Approaching 30.
Slow down aging.
Stratford-upon-Avon, UK
Fall, 2001
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Saturday, January 29, 2005
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 boasts a different experience. My favorite has got to be fall (they call it autumn from where I come from), mainly because of the stretches of red leaves in every brilliant shade that rustled under my feet as I strode away. I have never seen a sight I liked better.
Later on, when I was living in Taipei, I got quite bored of the limited urban activities such as shopping, eating and KTV singing, that I started to explore every nook and cranny of the city on foot. I would walk for hours without any destination in mind, just entertaining myself with the colorful sights and sounds that came my way. Before long, I knew the streets like the back of my hand. There were times when I weren't paying any attention to my surroundings. Rather, letting the noise and fumes engulf me until I got lost in my own rhythmic pace. It became my form of meditation in a crazy city.
A few years ago, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. Fortunately, it hadn't spread then and part of his lungs was surgically removed. The doctor advised him to exercise regularly to strengthen his lungs, which he did, under the supervision of my mother. Over the next year, they went for long walks everyday and covered every possible trail in Singapore. It was from accompanying my parents for their walks that I realized how much nature we have in our tiny, overdeveloped country, just minutes away from the hustle bustle that we all know too well.
I was astonished to see an extended family of primates splashing away happily on a quiet weekday afternoon at MacRitchie Park. Then there was the time I almost stepped on a small black-and-red snake napping on the Lower Peirce boardwalk. And yet another time when I caught the sun setting over the Seletar Reservoir in magnificent green background and dazzling orange lights bouncing off the water. These are but a few examples of what you get to see if you'd just step outside a while. You'll realize that there is no shortage of places for a good walk in Singapore too.
For me, walking has cultivated myself a mind for patience and a heart for nature. I started to appreciate the little things that I have seemed to overlook in the past. Like how wonderful it is to be able to sit down in serenity for a couple of minutes to have a refreshing sip of water, how touching it can be to walk silently beside your loved ones, how exciting it is to have rain pelting down on you as you run for shelter under the forest cover. And most of all, how amazing it is to be on this wonderful planet.
I hope you too, will enjoy a walk or two, and cherish the moments of splendor each brings. Maybe then, you can write about it, as I did.
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 boasts a different experience. My favorite has got to be fall (they call it autumn from where I come from), mainly because of the stretches of red leaves in every brilliant shade that rustled under my feet as I strode away. I have never seen a sight I liked better.
Later on, when I was living in Taipei, I got quite bored of the limited urban activities such as shopping, eating and KTV singing, that I started to explore every nook and cranny of the city on foot. I would walk for hours without any destination in mind, just entertaining myself with the colorful sights and sounds that came my way. Before long, I knew the streets like the back of my hand. There were times when I weren't paying any attention to my surroundings. Rather, letting the noise and fumes engulf me until I got lost in my own rhythmic pace. It became my form of meditation in a crazy city.
A few years ago, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. Fortunately, it hadn't spread then and part of his lungs was surgically removed. The doctor advised him to exercise regularly to strengthen his lungs, which he did, under the supervision of my mother. Over the next year, they went for long walks everyday and covered every possible trail in Singapore. It was from accompanying my parents for their walks that I realized how much nature we have in our tiny, overdeveloped country, just minutes away from the hustle bustle that we all know too well.
I was astonished to see an extended family of primates splashing away happily on a quiet weekday afternoon at MacRitchie Park. Then there was the time I almost stepped on a small black-and-red snake napping on the Lower Peirce boardwalk. And yet another time when I caught the sun setting over the Seletar Reservoir in magnificent green background and dazzling orange lights bouncing off the water. These are but a few examples of what you get to see if you'd just step outside a while. You'll realize that there is no shortage of places for a good walk in Singapore too.
For me, walking has cultivated myself a mind for patience and a heart for nature. I started to appreciate the little things that I have seemed to overlook in the past. Like how wonderful it is to be able to sit down in serenity for a couple of minutes to have a refreshing sip of water, how touching it can be to walk silently beside your loved ones, how exciting it is to have rain pelting down on you as you run for shelter under the forest cover. And most of all, how amazing it is to be on this wonderful planet.
I hope you too, will enjoy a walk or two, and cherish the moments of splendor each brings. Maybe then, you can write about it, as I did.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Little Known Facts
A great philosopher once cleverly noted that human beings are the only creatures who take great pride and satisfaction in amassing knowledge of trivial information and facts that no one has any use for. What a wise man.
Since everyone is interested in anyone else's trivia, I shall start the ball rolling by providing mine.
- When I was much younger, I could sleep standing up. (Regrettably, I have since lost this ability.)
- I could sleepwalk too. (I've lost this ability as well...)
- My sister and I would chase each other around the apartment with kitchen knives. (Pause) Wait a minute. Correction: My sister would chase me around the apartment with kitchen knives. Yes, my younger sister.
