"The best boundary against giving in to bad relationships, less-than-satisfactory relationships, or bad dynamics in a good relationship is your not needing that relationship." (Boundaries before Marriage- Cloud and Townsend)
I don't mean divorce, break ups or the actions to take against a bad relationship. As I thought about what to write to a friend over the weekend, I know she was not seeking my advice as to 'what she should do', but rather, how to 'think' when you feel that you are in a relationship gone wrong. I flipped through "Boundaries before Marriage' for the 3rd time, and my eyes remained on this line. I partially liked it because I do like ironies- one of my crazy quirks, but most of all, I thought that is a good line to reflect upon even in my own relationships.
Over last year, I only found courage to confront a friend after I decided not to 'need that friendship'. It was a very good friend I'm talking about, but I was beginning to feel that there was an imbalance in how we give and receive in that friendship. 3 months of silence and 3000 kms later, we had a very frank talk about how we felt in the relationship, something we never done over the 18 years of friendship. I knew I stand losing a valuable friendship if she had walked away during that silence, and I could have allowed myself to harbour feelings of being compromised and keep the friendship for the sake of it. It is an irony that it was only through not needing the friendship that I found myself reclaiming a better friendship in the process.
Not needing the relationship doesn't mean that you no longer care about the relationship, or that you should take the first boat/bus/tram out, but it simply means you are no longer holding yourself hostage to the relationship by needing that relationship so badly that you forget the reason why you were in that relationship in the first place. At the thought of losing, you are happy to settle for form over substance, not realising how it would return to gnaw at you later.
Reflecting on that line as I finish writing that letter, I found out that the difference between playing first and second fiddle is possessing courage and faith- courage to lose, but faith to claim the better.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
How to add a dash of fun...
It's the place that makes an outing fun, but it's the people who makes fun possible.
That was the conclusion I made after last Saturday's trip to Monsalvat. It was a lazy afternoon, 2 people just got off work, 1 was fully charred and I was as usual, a happy tripster. It was suppose to be a larger group outing, but I'm glad Dan kept it going.
In the end, it was quite a funny trip. I like the old French architecture, the rustic little artist workshops, the art galleries, right down to the rusted metal wheel sitting next to a whitewashed cobwebbed wall. The fun part came when everyone took turns snapping silly pictures of ourselves, just to compensate for the heat that attempted to dull our enthusiasm.
I'll let the pics speak for me... It's been a long week and I have procrastinated this entry till now!
That was the conclusion I made after last Saturday's trip to Monsalvat. It was a lazy afternoon, 2 people just got off work, 1 was fully charred and I was as usual, a happy tripster. It was suppose to be a larger group outing, but I'm glad Dan kept it going.
In the end, it was quite a funny trip. I like the old French architecture, the rustic little artist workshops, the art galleries, right down to the rusted metal wheel sitting next to a whitewashed cobwebbed wall. The fun part came when everyone took turns snapping silly pictures of ourselves, just to compensate for the heat that attempted to dull our enthusiasm.
I'll let the pics speak for me... It's been a long week and I have procrastinated this entry till now!
Friday, March 14, 2008
Waiting Part 2..
If waiting is the time between prayer and revelation, is there an attitude to waiting?
I was drained out during the whole of yesterday. For the first time, I was being called to seek God's presence many times, yet never knew why I was drawn to my knees each time. Later that day, I got to know that a friend's mum was on the verge of death, and I was desperate and wanted someone to pray with me. I thought about who's around but ended up emailing the necessary hero to pray. Nearer the end of the day, I still felt that drawing feeling. Prayed with Tracy via long distance phone call before I could get to sleep.
24 hours later, my friend's mum had managed to pull through the night. I also received a call from a recruiter who informed me that he's going to pass my resume to some companies (this was after a very disappointing meeting with his colleague who did not look remotely interested). I continued to ask God what yesterday was about- I was drawn to reflect my own attitude of waiting recently. I have gotten anxious with the actors in a play when the producer/director is the one determining the pace of it, and the bigger revelation being that if I want to be fearful while waiting, I am handing myself a death sentence of a different kind, prayer or no prayer.
