to remember their vacations by. Not me, I use books. Somehow my brain seem to recall better by aligning memories with trashy book content.

So it was with my life's greatest regret that I left a paperback, one that should be part of my collection, in an aircraft once. You may think it's a forgivable offence to lose a book by slotting it to oblivion in the heinously deep front pocket of your seat, but hell no, I did nothing of the sort. I fell asleep after reading three lines of the prologue and simply let it slide down the empty space between my arm rest and the wall of the aircraft. Most of all, it was just a one-hour domestic flight from Toyama to Haneda Airport. Not the best excuse for nodding off in a most unglamorous manner, much less to lose a brand new novel that was a potential good read. Utterly disgraceful.

Now, I've learnt to be more careful with my books by spending those dreadfully long pauses between touchdown and the seat belt sign going off, committing myself to checking and re-checking my articles. "Passport, hand-carry, book... passport, hand-carry, book..." That's how I remember. These days, I never lose my books anymore, although I had subsequently left behind a scarf, a pair of sunglasses and a couple of muffins, all in the same deep, dark aircraft front pocket.

Well, try as we might, we can never be perfect, can we?

Ahhh... I forgot to mention my favourite habit of using the little stubs left of boarding passes as bookmarks when I read. I sincerely think that's what the airline people invented them for. Clever.

* To Papa

Tokyo, Japan - Jun' 07

That Day With Dad

I do not have many fond memories of doing things with my dad. Well, he's great and all, just never very involved in the things I do. Throughout my school years, Mom was the one to depend on. Of course, Dad provided the dough, and all is well.

Being highly independent bordering on being autistic as a kid, I was quite happy sticking to the status quo, but nevertheless always quietly envious of the other kind of father-daughter relationship I watched on TV. You know, the kind where Dad actually plays basketball with Daughter and gives her advice on what to wear to the prom? Yeah, the non-existent kind, at least to me.

Well, there were times when we had moments together, but always with Mom around, making us a wholesome family of three (occasionally five, when my equally wholesome sister and brother-in-law were with us). Other times, we hardly had anything to say to each other. It seemed that I took after Dad, and the two of us alone at home would mean a silence overkill.

So, it was with great apprehension that I welcomed that day which I got to spend some time out with him while my mom thrived in her shopping elsewhere round the globe. Actually, it wasn't even a big deal because we were just supposed to get some official things done at the bank involving a property purchase. We were on task and done within an hour, and because I had to work later in the day, there was effectively only a couple of hours to spare in between.

And what did we do? We shared a Subway sandwich and coffee between us (Dad's first taste of my college staple), window-shopped at a furniture mall and exchanged pointers at an electrical appliance store. It was the best father-daughter bonding day I've had.

My dad is so cool.

* Follow Your Heart

合歡山, 台灣 - Dec' 06

A Few Things

Actually, more than a few things. Every time I chance upon a great topic or something memorable, I commit it to memory so that I can perhaps put them down in this blog one fine day. As you can see, that fine day is long overdue and those 'mental notes' just keep piling up.

With keen alikeness to a computer overloaded with too much inconsequential data, my pathetic brain slows down to a pace just marginally faster than my current PC. (Trust me, this is saying a lot.) Well, I have only this many neurons until some smart fellow from the valley finds a way to upgrade my RAM.

In face of such a major brain-stalling catastrophe (actually, my remarkably slow PC bothers me more, but well...), I've decided to take the cue from IT and adopt the 'back up-and-reformat' strategy. All I've got to do now is to start the painfully slow process of backing up -- writing what I've been meaning to, for the longest time.

First, let me recapitulate... ... ... ...

Oh, just great. My mind is stalled and I gotta reboot. See you in a minute.

* Jump!

Pulau Ubin, Singapore - 1994

Shizen Yoga

Shizen means nature in Japanese. For the past one week, I have been living au naturel (I mean spiritually, not physically naked or anything) in Kichijoji, attending daily yoga lessons at Shizen Yoga studio B under the guidance of several wonderful instructors.

Kichijoji is a hip little neighborhood in the outskirts of Tokyo with an arty, offbeat culture that results in numerous indie establishments and a slight un-Japanese-ness. From the minute I stepped out of the train station, I knew that a yoga school in this area would be the right way to go.

And indeed, I was right.

The studio is nestled in the quieter side of the neighborhood among quaint little boutiques and private residences, with just a simple grey sign to indicate its presence. I was a little apprehensive as I made my way up the open stairway to the second floor and pulled open the slightly ajarred door, but I soon felt right at home when Sachiko-sensei welcomed me with her bright "konnichi wa".

Studio B, from what I understand, is smaller than studio A and hence caters for smaller classes. There is no shower facilities, in-house snack bars or fanciful fixtures offered by larger chain health clubs, just a simple washroom and a changing area marked by pieces of cloth hanging from the ceiling. A wall-to-wall cupboard stores a good supply of mats, blocks, belts, blankets and bolsters for class participants. The environment is clean, quiet and minimalistic. All the right combinations for pure, unadulated yoga.

And so it was, I was soon breathing and bending at the close supervision of our instructor, together with five fellow participants. Nothing was too easy or too difficult as Sachiko would demonstrate variations of a single pose and then promptly advised us which to follow depending on our level of fitness and flexibility. By the end of my first lesson at Shizen, I was looking forward to my next. I must say, Sachiko really did well to stretch my muscles, as I actually ached quite a bit that night.

In the very same manner, I became student of Madoka and Reiko as well. Though the instructors share a similar philosophy, they have different personalities that shone through in every class. No two classes were the same, as each sensei has their own style and there was always a different focus or a new pose to touch on. Madoka opened me up to an enlightening perspective on yoga and meditation, while Reiko radiated power and confidence through her sturdy moves.

My fellow classmates at Shizen too, made my experience unforgettable. Whether it is sharing thoughts and laughter with each other, attempting to balance hefty butts on our arms or simply lying on our mats in sweaty togetherness toward the end of each session, they were good company and inspiration. There is nothing more motivating than knowing there are great people like these who practise yoga. And as a bonus, I even met a fellow Mac alum - Madoka's sister, Michiru - at Shizen, halfway round the globe from Minnesota. Yes, yoga really does wonders.

As Shizen's founder Dominica puts it, yoga is about the discovery of oneself; I was beginning to discover, bit by bit, my own physical, mental and spiritual state of being through each breathe and step I took. This experience, though totally new to me, felt really comforting and rejuvenating under the wings of Sachiko, Madoka and Reiko.

Thank you to all of you at Shizen for your patience in providing English explanations, your kind words of encouragement, your generous smiles and genuine passion in yoga. I had a truly wonderful time and I hope to be back soon.

* Jewels of Nature

Sheipa National Park, Hsinchu
Winter 2006

Gadget Girl

I'm a Gadget girl, in a Gadget world.
Memory sticks, life's fantastic...

Oh yeah, Houston, I have a problem. I'm totally into my gadgets and it's leaving me bankrupt and luvin' it. Well, almost bankrupt, but definitely loving all of it.

Between now and my last blog post on how I was infatuated with the Creative Neeon, then subsequently the iPod Nano (and yes I eventually bought one) , I've managed to amass a good number of high tech toys: a Panasonic digital video camera, an iLuv stereo docking system ipod, a Kensington remote control for wireless presentations, a Sony Ericsson 3G-cum-3.2 megapixel Cyber-shot lens multimedia phone, a Penpower Handwriter - a pen and tablet set for handwritten input, and a Creative 2-in-1 keyboard that has both computer and black-and-white musical keys on it.

Cool huh? You don't think so? Well, I think they're awesome... BUT still, not half as awesome as these items on my current MUST-HAVE list:

1. Sony VAIO TX56 - For surfing the net and blogging on the go. The free wireless@SG hotspots, its featherweight size (in laptop relativity), and the stylish carbonfibre (the same material that Ferrari cars are made of. I mean, how neat is that?!) casing are perfect reasons why I just have to get one to complete my wardrobe.
2. Nikon Coolpix S200 - For taking 7.1 megapixel shots on the go. My current 3.2 megapixel phone camera and an antique fat bodied Sony Mavica is just not good enough for serious arty farty types like me. (Not the niftiest one in the market, but hey, that's all I can afford!)
3. Nokia N95 - For its wireless internet connection and 5 megapixels Carl Zeiss Tessar lens. Now, now, before you start explaining how I do not need the N95 as the Vaio is wifi-enabled and the Coolpix is way ahead in terms of picture resolution, I must remind you, as a blue blooded gadget royalty, that the N95 comes with GPS and maps of various countries. Absolutely essential for survival in this time and age, and beyond.
4. Apple Airport Extreme Base Station - Just its name alone is gratifying to any gadget enthusiasts. Of course, the best deal is that it allows me to connect all my toys wirelessly with each other, and with the internet. Need I say more?

Hmm, with school out and the Great Singapore Sale kicking in, I better start realizing my dream list one by one.

Good planning. Wish me luck.

* Waiting... waiting...

Changi, Singapore
May 2007

Cook My Sashimi, PLEASE!

I pride myself on being a self-made connoisseur of good food.

Misunderstand me not, for I am not a snobbish nor a fussy eater. I've had my fair share of plain tasteless to downright revolting culinary experiences, and I'm actually quite easily contented by simple, unexciting dishes on most uneventful days.

The only thing that makes me a real foodie is my unrelenting passion in finding out about and tracking down good food, wherever it may be. Suspicious looking street side hawker fare in Bangkok, classy Ritz afternoon tea in London, dingy diner breakfast in the States, I've conquered them all. Even in Singapore, I'd travel across the country (albeit a very small one) just for that great Hainanese chicken rice chili dip, or risk getting heat stroke by walking from Orchard to Botanical Gardens in the blazing sun for that rack of lamb roasted to perfection.

Alas, there is one big regret in this gastronomic pursuit of mine. That is, I absolutely hate raw fish. With this revelation, I have a strong urge to weep and bow deeply to the Japanese to apologize for my horrendous inadequacy. I sin, in the eyes of millions of sashimi lovers, each time I gag when I see or smell raw seafood on little wooden plates.

In the unfortunate event of me being force led into a sashimi restaurant, I would have to ask for flasks of hot green tea to wash the slimy fishy mess down my throat, half hoping that the piping heat from the tea would actually flash cook it in split seconds (well, it didn't, but it did cook my throat to a medium rare). If I get lucky, I might be able to get through the night by pretending to concentrate hard on creating the optimal mix of wasabi and soy sauce. Since I'm mostly not a lucky person, I've swallowed quite a variety of raw things (I still can't bring myself to say 'food') to date.

The most memorable (and coincidentally, also the saddest) experience I've had was the time I went to a yakiniku, or BBQ, restaurant in Nagoya. It was a dinner which I had been looking forward to, and it didn't disappoint. Not until the beef liver dish came up. If you know me quite well, you'd know that I'm really crazy about liver. Pork liver, duck liver, goose liver, chicken liver, whatever... At this juncture, I'm sure you're feeling really happy for me, but let me tell you that NO, one does not eat BBQ beef liver in a BBQ restaurant! You eat it raw. Oh yeah, red, dripping wet raw.

Thus, it is with greatest sorrow that I placed a slice of raw beef liver gingerly onto my tongue while miserably watching that lovely BBQ fire crackle in unknowing excitement. I cursed silently as the piece of liver french kissed its way down my throat. To add insult to injury, I had to finish the entire plate as I was sitting at the counter bar where half a dozen Japanese diners had their eyes on me, nodding approvingly at my valiant attempt. And it wasn't even cheap.

To this day, I am still bent on conquering my fear for all things raw, in a bid to become a true gourmet. Once in a while, I'd boldly try a slice of sashimi from my dinner companion's platter, but it will always end in the same fashion - me reaching out for my tea cup frantically just before I throw up.

So, minasan, give me shabu shabu, sukiyaki, tempura, anything. Just keep that sashimi away from me, unless there's plenty of hot green tea. Please.

* Wedding Bells

Sister's Wedding - Feb' 04

I Have a Sloth for a Sister

So where shall I begin?

Maybe with a disclaimer, just for my personal safety. For the record, it is in no way derogatory that I call my own blood sister a slow-moving arboreal edentate (meaning almost toothless, if you're curious) mammal that does nothing but attempts to finish chewing two leaves in its mouth before the sun sets... and rises again.

And if it helps, may I also emphasize that she got the lovely nickname from her husband, by absolutely no fault of mine.

Believe it or not, I actually find the term rather affectionate and quite darn cute. It never fails to amaze me how good my sister is in adopting such a surreal tempo. And pray, it is indeed amazing when you consider Ms. Sloth's most un-sloth-like past as an enthusiastic gymnast and athlete in her school days. Those were her golden days of many quick moves and nifty footwork. She could have been Ms. Puma then.