- I was a really shy and quiet kid back then. Not sure what happened to me down the road. Now, no one believes me when I tell them this.
- The first-ever prize that I received was a $100 HSBC cash savings account from an art competition. It was held at the zoo and I had a photo taken with Ah Meng the orangutan when I went onstage to receive my prize. On retrospect, they probably mistook me for an abtract art prodigy.
- I can play the piano. I'll show you my certificates from The Association of the Royal Schools of Music, just don't ask me to play.
- I was one of the top 2 AV Librarians in primary school. By primary 5, I was fully certified to operate and maintain every single audio-visual machine in the school. Now I can't even figure out my own cell phone.
- I represented my school in a national Chinese Dance competition and we got a silver award. It was a peacock dance item and I had feathers stuck to my head and all that.
- I was also part of my primary school athletics team, but I was a reserve runner so I never had the chance to compete at all.
- I can hula hoop forever if you don't stop me. Thus, I don't understand why some people can't do it.
- I can't swim properly with the freestyle. Better to stick to breaststroke if I don't want to drown.
- I once helped a classmate cheat in a Home Economics exam by baking a cake for her at the very last minute. The one she made looked like vomit and I happened to be in a charitable mood.
- Gee, I was part of my class's Chinese poetry reciting team. It was a scam.
- I hosted 2 Taiwanese girls in my home for my school exchange program. They were so traumatized that I never heard from them again.
- I won the first prize for an English poetry contest. I took a cue form beauty pageants and wrote something about world peace. And I think all I got was a lousy certificate.
- I skipped classes in JC to play Pictionary with my PE teacher.
- I did double math double sciences at A levels. Until now, I'm not sure why I was THAT suicidal. I am convinced that 'Further Mathematics' is a hoax. They meant for it to be 'Fail Mathematics'.
- I was once kindly advised by my civics tutor to lengthen my JC skirt.
- Had stayed over illegally in school, attempted everything from hanging hammocks along the corridors, lugging guitars up onto the roof to sing in the moonlight, to (can you beat this) having a Chinese New Year steamboat dinner smack right on the track field. Lots of extension wire for that, I tell ya...
- My mom still recalls with pride my execution of 'commando flips' over the school gate when she came to pick me up from school on late nights. It's pretty simple actually...fling bag over gate, pull up skirt, climb gate, push, pose and flip.
- I participated in the Big Walk women's team event with ODAC mates and we came in 3rd. The prize was a trophy and a Timex watch each...and very sore legs. The trophy broke by the time I got home, and I gave the watch away. The only lasting thing was the pair of sore legs.
- I got my first black Motorola pager in 1995 and my first cell phone 3 years later - and lost my freedom ever since.
- I had red hair. Well, Uncle Ronald McDonald was the icon of that time.
- My numerous part-time/vacation jobs in my school years include:
1) dermatology clinic assistant
2) math tutor
3) summer camp counselor
4) college store clerk (selling candy, laundry tokens and college memorabilia)
5) volunteer English teacher for Asian women and kids at Sunday church
6) translator
7) western cook
8) bartender
9) stand-in office manager at the Hawaiian Trade Office (In between watering plants and replacing printer cartridges, the only significant thing I did on this job was typing and translating an official US visa request document for a for a Taiwan Minister's visit to Hawaii.)
- I rowed in a women's eight race on the Mississippi River. Our daily training involves waking up at 4:30am and running up and down a hill before sunrise in -10 degree C weather, rowing for 3 straight hours and then washing up the sweep boat. Mind you, we still had class after that, followed by more gym practice on rowing machines. I must be outta my mind.
- I stole muffins and fruits from the university cafeteria on a daily basis. It helped that the Minnesota weather is permanently at ice-point and we all wore huge jackets. Some dudes even stole dining trays for snowsliding.
- I was forever being mistaken for Keiko, who was one year my senior in college. And I would be 'the girl who looks just like Keiko'. No one remembered my name, I think.
- My first uni crush was on this guy who bought laundry tokens from me at the college store. He played the trumpet in the college jazz band and was a tennis player. Now you know why I cannot resist guys who play jazz and tennis.
- I learnt to drive in the states. It was a cute red Chevy. No need for theory tests or anything at all. The minute I met my instructor, he put me in the driver's seat and said, " OK, young lady, let's go!"
- I was once stalked by a frog-T-shirt weirdo from South Carolina when we were on exchange in Japan. It was rather scary but nothing dangerous. Having huge guy friends to walk you around can be a life-saver.
- I sang in a pseudo rock band called Dirty Dogs (we later realized that a dozen other college bands went by the same name too, and decided to change it to Rock Bandit). That was the start and the end of my singing career.
- I don't chat on the phone. It's a health hazard. I type fervently on MSN instead. Easier to let my fingers do the talking.