In retrospect, the reason why I found 'Waiting' (the book) beautiful was also because Shuyi the ex-wife waited with faith, for there was no mention of her fears or the troublesome psychology of 'what-ifs' despite going through 18 years of impending divorce. I believe that was what Lin saw when he chose this 'peace of mind' over love.
Waiting becomes a peaceful anticipation when you wait in faith, but turns into a hungry beast that devours you when you wait in fear.
I was drained out during the whole of yesterday. For the first time, I was being called to seek God's presence many times, yet never knew why I was drawn to my knees each time. Later that day, I got to know that a friend's mum was on the verge of death, and I was desperate and wanted someone to pray with me. I thought about who's around but ended up emailing the necessary hero to pray. Nearer the end of the day, I still felt that drawing feeling. Prayed with Tracy via long distance phone call before I could get to sleep.
24 hours later, my friend's mum had managed to pull through the night. I also received a call from a recruiter who informed me that he's going to pass my resume to some companies (this was after a very disappointing meeting with his colleague who did not look remotely interested). I continued to ask God what yesterday was about- I was drawn to reflect my own attitude of waiting recently. I have gotten anxious with the actors in a play when the producer/director is the one determining the pace of it, and the bigger revelation being that if I want to be fearful while waiting, I am handing myself a death sentence of a different kind, prayer or no prayer.
In retrospect, the reason why I found 'Waiting' (the book) beautiful was also because Shuyi the ex-wife waited with faith, for there was no mention of her fears or the troublesome psychology of 'what-ifs' despite going through 18 years of impending divorce. I believe that was what Lin saw when he chose this 'peace of mind' over love.
Waiting becomes a peaceful anticipation when you wait in faith, but turns into a hungry beast that devours you when you wait in fear.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Waiting...
"Yet one thing he was certain about now: between love and peace of mind he would choose the latter." - Waiting, Ha Jin
A man waited for 18 years to divorce his wife only to finally find out this truth about his true love. He thought that time tested love would reveal its own spectacular glory once realised, only to conclude that "he had never loved a woman wholeheartedly and that he had always been the loved one". In his drunken stupor, he asked his ex-wife if she would wait for his return after his current wife dies. The ex-wife subserviently agrees.
I enjoyed this deceptively simple book, the breadcrumbs remnants on it would probably hint that I didn't put it down for 2 days. The setting was beautifully described, transporting you to the old China during the Chinese Revolution, but despite that, the love between Lin, his longsuffering wife Shuyi and his forbidden love Manna Wu were juxtaposed intricately within.
The book did got me thinking a little about the story. It's a refreshing change from the Hollywood plot, and somewhat challenges the political-correctness of typical notions of love. Is it ironic that in the quest for pure love, the weariness of the journey end up killing this very same love? Is love worth revisiting after going through the ravages of time? Does the notion of forbidden love accentuates our wants so much that it causes us to overlook if it was love in the first place?
A little hard-hitting here for a midnight blog. It was meant to recommend the book for those who might want a simple but thought-provoking book. Not suitable for starry-eyed lovers, but for those who would like a dose of down-to-earth beauty in their romance fodder, this book is a must-read.
I'm now reading "In the Pond" by the same author; my hunch is that it will be less heart-wrenching than Waiting.
A man waited for 18 years to divorce his wife only to finally find out this truth about his true love. He thought that time tested love would reveal its own spectacular glory once realised, only to conclude that "he had never loved a woman wholeheartedly and that he had always been the loved one". In his drunken stupor, he asked his ex-wife if she would wait for his return after his current wife dies. The ex-wife subserviently agrees.
I enjoyed this deceptively simple book, the breadcrumbs remnants on it would probably hint that I didn't put it down for 2 days. The setting was beautifully described, transporting you to the old China during the Chinese Revolution, but despite that, the love between Lin, his longsuffering wife Shuyi and his forbidden love Manna Wu were juxtaposed intricately within.