I'm not sure what exactly happened but somewhere down the line (after one marriage and many many pound cakes later), she morphed into what she is today - the human equivalent of a creature that moves so painfully slow that it may as well be in reverse. You'll have to watch her really closely or you'd think she stopped dead midway in her track. Meet her at the start of the day and you'd know what I mean. The true epitome of S-L-O-W.

To be fair, I not a quick person either. It probably runs in the family, where lazing around is a highly desirable pastime. It's just that my sister is at the more extreme end of the BUMMER spectrum. I've got a lot more to catch up.

To Yanni the most successful sloth in mankind and the glory of our family!

* Fashionable Sisters

Toa Payoh, Singapore - Mid 80's

Every Pi Has Its Day

Happy π Day to all!

Did I just see you do a double take? Now, blink no more, for it is indeed the Pi Day on this fourteenth day of March! If you've been oblivious to the existence of such a special occasion, fret not! According to my own statistically intelligent guess, for every 1000 people out there,

No. of people who know about Pi ≈ 143π
No. of people who know that there is a Pi Day ≈ 2π
No. of people who know the exact date of Pi Day ≈ π

In case you are interested, π is an irrational real number and is equals to 3.14159 26535 89793 23846 26433 83279 50288 41971 69399 37510 ... ... (it's an infinite decimal expansion, so if you're bored, this can keep you busy for a long time) With that, for those who prefer to work with integers, the above equations translate to just approximately 3 out of 1000 people who are aware that today is Pi Day. Not many celebrate the greatness of this mathematical constant, I must say.

For me, I've just learnt about it barely five minutes ago, and am very glad that we all grow wiser with age, even though I do not have much to do with this magic number anymore. How on earth did anybody figure this critical but deceivingly cute little symbol π out, I really do not know, but I salute them, nonetheless, for giving us this special day. Oh, and by the way, it's physics genius Albert Einstein, and my dear friend Albert Tan's birthday too.

Hap-Pi Birthday to both!

* Come Sit By Me

Changi, Singapore - May' 07

A Self-Righteous Blogger

Some people ask me, why do I blog so much about nothing in particular? A very important person (read: my boss) once said that a blog is good and should be encouraged if it provides others with useful information. Well, mine doesn't, considering that it is about "nothing in particular", so I guess it is officially one of those trashy and redundant blogs.

I should be damned.

With due respect, even though this is how they would probably view my blogging business, I do not quite see it in that light. I prefer to think of it as reflective conversations with my inner self, and these conversations take on the form of a blog for very good reasons.

First of all, I do not keep a journal, simply because I have really bad and inconsistent handwriting that is too shameful to leave behind in this world in case I die. Secondly, I think it is rather ludicrous to keep talking to myself, and therefore I'd like my friends to listen in too. Thirdly, I live in the digital age.

And I must stress that I do not write about nothing in particular, even though it is sometimes quite nondescript. In fact, I write about very important things - of love, of hope and of chivalry. In case you've missed all that, then I'm sorry, you're just very dim. No offense.

* Lounge and Relax

Ubud, Bali - Spring 2004

A Walk In The Woods - An Excerpt

For all its mass, a tree is a remarkably delicate thing. All of its internal life exists within three paper-thin layers of tissue, the phloem, xylem and cambium, just beneath the bark, which together form a moist sleeve around the dead heartwood. However tall it grows, a tree is just a few pounds of living cells thinly spread between roots and leaves. These three diligent layers of cells perform all the intricate science and engineering needed to keep a tree alive, and the efficiency with which they do it is one of the wonders of life. Without noise or fuss, every tree in a forest lifts massive volumes of water - several hundred gallons in the case of a large tree on a hot day - from its roots to its leaves, where it is returned to the atmosphere. Imagine the din and commotion, the clutter of machinery, that would be needed for a fire department to raise a similar volume of water to that of a single tree. And lifting water is just one of the many jobs that the phloem, xylem and cambium perform.

It is quite a rare occasion for me to stop midway through a compelling book, but I really want to share this with you. It may just be a goofy recollection of Bill Byson's courageous attempt at walking the Appalachian Trail, but if you, like me, have read his works, I'm sure you'll appreciate how he'd always throw in nuggets of seemingly trivial knowledge which are, in fact, most humbling and thought-provoking. I would even go as far as to say, philosophical.

If there is a reason for me to get so sentimental, it's probably because I am the sort of person who live in awe of science. Or rather, of nature. However, as a true urbanite, my stance on the magnificent works of nature have always been just to maintain a respectful distance. I was never really motivated to know more about how their intricate clocks tick. In a way, I am a half-hearted naturalist, one who laments about the declining state of our environment, and yet basks shamelessly in the luxury of the industrialized civilization. And I know, many of you are just like me.

Hence, I feel a pressing need to pause and share some of these little things in the book that bring us back to thinking and feeling what we have not been thinking and feeling for a long time. The trees, the birds, the insects, the raindrops... All that are so insignificant to our daily lives, and yet so unbelievably amazing, and so very crucial to our existence.

At least I think we owe it to them. Let us marvel for a while.

* Silent Night

Chingjing, Nantou

Winter 2006

Guzzle... Guzzle... Guzzle

Sob. I miss my beer.

For the record, I am not a recovering alcoholic. I was never an alcoholic to begin with. I am just a social drinker whose beverage of choice happens to have healthy head of foam and plenty of calories.

A brief history of my drinking habit - it duly started when I turned eighteen, the legal drinking age in Singapore. Being still in the midst of weaning off juvenile soft drinks, the natural choice of liquid for me was sweet cocktails with fancy names, which I drank not so much because I enjoy them, but more by default since most of my friends were drinking the same.

One could tell that I wasn't really into them by the way I associate each drink with the mixers - tonic, Coke, juice... rather than associating them with their respective types of liquor. Frankly, I couldn't tell gin from tequila, rum from vodka. Yeah, I was that clueless. I wouldn't even know if someone gave me methanol. Very quickly, I lost interest in liquid concoctions of various kinds, and from then on, there was no looking back. It was only beer for me.

Contrary to popular belief, my beer-loving ways were not a result of my days in the US-and-A, as Mr. Borat calls it. Well, it could be, if I had been living in sunny California or tropical Florida. I was, however, buried knee-deep in the great Midwestern snow, where steaming hot chocolate was the rational way to drink.

Anyway, it was at the royal age of twenty when I got officially inducted into the Empire of Kirin, Asahi and Sapporo. I was fresh in Japan and everyone out there was out to get me drunk. In fact, I think they were out to get everybody else drunk. At dinner parties, I was greeted first with traditional Japanese bows (maybe to apologize in advance) and then basins full of namabiru to shove my face in. It wasn't that difficult, really. Once you're halfway through, the i-ke, i-ke chants sound like heaven harps playing under water. Or maybe, I was just drowning in beer.

Soon, I was addicted. Beer time was equated with friends, laughter and many silly games to boot. As my alcohol threshold became higher and my face redder, I slowly perfected the art of coupling beer with yakitori, ramen, okonomiyaki, edamame... It was culinary at its highest. At least, it was the kind of art that I could deal with.

Now, back in Singapore where beer is more expensive and yet less entertaining, I have cut down on my beer binging ways. In fact, it had come to a complete halt since my asthma came back last year. That is why I moan about missing my beer, missing the way I guzzle it down and let out a big "aaahhhh...." of satisfaction.

Well, I'll just have to make do with my diet Coke for now. At least there is no beer belly to worry about.

Bottoms up!

* Each Blooms in Her Own Time

Hsinchu, Taiwan - Dec 2006

Things Fall Apart

I've studied Nigerian writer Chinua Achebe's novel of the same title when I was in secondary school. While most of my classmates hated it, I have to say that it had some kind of emotional impact on me. What exactly is was, I couldn't tell then, but I was deeply grieved. Somehow, the strange Igbo African dialect rang with natural melancholy.

I remember most clearly, the scene in which Okwonko decides that his chi, along with the rest of his tribe, has deserted him, and he hangs himself. From a man of bravery, to a man of lonely death, there is no sorrier destitution than the betrayal of his own kind. The betrayal against his every belief, all that have long been forsaken by his own people. And that, is just because Okwonko's world has changed. Changed for the better, some may say. Or maybe, simply changed because nothing doesn't.

Change isn't sad. Hopelessness is. And hopelessness, I dare say, comes from within, when one perceives that he has been deserted, when it is he who has walked away.

I believe that things fall apart. They all do. But I do also believe that things come back together too. If you'd just hang around long enough for it to happen, and amuse yourself in the meantime, things ain't all that gloomy. Now, if only Okwonko knows better.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer
Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world

- William Butler Yeats

* The Ideal Class Size

Two students.

5 Patience - Oct' 06

I Lied

Samantha, you'll be okay.

Actually, I didn't know if she was really going to be okay. For a split second, I even thought she might die. There she was, eyes rolled over, body cramped and twitching, with vomit spilling from one side of her mouth onto the pages of her activity book. The cutest little girl in my Primary One class looked frighteningly ill. And all I could do is to tell her something I wasn't even sure of. Don't worry, you'll be fine, and Mommy will be here soon.

So much for my years of first aid training. Really, years. Three as a student police cadet, two as an outdoor activities instructor (Christ, I even gave a first aid lecture to student leaders), and another training as a certified Red Cross volunteer. Yet I was so distressed know not how else to help the poor girl except to call the office for help.

I tried to carry her out, but she was too stiff. I couldn't insert anything in her mouth to prevent her from biting her tongue, as I couldn't even pry her clenched teeth apart. She was burning with fever and all I could do was to wipe her down with wet tissue. I never felt more anxious and helpless in my entire life. I felt totally useless.

Looking at the girl now, bubbly and healthy again as she once was, I am relieved, but also guilt ridden. I dread to think of what the whole episode may have developed into instead. I wasn't the reliable teacher who could protect her. I was just a liar who got very lucky by God's grace. And I realize, I've got a long way to go from here.

Samantha, I'll work hard on being Teacher, I promise.

* Pray for Blessings

Ubud, Bali

Spring, 2004

On this 31st Day of December

I thought that this last day of the year is just too significant for me not to write about it. Especially when almost everyone is out there somewhere ready for the big countdown. If I have reason to stay home alone, it has got to be something as good as writing a solemn, thought-provoking piece, and not blatant laziness.

But what should I write about? I do not have much to say on the closure of this year, nor do I have exciting plans lined up for the coming one. After all, I have quite established my reputation for being the-one-without-plans.

Come to reflect on it, maybe my new year resolution should involve some kind of plan, even though my past experience tells me that planning or no planning makes no difference to new year resolutions. They are never meant to be realized. How else do you think we can keep coming up with new year resolutions year after year? If you do not believe me, just see how many 2007 new year resolutions you have that are similar to those in your list this same time last year...

Nevertheless, I have decided that as a mature, responsible adult who is taking a big step into the next stage of life, I need a plan, which is as follows:

- I will be neat and tidy around the house and at work.
- I will do my yoga and running religiously everyday. Oh well... every alternate day.
- I will cut down on snacks and sugared drinks. And greasy food, and synthetic flavorings, and...
- I will put on sunblock and some makeup when I go out, at least when I go downtown.
- I will put in effort to dress up, and stop wearing the clothes I keep wearing repeatedly.
- I will be more careful in what I say, and stop making silly social boo-boos.
- I will stop losing things.
- I will stop forgetting to bring things.
- I will remember things.
(and lastly, the most treacherous one...)
- I will save $$$.

Wow, it's amazing just how satisfying making a plan is. I think I'd better take a rest before my new year starts. Got lots to accomplish...

Happy New Year!

* Nice Buns!

Joo Chiat, Singapore - Feb' 04

Fly and Take Me Places

A tribute to the good people in the aviation business.

Oh, and especially dedicated to TK, my beloved brother who has finally gotten his wings and proved himself Ray Bans-worthy... Congrats!

You know, when you say how a man's medicine could be another man's poison, it's the same for airplanes.

For those who travel distances, the plane is probably the best invention ever known to mankind. I'm one of them who think quite so, despite the fact that I absolutely hate every ear-popping minute strapped up there with nothing but great masses of mist. For the frequent flyer that I have become -- previously for studies, then for work, and now simply for pleasure -- air travel has become a normality. It is impossible to imagine a world without airplanes anymore.

But for the rest of the world's population who never had the need, the urge, the guts or the means to stash money on a few hours' worth of fast moving transport in a two feet wide space, the airplane is then probably one big piece of metallic crap that uses up way too much of the world's precious resources.

Well, I can totally see their point. In fact, at this very moment I'm jetting away for the nth time on an airplane, I feel so overly indulgent that I am a tad apologetic toward the feet-firmly-planted-on-ground folks. By the same token, I wonder if the thrust-worthy guys over at NASA feel the same toward us lowly, gravitated earthlings too when they blast off to outer space.

