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
Sunday, February 27, 2005
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
Wednesday, February 23, 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.
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?
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".
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".
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, February 14, 2005
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.
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.
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)
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Your Marriage Matters, My Wedding Woes
(Caution: this article might cause some nauseousness in men, especially stingy ones. In case of severe adversity such as breaking out in cold sweat and prolonged giddy spells, PLEASE do not even consider marriage unless it is to your own male specimen)
2005 will be a year of love and happy beginnings for many.
A Sampler:
January - Carmen & Stephen
March - Peyling & Donny
July - Aishing & Jonathan
November - Albert & Vivienne
November - Huayimm & Damien
December - Huie & James
Congrats!
6 weddings to attend to date, and counting. All this romance is making my head dizzy.
Of course, it is imperative to keep a clear mind for budgeting my finances in lieu of all that ang pow money I need to set aside. I sense a dull ache in my heart and I suspect it has nothing to do with singlehood.
For the uninitiated, let me briefly give you a financial account of what weddings are all about.
1st and foremost - ang pow $$ for the lovely wedded couple. Its face value directly proportional to how much you value your friendship (or how much you want the couple to think you value your friendship) with the bride or groom or both.
2nd - hen's party. Expenses can vary depending on several factors. Number of crazy galfriends, intensity of their craziness, proportion of crazy galfriends who are still single, whether everyone likes the groom, whether everyone likes the bride, whether you like the groom (or the bride) in a different manner... It can be anything from a 'tekan-the-why-is-she-the-one-instead' session to a full-blown review of the bride's lifetime's worth of men and her fantasies.
Bare neccessities: reputable hotel suite, free-flow of champagne, milk and flower petals for the bath, heart-shaped chocolate and pastries, cute pyjamas and full-range of beauty products, digital videocamera, old photo albums and school books. Macho guys in a big gift box would be a bonus... Macho guys sans clothes would be a god-send.
(OK guys, I am tantalising you here...we're really just talking about a few rounds of drinks and some late-night chit chat. No hanky-panky...we're convent girls!)
3rd - no party, wedding or not, is complete without practising the girl's must-do head-to-toe beautification ritual that starts 3 days before the big day. It is therapeutic food for the soul - the highest form of meditation to calm and cleanse the mind and body. All to summon the real beauty that we believe lies herein. It'll be bad karma not to do it.
$$ goes to essentials such as professional manicure & pedicure, daily facial, brow shaping, hair treatment and possibly some color to 'bring out your best features', waxing in all the right places, liquid detox diet to flush out toxins for baby smooth and radiant skin, diet supplements for total wellness (think Vitamins A to Z)... It takes a real heroine to stick to the formula. Fashionable (and cash-rich) brides-to be will be in the loop enough to know where to organize a Let's-All-Do-The-Spa-Thing at Institut Clarins or similar bank-breaking establishments.
4th - party/wedding/banquet gear. Dresses. A sweet and sassy tea dress for the ROM or traditional ceremony, a dreamy pastel church dress for accompanying the bride down the aisle, and definitely the classic elegant night gown for the grand finale - the hotel banquet, where hopefully hordes of CESS (CESS = Cute, Eligible, Single & Straight) guys are activated on standby to wolfwhistle at us. New shoes (absolutely essential). No shoes, no party. Bags to compliment the new shoes, and more importantly, how else do you think we can keep our make-up within reach anytime, anywhere? Do you really seriously think there are girls who have naturally rosy and dewy skin??!! And well, lastly, accessories of all sorts to match our dresses, of course. Be them pretty plastic or dazzling diamonds, we'll never have enough of them. Somewhere at the back of our well-groomed skulls, we really believe that earrings are actually part of our human anatomy and God merely forgot about them in the creation process.
Other important non-monetary must-haves commonly encountered at weddings include the standard issue of Mr. Boyfriend on hand for Ms. Girlfriend to volunteer his services for the couple, such as bridesmaid car chauffeuring, helping the groom with treacherous tasks to win the bride over on wedding day, getting drunk in place of the groom, and other miscellaneous activities deemed suitable to prove his unyielding loyalty to the Girlfriend. However, Girlfriend must seriously decide if this candidate is to be present at all, since that will greatly affect her chances of meeting CESSes. I rest my case.