The book did got me thinking a little about the story. It's a refreshing change from the Hollywood plot, and somewhat challenges the political-correctness of typical notions of love. Is it ironic that in the quest for pure love, the weariness of the journey end up killing this very same love? Is love worth revisiting after going through the ravages of time? Does the notion of forbidden love accentuates our wants so much that it causes us to overlook if it was love in the first place?
A little hard-hitting here for a midnight blog. It was meant to recommend the book for those who might want a simple but thought-provoking book. Not suitable for starry-eyed lovers, but for those who would like a dose of down-to-earth beauty in their romance fodder, this book is a must-read.
I'm now reading "In the Pond" by the same author; my hunch is that it will be less heart-wrenching than Waiting.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
If Harry didn't meet Sally...
"...I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." (Harry declaring his love to Sally in "When Harry Met Sally")
"Awwww......" It sounded rather romantic, my heart nearly melted as Harry finally declared his love for Sally after countless arguments of how a man and a woman can never be friends. Past the 100mins of forbidden love among this pair of awesome friends, and the audience (me included) could only root for both to come to their senses and give us a good run for our money.
Is forbidden love sweeter? Let's dissect the equation: time ticks, couple has obvious affections for each other, pride or some strange g-forces in the form of heart-wrenching opposition stops them. Forward it to some time later, in one innocuous Wednesday night, they meet again and realised that 1 more minute is going to a big waste if they don't hold each other in their arms now. The audience coos and the curtain falls.
What if on that innocuous Wednesday night, Sally gives Harry the lowdown- that she's already married/seeing someone else, relocated, drifted apart, turned gay, taken the vow of celibacy? Should forbidden love come with a warning that it's not for the faint-hearted, because as much as the tear-jerking bittersweet feelings it brings, the bitter will outshine the sweet when all is lost.
"Awwww......" It sounded rather romantic, my heart nearly melted as Harry finally declared his love for Sally after countless arguments of how a man and a woman can never be friends. Past the 100mins of forbidden love among this pair of awesome friends, and the audience (me included) could only root for both to come to their senses and give us a good run for our money.
Is forbidden love sweeter? Let's dissect the equation: time ticks, couple has obvious affections for each other, pride or some strange g-forces in the form of heart-wrenching opposition stops them. Forward it to some time later, in one innocuous Wednesday night, they meet again and realised that 1 more minute is going to a big waste if they don't hold each other in their arms now. The audience coos and the curtain falls.
What if on that innocuous Wednesday night, Sally gives Harry the lowdown- that she's already married/seeing someone else, relocated, drifted apart, turned gay, taken the vow of celibacy? Should forbidden love come with a warning that it's not for the faint-hearted, because as much as the tear-jerking bittersweet feelings it brings, the bitter will outshine the sweet when all is lost.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
The Amazing (Waterhole) Race
When my cool 22 year old cousin asked me what the pubbing/clubbing scene was like in Melbourne, I sheepishly smiled and could only spewed out 4 alphabets 'eh, ok'.
Pride aside, I've never got myself to check out any of the bars or clubs in my years here. Other than a few visits to some random bars led by friends, I was more accustomed to scratch the base off my leftover cheesy pasta bake and sipping vintage (7-day old leftovers) wine on a Friday night than to put on my Friday best and attempt to beat the cacophany.
But a woman's got to do what a woman's got to do. Before she can no longer fit into her slinky party dress and 3 inch stilettos, she'd better bring herself out there to 'check out' the scene.
After lining our stomachs with a lovely Jap meal at Kuni, the first stop was The Croft Insitute. Hidden in an long-winded alley filled with water-puddled cobberstoned floors, endless walls of graffiti and dumpsters, the 3-storied hospital-themed pub leaves you with a different 'sensory' experience. Beyond the dingy lane, a lady sitting on a desk with a study table lamp collects the cover, and you are then greeted by a shelf of laboratory equipment. We ventured upstairs to explore the quirky toilet, aptly named as Department of Female Hygiene- with operating theatre lights and gurney thrown in. An old wheelchair is suspended mid air at the waiting area for patients. After a Cosmo and Manhattan, and a few jives at the Raggae music, we had work to do- our quest to find where the nice pubs/clubs are.