Alright, back to my point. The point is, if you have not gotten it already (and I do not blame you if you haven't, considering that you're listening to a person who, technically speaking, has her head in the clouds at this moment), is that I love my airplanes. Airplanes big or small, airplanes long or short haul.

The funny thing is, I had never put much thought about an airplane in my entire life until just minutes ago when my flight was preparing for take off, and I had pressed my face against the tiny aircraft window to see four other airplanes of various sizes waiting in line behind ours. There they are, with their respective carrier colors and logos proudly emblazoned on their bodies, these powerful creatures carry a somewhat elegant, yet secretly haughty demeanor, not unlike their prettily groomed crew.

As I have mentioned, I do not enjoy being couped in thousands of feet above sea level. The level of discomfort is on par with being in a dentist's chair. However, quite ironically, I take great pleasure in the fact that I've flown with them. Them... the planes... The Big Guys, as I call'em.

In case you are wondering what on earth the cabin pressure had done to make me sprout so much senseless gibberish, let me draw a parallel -- it's about the camaraderie between me and the airplanes. It's like fighting a battle alongside the general whom you admire. Yes, I WORSHIP airplanes.

I worship their ability to fly and take people places. Through thunderstorms, blizzards, roller coaster turbulence, they almost never fail in their job. I worship them for the fact that about a million people a day entrust their precious lives to them. They carry on them, academic minds of students, profitable prospects of businessmen, and even hopes of miracles of patients with various health conditions, jetting them off to the land where their dreams may come true. Or, perhaps true for most other frequent fliers, simply ferrying weary travelers home, to where their loved ones are patiently waiting. Such is the lofty job description of these mean machines.

I continue to count my blessings each time I get to fly and witness that great responsibility upheld and delivered upon every arrival to all who silently pray in their seats, a smooth, safe touchdown.

Thank you, and it has always been a pleasure flying with you, Mr. Aeroplane.

* Bee Busy

Home, Singapore - Oct, 06

I Love My Friends!

Lest you think I'm a sentimental tree-hugging romantic. One who will buy Forever Friends bears for every friend's birthday.

Nope, I'm so not.

On the contrary, I'm quite a cat. And I thank the deities that my dearest pals take my affectionate, albeit naughty, nips and scratches (figures of speech, not literally!) with plenty of tolerance and huge doses of humor. It's these people I safely call my friends who are good enough to take my crap. Not just any crap. Real intense crap.

Friends, to mean that special circle of four, a clique we call it The Support Group. And friends we've been for a good two decades (close!) : HF, XF, YB and myself, not really by choice, but more by natural default due to frightening similarities in our beliefs and personalities.

Oh, and before I offend the other darrrrlings whom I failed to mention, you do not qualify mainly because unlike us fabulous foursome, you are either married and therefore too busy to spend time bemoaning little absurdities with us, or you are out there spending too much time trying to get married, therefore resisting any force that may somehow land you in The Support Group. (You should get an inkling of how the group works by this far... not unlike Alcoholic Anonymous...)

Yes, we are helpless feminists.

A paradox, you'd say, but nevertheless real. This is how: one of us is a walking magnet for undesirable foreign men. Another one has the hots (OK, maybe just innocent admiration) for mature, married but unavailable men. Yet another has her undying love pledged only for The Man with the Guitar and the Beer Bottle. As for the last one, gee, I don't know... she never figured it out.

And so it goes... we strong, independent females spend weekends together doing nothing but fretting over our men, real or not. It's slightly depressing, but actually very therapeutic to be just sitting around over tea and desserts while we ponder who's next to leave this oh-so-exclusive group.

Girls, what do I do without you! I might have never said it, but I really love all of you very very much, and I'd rather be with you gals than anywhere else on a Saturday night! But, ahem ... it's just that maybe, we could do this WITH the guys instead? Let's really try...

Before then, here's to the power of four!

* Celebrating Mid-Autumn...

... with mooncakes, champagne, and a little bit of haze.

Emerald Hill, Singapore
Mid-Autumn, 2006

God Save the Monkeys

Anger. Agitation. Sympathy. Sadness. Disappointment. Fear. And more anger.

This was cycle of emotions that I felt when I read, with much disgust, at the plight of the orangutans in Indonesia. In a nutshell, the poor primates are being driven out of their homes by ravaging fires in forests of Sumatra and Borneo, many burnt to death or injured and blinded in the deliberate disaster. For the orangutans which escaped the thick smoke, blistering flames and searing heat of their ruined habitats into the supposedly safer civilisation of mankind, they were instead subjected to further infliction of pain as men armed themselves with machetes, attacking every "encroaching" monkey they see.

I shudder to see photos of their fearful expression in the newspapers, and I shudder to think of how many more orangutans may be out there unknown to the ill fate that is awaiting them.

Please, wake up! How many more forests do these people have to burn down before they are realize that they are treading precariously on a fine line between existence and extinction. Not only of monkeys, nor the thousands of forest animals which are in real danger this very moment. But of this deteriorating earth that we all live, breathe and feed on.

Of course, I do not foolishly hope that the subsistent farmers and mercenary plantation companies in Indonesia care about what I, or anyone else, may think of them. However, it does not mean that I, or anyone else for that matter, should then shut up and do nothing about it.

Perhaps it is a reminder for us to reflect on our own ways, and ask ourselves if we are treading that fine line too.

God save the monkeys, and let us try to save them too.

* An Attempt at Photoshop Artistry

Indulge Me

Yesterday, for the very first time in my life, I celebrated Teachers' Day as a teacher. To be honest, I wasn't quite prepared for all that attention I was to receive, and nearing the end of the school celebrations when the girls all shouted "Happy Teachers' Day!", tears actually welled up in my eyes.

Call me a sentimental fool, but I am truly touched.

It all started early in the day, when assembly had bared started. I saw several students sneak up one by one to their respective teachers to give them their T-Day gifts, and felt mildly envious. As a new teacher, I was rather anxious about the whole gift-receiving affair. Like any other teacher in the world, we do really mean it when we say, "the best present you can give me is to be a good student." However, blame it on our less-then-perfect human nature to worry when we do not receive as much attention as the teacher-next-door on this special day. Do my students hate me? Do they respect me? Am I even considered a teacher in their eyes?

So imagine the insecurity in me when I see the teacher seated next to me receiving present after present. I had none yet.

It was only after receiving the first gift (regrettably, I have failed to remember which student it was from) that I felt marginally relieved. Soon, the gifts started to trickle, and then pour in. Before I knew it, the two empty seats beside mine were bursting with flowers, cards and colorful packages. It was almost as if Christmas had arrived early. Suddenly, I felt quite overwhelmed, and slightly embarrassed to be showered with that much attention.

With the morning assembly and the ACES Day (it was also the national-wide All Children Exercising Simultaneously Day) event well over, I staggered into the staff room, half-exhausted, half-invigorated by my students' display of affection. As I stumped into my seat, looking at the messy heaps of gifts on my desk, it struck me. I AM a TEACHER.

As the day progressed, more gifts poured in, and at last count, a fellow teacher in the afternoon session informed me that there are more on my desk, apparently from students after I had left for the day.

That night, while I sat in my living room reading each card, tearing up gift wrappers and unveiling the content of the packages, the "I AM a TEACHER" thought became stronger and stronger, and never before had I felt more pride, responsibility and love for my students.

Try as I might to remember the faces of students who came up to me with their gifts and well-wishes, everything was a blur and I could hardly match a single gift with a face. Never mind, I appreciate every single thought. Gifts are immaterial.

To the students who saved each penny to buy a gift, thoughtfully wrote each word in your card and painsakingly wrapped each present, teacher wants to say a big "Thank you!" to you. I love you all.

To the students who didn't get me any, I still say, the best present you can give is to be a good student. Honestly. And I love you too.

* Christmas Came Early

Teacher's Day, 2006

My Lord, What a Din!

Tuxes, lime green socks and a goofy sense of humor. That was the repertoire that the sensational Harvard Din & Tonics, an all-male a cappella group from the Harvard-yes-THAT-Harvard University, presented to Singapore on its National Day eve.

I was there that night at the Esplanade with three fabulous singer-friends - Huifen, Xiufeng and Chronos, who are almost as talented in music and comedy as those twelve funny ruffians (they called themselves that), and even bumped into a colleague who had watched the Dins last year and assured that they were 'very good'.

Nice. I was looking forward to hearing them for my very first time. Especially after a frustrating start to the evening.

You see, it was also a National Day fireworks night at the very location, with the fanfare set to go off the same time as their all-American performance. As you can pretty much imagine, the rest of Singapore jam-packed the entire City Hall/Suntec/Marina Bay area, with the Esplanade being smacked right in the heart of things. Thank God the four of us managed to squeeze through to the recital hall just before the performance started, but a good number of the audience were rather late, possibly due to the bad human and vehicle traffic.

Despite the less-than-stellar pre-concert experience, I must say that the boys were quite brilliant in their own rights. There was no question about their vocal prowess, but what was more captivating was their ability to tickle a somewhat mature and straight-faced audience while they sing to a perfect pitch. Whether it is their boyish looks (I'm referring to those few who have it, but to those who haven't, they are cute in their own right...), their hilarious improvisation antics (like the one of the Michelangelo masterpiece. Who ever thought that you can physically mimic a painting?) or their tongue-in-cheek moments talking about academic inadequacies, unrequited loves, and of course, the night's dazzling fireworks which every one of us in the recital hall missed. All for the sake of music.

So, amidst tapping our feet to the tunes of Blue Skies, Blah Blah Blah and My Lord, What a Morning, we were left clutching our sides from laughing too much. Well, ladies and gentlemen, that's what I call entertainment. Now, if only we can see the fireworks going off at the same time...

Perhaps next year? You bet.

* I'm a Heartlander

Serangoon, Singapore - Aug' 05

Guilty As Charged

Warning: This is not a happy post and should be avoided if you are, in anyway, even remotely depressed.

The past two weeks had been a little too much for me to bear, if not for my best-friend-and-evil-twin-sister Siewhong's timely companionship (including food, booze, loud music, and lots of senseless laughter) which tided me over.

The problem with me is that I'm one wide-eyed wonder, way too cheery to confront negativity. Not that I don't understand negativity, it's just... I don't understand why some people embrace it.

Take my cousin for example, she has everything she needs and all that she wants, save for a miscalculated career move some four years ago that has had some serious repercussions on her social and mental state of well-being, to the extent of being suicidal. To me, I'd probably say, so what. But to her, this episode has pinned her down and driven her deep into the doldrums. Maybe it's like clearing hurdle after hurdle but never reaching the finishing line. That, I can understand, and can sympatize with. But that, I cannot face.

It pains me a great deal to see her suffering, struggling to get out of that pit, while I look on so helplessly. Frankly, I do not know how to help her, despite showing a brave front and dishing out what I think is good advice. Her situation depresses me so much that I am avoiding it altogether, because I do not know what I can do for her anymore. To think she trusted me and came to me for help before she tried to jump off a building or swallowed pills. I should be so ashamed.

For now, I am trying. Trying hard to help her, and to help myself at the same time, coz I have realized that maybe, I am the one who is in denial. Maybe, I am the one who cannot cope with negativity. Just maybe, I am not as happy as I think I am.

* Twenty Ways to Say "I'm Vain"

A chronical of Ms. Hypewriter's valiant (and futile) efforts to remake herself over the years.

Braveheart

It's insane. I work close to 12 hours everyday, five days a week, sometimes with a complimentary Saturday morning thrown in for good measure, and yet it always seems like the entire PL teaching force works harder than me.

Well, to be fair, I don't take lunch or tea breaks. I don't partake in small talk with my colleagues. And I am always fast on the move, multi-tasking between full-blast lessons, desk-ridden marking and a whole list of miscellaneous chores. Yet, piles of books sit on my desk each day, as if silently mocking my incompetence.

In fact, PILES and PILES of books sprawl across every single desk in the staff room, as teachers shuffle in and out everyday, demoralized, defeated and destroyed, but nonetheless fearless enough to soldier on without as much as a second thought.

Sounds pretty bad huh? Well, on the contrary, I think it's great, because I actually do like my job, and I like it a great deal. As the saying goes, you can never conquer the books, but you do conquer the little minds.

And by the way, that saying was from me. Heh.

* Published Travel Article - Taipei

Simply Her, Jul 2006

* Published Travel Article - Taipei (cont'd)

When Mate Turns Into Mom

I'm not sure when exactly my friendship with Huiann developed into what it is today. To begin with, Huiann was such a model student back then in school, so much so that it seemed like protocol to be engaged with her just as such - hardworking, disciplined, saccharin sweet; just a trifle too proper for someone as un-decent (not indecent though) as me.