- I can dance a decent Hawaiian hula dance. In fact, I coached 5 other girls overnight and performed our first item on stage to resounding success. I think. Girls, tell me it was a success...Or, well at least we were the cutest performers.
- I really wanted to be a nurse or a teacher or a tai-tai who does charity work. Now it's a little late but I'm working on it... guess which one.
- I am crazy about writing and photography. If you need someone to write your obituary or shoot your last fleeting presence, I'll be glad to help.
- I am addicted to my blog.
- I think I can't stop.
Someone help...
Since everyone is interested in anyone else's trivia, I shall start the ball rolling by providing mine.
- When I was much younger, I could sleep standing up. (Regrettably, I have since lost this ability.)
- I could sleepwalk too. (I've lost this ability as well...)
- My sister and I would chase each other around the apartment with kitchen knives. (Pause) Wait a minute. Correction: My sister would chase me around the apartment with kitchen knives. Yes, my younger sister.
- I was a really shy and quiet kid back then. Not sure what happened to me down the road. Now, no one believes me when I tell them this.
- The first-ever prize that I received was a $100 HSBC cash savings account from an art competition. It was held at the zoo and I had a photo taken with Ah Meng the orangutan when I went onstage to receive my prize. On retrospect, they probably mistook me for an abtract art prodigy.
- I can play the piano. I'll show you my certificates from The Association of the Royal Schools of Music, just don't ask me to play.
- I was one of the top 2 AV Librarians in primary school. By primary 5, I was fully certified to operate and maintain every single audio-visual machine in the school. Now I can't even figure out my own cell phone.
- I represented my school in a national Chinese Dance competition and we got a silver award. It was a peacock dance item and I had feathers stuck to my head and all that.
- I was also part of my primary school athletics team, but I was a reserve runner so I never had the chance to compete at all.
- I can hula hoop forever if you don't stop me. Thus, I don't understand why some people can't do it.
- I can't swim properly with the freestyle. Better to stick to breaststroke if I don't want to drown.
- I once helped a classmate cheat in a Home Economics exam by baking a cake for her at the very last minute. The one she made looked like vomit and I happened to be in a charitable mood.
- Gee, I was part of my class's Chinese poetry reciting team. It was a scam.
- I hosted 2 Taiwanese girls in my home for my school exchange program. They were so traumatized that I never heard from them again.
- I won the first prize for an English poetry contest. I took a cue form beauty pageants and wrote something about world peace. And I think all I got was a lousy certificate.
- I skipped classes in JC to play Pictionary with my PE teacher.
- I did double math double sciences at A levels. Until now, I'm not sure why I was THAT suicidal. I am convinced that 'Further Mathematics' is a hoax. They meant for it to be 'Fail Mathematics'.
- I was once kindly advised by my civics tutor to lengthen my JC skirt.
- Had stayed over illegally in school, attempted everything from hanging hammocks along the corridors, lugging guitars up onto the roof to sing in the moonlight, to (can you beat this) having a Chinese New Year steamboat dinner smack right on the track field. Lots of extension wire for that, I tell ya...
- My mom still recalls with pride my execution of 'commando flips' over the school gate when she came to pick me up from school on late nights. It's pretty simple actually...fling bag over gate, pull up skirt, climb gate, push, pose and flip.
- I participated in the Big Walk women's team event with ODAC mates and we came in 3rd. The prize was a trophy and a Timex watch each...and very sore legs. The trophy broke by the time I got home, and I gave the watch away. The only lasting thing was the pair of sore legs.
- I got my first black Motorola pager in 1995 and my first cell phone 3 years later - and lost my freedom ever since.
- I had red hair. Well, Uncle Ronald McDonald was the icon of that time.
- My numerous part-time/vacation jobs in my school years include:
1) dermatology clinic assistant
2) math tutor
3) summer camp counselor
4) college store clerk (selling candy, laundry tokens and college memorabilia)
5) volunteer English teacher for Asian women and kids at Sunday church
6) translator
7) western cook
8) bartender
9) stand-in office manager at the Hawaiian Trade Office (In between watering plants and replacing printer cartridges, the only significant thing I did on this job was typing and translating an official US visa request document for a for a Taiwan Minister's visit to Hawaii.)
- I rowed in a women's eight race on the Mississippi River. Our daily training involves waking up at 4:30am and running up and down a hill before sunrise in -10 degree C weather, rowing for 3 straight hours and then washing up the sweep boat. Mind you, we still had class after that, followed by more gym practice on rowing machines. I must be outta my mind.
- I stole muffins and fruits from the university cafeteria on a daily basis. It helped that the Minnesota weather is permanently at ice-point and we all wore huge jackets. Some dudes even stole dining trays for snowsliding.
- I was forever being mistaken for Keiko, who was one year my senior in college. And I would be 'the girl who looks just like Keiko'. No one remembered my name, I think.