Past the opening act, we also did our rounds in The Deanery, whose classiness contrasted with the quirky Croft, and Robot next door- a smallish but noisier area to mingle on a summer's night with friends.
With so many bars/clubs to choose from, we decided to be more strategic and went west-wards the city. There were a few hit and misses, with Bond looking rather promising on the cards, but was a tad too quiet for its James Bond velvety glam and cavernous space. We were after all, the pesudo-happening party creatures of the night, albeit for the most time, we acted like bar reviewers working undercover for The Age's Epicure.
Moving on towards the North West side of the city, we headed towards Golden Monkey- depicted as the old Shanghai with lots of rich reds and blacks. Awarded the "New Bar of the Year" in 2006 and "Bar of the Year" in 2007, this basement establishment cocoons little boxy spaces for lounging customers to sip that sexy Single Blossom or Green Tea Cognac. The added bonus was that they serve pretty decent "Asian Tapas" to placate our slightly growling stomachs.
It was midnight, but that didn't stop us from adding Gin Palace to our list. My sane partymate exclaimed 'brothel!' when we stepped past. Went for a walkround of the premise, and it was quite a cozy size, rather stable with no particular theme to its decor. Gin was suppose to be their boisson-du-jour there, but I was determine to keep my sobriety. On the way back, we popped into Croft Institute again, stripped our 'reviewing' persona, and took some candid incriminating candid shots of the not-so-glam us in Croft Alley, ending our 5 hours impromptu jaunt in bid of arming ourselves with some useful conversation tidbits of the Melbourne clubbing scene...
BRING IT ON!!
The Croft Institute
Department of Female Hygiene
Golden Monkey
Scavanging for food at Croft Alley...
Pride aside, I've never got myself to check out any of the bars or clubs in my years here. Other than a few visits to some random bars led by friends, I was more accustomed to scratch the base off my leftover cheesy pasta bake and sipping vintage (7-day old leftovers) wine on a Friday night than to put on my Friday best and attempt to beat the cacophany.
But a woman's got to do what a woman's got to do. Before she can no longer fit into her slinky party dress and 3 inch stilettos, she'd better bring herself out there to 'check out' the scene.
After lining our stomachs with a lovely Jap meal at Kuni, the first stop was The Croft Insitute. Hidden in an long-winded alley filled with water-puddled cobberstoned floors, endless walls of graffiti and dumpsters, the 3-storied hospital-themed pub leaves you with a different 'sensory' experience. Beyond the dingy lane, a lady sitting on a desk with a study table lamp collects the cover, and you are then greeted by a shelf of laboratory equipment. We ventured upstairs to explore the quirky toilet, aptly named as Department of Female Hygiene- with operating theatre lights and gurney thrown in. An old wheelchair is suspended mid air at the waiting area for patients. After a Cosmo and Manhattan, and a few jives at the Raggae music, we had work to do- our quest to find where the nice pubs/clubs are.
Past the opening act, we also did our rounds in The Deanery, whose classiness contrasted with the quirky Croft, and Robot next door- a smallish but noisier area to mingle on a summer's night with friends.
With so many bars/clubs to choose from, we decided to be more strategic and went west-wards the city. There were a few hit and misses, with Bond looking rather promising on the cards, but was a tad too quiet for its James Bond velvety glam and cavernous space. We were after all, the pesudo-happening party creatures of the night, albeit for the most time, we acted like bar reviewers working undercover for The Age's Epicure.
Moving on towards the North West side of the city, we headed towards Golden Monkey- depicted as the old Shanghai with lots of rich reds and blacks. Awarded the "New Bar of the Year" in 2006 and "Bar of the Year" in 2007, this basement establishment cocoons little boxy spaces for lounging customers to sip that sexy Single Blossom or Green Tea Cognac. The added bonus was that they serve pretty decent "Asian Tapas" to placate our slightly growling stomachs.