Last but not least, if the blessed couple decides to seek your help to be their bridesmaid, MC, church coordinator, receptionist, or any other similar roles requiring involvement in addition to just turning up on the big day, then all of the above is to be upped in dosage. Doubled at least, if you'd ask me. Who knows, you might be duely rewarded in various ways. A friend of mine found her husband-to-be at a wedding for which she was the MC. How's that for a 'little' effort?
Happy Matrimony!
2005 will be a year of love and happy beginnings for many.
A Sampler:
January - Carmen & Stephen
March - Peyling & Donny
July - Aishing & Jonathan
November - Albert & Vivienne
November - Huayimm & Damien
December - Huie & James
Congrats!
6 weddings to attend to date, and counting. All this romance is making my head dizzy.
Of course, it is imperative to keep a clear mind for budgeting my finances in lieu of all that ang pow money I need to set aside. I sense a dull ache in my heart and I suspect it has nothing to do with singlehood.
For the uninitiated, let me briefly give you a financial account of what weddings are all about.
1st and foremost - ang pow $$ for the lovely wedded couple. Its face value directly proportional to how much you value your friendship (or how much you want the couple to think you value your friendship) with the bride or groom or both.
2nd - hen's party. Expenses can vary depending on several factors. Number of crazy galfriends, intensity of their craziness, proportion of crazy galfriends who are still single, whether everyone likes the groom, whether everyone likes the bride, whether you like the groom (or the bride) in a different manner... It can be anything from a 'tekan-the-why-is-she-the-one-instead' session to a full-blown review of the bride's lifetime's worth of men and her fantasies.
Bare neccessities: reputable hotel suite, free-flow of champagne, milk and flower petals for the bath, heart-shaped chocolate and pastries, cute pyjamas and full-range of beauty products, digital videocamera, old photo albums and school books. Macho guys in a big gift box would be a bonus... Macho guys sans clothes would be a god-send.
(OK guys, I am tantalising you here...we're really just talking about a few rounds of drinks and some late-night chit chat. No hanky-panky...we're convent girls!)
3rd - no party, wedding or not, is complete without practising the girl's must-do head-to-toe beautification ritual that starts 3 days before the big day. It is therapeutic food for the soul - the highest form of meditation to calm and cleanse the mind and body. All to summon the real beauty that we believe lies herein. It'll be bad karma not to do it.
$$ goes to essentials such as professional manicure & pedicure, daily facial, brow shaping, hair treatment and possibly some color to 'bring out your best features', waxing in all the right places, liquid detox diet to flush out toxins for baby smooth and radiant skin, diet supplements for total wellness (think Vitamins A to Z)... It takes a real heroine to stick to the formula. Fashionable (and cash-rich) brides-to be will be in the loop enough to know where to organize a Let's-All-Do-The-Spa-Thing at Institut Clarins or similar bank-breaking establishments.
4th - party/wedding/banquet gear. Dresses. A sweet and sassy tea dress for the ROM or traditional ceremony, a dreamy pastel church dress for accompanying the bride down the aisle, and definitely the classic elegant night gown for the grand finale - the hotel banquet, where hopefully hordes of CESS (CESS = Cute, Eligible, Single & Straight) guys are activated on standby to wolfwhistle at us. New shoes (absolutely essential). No shoes, no party. Bags to compliment the new shoes, and more importantly, how else do you think we can keep our make-up within reach anytime, anywhere? Do you really seriously think there are girls who have naturally rosy and dewy skin??!! And well, lastly, accessories of all sorts to match our dresses, of course. Be them pretty plastic or dazzling diamonds, we'll never have enough of them. Somewhere at the back of our well-groomed skulls, we really believe that earrings are actually part of our human anatomy and God merely forgot about them in the creation process.
Other important non-monetary must-haves commonly encountered at weddings include the standard issue of Mr. Boyfriend on hand for Ms. Girlfriend to volunteer his services for the couple, such as bridesmaid car chauffeuring, helping the groom with treacherous tasks to win the bride over on wedding day, getting drunk in place of the groom, and other miscellaneous activities deemed suitable to prove his unyielding loyalty to the Girlfriend. However, Girlfriend must seriously decide if this candidate is to be present at all, since that will greatly affect her chances of meeting CESSes. I rest my case.
Last but not least, if the blessed couple decides to seek your help to be their bridesmaid, MC, church coordinator, receptionist, or any other similar roles requiring involvement in addition to just turning up on the big day, then all of the above is to be upped in dosage. Doubled at least, if you'd ask me. Who knows, you might be duely rewarded in various ways. A friend of mine found her husband-to-be at a wedding for which she was the MC. How's that for a 'little' effort?