Looking back, I guess our rough VJC-ODAC days had built good foundation there. After all, you don't go through two years of frolicking in dirt, seawater and sweat with a person and simply end up being just regular friends. And I'm not even exaggerating.

Perhaps it was that moment when I foolhardily jumped onboard that malam express train with her, secretly discussing our Mission America as the train chugged fervently towards her hometown Kuala Lumpur. It was from each other, I supposed, that we garnered the courage to seek further education some 9000-plus miles away from home despite parental objections.

Or maybe it was the occasional phone call we'd give each other, whether across states (she in New York, and I in Minneapolis then) or across continents (she still in the States, and I somewhere in Asia later on). In between us, there was a comforting sense of camaraderie that I never shared with anyone else.

Whatever it was, it developed into a sisterhood that remains fast and strong, notwithstanding our lack of contact in recent years. In fact, it seemed just like yesterday when we settled in our sleeper bunks to KL, when we caught up for a few minutes through a glass panel at the Changi Airport transit area, when you introduced us to Kengo for the first time, when I literally got you on your knees at your wedding tea ceremony, and when you had that weird little bulge in your tummy and had to wear jeans that wasn't button-fly but elastic-band...

And good grief, it has been ten years since that fateful train ride. Ten years on, nothing has changed for me, but you, (gasp) you have turned from Huiann-the-mate to Huiann-the-mom. It's like you have a PhD in life and I'm still stuck at Survival 101. Well, heck, I don't really care, except that I feel really happy for you, it's like watching a movie with a happily-ever-after ending and coming out eager for the sequel (where you get the baby and all that...)

I don't really know why I'm saying all these, but I guess it's just my way of saying "Great Job, Mom!" and to let little Erisa know that she's got a helluva mother.

* Light Up My Life

Little India - Deepavali 2006

Training

This post is just a light-hearted take on my precious teaching career and is not meant to be taken seriously. So pupils, spare thy teacher. And MOE, please don't prosecute me.

It took me seven months of hard work at NIE before this funny little thought crossed my mind.

In fact, it was a copy of Behavioral Modification notes that did it for me. I realized we are a bunch of kid manipulators in training, not unlike zoo-keepers or circus-trainers.

Well, not that it is a bad thing after all. Young children nowadays... you'd wish they were made with some sort of embedded remote control. Better yet, let them run on DC so that we can take the batteries out once in a while! Teachers gotta do what we gotta do -- set spoilt-brats and cry-babies straight by learning various important-sounding Educational Psychology methods. Give them a reward when they are behaving well, and ignore their nonsense to extinct their behavior. Yeah, it's really just pet-handling. (Do not quote.)

BUT, it's not as simple as it sounds. As with any self-respecting high-risk vocation (yes, teaching is a dangerous affair, ask any practising teacher) we must first be trained under the supervision of a world-class faculty (read: probably ex-teachers who had spent years under the torture of their wards, and now redirecting their energy to help others battle evil students instead.)

And of course, place our campus in an unbelieveable location at the western-most point of Singapore. Good heavens, it is so goddamn far that I can travel to Malaysia and clear the customs in less time than it takes for me to reach home. I suppose they just wanted to make sure that no school kid can come near enough to know what child-handling spells they have been teaching their teachers. But then again, a dreadfully slow bus service and a mind-numbling MRT ride daily is all it takes for us to forget everything that we've learnt. So there, relax, kids.

Ahh, and food. They feed us revolting food on campus so that we will eventually learn to appreciate the art of fine dining in future school canteens. How thoughtful. Acquired taste for 50-cents siewmai and cheechongfun: check.

It's all a massive effort to prep us for The Unbearable Madness of Teaching. Now that I'm the midst of my teaching practicum, I've begun to appreciate what the Institute had given me, even though I can't remember a thing at the back of my thick skull when kids are poking each other's eyes and making animal noises in class. At the very least, I know I have those Behavorial Modification notes in my locker.

Phew!

* Foundation of a Nation

Istana, Singapore - Jan' 05

Adieu

Time flies. No, maybe fly is not a good enough adjective. Time rockets.

I can't believe that it had been almost eight months since I started my teacher training course.
I can't believe that I had survive two semesters of intensive pedagogical and curricular modules. I can't believe that I am really going to step into a classroom to teach.
You mean, I am a teacher??!!

It's all rather sad, really. I hate to leave NIE. This, despite the fact that I have to endure the long commutes to and from campus. Afterall, there is a bunch of fun and spirited coursemates to share that horrible MRT ride with, to pack together like sardines on a 199 service bus, and to go through the thick-and-thins of preparing for presentations after presentations, assignments after assignments, all for the sake of being a qualified, and hopefully, also a competent professional educator. Competent enough, at least, to survive the unknowns that behold in schools. Shudder.

I will miss all of you:

My GESL-mates who have shared many grumbles and frustrations initially, and then lots more fun and supportive moments, especially at our VERY SUCCESSFUL camp. (I just had to BOLD that part.)

My Chinese specialization coursemates and classmates, who have infected me with their passion for the language, and for those witty moments that made learning so much easier. Special thanks to my groupmates. I could not have done this without you! Collaboration at its best!

My other module-mates, thank you for selflessly sharing all that you've got. I feel as if I've had a lifetime of classroom teaching after listening to all your experiences. You guys have just given me a good headstart there.

My lecturers and tutors, you have all inspired me to give everything I have to education, just like you have given yours. I will never forget what you have done for us.

With this, adieu NIE. Till we meet again.

* Long Lost Pal

If you see this, contact me...

St. Anthony's Convent, Singapore - Mid 80s

Stress-Buster

Some people blog to relieve boredom. I blog to relieve stress. Strange as it may sound, I always have the biggest urge to post something here when I'm at the peak of my work cycle. No matter how near a dateline is, or how high my workload piles up in front of me, I'd find time to log online and type away.

And it's happening right now. I have two presentations, two papers and an exam due next week, which means I really should be looking at a Word or Powerpoint window right now, not this one that says Internet Explorer. What to do, I need to tell the world that I am busy and stressed out right now, OK?

So the next time you see a new post on my blog, remember that I'm not loafing around. I've got plenty on my hands and the pressure is running high. Which reminds me, I've got to go back to my Word and Powerpoint windows. Now God help me.

Practicum Posting

It has been decided. I'm going to do my teaching practicum at PL**S. Looks like I am destined to go to all-girls' schools my whole life. Some things never change.

* Published Travel Article - Japan

Simply Her, Feb 2006

* Published Travel Article - Japan (cont'd)

Warfare

Yes, you heard my battle calls. I'm going on war and it's no laughing business.

OK, I am sick la. You heard my coughs and sniffs, more likely.

Not deliriously sick, but sick enough to have stayed at home over the weekend and as a result, missed a birthday party, a stag night (why am I invited anyway?) and worse, my sister's invitation to drop by her home to pick up free cosmetics.

See, I am THAT ill.

The irritating thing about this current flu bug, is that it has bogged me down for some weeks now. Some serious bug, really! And to top it off, this workaholic works without a schedule. My condition swings erratically from being absolutely bubbly and well, to being confined in the pits and in my bed, with just a box of Kleenex for company.

Well, not that I am complaining, since I am partly responsible for my own state of well-being. You see, from Dec 10 right up to Jan 2, I have been putting my health at stake by having way too much fun. It was of course no joke that I had to start school on the very next day. To add insult to injury, the very next day = my birthday, which was, by the way, also my last twenty-something-th birthday. Sniff. Sob. WAHHHHH...

Frankly, starting 2006 in such less than desirable condition did shake me up a little. I have since learnt my lesson and decided to make health my top priority in my days ahead. Having fun will, unfortunately, have to take the second spot in my grand list of resolutions.

With this, I declare that I will devote my every living moment henceforth to making The Flu Bug miserable and wishing that it had never lived.

Medicine, vitamins, bring them on!

* Never Too Many Girls

Nieces Rachel and Ryanne

Ang Mo Kio, Singapore - Aug' 06

Sob Stories

An interesting fact about me is I almost never cry, but when I do, it is usually because of really weird things.

I remember when I was in secondary school, when we had to bid farewell to some relief teacher or retiring teacher (I don't even remember) and everyone was tearing like nobody's business, I stood blinking, dry-eyed and feeling very ridiculous about the scene others were making.

Another incident I recall was the one featuring my face-to-face, skin-to-skin encounter with my worst nightmare - the house lizard (believe me, I could withstand a few fat leeches sucking my life out of me, or capturing a flying cockroach with my bare hands, but when it comes to lizards, I'd rather die). I was happily digging into my box of leftover chocolate bits and munching away when the cursed little reptile fell out of it, onto my hand. I think I screamed so loud that the entire Serangoon estate could hear me, but nevertheless, I did not cry.

Then, there was this time when I had to kill a chicken with my bare hands and dig its intestines out from the butt-side. I didn't cry too. Instead, I laughed a little and unfortunately got caught on camera, thus earning me the royal title of THE DAREDEVIL.

However, I cry at the most unbelievable things. Or rather, I should say that things simple and mundane move me the most. Usually, it'll be something like a Kleenex ad, a folk song, or just a random scene from a comedy. I would sometimes be strangely moved to tears too when I see a lone bird in flight, a few kittens playing with one another, or an old man peddling ice-cream. Once in a long while, I would just lie on my bed and start to cry non-stop for no reason at all. Must be my quirky way of relieving stress, I don't know...

One sure way to start me sobbing away almost immediately is when I think of my parents. I become extremely vulnerable when they come into the picture. So, it's good that I am back under the same roof with them, and hence not having to miss them too much.

So you see, so much for those till-death-do-us-apart Korean dramas or sob-till-you-drop Qiong Yao romance novels. They are just no match against two jolly old folks; or an elderly street hawker; or a single bird. Not even a box of tissue.

I say, what touches the heart, is what is in the heart itself. No more, no less. Go figure.

* Always Put Up a Good Fight...

... even if it's against your twin sister.

Pacific Bay, Taiwan - Oct' 01

I Love Rock N' Roll

I hate the fact that I look like a proper law-abiding citizen. I dislike the superficial Ms. Decent skin that I was born in. I wish I can look like a rocker. An angst-ridden, tough-as-steel rock star in leather.

If you are thinking, "Wow, I would never have guessed", then you probably don't know me very well.

You have probably never heard me at KTV.
You have probably never seen me at rock concerts.
You have probably never witnessed how I scream at my students.

Yes, my favorite movie is School of Rock.
And yes, I ever sang and dance to Elvis' songs with a comb in hand.
I ever cried with my mom when John Lennon was murdered.
I cried again with my sister when Beyond's lead singer fell off the stage and died.
I ever really wanted to marry Jon Bon Jovi.
I ever imagined I could play the guitar like The Edge in U2.
I ever spent SGD$50 on a Japanese CD by Spitz.
I even know all the lyrics to Mayday's hokkien songs (and I'm not even Hokkien).

In other words, I am a multilingual rock chick. Love and peace.

* Kanpai!

Underaged drinking? - Summer 1997

Potter Rocks

OK, maybe I'm not strictly referring to Harry per se, but the entire whimsical wizardry world of his. What a neat place to be in, despite having to deal with sweaty nightmares and actually having to duel with the-one-who-shamelessly-calls-himself-the-dark-lord.

I bet it is anyone's fantasy world... Well, except those self-declared 'mature adults' with eyes only for a trilogy of some lousy ring. Haha, I'm being spiteful here, but no offence. As long as you keep your insults to yourself, I'll keep mine too, until I get down to actually reading the first LOTR novel that is lying in dust somewhere in my broom-cupboard bedroom.

Now, back to Harry and his friends. My one single big thought about this latest movie episode is on dear old Albus Dumberdore. So, the original actor passed away and they had to cast some other guy, but certainly there is some kind of quality control, you'd think?! I was certainly quite taken back by the loud, aggressive, and even...somewhat...dark (gasp) Dumberdore. What happened to the kind, gentle old principal we knew him to be? I cannot help but think this new identity is a big secret waiting to be uncovered. Maybe Dumberdore has been possessed? Maybe he is some bad guy taking lots of polyjuice potion? Maybe Sirius in disguise? Or maybe... I don't know, this old guy just unsettles me.

But anyway, let's forget about that and move on to wonderful younger beings. Ah yes, my personal favorite - Nerville Longbottom. Cute name, cuter boy. I thought the bits on his love for dancing were really sweet. Plus, for a supporting role, he had really earned some good airtime there. Oh man, I just love guys who dance.

Next, George and Fred. Man, I love twins as well. Mischievous twins, how wicked is that? I absolutely dig the scene when both of them mimicked Ron's dance with Professor McGonagall, in synch no less!