It was midnight, but that didn't stop us from adding Gin Palace to our list. My sane partymate exclaimed 'brothel!' when we stepped past. Went for a walkround of the premise, and it was quite a cozy size, rather stable with no particular theme to its decor. Gin was suppose to be their boisson-du-jour there, but I was determine to keep my sobriety. On the way back, we popped into Croft Institute again, stripped our 'reviewing' persona, and took some candid incriminating candid shots of the not-so-glam us in Croft Alley, ending our 5 hours impromptu jaunt in bid of arming ourselves with some useful conversation tidbits of the Melbourne clubbing scene...
BRING IT ON!!
The Croft Institute
Department of Female Hygiene
Golden Monkey
Scavanging for food at Croft Alley...
Monday, February 04, 2008
Feeling Beachy
28 degrees with no sign of blue skies,
lazy afternoon without a plan,
2 assorted nuts released from a sealed can.
Somedays, I find Melbourne so amazing. You can be listening to a sermon on church vision in the morning, and lying in the sun-soaked sand dunes listening to sounds that conjures another kind of vision in the afternoon. Close your eyes and listen to the sound of the waves work like little machines making strong 'whrrrillll whrrrilll' rhythms, and I momentarily drift into a sort of blissfully dreamy state.
I blotted out the occassional people and excited dogs that came into the picture, and the sea kept beckoning me. Unable to lie still any further, we ran towards it, as if to embrace the big waves like they were two welcoming arms. I jumped a few waves (almost deliriously by now), but the waves got even more enthusiastic, producing a rip that attempted to coax me further out to sea. In between being caught up by the tug of war between the waves and the rip, I was trying to catch sight of the necessary hero to ensure that I wasn't going to be condemned to be the eternal mermaid of Anglesea.
'Welcome back' rang through my mind as I tucked into a hungry meal at A La Grecque- a Greek-Mediterranean restaurant that have both good food and service. The quail I had and the chargrilled rib eye I tasted was really flavourful, unlike the 'sourness' I've grown to associate with Greek food. Yummilicious! Something to end the day with, since we were not able to catch a sunset.
lazy afternoon without a plan,
2 assorted nuts released from a sealed can.
Somedays, I find Melbourne so amazing. You can be listening to a sermon on church vision in the morning, and lying in the sun-soaked sand dunes listening to sounds that conjures another kind of vision in the afternoon. Close your eyes and listen to the sound of the waves work like little machines making strong 'whrrrillll whrrrilll' rhythms, and I momentarily drift into a sort of blissfully dreamy state.
I blotted out the occassional people and excited dogs that came into the picture, and the sea kept beckoning me. Unable to lie still any further, we ran towards it, as if to embrace the big waves like they were two welcoming arms. I jumped a few waves (almost deliriously by now), but the waves got even more enthusiastic, producing a rip that attempted to coax me further out to sea. In between being caught up by the tug of war between the waves and the rip, I was trying to catch sight of the necessary hero to ensure that I wasn't going to be condemned to be the eternal mermaid of Anglesea.
'Welcome back' rang through my mind as I tucked into a hungry meal at A La Grecque- a Greek-Mediterranean restaurant that have both good food and service. The quail I had and the chargrilled rib eye I tasted was really flavourful, unlike the 'sourness' I've grown to associate with Greek food. Yummilicious! Something to end the day with, since we were not able to catch a sunset.
Mmmm... I came home tired, but felt so recharged to start my week with a purpose again!
Postscript: In retrospect, the rip was actually quite scary because at one point, I felt the drag below me was much stronger than the waves that push me to the shore, and I couldn’t feel the ground below me.
Postscript: In retrospect, the rip was actually quite scary because at one point, I felt the drag below me was much stronger than the waves that push me to the shore, and I couldn’t feel the ground below me.
The beautiful stretch of beach at Anglesea
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Loving only as a response...
We loved Him, for his first loved us.
Imagine a couple quarrelling about who love who more, with each digging out the many things they have done to prove their greater love. Who wins? The one who loved first.