- My first uni crush was on this guy who bought laundry tokens from me at the college store. He played the trumpet in the college jazz band and was a tennis player. Now you know why I cannot resist guys who play jazz and tennis.
- I learnt to drive in the states. It was a cute red Chevy. No need for theory tests or anything at all. The minute I met my instructor, he put me in the driver's seat and said, " OK, young lady, let's go!"
- I was once stalked by a frog-T-shirt weirdo from South Carolina when we were on exchange in Japan. It was rather scary but nothing dangerous. Having huge guy friends to walk you around can be a life-saver.
- I sang in a pseudo rock band called Dirty Dogs (we later realized that a dozen other college bands went by the same name too, and decided to change it to Rock Bandit). That was the start and the end of my singing career.
- I don't chat on the phone. It's a health hazard. I type fervently on MSN instead. Easier to let my fingers do the talking.
- I can dance a decent Hawaiian hula dance. In fact, I coached 5 other girls overnight and performed our first item on stage to resounding success. I think. Girls, tell me it was a success...Or, well at least we were the cutest performers.
- I really wanted to be a nurse or a teacher or a tai-tai who does charity work. Now it's a little late but I'm working on it... guess which one.
- I am crazy about writing and photography. If you need someone to write your obituary or shoot your last fleeting presence, I'll be glad to help.
- I am addicted to my blog.
- I think I can't stop.
Someone help...
Thursday, January 27, 2005
My Super-Sized Friend
I dedicate this to the friend who has taught me to love something with his whole heart. A tribute to you, Joe...
I am not someone who indulges in spectator sports, especially TV sports. But come every spring and I will make an exception. The Super Bowl.
To begin with, I have never been a big fan of American football. In fact, I once had a horrific experience of being trapped a hundred over miles deep in the state of Nebraska amidst nothing but dry corn fields and a week of NFL and college football reruns on TV. Well, it did help a little that I had plentiful supply of delicious Thanksgiving turkey and pumpkin pie from my college roommate Andrea's grandma. But still, one week of TV football can be detrimental to anyone's sanity. That, plus the fact that I am more of a Ronaldo (used to be Fandi Ahmad in the 80's) /World Cup/ole-ole-ole kinda fan.
Now, that was way back in 1996 when I was a new kid to the New World, wearing shoes still muddy with fresh American soil. To me, the footballers were a just pack of perky all-American boys with excessive good appetites and dangerously high levels of testerones, who couldn't decide if they wanted to be gladiators or rugby players, therefore combining the two for maximum mileage.
They were a boisterous sight to behold in the college cafeteria and held at least 80 permanent seats in the centre of the dining room, often oblivious to the rest of us puny citizens, as if they were in some sort of a serious pre-match camp. One had to be quick enough to grab any food in sight before the army arrived each time or you might be left with just a handful of raisins. At times I seriously believed we were paying to feed those hungry blokes.
Then I met Joe, a sophomore who was in my spring economics class in which we got clustered into the same homework group. One look at him and you'd know he was one of those football guys. If you're not sure, let me give you a few pointers: huge physique, military hair cut, baseball cap, athletic tee, and shorts at sub zero weather. Give or take a light NCAA jacket.
Now, Joe was a quiet fella who, to my mild astonishment, did not fall asleep in class like how you'd imagine jocks to. He dutifully turned up at every lesson without fail and copied notes. In fact, he was one of the few people in my group who actually turned up for our homework discussions. Lest you should mistaken football jocks to be academically-challenged slackers, let me warn you that he was definitely otherwise. Joe was always the serious one running computer programs and churning out figures and charts for our homework while the rest of us goofed around playing solitaire and sending chain emails.
There was one time after a discussion when it was rather late and he offered to walk me back to my dorm in the snow, and we had a hearty one-to-one talk on a more personal level. He hails from New York and is of Italian descent. Other than his football teammates, he had few friends on campus and pretty much preferred to keep to himself. He explained that some, if not most collegiate football players like himself, gain exceptional admission to schools based on their sports ability, plus he wasn't quite the star athlete. Therefore, he had to work doubly hard to keep up with the demands of schoolwork and extra football practice. He had to remain focused. I was very impressed with what I heard, and felt slightly guilty for blaming footballers for causing world famines.
From then on, Joe and I became friends. I would enlist his help for my linguistics homework, as he spoke with a heavy New York twang, very good for being my subject. He spent hours patiently answering my dummy questions while I recorded his speech for analysis. And from those conversations and interviews, I got to know him better. We were frequently seen walking around campus together that we quickly earned the nickname 'Barney and Tweety', with reference to our disparity in size.