Happy Matrimony!
Saturday, December 25, 2004
This Christmas...
...is extra special as it happened to coincide with my Chinese lunar birthday. Well, of course I didn't know that until a few days past Christmas when my mom mentioned it casually to me. Not that it mattered, since this Christmas already was quite memorable, considering I was hundreds of miles away from home, releasing sky lanterns with my 3 galfriends in Pingxi, Taipei.
It was a small and tranquil town, a little too quiet in fact. I was a trifle disappointed that there was hardly anyone else there with the same purpose of releasing sky lanterns on Christmas night, save for a young couple and a small group of teenage girls. The last time I came was on Yuan Xiao, the 15th day of the 1st lunar month, when thousands of people gather to release their brightly-lit sky lanterns all at once. It was an incredible sight to behold. Well, I suppose Christmas eve would be more appropriate...we should have came one night earlier. But who cares, we came with a purpose, crowd or no crowd.
We got off our train, checked the return schedule and stepped out into the cold drizzling rain. A matronly woman holding an umbrella called out to us, confirming our identity, and quickly ushered us toward her home-cum-workshop.
We headed upstairs into her living room, where stacks of finished sky lanterns laid out on the floor in anticipation of the New Year eve crowd. Father, son and daughter were watching TV when we stepped in. It felt like we were intruding a cozy family evening, but we were soon busy scribbling our wishes on the lanterns amidst laughter and noisy chatter. Everything else slipped into oblivion...
Photos taken, we left the workshop in high spirits, not the least affected by the cold, damp weather. We have been assured that these lanterns are able to take off in slight rain, so no worries at all.
I couched under the lantern to light the kerosene-soaked insense paper that was clipped within. We quickly posed for the camera and hastily released each of the lanterns, as rain was starting to beat down mercilessly on us.
Four sky lanterns of four different colors representing luck, love, career and fortune, released slowly one by one into the dark, drizzling Taiwan sky, carrying our hope and excitement along with rising flame within.
They went up higher and higher, one following the other, until they were just specks of light, and disappeared into the clouds. We watched in silence, fingers crossed behind our backs that our dreams, our wishes, our hopes will reach where we want them to go.
Merry Christmas to all, and Happy Birthday to myself.
It was a small and tranquil town, a little too quiet in fact. I was a trifle disappointed that there was hardly anyone else there with the same purpose of releasing sky lanterns on Christmas night, save for a young couple and a small group of teenage girls. The last time I came was on Yuan Xiao, the 15th day of the 1st lunar month, when thousands of people gather to release their brightly-lit sky lanterns all at once. It was an incredible sight to behold. Well, I suppose Christmas eve would be more appropriate...we should have came one night earlier. But who cares, we came with a purpose, crowd or no crowd.
We got off our train, checked the return schedule and stepped out into the cold drizzling rain. A matronly woman holding an umbrella called out to us, confirming our identity, and quickly ushered us toward her home-cum-workshop.
We headed upstairs into her living room, where stacks of finished sky lanterns laid out on the floor in anticipation of the New Year eve crowd. Father, son and daughter were watching TV when we stepped in. It felt like we were intruding a cozy family evening, but we were soon busy scribbling our wishes on the lanterns amidst laughter and noisy chatter. Everything else slipped into oblivion...
Photos taken, we left the workshop in high spirits, not the least affected by the cold, damp weather. We have been assured that these lanterns are able to take off in slight rain, so no worries at all.
I couched under the lantern to light the kerosene-soaked insense paper that was clipped within. We quickly posed for the camera and hastily released each of the lanterns, as rain was starting to beat down mercilessly on us.
Four sky lanterns of four different colors representing luck, love, career and fortune, released slowly one by one into the dark, drizzling Taiwan sky, carrying our hope and excitement along with rising flame within.
They went up higher and higher, one following the other, until they were just specks of light, and disappeared into the clouds. We watched in silence, fingers crossed behind our backs that our dreams, our wishes, our hopes will reach where we want them to go.
Merry Christmas to all, and Happy Birthday to myself.
* Hot Spring Trip
Clockwise from top left: Pat, Siewhong, Me, Hweehoon.
Wulai, Taipei County -- Dec'2004
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Career Crossroads
This is a happening week. So happening that I'm not quite sure what happened...