I think the more amazing word in this sentence is 'first'. I never knew how risky it is to acquaint this word with 'love'. It's easy when you are at the responding end of someone's love, like the way we grow up with the assurance of our parent's love. We meet friends we like, then we love. As we grow older, the slope gets steeper, as we look at the person we like and wonder? Will he/she return that liking? Google "Does he like me" and you'll get 22,000,000 hits ("Does she like me" gets 12,100,000). From the stats, we want to know before we make another bad move, another wasted day, another broken heart.
I never knew how hard it is to stand at the tightrope of uncertainty when we have to love first.
Imagine a couple quarrelling about who love who more, with each digging out the many things they have done to prove their greater love. Who wins? The one who loved first.
I think the more amazing word in this sentence is 'first'. I never knew how risky it is to acquaint this word with 'love'. It's easy when you are at the responding end of someone's love, like the way we grow up with the assurance of our parent's love. We meet friends we like, then we love. As we grow older, the slope gets steeper, as we look at the person we like and wonder? Will he/she return that liking? Google "Does he like me" and you'll get 22,000,000 hits ("Does she like me" gets 12,100,000). From the stats, we want to know before we make another bad move, another wasted day, another broken heart.
I never knew how hard it is to stand at the tightrope of uncertainty when we have to love first.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
My Blueberry Nights
Coming back to Melbourne is always a Luna Park roller coaster ride, nothing crazy, but nothing short of ups and down. When Cindy and I returned prematurely for summer school in 2005, we made a pact to meet up for dinner that very same night, barring all possible jet lag or homesickness. For the first few days, your activities, friends and geographical familarity takes a little adjustment, and the faster you get back to sipping those flat whites and sunning yourself on the beach, the better the return gets.
I had my "welcoming adaptation kit" of true blue aussie blueberries, yummy brekkie, the gardens, and my flat white this round. That would have done the job other that I was sick and thinking about the crazy issues... the reminders of hostility from the workplace and the situation that calls for everything-but-the-truth to be told (because the truth wouldn't cut with recruiters this time), makes it a very pressing ethical/non-ethical reminder. But I'm the cool cat... am I? The test of time did succumbed me to those stress, as with Cinderella at the stroke of midnight. In the last 2 days, I popped 3 imaginery sour blueberries consecutively, forgot the other sweet ones in the punnet ... even the giver of them all.
I had my "welcoming adaptation kit" of true blue aussie blueberries, yummy brekkie, the gardens, and my flat white this round. That would have done the job other that I was sick and thinking about the crazy issues... the reminders of hostility from the workplace and the situation that calls for everything-but-the-truth to be told (because the truth wouldn't cut with recruiters this time), makes it a very pressing ethical/non-ethical reminder. But I'm the cool cat... am I? The test of time did succumbed me to those stress, as with Cinderella at the stroke of midnight. In the last 2 days, I popped 3 imaginery sour blueberries consecutively, forgot the other sweet ones in the punnet ... even the giver of them all.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Countdown- 1 day to go...
I need to get out of here to get better...
Like one of those marathon races, you start slow, pace yourself and when the ending line is in sight, you make a dash for it. I've gone through the rotting-at-home phase, the getting use to the weather, the art of pushing that person in front of you in the MRT, the amazing 10 sms 'conversations' just to confirm a meeting (Try 'What do you feel like doing' for a start, and when you reach "What do you feel like eating', you know you are somewhere near a conclusion)...
And the mad rush of arranging for breakfasts, lunch, dinner, supper has commenced. Had to check out the few new places here- Dempsey Road, Changi Airport Terminal 3, to keep my citizenship. Andrew is currently playing jazz guitar with a saxophone and double bass quartet at Quarubar at Dempsey Road, and it was fun to go by on Saturday night for a catch-up between his sets. The bar is rather spacious, with old-fashion kopi-tiam green mosiac tiles on the floor, but a wooden themed modernity to the decor. The music was lovely, the likes of Chet Baker serenating you as you enjoy a Hoegaarden on tap.
The chronic lack of sleep has also resulted in weird sleeping patterns and a cough that wouldn't go away, and an impending flu. Doesn't help that there's now a packet of fried prawn crackers staring at me, a tin of pineapple tarts in my luggage, the irresistable bak-kwa roasting on an open fire everywhere (and jack frost here is sniffing at her nose)...