Sometimes if I met Joe at the cafeteria, he would invite me over to have dinner with his teammates, from whom I'd find queer accents to be my next interview subjects. They were all affable gentlemen really, quite unlike the people you see on the field piling up on one another over an egg-shaped ball. However, I soon stopped joining them for meals because every time without fail, I would be severely reprimanded by the big guys for eating nuthin' even though I had consumed something like two pounds of meat and potatoes. Well, if I had continued merrymaking with them, I could jolly well have the size to join them on the reserves' bench in no time.
Maybe it was because I had a footballer friend that made me change my mind about the sport. Or maybe it was my football fanatic-cum-roommate Andrea (whose grandma you had been introduced to earlier) who conditioned me to enjoy this rugby game that Americans disguised as football. On weekends, I would make my way to the field to watch their friendlies or practices before hitting the gym. During the NFL or NCAA season, we would gather in the common room for nights of pizza, beer and more football.
Soon, it was time for spring term to end and so did my econs class. Joe and I were getting busy with our own activities and did not have many opportunities to meet. However, we remained in close contact by email and updated each other on everything, especially football. I fed him with interesting details about what I was doing, probably relieving him of his regimental lifestyle. In return, he taught me strength and passion for what he believed in.
Time flew by and I have since graduated, left the States and done a million other things. Joe, on the other hand, is now still doing what he loves most - football. He knew that he wasn't any Joe Montana, never good enough to play in the pro league, and so he considered applying for an extra minor to remain in college for an extra year just to be able to continue playing.
I remember asking him if it was worth putting his life on hold for a year for football, and his reply made my heart weep. He said, "it's not like tennis, or soccer, or golf, or basketball. This is something that I can never hope to do after I get out of college. Maybe yeah, I can play touch rugby with a few neighbors, but it's not the same."
Eventually, Joe graduated and drifted for a while working in jobs he didn't feel much for. Then one fine day two years ago, I received an email from him. His elation was bursting out of my monitor when I read it. He had got a coaching job for a local youth team in Pennsylvania and is not looking back.
And I got an open invitation to watch his kids play. And maybe, I will go for a live Superbowl game.
I am not someone who indulges in spectator sports, especially TV sports. But come every spring and I will make an exception. The Super Bowl.
To begin with, I have never been a big fan of American football. In fact, I once had a horrific experience of being trapped a hundred over miles deep in the state of Nebraska amidst nothing but dry corn fields and a week of NFL and college football reruns on TV. Well, it did help a little that I had plentiful supply of delicious Thanksgiving turkey and pumpkin pie from my college roommate Andrea's grandma. But still, one week of TV football can be detrimental to anyone's sanity. That, plus the fact that I am more of a Ronaldo (used to be Fandi Ahmad in the 80's) /World Cup/ole-ole-ole kinda fan.
Now, that was way back in 1996 when I was a new kid to the New World, wearing shoes still muddy with fresh American soil. To me, the footballers were a just pack of perky all-American boys with excessive good appetites and dangerously high levels of testerones, who couldn't decide if they wanted to be gladiators or rugby players, therefore combining the two for maximum mileage.
They were a boisterous sight to behold in the college cafeteria and held at least 80 permanent seats in the centre of the dining room, often oblivious to the rest of us puny citizens, as if they were in some sort of a serious pre-match camp. One had to be quick enough to grab any food in sight before the army arrived each time or you might be left with just a handful of raisins. At times I seriously believed we were paying to feed those hungry blokes.
Then I met Joe, a sophomore who was in my spring economics class in which we got clustered into the same homework group. One look at him and you'd know he was one of those football guys. If you're not sure, let me give you a few pointers: huge physique, military hair cut, baseball cap, athletic tee, and shorts at sub zero weather. Give or take a light NCAA jacket.
Now, Joe was a quiet fella who, to my mild astonishment, did not fall asleep in class like how you'd imagine jocks to. He dutifully turned up at every lesson without fail and copied notes. In fact, he was one of the few people in my group who actually turned up for our homework discussions. Lest you should mistaken football jocks to be academically-challenged slackers, let me warn you that he was definitely otherwise. Joe was always the serious one running computer programs and churning out figures and charts for our homework while the rest of us goofed around playing solitaire and sending chain emails.
There was one time after a discussion when it was rather late and he offered to walk me back to my dorm in the snow, and we had a hearty one-to-one talk on a more personal level. He hails from New York and is of Italian descent. Other than his football teammates, he had few friends on campus and pretty much preferred to keep to himself. He explained that some, if not most collegiate football players like himself, gain exceptional admission to schools based on their sports ability, plus he wasn't quite the star athlete. Therefore, he had to work doubly hard to keep up with the demands of schoolwork and extra football practice. He had to remain focused. I was very impressed with what I heard, and felt slightly guilty for blaming footballers for causing world famines.
From then on, Joe and I became friends. I would enlist his help for my linguistics homework, as he spoke with a heavy New York twang, very good for being my subject. He spent hours patiently answering my dummy questions while I recorded his speech for analysis. And from those conversations and interviews, I got to know him better. We were frequently seen walking around campus together that we quickly earned the nickname 'Barney and Tweety', with reference to our disparity in size.