And the adults? Hmm, Snape and MadEye Moody comes to mind. Snape, for his sleeve-drawing performance, and Moody, what can I say. Disguise aside, if I've had a teacher like him, I would darn well be President Scholar of my year. Well, no time for regrets, I'll just strive to teach like him, minus the transfiguration. What do you say, my students???

I've just looked. Can't find the LOTR novel. Guess I'll just settle for a re-read of my Potter series. Hmm let's see...where are the books? " Now, accio!"

One Wedding and A Funeral

November 12, 2005 - the day two capable, intelligent and good-looking friends finally tied the knot of matrimonial bliss.

November 13, 2005 - the day a friend's granny passed away unexpectedly.

Such is life. Life that is determined by what we set out to do at times, but also one that is beyond our control most other times.

For me, that was a tiring week. I had experienced anticipation, excitement, joy, contentment and some very touching moments. Then just one day later, a whole new set of emotions - grief, sympathy and pain.

I shared Huayimm and Damien's happiness because I was made part of the celebration. From brainstorming ballroom design ideas to making wedding invites to being emcee for their wedding dinner, every moment was one of infectious love and beginning. You have to try very hard not to feel it.

But on the other hand, I did not know Sam's grandma. Yesterday at the wake, I saw her photo for the very first time. There wasn't alot of activity. Family members chatting in small groups and attending to the rituals in a matter-of-factly way. It was hard to imagine that just two days ago, a funeral was the furthest thing on their minds. However, despite the untelling scene, I just had to take one look into Sam's eyes to feel her loss. No living person can ever hide the pain of death.

Just as no one should ever hide the happiness of life.

To Huayimm and Damien, maybe you be happy always.

To Sam, get happy real soon. You know Grandma is happy where she is now.

Comeback

Exams are finally over, well almost...the last one is tomorrow but frankly, I don't quite care. I'll be goofing around for the next seven weeks with no work, no school, no nothing. Life is good to me.

Frankly, being set free from mundane routines took some getting used to. For the first time in a long time, I felt so weird having nothing to do. Boredom quickly set in and since most of my close friends were either not in town, feeling ill, or had datelines to meet, I was soon texting almost everyone I could possibly think of, seeking to "reconnect" with some long-lost people out there.

It's strange how your brain doesn't quite work when freed from stress. For the past few months when I had tons of assignments and exams piled in front of me, I lamented endlessly about my lack of time to blog. But when I had all the time in the world and needed something to do, I forgot that I had a blog to write. Duh.

So, I hereby declare that I shall and I will start writing again. For all my good fans out there, thanks for the long wait. I am back.

Thank You for the Music

Dedicated to my steadfast piano for being at my side for more than 20 years, which I had constantly neglected, which I had almost ingratefully forgotten about. Recently, I've started playing music again, and rediscovered the joy that it had always given me. Thank you, Mr. Piano. Thank you for the music.


Mr. Piano

Old Dusty Mister Dark Wood Piano
Stands proudly upright
Bravely stoic
Deadly still
In its own silent shadow

Like a heavy tomb door sealed with grief
The dark wooden lid
A little warmed
Gently loved
By a cat soundly sleeping

He longs for some music
A heartfelt sonata
But the only sounds he hears
The rhythmic purrs
As the cat coils in tighter

Quietly determined is Mr. Piano
Keys and pedals lay await
For the lid to be lifted of its sadness
And a slightly off-pitch tune is played
Once again someday

A New Home

Dear readers,

I've created a new blog specially for my Chinese posts! Well, it wasn't a deliberate move... I had do something for my Photoshop assignment so thought I might as well put my end product to good use. So please go admire my backbreaking piece of creation even if you can't understand those funky Chinese characters, please...please...please...!


親愛的讀者：

為了配合本人雙語創作美少女的優質形象，我徹夜趕工，終於設立了專屬中文作品的全新部落格(blog)！值得一提的是我剛才學會一些Photoshop的皮毛，通宵作出一個我自認超滿意的設計，包括文案都是親筆寫的哦！所以請各位阿姐阿哥踴躍支持... 感恩啦！

Update Jan 10, 2006: My Chinese blog had since moved and been republished. Please refer to 'Links' to access it.

I'm Sorry Peter...

On this very blog just barely 3 days ago, I had professed by undying love for my Creative Neeon MP3 player adoringly nicknamed Purple Peter.

These days, however, it seems that love doesn't run very long, especially when there is a strong 3rd party contending for attention. Apple had won me over with their latest Ipod Nano. I've decided to end my relationship with passe Peter. Soon.

Like one freshly in love, I just have to tell you how excited I am about this new affair. It's incredible. Have you quite seen anything like that?!! It is black magic in the techno-gadget world. Totally freaky, but ultimately captivating.

I'm craving, I'm lusting for you, Nano!!!

Waxin' Lyrical

I know someone's bound to complain, but I really can't help it. I know posting song lyrics is not exactly a creative process, but it's the best I can do for now. It has been a bit of an overkill for my poor skull lately, as forgotten datelines for essays and projects suddenly pop back up in my little tattered calender of events.

To summarize, the only free time I've left to do better things is that spent on public transport. And of course, please don't forget that on the top of my list of better things, is sleeping. Yes, I've perfected the Art of Zzz-ing on trains. No drool, no head-banging or any form of sound-effect at all. Indeed, I've progressed alot from my leaving-backpack-imprints-on-face days. Not that much of a feat at all if you consider my passionate devotion of almost 4 hours daily to public transport.

But of course, being industrious as I usually am, this 'quality' time is not only spent on my favorite sport (sleeping, I mean). Let me now introduce you to my faithful spouse of 3 months - Purple Peter - named after a Smurf song I learnt some 20+ years ago. Peter is actually my Creative MP3 player, and yes he is colored.

The reason I love Peter so much is because he has so much in him - all that I like, quite almost all that I want. Well, it wouldn't be anyway else since I AM the person loading mp3 files into him. Duh.

So my intelligent friend - you, should have figured by now that I am basically doing five things everyday. Sleeping, commuting, attending classes, doing homework and listening to music - in all forms of overlap. Actually, make that six things. Recharging my MP3 player counts as a time-consuming activity too... ask Creative.

In conclusion, be thankful that you still get to read lyrics.

Of Death, Doom and Desperation

I'm adversed to sadness. Sadness-anything except for this old favorite which I would, ironically, listen to just to bring a tear to my eye.

Knockin' On Heaven's Door

(Bob Dylan 1973)

Ma, take this badge off of me
I can't use it anymore
It's gettin' dark, too dark to see
I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door

Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door
Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door
Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door
Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door

Ma, put my guns in the ground
I can't shoot them anymore
That long black cloud is comin' down
I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door

Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door
Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door
Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door
Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door.

Which Cartoon Character Am I?

A rather lame quiz which I bravely attempted despite having tons of work waiting to be done tonight.

You are Bugs Bunny.

You are fun, friendly and popular. You are a real crowd pleaser. You have probably been out on the town your share of times, yet you come home with the values that your mother taught you. Marriage and children are important to you, but only after you have fun. Don't let the people you please influence you to stray.

P.S: If I stray, it's SOMEONE ELSE'S fault.


What Fruit Am I?

You have selected peach.

Like a peach, you enjoy the juice of life in all its lush ripeness! You are the friendly sort, and are quite frank and outspoken, which adds to your charm. You are quick to forgive and forget, and value friendships highly. You have an independent and ambitious streak that makes you a real go-getter. You are the ideal lover, fiery and passionate but sincere and faithful in love. You don't however like to display all that passion in public.


And Yet Another Quiz Reveals... Curiously Accurate Results

Introspective . . . Sensitive . . . Reflective
You come to grips more frequently and thoroughly with yourself and your environment than do most people. You detest superficiality; you'd rather be alone than have to suffer through small talk. But your relationships with your friends are highly intensive, which give you the inner tranquillity and harmony that you need in order to feel good. However, it is no problem for you to be alone for extended periods of time without becoming bored.


And Another

Others see you as fresh, lively, charming, amusing and always interesting; someone who is constantly the center of attention, but sufficiently well-balanced not to let it go to your head. They see you also as kind, considerate and understanding; someone who will cheer them up and help them out.


More...

1. You are attracted to those who are: unbridled, untrammeled, free.
2. In the process of courtship, the approach that would make you feel irresistable is: creative, never boring.
3. The impression you would like to give to your lover: stylish.
4. What you hate most in your partner: ruthlessness, cold-bloodedness, irony.
5. The kind of relationship you would like to build with your partner is : both of you can talk about everything and anything, no secrets kept.
6. You care about the society and morality, you won't do anything wrong after marriage.
7. You are afraid of marriage, you think it would take away your freedom.
8. At this moment, you think of love as a committment for both parties.


Last One, in the Good Name of Procrastination

You are an artistic type. Daydreaming is your hobby, but you can achieve what most other people cannot. You are lacking in dedication, but you will work tirelessly towards goals which are to your liking. Money is NOT important. Friends are but only intellectuals and fellow artistic types. You make the best sex partner (!!! Really?? Wow, I'm starting to impress myself...) as you are most willing to explore and please the other partner. Talent is your main strength.

Ooh laa laa...

Now time to get back to work. Pity.

Finally...

... an article I can shove in the faces of those who give me the incredulous look when I tell them I went to Macalester College. A typical conversation like this usually follows...

"It's Macalester... A liberal arts college."

"Huh? Mac- what? You studied art??!!"

"Ma-ca-les-ter, in Saint Paul. And no, I did not major in Art. 'Liberal arts is not 'art' as in painting and drawing."

"Oh, St. Paul? Where's that?? Italy???" (Totally ignoring my liberal arts explanation.)

"Umm no, actually it's in Minnesota. Near Minneapolis. You know the Twin Cities?"

(Puzzled-But-Don't Think-I'm-Dumb-Or-What-Coz-I'm-Quite-Sure-I'm-A-Genius Look) "Sounds vaguely familiar...Is it in Greece?"

"It's in USA."

"Ohhh yessss!!! I knew it sounded familiar."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

America's Hot Colleges
Yes, Harvard's on the list. But so are lesser-known schools. Here are our picks for the places creating buzz for 2005-06.

By Jay Mathews
Newsweek

HOTTEST FOR LIBERAL ARTS

Macalester College, St. Paul, Minn.
The 1,900-student campus in the middle of a vibrant metropolis has become a key recipient of the growing number of Harvard, Yale and Princeton applicants who are rejected for no other reason than that those schools don't have space for all the A-plus applicants. Macalester has one faculty member for every 11 students and an emphasis on international affairs, symbolized by one of its most famous alumni, U.N. Secretary-General Kofi Annan. The college has six language residences: Chinese, French, German, Japanese, Russian and Spanish. It offers the intimacy of the archetypal small-town campus—in the middle of the Twin Cities. Applications have increased 60 percent since 1995.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Certainly, it pales in comparison to NUS's No. 18 in The Times - World's Top Universities Ranking. But then again, a liberal arts college isn't a university, is it? And thank god for that. I meant, NUS has to really thank its god for that. :P

Oh man, I just love my funky college.

Lord of the Lians

"Lady of the Lians" would be a more appropriate title, but it doesn't quite effect the same pompousness, which is the whole point of being a true Lian.

In case you feel 'ah-lian-nated' by this choice of topic, let me reassure you that we are all related, in one way or another, to the mighty influential Lian clan. Let me prove it to you:

1) You are a Lian.
2) You are Lian's sister, Huey.
3) You like Lian(s).
4) You like Lian's sister(s), Huey(s).
5) You like both Lian(s) and Huey(s).
6) You are a Beng, and have a sister, Lian.
7) You are a Beng, and have a sister, Huey, who has a friend, Lian.
8) You are a Beng who has no sisters, but got a brother, Seng, whose girlfriend is a Lian.
9) You are a Beng who has no sisters, but got a brother, Seng, whose girlfriend is a Huey and in turn has a sister, Lian.
10) ...(are you sure you want me to go on?)

Better yet, if you come from Malaysia, you automatically qualify for the prestigious citizenship of the Lian-Bang-dom. **Lian Bang, in Chinese, literally means united states or federal (as in the former Federation of Malaya), and now colloquially used to refer to Malaysia. Hmm, come to think of it, since USA is literally translated to be Mei Guo Lian Bang, US citizens are technically Ang Moh Liew Lians too.

Fellow Singaporeans, do not gloat yet, for even if you do not fall into any of the above categories, there are other signs telling of the Lianster in each one of us.