Like one of those marathon races, you start slow, pace yourself and when the ending line is in sight, you make a dash for it. I've gone through the rotting-at-home phase, the getting use to the weather, the art of pushing that person in front of you in the MRT, the amazing 10 sms 'conversations' just to confirm a meeting (Try 'What do you feel like doing' for a start, and when you reach "What do you feel like eating', you know you are somewhere near a conclusion)...
And the mad rush of arranging for breakfasts, lunch, dinner, supper has commenced. Had to check out the few new places here- Dempsey Road, Changi Airport Terminal 3, to keep my citizenship. Andrew is currently playing jazz guitar with a saxophone and double bass quartet at Quarubar at Dempsey Road, and it was fun to go by on Saturday night for a catch-up between his sets. The bar is rather spacious, with old-fashion kopi-tiam green mosiac tiles on the floor, but a wooden themed modernity to the decor. The music was lovely, the likes of Chet Baker serenating you as you enjoy a Hoegaarden on tap.
The chronic lack of sleep has also resulted in weird sleeping patterns and a cough that wouldn't go away, and an impending flu. Doesn't help that there's now a packet of fried prawn crackers staring at me, a tin of pineapple tarts in my luggage, the irresistable bak-kwa roasting on an open fire everywhere (and jack frost here is sniffing at her nose)...
Saturday, January 19, 2008
The Countdown
4 more days to flying back. The 4th farewell. The reunions are looking more and more like farewells each time I return, because as soon as I returned, I'm talking about leaving again.
Confusing sometimes. The first week of touching down, I felt the physical homesick, and the last week of leaving, I'm lost as to where to call home. Should I take it as a 1 year trip away from Singapore, or as I would always say to the people on the Aussie side, that I'm just going on a 1 month holiday.
Well, depends on where you call home. And as cliche as it may sound, "Home is Where the Heart is.".. and may I add, biblically- where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
Confusing sometimes. The first week of touching down, I felt the physical homesick, and the last week of leaving, I'm lost as to where to call home. Should I take it as a 1 year trip away from Singapore, or as I would always say to the people on the Aussie side, that I'm just going on a 1 month holiday.
Well, depends on where you call home. And as cliche as it may sound, "Home is Where the Heart is.".. and may I add, biblically- where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Sleepless in Singapore
It's Saturday, 1.50am. I have 5 browser windows opened - Zuji, SQ, Qantas, one other domestic flight and 1 forum on how airlines waitlist works. I am close to surrendering my wits (and my money) to the most hassle-free flight, but fighting back regrets of why I didn't book weeks back. The price of air tickets rises higher than history-record inflation, faster than a barrel of crude oil, and the flight is unfortunately, none the speedier. In fact, the later I hesistate, the more stopovers I incur.
Tonight I will clear my head, and tomorrow, I will bite the bullet, swallow the bitter pill... (excuse me for the dramatization, but why did i forget that there was an option of waitlisting 2 weeks ago when i went to ask for the tickets). Procrastination is the mother of expensive lessons, followed by stupidity.
Melbourne, here I come again!
On a crazier mode, I am going to supper now with a friend. This will make my 5th meal of the day... yippee to the calories! Hello Chay Kuay Teow!
Such is the life of a Singaporean.
See you later at dreamland.
Tonight I will clear my head, and tomorrow, I will bite the bullet, swallow the bitter pill... (excuse me for the dramatization, but why did i forget that there was an option of waitlisting 2 weeks ago when i went to ask for the tickets). Procrastination is the mother of expensive lessons, followed by stupidity.
Melbourne, here I come again!
On a crazier mode, I am going to supper now with a friend. This will make my 5th meal of the day... yippee to the calories! Hello Chay Kuay Teow!
Such is the life of a Singaporean.
See you later at dreamland.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Eternal Sunshine on the Rooftop
Imagine rows of randomly patterned deck chairs on top of a rooftop, a wide screen, cheery moonbathers laid out on a 20 degrees balmy starry evening.