I had signed the letter of appointment from my company's China HR dept for my relocation to Shanghai next April, and thus sealing my fate to become an underpaid foreign worker.
Then on the very next day, I received MOE's notification for an interview to teach. Oh, how I've waited for this day to come! Felt elation followed by intense worry, because my interview date is scheduled on the day I fly off to Taipei. I'm never going to make it. What now? See? That's the punishment for thinking of having fun all the time.
Guess the only way out is to call in tomorrow for a new date. Fingers crossed, pray pray pray hard.
And if I really get the teaching job, I'll have to worry about how to break the news to my boss.
"David, I'm not going to Shanghai after all. I'm absolutely terrified of taking a plane." Blah.
"David, I can't express how sorry I am, but I've decided to retire." Two blahs.
"David, I don't think I am suited for the job. I'm applying to be your boss." Triple blahs plus bonus bouts of self-satisfaction.
"David, I regret to inform you that I am resigning coz I've got a better offer from the Ministry of Exxxxxxxx. Their slavery package is more attractive." Perfect.
Updated Jan'05 - Read a news article in the local papers about a British bloke who got fired from his job because he explicitly demonstrated hostility toward his boss in his blog, calling him names and claiming to be treacherously exploited like a slave.
After careful consideration, I have decided that I am not a coward and will not remove this entry even if I risk getting the sack. But Boss, in case if you do read this, I must solemnly declare that the above post is purely fictional, done in the manner of good fun and light-hearted humor, and is in no way reflective of the actual situation. I love my job, I love my company, I love you!
I had signed the letter of appointment from my company's China HR dept for my relocation to Shanghai next April, and thus sealing my fate to become an underpaid foreign worker.
Then on the very next day, I received MOE's notification for an interview to teach. Oh, how I've waited for this day to come! Felt elation followed by intense worry, because my interview date is scheduled on the day I fly off to Taipei. I'm never going to make it. What now? See? That's the punishment for thinking of having fun all the time.
Guess the only way out is to call in tomorrow for a new date. Fingers crossed, pray pray pray hard.
And if I really get the teaching job, I'll have to worry about how to break the news to my boss.
"David, I'm not going to Shanghai after all. I'm absolutely terrified of taking a plane." Blah.
"David, I can't express how sorry I am, but I've decided to retire." Two blahs.
"David, I don't think I am suited for the job. I'm applying to be your boss." Triple blahs plus bonus bouts of self-satisfaction.
"David, I regret to inform you that I am resigning coz I've got a better offer from the Ministry of Exxxxxxxx. Their slavery package is more attractive." Perfect.
Updated Jan'05 - Read a news article in the local papers about a British bloke who got fired from his job because he explicitly demonstrated hostility toward his boss in his blog, calling him names and claiming to be treacherously exploited like a slave.
After careful consideration, I have decided that I am not a coward and will not remove this entry even if I risk getting the sack. But Boss, in case if you do read this, I must solemnly declare that the above post is purely fictional, done in the manner of good fun and light-hearted humor, and is in no way reflective of the actual situation. I love my job, I love my company, I love you!
Got My Star!
I found my arms. Aching arms, that is...
After this Kayaking 1 Star course taken at the Changi Sea Sports Club over 2 weeks, I have:
- found out that the device that we paddled around in in the past should be properly called a kayak. Not a canoe. Well, the kayak is in the canoe family. But you still can't call it a canoe. In a way it is, but it is not...I'm confused...
- realized that my previous ODAC round-the-island canoeing experience could be my own hallucination...
- re-learnt all the cool technical stuff and re-embraced the sea
- began to like capsizing
- had lots of fun and laughter while choking on seawater (how salty IS the sea?!!)
- self realized that it's time to lose weight (butt-in method getting tough)
- developed a slight tan which I hope will stay on longer this time
- gained a list of coursemates to go kayaking with
- a new late-night MSN messaging partner - super kayak-enthusiast coach Bernard who kayaks everyday to attain nirvana
- decided that Agilent is a GREAT company to work for. At least I don't have to get up before sunrise to work in Tuas and speed-eat 30 min lunches everyday, which is what my poor fellow coursemates are doing now at their company
- finally received my 1-star cert in mint and laminated condition
2-star here I come! Err...soon la.