For example, see if you fit into any of the following:

Your nails are painted in assorted designs and colors. - The Polished Lian
You swear, or are always on the verge of swearing in Hokkien. - The @#$% Lian
You have red or golden streaks in your rebonded hair. - The Laywid-Gan Lian
You and your close gal friends agree to wear similar 'identity clothes' when going out. - The Groupie Lian
You smoke, check yourself in the mirror, and talk on your cellphone at the same time. - The Multi-Tasking Lian
You hang a thousand dangling things on your handbag. - The Ling-Ling-Long-Long-Lian
You say 'Or-Kay' instead of O.K. - The 'Leceived Plonowciation' Lian
You die die must speak slang Engrish even if it ends up sounding like Hainanese. - The Pretends-to-Come-from-L.A.-But-Actually-From-L.A.S-(Lorong Ah Soo) Lian
You are a member or frequent patron of KBox. - The Idol/Superstar Lian
You buy thick metallic bracelets for yor boyfriend. - The Luv-My-Beng Lian
You know the lyrics to any songs by Ritchie Ren, Andy Lau or Spice Girls. - The Top-Hits Lian
You wear mini skirts with platform shoes. - The Hiao Lian
You still wear platform shoes!! - The Passe Lian
The Jacky Wu Show and/or The Simple Life are/is your staple TV diet. - The Tellywood Lian
You frequent nightspots along Mohd Sultan Road or worse, the Chinatown area. - The Get-Drunk-and-Get-Laid-by-Beng Lian
You think a car with a spoiler and F1 decals is cool. - The Initial-D Lian
This Fashion and/or Tommy Hilfilger are/is one of your favorite labels. - The Outlet/Lesigner Lian
Your dream guy rides a loud and fast bike. - The Wind-in-my-Hair-Hands-Around-Beng Lian
You had worn your school uniform such that skirt is super short and the belt is super low. - The Start-Young-In-Convent Lian
You can say all the five Ws. (No! Not 'where', 'when', 'why', 'what', 'who' lah!! The correct answer should be 'wah lao', 'wah piang', 'wah seh', 'wah l_n' and 'wah lamak'.) - The Linguist Lian
You resolve to memorize these pointers to perfect your style. - The Understudy Lian
You ask, "To Lian or not to Lian?" - The Philosophical Lian
You possess all the above qualities but just do not believe in this crap. - The Cynical Lian
You are too high-crass to believe in this crap. - The Hao-Lian
You are Lian and lovin' it! - The Bu-Yao-Lian

The list continues infinitely...

And how do I come up with so much nonsense?

Wah raos, I'm the Lord of the Lians mah!

Professional Procrastinator

Gee, I'm really getting good in my trade. You'd even think that I had a PhD in the arena.

The truth is, it's inborn talent.

Here I am, in front of my PC-dearest, with an empty Word document opened in preparation of some sort of input to an essay that I set out to do 2 weeks ago. And in front of my keyboard is yet an Educational Psychology textbook flipped randomly to a page that says, quite tauntingly, "the effective teacher..."

Along with notes and project guideline handouts strewn across the floor beside my workstation, this tiny mountain-load of work had managed to send a weak pang of guilt and a teenie bit of anxiety to my otherwise very un-enterprising heart.

Even so, I was determined to live up to the good name of Professional Procrastinator. At exactly 2:25am on this uneventful Tuesday morning, when my entire MSN Messenger list retired to bed leaving me with no one to practise the Art with, I had to settle my emotions, collect my thoughts and envision my next step. I start blogging.

Man, I'm good. Me think I should receive honorary mention for my unsurpassed accomplishment at the next National Day Speech.

Yawn...I'm tired. Let's just close that empty Word document, ya?

Sorry Wrong Number

Two date invitations in a month. I took a double-take each time and looked left, right and about me before asking, "Me? You sure you got the right person?"

I don't know what's wrong with me. Suddenly, boys take interest in me. Could be the current alignment of planets, but I'd prefer to think that I am 人見人愛,車見車載...

If you, my friend, think that's good news, let me re-emphasize:

"Suddenly, boys take an interest in me."

Not men... not guys... but BOYS. Boys who were still in their PAP kindergarten uniform when I took my PSLE.

Gosh. I'm attracting the wrong age group. Think I'd probably be less distressed if they were lesbians. But boys, I can't handle. You know why? Coz I'm thinking, why the f*** didn't this happen to me when I was still a GIRL??!! That is so not a happy thought.

If I've had the right address, I would definitely write in to the Ministry of Love to complain:

Dear Minister,

I would like to bring to your attention that, very much to my disappointment, the service rendered by your staff was extremely unsatisfactory. The cupid-in-charge of my district had processed my CSM (Come Shoot Me) application 10 years too late. As I have suffered major physical and emotional damages due to his negligence, I expect to be duly compensated for my precious time lost and lack of suitors over the last decade.

Please look into the matter and I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours sincerely,
Irrate Single

You laugh, but personally, I think this is tragic. I've done my best to look wise and mature beyond my tiny 1.48m frame, but I fail miserably. Even my latest investment - a pair of copperwire spectacles does not seem to work. To add salt to injury, the optician charged me student rate.

As a final attempt, I shall make an appeal on my blog:

To all my fans out there (only two, actually...), Auntie think you boys are really the cutest, but aunties really prefer uncles.

Updated 12/07 - Come to think of it, no I do not prefer uncles, thank you very much. Younger guys are very much welcomed. Just try not to be cuter than me, please.)

And I Return

Hypewriter makes a comeback after a hiatus of, uhm, 3 long months.
And now, finally, the day anxious fans have been waiting for...

Date of Worldwide Release: 1st August 2005
Pre-order your copy at a nearest kopitiam, chaphuaydiam or pozuatua near you now!

OK lah, I'm joking. I just have nothing to write about and I'm not going to do a *peanut/kidney/salary article simply for the sake of doing one.

* Singaporeans will know what this is about. For the uninitiated, let's just say that it is a socio-politica-lexica issue involving an ex-Mrs-someone-very-important using the wrong word to describe the wrong wage that was paid out to a wrong guy who spent it on very wrong things and then wanted to wrong the press for reporting him, such that the public is feeling oh-so-very wronged. Get it now?

Blood Type B – The Hunter

Type B's are:

- individualists
- dislike custom
- strong
- optimistic
- creative
- flexible
- wild
- unpredictable

Famous B’s
- Akira Kurosawa
- Paul McCartney
- Mia Farrow
- Leonardo Di Caprio
- Jack Nicholson

In other words, I am selfish, wayward and aggressive, and by the way, also clueless, do many useless things and have no mind of my own. Gee, I happen to be uncivilized and very fickle-minded as well...

Wow, on behalf of Akira, Paul, Mia, Leonardo, Jack and myself, I must really thank whoever wrote this. We are so goddamn flattered!!! B'ers RULE!!!

And now, I am convinced I belong in Hollywood.

What's with the New Blog URL?

Questions, questions, questions...didn't I tell you to just read?

All right, if you insist.

Reason 1: Previous blog has my full name (as per NRIC, passport, driver's license...) splashed all over, and I figured it'll be tough to keep a low profile should I become suddenly famous, judging on how easy it is to gain fame with a free blog account in Singapore nowadays.

Reason 2: I need a change. I need liberation for bolder writing minus the fear factor (of being sued, being fired, being ignored by neighbors, etc).

Reason 3: To the kids I teach, I'm supposed to be, erm...ideally lah, a commanding presence that strikes unimaginable fear in their teeny weeny hearts. Therefore my students MUST NEVER get to know the real me behind my mighty teacher persona. Otherwise, how to act tough in front of those little monsters, you tell me?

Case closed.

* Ready to go somewhere?

I am...

Danshui, Taipei
Summer 2006

Let the Dice Roll!

A lighthearted note from a thinking citizen, on a not-so-lighthearted topic.

Channel U's 9pm newsflash came on while I was surfing away on my PC at the other end of the living room. I had left my TV set on again, mainly for some peripheral sounds to break the lonely silence, and err, perhaps to catch any good shows that might come on. What was I thinking...

Although I do not usually care much for TV news, the newsreader got my attention effortlessly as her voice ringed with importance at every word that she enunciated with gusto. The short bulletin's agenda consisted of mainly the same news that I've already read in the morning papers. However, familiar content aside, something sounded strange to me. I made a quick mental rewind to what I just heard.

It was in Mandarin, and roughly translates as, "Singapore to Build Key Regional Gambling Rehab".

Hmm. If you've been concerned enough about important but boring state affairs to be following the casino episode closely, then surely you might find some inkling of irony in the statement above. Do we want to encourage gambling, or discourage it? Is the rehab a by-product of the gambling industry, or is the casino built to further boost our nation's healthcare pursuits? I suppose the big idea is to attract foreigners to come for an all-in package of sort - spend lots of money, get themselves addicted to gambling, turn to our professionals for medical attention and counseling, then either successfully turning over a new leaf and perhaps start allocating their money to some other businesses in Singapore, or getting itchy fingers once again for the viscous cycle to kick in while we count their cash. Or so I suspect.

Just barely 24 hours ago, our government gave Singapore the green light for an ambitious project to turn Singapore into the new Vegas of the Orient. And now, within this short period of time, newspapers had reported on all the essential issues to be dealt with, followed by more repetition on the TV and radio news. They've basically got everything covered.

The headlines read: "...will ensure 'clean' casino business...will build first-class rehab...will restrict patronage and minimize social ills..." Sounds rather like answers to FAQs often laid out to guide and assure the concerned consumer. It's like as if the decision-makers were thinking, "In case you are wondering, everything is in control."

(General sentiment: Everyone expected the green light anyway, just like how the traffic lights are tuned to surely turn green. In the meantime, the general skeptical public awaits for the red light next to attest to their own good foresight, before eagerly spitting "I told you so"s into the parliament's face.)

So why was I bothered by a simple headline? I reckon it is because, unlike other exciting projects of similar scale, there were no hip-hip-hoorays, no big vision on the better future to be anticipated, not even the slightest excitement felt. Instead, we get constant reminders from mass media on how we can curb this and control that.

First, we will be able to apply for our family members to be blacklisted for entry to the casino, in case they gamble your share of inheritance away. Then, we will impose $100 per entry charge to prevent misers and paupers from winning the rich's hard-earned money. And of course, we must not forget to set up a rehabilitation center, the best no less, to make sure the cash-rich vice-doers have an alternative channel to devote their assets to, come one day when they change their mind about engaging in immoral punting.

Looks like the net has been cast and no fat fish shall escape. Majulah Singapura!

(For the record, I am not for nor against casinos. I am just one of those who enjoy sitting on the fence to watch two camps fight, then shrug and walk away.)


At this juncture, I would like to show my deepest appreciation to all those smart and far-sighted people at Blogger who created the magical 'Recover Post' tool. I committed the unthinkable mistake of clicking on the Publish Post button when my Pay-As-You-Roam internet connection had expired. I hollered in agony and quickly recovered myself, fist in my mouth, to subscribe for more airtime. I was all resigned to my ill-fate and ready to rewrite my post above when I realized that I can recover everything with a click of the mouse. Unbelievable! I've found the will to live, once again.

Mess Queen Reigns

I am doing the long-overdue spring-cleaning which should have been done more than 2 months back. Well, I suppose it's alright to do it in April since it is technically still spring time, now that I've all the time in the world.

You cannot imagine how much junk and unidentified objects I've accumulated over the past one year. Actually, I am not quite sure myself, as I am still in the process of uncovering much of it in between TV, blogging and tea-break. Seems like I have to do this every now and then, since my yearly resolution of shopping less and keeping my home neat and tidy had never been fulfilled. Not even once. I have eventually came to terms that I will just have to be Mess Queen for the rest of my life. Title retained for the 28th consecutive year.

My friends, now you know why I never ask you over for dinner.

LV Bags and Me

Anyone who is over 14 years old and knows how to spell the word 'fashion' would be able to understand my blog post title. But in case you cannot quite figure it out yet, LV stands for Louis Vuitton, as in the really-quite-expensive-but-everybody's-carrying-it-I-wonder-if-they're-fake designer brand.

So, what about LV bags and me? Not obsession, not envy, just sadly, my ill-fated lack of destiny to ever be toting one, be it LV, Prada, Fendi or any other incredibly pricy brands ever known to mankind.

I made an astute observation that there are three types of bag carriers in this world. The No-Branders, the Buy-Branders, and the What?-Branders. I belong to the first category of consumers who are less sensitive to 'excellent craftsmanship' and appreciative stares from the masses.

But wait a minute. That does not mean that I am any less fashionable or less shopaholic, although I once commited a dreadful fashion faux pas by carrying supermarket plastic bags onboard a business class flight (but let's forget that, shall we?). It's just a matter of different personal perspectives of cost effectiveness.

Quoting a close friend of mine (Carmen, that's you) who summarized all Category 1-ers' stand, "It's not that we cannot afford it; it's just not worth it." Well-said. No offence to the Category 2-ers who have impeccable taste for good things, we merely place importance to different things. Carmen would probably blow $5K to get herself a Cartier watch, and I, on travel.