Sometimes if I met Joe at the cafeteria, he would invite me over to have dinner with his teammates, from whom I'd find queer accents to be my next interview subjects. They were all affable gentlemen really, quite unlike the people you see on the field piling up on one another over an egg-shaped ball. However, I soon stopped joining them for meals because every time without fail, I would be severely reprimanded by the big guys for eating nuthin' even though I had consumed something like two pounds of meat and potatoes. Well, if I had continued merrymaking with them, I could jolly well have the size to join them on the reserves' bench in no time.
Maybe it was because I had a footballer friend that made me change my mind about the sport. Or maybe it was my football fanatic-cum-roommate Andrea (whose grandma you had been introduced to earlier) who conditioned me to enjoy this rugby game that Americans disguised as football. On weekends, I would make my way to the field to watch their friendlies or practices before hitting the gym. During the NFL or NCAA season, we would gather in the common room for nights of pizza, beer and more football.
Soon, it was time for spring term to end and so did my econs class. Joe and I were getting busy with our own activities and did not have many opportunities to meet. However, we remained in close contact by email and updated each other on everything, especially football. I fed him with interesting details about what I was doing, probably relieving him of his regimental lifestyle. In return, he taught me strength and passion for what he believed in.
Time flew by and I have since graduated, left the States and done a million other things. Joe, on the other hand, is now still doing what he loves most - football. He knew that he wasn't any Joe Montana, never good enough to play in the pro league, and so he considered applying for an extra minor to remain in college for an extra year just to be able to continue playing.
I remember asking him if it was worth putting his life on hold for a year for football, and his reply made my heart weep. He said, "it's not like tennis, or soccer, or golf, or basketball. This is something that I can never hope to do after I get out of college. Maybe yeah, I can play touch rugby with a few neighbors, but it's not the same."
Eventually, Joe graduated and drifted for a while working in jobs he didn't feel much for. Then one fine day two years ago, I received an email from him. His elation was bursting out of my monitor when I read it. He had got a coaching job for a local youth team in Pennsylvania and is not looking back.
And I got an open invitation to watch his kids play. And maybe, I will go for a live Superbowl game.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Am I Really Just a Typist?
I am in one of my philosophical moods.
A friend sent me an instant message after reading my blog, commenting that I can write quite darn well. Do I really? I was suddenly very full of myself and contemplated on the idea of becoming a writer for good and embarking on long treacherous journeys to feed my mind.
Ok, seriously, that was not what I thought about.
I was thinking about the years in school when I truly did write real stuff. Not frivolous feel-good nonsense or goofy humor like what you see on this page, but scholarly essays on serious issues from ethics to world affairs. And write, I would, with a pen.
As a student, my pencil case was the most important thing I carried everywhere. In fact, my supply of stationery was so substantial that I was coined 'The Stationery Shop' by my classmates who always borrowed my Pilot pens.
Another must-have item in my school bag was my standard 2-hole, A4-size foolscap paper. In fact, I liked my paper so much that one of my favorite pastimes was selecting foolscap at Popular Bookshop.
I am not sure if I truly loved to write at that time, or if I did it because I had to. But writing had never been a chore to me. My ideas would flow like a stream and I was always in the library looking up references to quote. I could draft an outline and complete an essay without much effort. The only extra work I had to do was to rewrite the essay neatly on fresh paper as the original copy, with its ink blots and scribblings, would be completely illegible to anyone but myself.
Then came the time when I went on to college in the US. I wasn't so fond of the 3-hole, 8 ½" x 11" yellow filmsy paper that was the standard college issue, and I really could not get used to the fact that my American college counterparts were still using pencil to write. What irked me most was the little eraser tip that kept breaking off. I thought I only had to deal with that in elementary school. So I gave up and starting using my Mac to print my essays. It was definitely more 'adult' and more professional to turn in a paper that is double-spaced, using 12-pt Times New Roman font and 1-inch margins. From that day on, I never looked back. I became a typist.
I touched my keyboard more than I held my pen. Soon, I realized that I could not even organize my thoughts unless I was typing them onto my screen. My handwriting degenerates into a miserable scrawl that I cannot bear to look at. Sometimes I even think correctly-spelled handwritten words are spelt wrongly because they look strange and different from type.
If you ask me, I cannot remember when was the last time I bought a pen. Or foolscap. I write on Post-Its more than on anything else. Pens are now used only for jotting phone numbers and short messages.
It is really quite sad that I do not really 'write' anymore. And I do not want to think of the consequences of a crashed hard-drive or whatever it is that might delete this blog permamently from the internet. Will I then become an empty person with no legacy to her name, no rights to her works? Is this the start of the demise of what we know as writing instrument?