After this Kayaking 1 Star course taken at the Changi Sea Sports Club over 2 weeks, I have:
- found out that the device that we paddled around in in the past should be properly called a kayak. Not a canoe. Well, the kayak is in the canoe family. But you still can't call it a canoe. In a way it is, but it is not...I'm confused...
- realized that my previous ODAC round-the-island canoeing experience could be my own hallucination...
- re-learnt all the cool technical stuff and re-embraced the sea
- began to like capsizing
- had lots of fun and laughter while choking on seawater (how salty IS the sea?!!)
- self realized that it's time to lose weight (butt-in method getting tough)
- developed a slight tan which I hope will stay on longer this time
- gained a list of coursemates to go kayaking with
- a new late-night MSN messaging partner - super kayak-enthusiast coach Bernard who kayaks everyday to attain nirvana
- decided that Agilent is a GREAT company to work for. At least I don't have to get up before sunrise to work in Tuas and speed-eat 30 min lunches everyday, which is what my poor fellow coursemates are doing now at their company
- finally received my 1-star cert in mint and laminated condition
2-star here I come! Err...soon la.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
Serious Beverage Note
What I am drinking now, according to a UK wine columnist:
Bouchard Pète & Fils
Côtes-de-Beaune-Villages 2000
"Again a tight raspberry, cherry and mineral nose. There's a hint of earthiness too. The palate has good fruit, that is quite soft and sweet, with damp, woodlandy undertones and nice balance into a moderately long finish. Very good."
I'm glad it's rated very good, because I picked this up randomly off the DFS shelves without a clue. Well, I do like the light, fruitiness body that's not too tart. The aftertaste is mild but the refreshing aroma lingers lightly in the mouth. It's very unlike drinking beer and smelling like an alcoholic. That's the great thing about wine. And it is especially tantalising when you swirl it around and pick up the sweet scent. Smells like a fresh fruit basket!
Salut!
Bouchard Pète & Fils
Côtes-de-Beaune-Villages 2000
"Again a tight raspberry, cherry and mineral nose. There's a hint of earthiness too. The palate has good fruit, that is quite soft and sweet, with damp, woodlandy undertones and nice balance into a moderately long finish. Very good."
I'm glad it's rated very good, because I picked this up randomly off the DFS shelves without a clue. Well, I do like the light, fruitiness body that's not too tart. The aftertaste is mild but the refreshing aroma lingers lightly in the mouth. It's very unlike drinking beer and smelling like an alcoholic. That's the great thing about wine. And it is especially tantalising when you swirl it around and pick up the sweet scent. Smells like a fresh fruit basket!
Salut!
Sunday, August 01, 2004
Thursday, July 01, 2004
Destinations
Come to think of it, I have never kept any sort of logbook or journal of my trips beyond the Singapore shores. This, considering myself as a keen traveller and enthusiastic-but-not-any-good writer, is quite some feat.
In fact, come to think of it further, I don't even have a single photo album of my photographs from these trips. Nope, not in digital either. This, considering that I quite enjoy photography as a prime hobby and that I own one hell of a camera (according to those who are always borrowing it), is probably the feat of all feats.
Do not be mistaken though, I do take a good number of photographs and they turn out all rather scenic actually. It's just that my lack of organization (once again, a permanent feature) doesn't quite do much justice to my artistic indulgence.
Which is why I must, and therefore I will, attempt to recollect the timeline of my journeys and more importantly, recollect where exactly I had stashed my Kodak moments.
With this, I embark on the treacherous mission to recover my forgotten travels.
In fact, come to think of it further, I don't even have a single photo album of my photographs from these trips. Nope, not in digital either. This, considering that I quite enjoy photography as a prime hobby and that I own one hell of a camera (according to those who are always borrowing it), is probably the feat of all feats.
Do not be mistaken though, I do take a good number of photographs and they turn out all rather scenic actually. It's just that my lack of organization (once again, a permanent feature) doesn't quite do much justice to my artistic indulgence.
Which is why I must, and therefore I will, attempt to recollect the timeline of my journeys and more importantly, recollect where exactly I had stashed my Kodak moments.
With this, I embark on the treacherous mission to recover my forgotten travels.
Monday, June 21, 2004
Book for Food, Book for Good
I am reading this paperback by Bill Bryson (yes, but who else).
Surprisingly for a tongue-permanently-in-cheek novelist, this one is in fact a rough guide to the birth and development of the thing called SCIENCE, aptly titled 'A Short History of Nearly Everything'. Gee, I didn't even have the slightest clue when I bought the book hastily at the Singapore airport bookstore for some 'light reading' on my Bali trip. Not a good move. Not light at all in any sense of the word.