But bags. Hmm...I take a minute to ponder. Imagine if for some strange twist of fate, Chinese or Korean designers, instead of Italian ones, made it to the international bag scene, there wouldn't be any LVs around. Instead, we might get initials like BBQ and HIV on our bags (for designers Bao Bing-Quan and Hae-Im Vong respectively, whatever they might mean). So, in that same aspect, why would I want to go around carrying a bag that has some guy's initials all over? Geez, no thanks.

(* In retrospect, maybe I would, if that guy is some terrific fellow. For instance, Marc Jacobs, whose designs shot LV to fame while he struggled to contain his impulse to put his own initials 'MJ' all over the bags instead. But then again, I don't want to carry a bag that might mislead others into thinking that I dig Michael Jackson.)

So there, I'd probably never ever be aquainted with any high-fashon bags. But in case you ever catch me with one, it could be a gift, or that I changed my mind about having people's initials on my belongings. Just try not to think 'fake'.

* Good Ad - Love Thy Pet

Something to think about...

My Chinese Sentiments Exactly

A reliable source confirmed my suspicion that about 1.3 billion Chinese comrades will not be able to access my blog, all thanks to the almighty Great Firewall of China.
(Update 7 Aug'05: Realized my reliable sources are not so reliable after all. The great people of China CAN access Blogspot. It's a miracle that none of them had left me @#%!#& comments yet. Or worse, no one actually reads my blog. Sob!)

This is no big loss to them really, since I do not expect anyone out of that staggering population to be remotely interested in what I have to say, firewall or not. Especially if you consider the fact that out of this figure, only slightly more than 7% has internet access, and of which only a small minority will understand enough English to keep them interested beyond the titles of my articles.

That is, unless I am 'misrepresenting' China, or discussing Japanese books (history textbooks in particular), or quoting (can I say President?) Chen Shui-bian. In other words, unless I am tired of living, which is not what I am about to attempt to be at this very sane moment.

Never mind that actually, I am just quite glad that I did not eventually choose to relocate to Shanghai, being the obsessive blogger that I have become. I imagine I would be devastated to learn of this only upon reaching the bund, and henceforce resort to numbing myself in bamboo steamers of dumplings. However, I will take a moment of silence to weep for all foreigners in China who have been bereft of the right to freedom in the kingdom of WWW. (Especially with you in mind, Ms. Yip. Leave the dumplings alone!)

So, despite living in a tiny island state which an ex-Chinese colleague once remarked as being too small and boring, and that she could not wait to be back in the great modern Shanghai, AND will thus never ever set her dainty foot on sorry reclaimed Singapore soil again, I am quite happy with the way it is here. At least I can come online freely and read about how other bored bloggers wasted their days.

And before you mistake me as being petty or even vengeful about her comment, I must add that I feel very glad for her. Indeed, now that she is back where she belongs, I am sure she is overjoyed and liberated running amok on the Mongolian plains or climbing one of the sacred mountains, where it is not SMALL nor BORING.

Darn, I forgot she can't read this. Wasted.

* Just a disclaimer that I am not targeting this at the entire PRC population. By good fortune, I've got to know many genuinely nice and appreciative Chinese new immigrants who worked hard for Singapore and have embraced the lion city as their second home. What I cannot accept is the attitude of some exceptions who have absolutely no social ettiquette nor respect at all for others' homeland, Singapore or not. Shame on you.

Inadequately So

Last night, as I sat reading Mr. Monk's blog updates forwarded to me by his fellow Princeton alum, I had solemnly drawn a single conclusion about myself.

I am inadequate.

And the realization sets in stronger with every additional word I read.

I hate to compare, as I truly believe in personal style and fluidity. But sometimes, comparison is not about absolute worth. It is not about being inferior; definitely not about being the lesser nor the fool. It is simply being weighed on a pair of scale and you realize that you are relatively so down there. It really is about someone tracing a visible line around your comfort zone, and you alarmingly realize that it is way too small. So, thank goodness that it happened before you turn claustrophobic in there. Time to space out.

Pardon me for jumping into this turbulent mental journey of reflection. Just like how a tsunami hits the shore, his blog swept me off my feet without warning. Quick and deadly. I am left in a state of semi-shock, semi-awe, and totally inspired.

What is it about this person who had single-handedly deflated my fat writer ego? After all, we had trodden the same academic (and along the way, touristy) path from America to Japan, had equally inspiring karaoke and izakaya moments, and are rather similar in our American-East Asian views. What else could be so impressive and unexpected of someone I thought so familiar?

The value of being still thinking and writing about anything, and everything. At a royal age of 31, yet.

It would probably be less surprising if this is a jolly young undergrad I'm talking about, since we all have our years of being curious and hence terribly energetic and involved. But ten years can do alot to a man, and it is quite disturbing to learn that someone is still obsessively penning personal events and at the same time, engaged in reviewing local and foreign art films, exploring old town charms, expressing views on racial acceptance and historical ambiguity, cataloging travel thoughts, running the usual laps around Central Park, noticing sad synthesized sounds in train stations (whatever that is) and making clever jokes about his own academic career. He has not lost that zest for life.

Sounds exactly like how I want to be.

In some ways, I really dislike being in Singapore, where I have no guts to be different from whom everyone thought they knew I was, no guts to be having it all my own way like how I had it when I lived on my own, thousand of miles away from familiar territory. I've retreated into my former shadow so that I can be marching in step with my peers on the road to 'certified success'.

I sorely dislike the fact that I, now, have zero involvement in anything else than work and can only write about petty, mundane things about myself. I have been subconsciously refraining from passing judgment or making statements on anything more significant than my short, unprolific life. You see, I am becoming more detached with age and I consider that a good thing. Less emotional baggage and more heart to live every moment. No more frustration or anger at social unjust; no tearing my hair out over ridiculous politics or befuddling economics. After all, it's ashes to ashes, as in the Buddha's way to transcendent truth. If I only believed in it.

Alas, I have also become an apathetic bystander at the same time, my head too high in the clouds to feel the nuances and voices of life that surround me. A large part of me is feeling nostalgia for the brash, opinionated and lively self. The old self that I've found in this senpai. O-hisashiburi da.

Tribute to True Friends

There are some people really close to my heart. My parents, my sister and brother-in-law, my close-knitted extended family of crazy uncles, adorable aunts and funky cousins, my cat (alright, so technically he does not belong to the 'people' category, and he is actually my sister's cat, but I love him all the same)...

...And the people who understand me best - my St. Nick's galfriends.

Yenpin, Siewhong, Hweehoon and Huayimm. (Plus or minus newly-titled Mrs. Seah-Ng Aishing. We've lost her to Jonathan years ago.)

On second thoughts, make that Yenpin, Siewhong and Hweehoon. (Plus or minus soon-to-be Mrs. Lim-Poh Huayimm too. Lost her to Damien, alas.)

Talk about casualties of love. We'll talk about these blissful people some other time.

So you see, we are pretty much left with a table of 4 whenever we meet, and it is this same foursome whose lofty ideals and exalted visions are so very much in common that we begin to wonder if we are somewhat a weird bunch. So weird that we turn our weekly casual dinner outings into lengthy seminars (at last count, we ended at 4am in the morning) discussing the same old global/national/personal issues that we have been discussing forever, and feeling more hot-blooded each time. Who knows, had it been the olden days, we might have been mass-burnt to death at the stake.

Maybe this is exactly why we made it through 16 years of very supportive, yet undemanding friendship. Or sisterhood, rather. Also sixteen years of being passionate about life. I am so proud of us all.

May we continue to be best friends.
May we continue to serve our people.
May we continue to believe in our ideals.
May we continue to strive for romantic excellence.
May we continue to contribute to the gross revenue of KBox.

Peace.

Survivor -- Behind the Primary School Gate

The reality of primary school education from the eyes of new teacher who beat the odds to survive the most grueling and challenging race ever...

I am totally flat out at 3:30pm on a Thursday afternoon, unbelievably grateful to be finally home after nine periods of what I think was called 'teaching', and at the same time, sinking deeper and deeper into despair at the thought of being back in school 16 hours later.

From my experience, being Ms. Tan to a class of 35 pre-adolescent rascals in a neighbourhood co-ed primary school (one that admits children from welfare homes, no less) can be potentially live-threatening. It single-handedly tops any other activities that I have ever attempted, to win the dubious honor of being the most exhausting and dangerous.

And by the way, this is only the second day of my ideally-long-and-very-prosperous teaching career.

In case if you think teaching is peasy easy, especially in primary schools, and are wondering what the fuss from us 'incompetent government educators' is about, let me count thy ways:

1) Straight hours of, not talking, but screaming at the top of our voices, usually just to get the children to sit down or shut up.

2) Having to deal with kids who not only do not want to listen, but also constantly do things to disturb their classmates so that any attempt to teach is futile. Examples of the things they do include shouting non-stop like a madman, snatching stationary and chasing each other around the class, walking around the classroom without any purpose or worse, walking out of the classrooms to disturb the students in other classes.

3) Making sure that the noise level is down so that other teachers will not walk over to pass disgusted looks of contempt.

4) Dealing with older foreign students who are either to bored with the syllabus, too shy to speak, or do not understand much English to know what we are talking about. These students are often the ones who will refuse participation, and subsequently get lost in their own worlds while the crazy local kids wreak havoc in class.

5) Not having enough time to get to know students well, nor to give additional attention to the weaker ones, nor even to explain a lesson to someone who had been absent.

6) Having to spark their interest in learning by conducting creative lessons. However, this is not the difficult part. The difficult part is to keep them calm and quiet after we have indeed sparked their interest.

7) Keeping your eyes on what's happening in the classrooms, as well as outside it. Many a times, students will seek permission to go to the toilet only to loiter around and play with students from other classes who also happened to seek permission from other teachers to go to the toilet as well. Sometimes, I wonder if they are part of a bigger syndicate and that they had learnt to synch their watches just like the SWAT team.

8) Trying to be fair and not show any favoritism even though one student is an angel, and the other, clearly a devil.

9) Trying very hard to not laugh when the cheeky ones crack a real funny joke, and having to put a false front and ask what is so funny, sternly in return. (Of course, we are after all human and it is healthy to have a good laugh with the kids. However, it is sane practice not to laugh or even smile AT ALL for the first two months if you want an easy life. Do this at your own peril.)

10) Having to develop a multi-talent ability to teach English Language, Mathematics, Science, Health Education, Social Studies, Art & Craft, Music, PE and God knows what other subjects, not only at the level I am teaching, but also at any levels that I might be required to substitute for in case of teachers being absent.

All these, in lieu of administrative work and other responsibilities which are not required of me at this point of time yet.

So you see, I am totally impressed with teachers who can handle it all, especially those who do it with style.

To teachers out there, I say to you, good job to have lived thus far.

For me, the war is not lost. Although my first days in teaching is much like a surprise attack by the unknown enemy, I am still very much in the battle. All I need is a change of tactics and some medication for my raising BP (blood pressure). The way to longevity in this business, I realized, is to raise your voice and lower your expectations, increase tolerance threshold and decrease emotional attachment. Great. Now I have a perfect plan.

In days to come, I am not sure if I will ever learn to control my class. So maybe I am a little too nice to execute any punishment, a little to short to be considered a fearful figure, and a little to soft to scare with my voice. But I think I like it the way it is. The way I can continue to do my little best to educate these youngsters and chase them for their homework without changing their pesky personalities nor wipe off that naughty cheeky grin. They should be free to play and explore this world with their own minds. What they just need is a mentor. Not another dictator.

Busy Me

It has been a crazy period for me and I never saw it coming. How was I to know that on the very evening of my last day at work, I would receive a brand new task. Oh yeah, and what a task it was.

I was to be (gulp!) a puppy-sitter. All thanks to my dear sister who is determined not to let my free time go wasted. She bought a 3-month old female golden retriever pup and wanted me to help out with it for this transition period. Her name is Lexi and I shall write about her later.

Now, all I want to do is to give an update on my days ahead, in case anyone of you reads my blog for the latest E-news ('E' for Ei-Lin, 'E' for Erika).

1) I will be spending alot of puppy-sitting time at my sister's apartment which, heaven forbid, does not have LAN or cable connection for some heart-breaking reason. I will have to put up with her slow dial-up service and laptop combination for my internet access. Hence, I might either be offline on MSN Messenger/Yahoo! IM, or you'll see me logging in and out alot.