How I wish I can become a writer again. A writer who pens her thoughts, not one who types them.
A friend sent me an instant message after reading my blog, commenting that I can write quite darn well. Do I really? I was suddenly very full of myself and contemplated on the idea of becoming a writer for good and embarking on long treacherous journeys to feed my mind.
Ok, seriously, that was not what I thought about.
I was thinking about the years in school when I truly did write real stuff. Not frivolous feel-good nonsense or goofy humor like what you see on this page, but scholarly essays on serious issues from ethics to world affairs. And write, I would, with a pen.
As a student, my pencil case was the most important thing I carried everywhere. In fact, my supply of stationery was so substantial that I was coined 'The Stationery Shop' by my classmates who always borrowed my Pilot pens.
Another must-have item in my school bag was my standard 2-hole, A4-size foolscap paper. In fact, I liked my paper so much that one of my favorite pastimes was selecting foolscap at Popular Bookshop.
I am not sure if I truly loved to write at that time, or if I did it because I had to. But writing had never been a chore to me. My ideas would flow like a stream and I was always in the library looking up references to quote. I could draft an outline and complete an essay without much effort. The only extra work I had to do was to rewrite the essay neatly on fresh paper as the original copy, with its ink blots and scribblings, would be completely illegible to anyone but myself.
Then came the time when I went on to college in the US. I wasn't so fond of the 3-hole, 8 ½" x 11" yellow filmsy paper that was the standard college issue, and I really could not get used to the fact that my American college counterparts were still using pencil to write. What irked me most was the little eraser tip that kept breaking off. I thought I only had to deal with that in elementary school. So I gave up and starting using my Mac to print my essays. It was definitely more 'adult' and more professional to turn in a paper that is double-spaced, using 12-pt Times New Roman font and 1-inch margins. From that day on, I never looked back. I became a typist.
I touched my keyboard more than I held my pen. Soon, I realized that I could not even organize my thoughts unless I was typing them onto my screen. My handwriting degenerates into a miserable scrawl that I cannot bear to look at. Sometimes I even think correctly-spelled handwritten words are spelt wrongly because they look strange and different from type.
If you ask me, I cannot remember when was the last time I bought a pen. Or foolscap. I write on Post-Its more than on anything else. Pens are now used only for jotting phone numbers and short messages.
It is really quite sad that I do not really 'write' anymore. And I do not want to think of the consequences of a crashed hard-drive or whatever it is that might delete this blog permamently from the internet. Will I then become an empty person with no legacy to her name, no rights to her works? Is this the start of the demise of what we know as writing instrument?
How I wish I can become a writer again. A writer who pens her thoughts, not one who types them.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Crab!
I was invited to Carmen and Stephen's for a steamboat lunch today. It was a rather typical cozy and laid-back affair except for a few moments of frantic excitement when we were trying to figure out how to kill 3 crabs with a single chopstick, a chopper and 5 pairs of clumsy hands. I'm happy to report that we managed with reasonable success in the end, although at one point in time, Sam wanted to try flushing them to death in the toilet.
Actually it was Ian, our Australian Agilent colleague (and an excellent photographer by the way) who wielded the chopper like a pro, quickly disecting the crabs into smaller parts for our gastronomy pleasure, and simply disregarding Sam's fingers on the cutting board the whole while. Fortunately, no one was hurt except pitiful crustaceans.
Still on a high after his massacre, Ian went on to the dining table to tell a bunch of helpless crabsticks that he had just killed their cousins. After which, he dunked them into hot boiling soup as if to wipe off the entire crab clan.
My, someone remind me never to offend an Australian.
Actually it was Ian, our Australian Agilent colleague (and an excellent photographer by the way) who wielded the chopper like a pro, quickly disecting the crabs into smaller parts for our gastronomy pleasure, and simply disregarding Sam's fingers on the cutting board the whole while. Fortunately, no one was hurt except pitiful crustaceans.
Still on a high after his massacre, Ian went on to the dining table to tell a bunch of helpless crabsticks that he had just killed their cousins. After which, he dunked them into hot boiling soup as if to wipe off the entire crab clan.
My, someone remind me never to offend an Australian.
It's CNY Time!
You know age is catching up when this time of the year draws near and you fancy buying red nail polish, red boxes of tissue paper and (I beg your pardon) red underwear. Full set, no less.
All of which was what I just did last week.
Well that's embarrassing to admit, but what is truly frightening is the fact that I am actually putting it all in my Blogspot for you to laugh at. You see, when you grow older (much more than you'd like), you become more ready to blow your own cover. You laugh at yourself and you tell strangers the silliest things that you've done. No more pretenses, no more acting cool and tough. No more waging war with your parents coz you've decided that you want to wear black head-to-toe for Chinese New Year visiting.