Lucky for me - not only am I reading it, I am finding it tremendously entertaining and powerful. Gasp. Science? As in physics, chemistry, geology, biology, astronomy and a whole lot of abstract math? Good Lord, am I in my right mind?
Yes, yes and yes. You see, Bill is beyond interesting. He can write about the relation between the quality of toilets in North Dakota and the rate of growth of your toenail, and leave you amazed by the wonders of American sanitation and your own personal well-being.
And in between that he'll have you fall off the chair for laughing too hard.
In a word, he's BRILLIANT.
A word of caution though, this book is not an easy read, especially for those untrained in the sciences. However, Bill (who is not any scientist himself) tells the story in the most layman and entertaining manner, relating not only the facts and figures but jewels of anecdotes that you will never find in your science textbooks.
The breadth of coverage is so wide, and his historic characters so full of personalities that I cannot fathom how long he took to do his research, or how many books and people he had to plough through for information.
For once I am glad that I took my horrible science classes. At least now I could understand what was going on with the electron clouds and cosmic rays.
So there, I am looking forward to many more good nights with the book in bed accompanied by geniuses like Darwin, Einstein, Bell, Newton, Boyle, Hubble (yes, of the space telescope fame) and many more. I guess you should too.
Oh by the way, I have just established a life ambition...
To lunch with Bill sometime.
Surprisingly for a tongue-permanently-in-cheek novelist, this one is in fact a rough guide to the birth and development of the thing called SCIENCE, aptly titled 'A Short History of Nearly Everything'. Gee, I didn't even have the slightest clue when I bought the book hastily at the Singapore airport bookstore for some 'light reading' on my Bali trip. Not a good move. Not light at all in any sense of the word.
Lucky for me - not only am I reading it, I am finding it tremendously entertaining and powerful. Gasp. Science? As in physics, chemistry, geology, biology, astronomy and a whole lot of abstract math? Good Lord, am I in my right mind?
Yes, yes and yes. You see, Bill is beyond interesting. He can write about the relation between the quality of toilets in North Dakota and the rate of growth of your toenail, and leave you amazed by the wonders of American sanitation and your own personal well-being.
And in between that he'll have you fall off the chair for laughing too hard.
In a word, he's BRILLIANT.
A word of caution though, this book is not an easy read, especially for those untrained in the sciences. However, Bill (who is not any scientist himself) tells the story in the most layman and entertaining manner, relating not only the facts and figures but jewels of anecdotes that you will never find in your science textbooks.
The breadth of coverage is so wide, and his historic characters so full of personalities that I cannot fathom how long he took to do his research, or how many books and people he had to plough through for information.
For once I am glad that I took my horrible science classes. At least now I could understand what was going on with the electron clouds and cosmic rays.
So there, I am looking forward to many more good nights with the book in bed accompanied by geniuses like Darwin, Einstein, Bell, Newton, Boyle, Hubble (yes, of the space telescope fame) and many more. I guess you should too.
Oh by the way, I have just established a life ambition...
To lunch with Bill sometime.
Sunday, June 20, 2004
Changing Tastebuds
Not specifically pertaining to the anatomy commonly known as the tongue, but taste in all sense of the word. Style, color, habits, loves and hates etc.
Take this blog template for example. I used to hate polka dots to the extent that hatred is actually a gross understatement. In fact, there was immediate physical allergy to seeing any cluster of circular or spherical objects. Even the Olympic logo came quite close to triggering a goosebump overload. It was a miracle that I survived Chemistry class drawing all those round molecular structures with little round electrons...
Now, probably effected by a change in age and hence intriguing changes to the likeness of some alkaline or hormonal levels, I have began to appreciate the beauty of round holey dotty shapes.
Similarly, I have adopted a strange liking for loud colors. The likes of red, orange, yellow, lime green, purple and pink. Yessir, PINK. Pink as in the color of cartoon pigs, pink as in the shade you get when you mix red and white paints. The pink that is universally associated with airy fairy girlish romance and, Lord behold, the color that has a human equivalent of Elle Woods a la Legally Blonde. "eeeew!"
Not strange at all for a girl you'd say, but it's really a 180-degree turn considering my past favorites of navy blue, khaki, brown... I think you get the picture.