2) I might be writing less in this blog for the time being. I have started another blog on my pending trip to Japan and I will probably be spending all my time doing research and writing about it. Here's the link if you are interested: http://ikooyo.blogspot.com
(Update 6/5/2005 : I've shut the blog for now as there is too much information to organize before posting. Will try to reopen it soon.)
(Updated again 19/7/2005: Not going to happen. I've realized, for the first time in my life, that time is such a luxury. Instead, I will be devoting whatever limited time I have online to the more satisfying activity of paying bills over internet banking. Gee, see how important that little yellow word is to me that I had no choice but use it three times over...)

3) My formal teaching position with MOE starts in July. For the few months from now till then, I will do some relief teaching. The application has been approved, and I will have to call up the schools to find a position. Maybe later. After all, I have not had a single day of proper rest yet!

Alright, I think this is about all that I can muster for now. I need some sleep...

My Love Horoscope Says...

You are pretty persuasive on paper, and quite articulate. But the moment you see you-know-who, you turn into a stuttering mess. Maybe you should put your thoughts in a note.

Why didn't they say this earlier? I could have started sending out love notes 10 years ago. Darn.

Life's Simple Pleasures

A cup of hot tea, some warm bread and a good companion.
That's all you need for a perfect Sunday morning.

Causeway Bay, Hong Kong
Spring, 2005

Ooo, That Lovely Green Dress

I cannot resist hanging the green dress out as the title of this entry.

It was what Brazilian singer Cibelle wore when I watched her perform at The Esplanade Concert Hall last Saturday evening. The minute she skipped barefooted onstage, I whispered to my cousin Yingying, " Wow, I want to know where she bought that dress from."

OK, that was my second impression for the night. The first came from stepping into the concert hall for the first time. It was new, stark and frankly-speaking, quite boring, unlike aged and embellished concert halls in older cities. However, I quite liked it. It was large enough for make an impression, and small enough to feel adequately near to the action on stage. The roof was extended upward for better acoustics I believe, and the reverberation chambers complete the classic 'concert hall' look. And most of all, it carried the bold vision of a culturally apathetic nation toward a new era of artistic excellence. Shame on you if you laugh it off as government bollocks. We have to start somewhere.

Now back to the concert: Cibelle-Brasil Novo. I didn't know what to expect, only being drawn to the performance by pamphlet key words like bossa nova and samba, which I adore for their sexiness in vastly different ways. If music was metamorphosed into woman, bossa would be a quietly forlorn but seductive damsel, and samba would be a hot, energetic and passionate lover.

In the end, I was treated to a hip mix of not only bossa nova and samba, but a whole lot of soul, jazz, electronica and a dash of rock'n roll amidst well-timed comic ditzyness from the hyperactive Brazilian lass, who at one point of time, stopped to take a photo for her band members. She worked her way to the climax with some serious display of vocal prowess and her band's music-making versatility in several Portuguese numbers, then danced in a trance-like manner for English number titled Train, before plunging into the deep dark emotions of 60's classic Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me) for a parting shot.

Cibelle has a wonderful voice and as I later found out, touted to be Brazil's new hot talent equally deserving of kudos lavished on Nora Jones and Diana Krall. She is good in both languages and composes her own songs, which make clever use of studio and stage equipment to create exotic mixes, loops and beats for aesthetically pleasing music. She used two microphones at the same time for different sound effects, and her naked feet worked nimbly at the buttons on her two high-tech toys that did instant makeover of her music. All done while singing and prancing around. You can see that I am duly impressed.

My favorite number for the night was a Portuguese song about drinking. It says "Water is bad for your health". No wonder she was so high the whole time. By the end of the 90-minute concert, I was high too. Too bad there wasn't a dance floor and a water bar. And too bad I never got to ask about that lovely dress.

Jazz Do It

I am a hard-core jazz fan, and to me, last Sunday's 'All That Shanghai Jazz' concert, was simply marvelous.

Save for some distracting lack-lustre vocals from the girls, the nite was an exhilarating musical roller-coaster ride with some of China's best young musicians, including flamboyant male vocalist Coco Zhao Ke.

While improvisation was kept to a minimum, these fresh blood gave grand old Shanghai jazz a refreshing revival through lively and energetic expression, at the same time retaining the Big-Band charm of the golden era.

I particularly enjoyed the rendition of trumpets and violin, which were also clearly the star instruments of the night. However, if you explored a little deeper into the ritzy excitement of the night's music, you will be utterly smitten with the stoic piano performance, and whole-heartedly captivated by the deep soulful pizzicato double bass.

It was a pity that the musicians did not have more solo time to demonstrate their exceptional skills and creativity in improvisions. Perhaps they should cut down on the vocals, as the original Shanghai-style stage singing really did not do justice to such brilliant music-making. The exception being Coco's smooth, strong but sensual voice, which held the whole performance together and made it memorable. I'll give him a standing ovation if I was watching in a warmer audience.

Although Shanghai oldies are familiar tunes to most, jazz is still not widely appreciated in Singapore, and that might account for the lukewarm reception. I noticed a large number of older audience who probably bought tickets without realizing that the oldies were to be done with jazzy, and hence rather offbeat arrangement. I have a feeling they would be left quite unimpressed by the noisy and messy music, while the real jazz-lovers could have missed this fabulous outing due to its Huayi - Chinese Festival of Arts 2005 branding typically associated with traditional Chinese heritage.

Who would have thought jazz is quite so universal?

Lights, Music, Action!

Culturally, my life is on a roll. I am playing on my piano again after a regretful hiatus of almost 14 years, and visited The Esplanade for two brilliant concerts in one single weekend. Somewhere in my brain, specifically the music department (if there ever was one), is now buzzing with neural activity telling me that if I don't feed it with some Do-Ray-Mi soon, I would be lucky to even have a handful of dead cells left in there.

One thing about me is my extremities. I enjoy music. All sorts except for maybe heavy metal, not because I do not like heavy metal, with due respect, but because I would very much prefer heavy metal to be what it really is - you know, not light but heavy, not wood but metal. THAT kind of heavy metal. It's really quite useful, for building ships, making anchors etc. OK, sorry I am digressing...

Somehow, despite my enthusiasm for harmony, rhythm and melody, I find music rather annoying when I hear it incessantly. It gives me a headache. To make it easier for you to understand how my brain works, imagine it to be a radio. There must be a specific time and frequency for me to tune in to music, otherwise it is just but jarring radio static. To me, music is an occasion. An event. A Celebration. Or simply a mood. You simply can't have an event or a celebration or a mood going on the whole while in the background. It has got to be special.

So yeah, I consider my minimal time spent idyllically on my piano bench quite a special event. I'd play my favorite pieces and practise my scales, immersing in the music that comes with every movement of my fingers, arms and body. Best of all it brings me back to my lovely childhood days spent doing exactly the same thing.

To that, I say, " God Bless Music". Or rather, "God Bless the Occasional Music".

Where is My Valentine?

For the umpteenth time, my friends 'gently' reminded me of my swinging singlehood by throwing comments like "you know men so well, I can't believe you are still single", or "there are so many eligible guys around you, I cannot understand why you are not attached".

For crying out loud, me neither.

They offered me explanations such as "you're too clever. Men are afraid of you", and "your expectations are too high", which frankly-speaking, are too nice and diplomatic.

For one, I am not some high-flying Woman of the Year or nobel prize-winning PhD candidate, so there should be no issue on me being too clever. Especially when guys are too stupid and egoistic to realize that anyway. (**At this point, I can visualize guys going, "Us, stupid?", and giving me the dirty look...Haha, Ok lah you are not stupid nor egoistic. Hmm, you are, err... muscular and handsome, can or not?)

For two, my expectations never rose beyond basement carpark level. I know of some girls with expectations to rival Taipei 101 or the Petronas Twin Towers, who are not coincidentally, either blissfully engaged or married.

The only acceptable explanation for my lack of decent suitors, then, is that the right guy is too tied up with earning his first billion now to be romantically involved. Hence my wait. Good things are to come in good time, so let's hope mine isn't the best lest I have to wait forever.

To all you concerned folks out there who have been giving me advice and well-wishes for my love life, thank you and I do hope to repay your kindness with good news soon. However, I do not think I am ready to toss my hair and bat my lashes at any man. Quoting a gal friend who is also enjoying every swinging moment, WE DON'T EAT BUFFET.

Valentine's Day? Maybe you can fix me up with Cupid instead so that I can teach that kid how to shoot some arrows for a start.

My Lucky Rooster Year

A sigh of relief.

The big affair is finally over. Chinese New Year had once again struck and left in record time, as it always would.

This year, however, it had left me feeling quite exuberant and excited about the new year. I am feeling extra lucky, quite sure that my new career will be a success, a love relationship will eventually blossom, and everything will fall nice and neat into a perfect life. There is no stopping Bliss.

Alright, I am a die-hard optimist, I know it. How not to be, when all the signs are pointing to a fabulous year ahead?

In fact, my spate of good luck arrived even before the rooster came a-calling. Just one week ago I received my pay increment and the letter of offer for a teaching career on the same day. In that same period, some very long-lost, long-distance friends were recovered, and I experienced great friendship and camaraderie in my workplace. Even my boss was agreeable and supportive of my decision to follow my calling to join the education service.

For New Year's Day itself, things got even better. I took flight for Bangkok with 13 other family members for the traditional Chinese New Year visiting of our Thai relatives. It was a fun and shamelessly noisy trip. Everyone was in a festive mood and participated in endless Teochew chatter from airport to hotel to everywhere else. This is exactly how Chinese New Year should be like - loud and boisterous.

Our Thai granduncles gave us expensive seafood treats and fed us like pigs. I never had a whole claypot-full of whole shark's fins to myself before (I apologize for the environmentally-unfriendly behavior but believe me, I would rather have it otherwise), and that was just a fraction of the feasting that continued for days.

I also received, in spite of my age, several big fat ang pows that covered all my shopping expenses in Bangkok, plus a 2-hour traditional Thai massage to boot.

So here I am back in Singapore, feeling slightly dumpy due to the overeating but otherwise very radiant from the festivities. They say that Dragons will experience exceptional luck this year, and I am never more convinced.

* Warning!

Approaching 30.
Slow down aging.

Stratford-upon-Avon, UK
Fall, 2001

The Joy of Walking

I am a homely person. Do not attempt to describe me anything as outgoing, active or sporty, for I am quite a lazy bum to be honest. OK, so I had some energetic moments when I do hit the gym, participate in charity runs and engage in some challenging sports under the influence of either dangerous drugs or dangerous friends. Still, I'd rather have it slow and easy.

It is quite contradictory then, for me to tell you that I love to walk. Actually, I am one industrious walker who can go on and on for hours at a stretch. I can walk everyday, in any weather condition. In fact, walking is so enjoyable to me that it has become less of a chore, and more of a natural intuition. I'll walk even when I am wearing high heels or carrying a heavy pack (not both though, I'm not that insane yet).

Now, before you chiropractically-correct health enthusiasts start reprimanding me for doing unthinkable damage to my joints and my precious heels (mind you, the shoe parts, not the human anatomy), let me dutifully inform that I already have a bad knee and a weak lower back, so give me a break.

Yes, I do know the correct shoes, the correct outfit and the correct terrain, for that matter, to conduct a proper walk in. It's just that when the mood, the surroundings and the timing kick in, what does it matter? It's akin to singing in the rain - there's no stopping spontaneity. So stop getting hung up about that little bit of incorrectness and read on.

My friends tease me all the time for the hard work I do, saying that I must be less evolved and hence cannot adapt to newer forms of transportation. To that, I agree. After all, I was born a Capricorn and all the poor goat does is walk round the mountains every day. I would laugh and lament about my wretched life, but secretly endeavor to continue enjoying my walks. Indulge me, please.

The farthest back I can manage to recall going for long walks on my own was the time I studied in the States. It was partly to explore the pretty Victorian neighborhood, and partly because I did not have a car then. Most unfortunately too, the nearest grocer's was more than a mile away. It was either I depend on the unreliable public bus or use my own two feet to get around. I chose the latter. Hence for the next few years, I treaded in infamous Minnesotan snow and sometimes even had to skate on sidewalk ice just to get to hold of a pack of Kleenex.

Honestly, I enjoyed the sensation of stomping in the feet-deep snow in boots and a heavy winter jacket, with a backpack on my shoulder. My groceries add to the good workout, but it was the simple feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment of completing a mundane task that was quite irreplaceable by any other activity. Others thought I was extremely silly to be out in freezing conditions when I could have waited for the weekend to come, when friends with cars would go grocery shopping and could give me a ride. Well, perhaps they did not know how it was like to have never walked on snow nor wore boots ever.

Of course, there were nicer hikes that I went on over weekends, away from the urban jungle. No carbon monoxide, no concrete, no maddening crowds (actually there wasn't much of these anyway); just plenty of fresh air and scenic greenery. Minnesota isn't called the Land of 10,000 Lakes for nothing. There are huge national parks to explore and every season