I'm starting to behave, according what my closest friends say, like an auntie. And this particular auntie is none other than my beloved mother.
Gee, it drives me crazy to know that I am just like Mom. But really, how could anyone think that ordering those must-have pineapple tarts and checking out NTUC's abalone prices are anything but essential? And let's not forget the queuing for bak kwa at Chinatown and getting ang pow envelopes from the banks. There are a thousand and one things to be done for Chinese New Year, and how else can Mom cope if not for her mature and responsible daughter who proudly takes on the tasks to ensure a prosperous and smooth-sailing year ahead.
Of course, there are a few things that we'd do differently from our elders. Take reunion dinner for example. While Ma and Grandma would probably slog day and night in the kitchen to prepare the most sumptuous feast of the year, slaughtering kampung chicken and steaming traditional kueh for the whole extended family; new-age career-riding, IT-savvy and unfortunately also credit-revolving* lifestyle women like us will very much prefer to just call Sheraton for a reservation at Li Bai.
Instead of kneading dough and doing unthinkable damage to our perfectly painted nails, all we need is a click of the mouse to place an advance order for the most authentic home-made CNY cookies delivered straight to our doorsteps. And my, pay by Visa and get an additional discount! Need we say more?
If haute cuisine is your cup of tea, why not take it one step further and fly the whole family to Paris for a reunion dinner a la Francaise? Or better yet, jump onboard the Eastern-Oriental Express for a 'rail' of a time while shouting your yum sengs in the middle of lush tropical rainforest setting.
Of course, if you prefer a more down-to-earth and simple homey affair that doesn't break your bank, the traditional all-time favorite steamboat dinner is the dummy-proof way to go. You don't have to be a chef to prepare your dinner. A one-stop shopping trip at your nearest neighborhood supermarket will solve it all. Best thing is, you won't even chip a nail.
The bottom line is, no matter what generation we are in, or how we like our reunion dinner to be, it is always a time to look forward to and have tons of fun preparing for. We Chinese believe that having a good celebration brings happiness and riches in the year to come.
Which, by the way, is what the red underwear is for too.
Oh, and don't forget to buy Toto.
(* For the record, I am not revolving any credit. It's only a writing methology to emphasize my point, OK... :P)
All of which was what I just did last week.
Well that's embarrassing to admit, but what is truly frightening is the fact that I am actually putting it all in my Blogspot for you to laugh at. You see, when you grow older (much more than you'd like), you become more ready to blow your own cover. You laugh at yourself and you tell strangers the silliest things that you've done. No more pretenses, no more acting cool and tough. No more waging war with your parents coz you've decided that you want to wear black head-to-toe for Chinese New Year visiting.
I'm starting to behave, according what my closest friends say, like an auntie. And this particular auntie is none other than my beloved mother.
Gee, it drives me crazy to know that I am just like Mom. But really, how could anyone think that ordering those must-have pineapple tarts and checking out NTUC's abalone prices are anything but essential? And let's not forget the queuing for bak kwa at Chinatown and getting ang pow envelopes from the banks. There are a thousand and one things to be done for Chinese New Year, and how else can Mom cope if not for her mature and responsible daughter who proudly takes on the tasks to ensure a prosperous and smooth-sailing year ahead.
Of course, there are a few things that we'd do differently from our elders. Take reunion dinner for example. While Ma and Grandma would probably slog day and night in the kitchen to prepare the most sumptuous feast of the year, slaughtering kampung chicken and steaming traditional kueh for the whole extended family; new-age career-riding, IT-savvy and unfortunately also credit-revolving* lifestyle women like us will very much prefer to just call Sheraton for a reservation at Li Bai.
Instead of kneading dough and doing unthinkable damage to our perfectly painted nails, all we need is a click of the mouse to place an advance order for the most authentic home-made CNY cookies delivered straight to our doorsteps. And my, pay by Visa and get an additional discount! Need we say more?
If haute cuisine is your cup of tea, why not take it one step further and fly the whole family to Paris for a reunion dinner a la Francaise? Or better yet, jump onboard the Eastern-Oriental Express for a 'rail' of a time while shouting your yum sengs in the middle of lush tropical rainforest setting.
Of course, if you prefer a more down-to-earth and simple homey affair that doesn't break your bank, the traditional all-time favorite steamboat dinner is the dummy-proof way to go. You don't have to be a chef to prepare your dinner. A one-stop shopping trip at your nearest neighborhood supermarket will solve it all. Best thing is, you won't even chip a nail.
The bottom line is, no matter what generation we are in, or how we like our reunion dinner to be, it is always a time to look forward to and have tons of fun preparing for. We Chinese believe that having a good celebration brings happiness and riches in the year to come.
Which, by the way, is what the red underwear is for too.
Oh, and don't forget to buy Toto.
(* For the record, I am not revolving any credit. It's only a writing methology to emphasize my point, OK... :P)
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