Food-wise, I had always thought that food isn't worth tasting if there was no accompanying dollop of fiery hot sambal chilli or extra cheese toppings. In other words, I was a all for strong, pack-a-punch flavors. That was a time when I equate plain salad to cow feed.
However to my own dismay, I am becoming more unadventurous and mudane in my choice of food lately, developing appreciation for what a food column might describe as 'healthy, with mild, gentle flavors of natural juices'... Thank God I have yet to turn to puritan au naturel salads or wholesome organic bread, though I think that will be all for the better. A long overdue wake-up call from all that junk food overload.
So, who said anything about a leopard never changing its spots? You just can't be too sure.
Take this blog template for example. I used to hate polka dots to the extent that hatred is actually a gross understatement. In fact, there was immediate physical allergy to seeing any cluster of circular or spherical objects. Even the Olympic logo came quite close to triggering a goosebump overload. It was a miracle that I survived Chemistry class drawing all those round molecular structures with little round electrons...
Now, probably effected by a change in age and hence intriguing changes to the likeness of some alkaline or hormonal levels, I have began to appreciate the beauty of round holey dotty shapes.
Similarly, I have adopted a strange liking for loud colors. The likes of red, orange, yellow, lime green, purple and pink. Yessir, PINK. Pink as in the color of cartoon pigs, pink as in the shade you get when you mix red and white paints. The pink that is universally associated with airy fairy girlish romance and, Lord behold, the color that has a human equivalent of Elle Woods a la Legally Blonde. "eeeew!"
Not strange at all for a girl you'd say, but it's really a 180-degree turn considering my past favorites of navy blue, khaki, brown... I think you get the picture.
Food-wise, I had always thought that food isn't worth tasting if there was no accompanying dollop of fiery hot sambal chilli or extra cheese toppings. In other words, I was a all for strong, pack-a-punch flavors. That was a time when I equate plain salad to cow feed.
However to my own dismay, I am becoming more unadventurous and mudane in my choice of food lately, developing appreciation for what a food column might describe as 'healthy, with mild, gentle flavors of natural juices'... Thank God I have yet to turn to puritan au naturel salads or wholesome organic bread, though I think that will be all for the better. A long overdue wake-up call from all that junk food overload.
So, who said anything about a leopard never changing its spots? You just can't be too sure.
Saturday, June 19, 2004
Another First Attempt
I believe this is my third or fourth attempt at creating an online diary. Shucks, said the wrong thing (truly unhip). A blog, I beg your pardon.
The problem with me is that it does not take alot on my part to ensure that my countless enterprising projects go uncompleted. I mean, if you take into account of all that I've started writing, you can actually publish a complete works of imcomplete essays.
Call it a lack of focus, fickle-mindedness, or too many ideas too little time. Whatever it is, I suspect it's a permanent feature that's here to stay. However, that does not deter me from yet attempting to start many more great projects, such as this blog. Maybe, just maybe, I will eventually reach completion for at least one of them.
That's why I keep trying. Like those fancy little diaries that I buy and scribble about 2 days worth of deep and thoughtful insights on diets and boyfriends (which, by the way, make me cringe everytime I read afterward) before chucking them aside into oblivion. I imagine that this blog would probably suffer the same, if not more environmental-friendly fate. Still, with my typical optimism and ironically, a good deal of persistence, who knows, I might keep on writing here till the good ole internet days are over.
For this, I make Johnny Walker my muse. Keep (walking) writing.
The problem with me is that it does not take alot on my part to ensure that my countless enterprising projects go uncompleted. I mean, if you take into account of all that I've started writing, you can actually publish a complete works of imcomplete essays.
Call it a lack of focus, fickle-mindedness, or too many ideas too little time. Whatever it is, I suspect it's a permanent feature that's here to stay. However, that does not deter me from yet attempting to start many more great projects, such as this blog. Maybe, just maybe, I will eventually reach completion for at least one of them.
That's why I keep trying. Like those fancy little diaries that I buy and scribble about 2 days worth of deep and thoughtful insights on diets and boyfriends (which, by the way, make me cringe everytime I read afterward) before chucking them aside into oblivion. I imagine that this blog would probably suffer the same, if not more environmental-friendly fate. Still, with my typical optimism and ironically, a good deal of persistence, who knows, I might keep on writing here till the good ole internet days are over.
For this, I make Johnny Walker my muse. Keep (walking) writing.
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