Prequel: Dinner at Longrain- shareable Thai cuisine dressed up for the ang moh palates. But it was still fascinating, since the name has been tossed up a few times in conversation with fellow foodie friends. The waitress recommended the trout wrapped in betel nut leaf, and a fried fish with pork chilli jam. Since I am no expert at Thai food, anything nutty/spicy/sourish would qualify as 'Thai'. To add to the authenticity, they offer Tap Water on top of their wide selection of first-world type waters. Will give it 3 Ms (mmm!) since I think they did a good job with the atmosphere, service and the departure from the usual Tom Yam Goong or Phat Thai.
Main: Watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for a second and a half time (since i did catch it over 40 winks the first time and re-watched the last 10mins 2 weeks ago). The feeling was different, and I did wished I had watched it 'properly' the first time. The artsy part of me is keen to say that it was tactfully done without cheese, and there wasn't any eyeball-rolling moments. On top of that, I can't tell if I liked the romance more, the concept of erasing your memory, or just simply knowing that sometimes love is cherished only after it's been lost.
Epilogue: It's my first time walking around the streets of melbourne at 11pm looking for a place to drink. As if tonight's theme was 'great city views', Transit in Fed Square offered a corner view of the city, quiet candle-lit tables, as well as hot chocs to wind the night down.
Rolling Credits: The necessary hero who managed to orchestrate the big plan at last minute, including a quick survey of happening watering holes, weather forecast, traffic (escape) routes, and the colourfare who acceeded to his request to be part of this lovely night.
Prequel: Dinner at Longrain- shareable Thai cuisine dressed up for the ang moh palates. But it was still fascinating, since the name has been tossed up a few times in conversation with fellow foodie friends. The waitress recommended the trout wrapped in betel nut leaf, and a fried fish with pork chilli jam. Since I am no expert at Thai food, anything nutty/spicy/sourish would qualify as 'Thai'. To add to the authenticity, they offer Tap Water on top of their wide selection of first-world type waters. Will give it 3 Ms (mmm!) since I think they did a good job with the atmosphere, service and the departure from the usual Tom Yam Goong or Phat Thai.
Main: Watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for a second and a half time (since i did catch it over 40 winks the first time and re-watched the last 10mins 2 weeks ago). The feeling was different, and I did wished I had watched it 'properly' the first time. The artsy part of me is keen to say that it was tactfully done without cheese, and there wasn't any eyeball-rolling moments. On top of that, I can't tell if I liked the romance more, the concept of erasing your memory, or just simply knowing that sometimes love is cherished only after it's been lost.
Epilogue: It's my first time walking around the streets of melbourne at 11pm looking for a place to drink. As if tonight's theme was 'great city views', Transit in Fed Square offered a corner view of the city, quiet candle-lit tables, as well as hot chocs to wind the night down.
Rolling Credits: The necessary hero who managed to orchestrate the big plan at last minute, including a quick survey of happening watering holes, weather forecast, traffic (escape) routes, and the colourfare who acceeded to his request to be part of this lovely night.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Time to be a Snow Bum
The snow came in early this year, but I only started enjoying it.
Went to Falls Creek over the last weekend. Made a quick dash after work, and Jason had planned it nicely for us to crash right after work. After 5 hours drive and a tidy sleep, it was time to hit the slope, and tame those nerves.
Decided that I will dump the skis for a board this time. If anything, carrying 1 board is 1/4 times easier than carrying 2 poles and 2 skis. Not to mention that boarding boots are much softer to walk around with. Barring the physical baggage, there was too much psychological baggage associated with skiing, such as finding yourself few inches away from the sharp drop.
Falls Creek was less crowded and was very pleasant compared to Mt Buller. The lodge was warm and cosy, and Sam was our chef for the trip. The weather was great, we narrowly avoided the gale that stopped the lifts the day before. I had to remove my beanie and was nearly happy to wear just a tank top. Unfortunately, I over-enthusiastically took off my gloves and scratched my knuckles in the process.
The learning curve for the first hours of snowboarding was definitely more trying than skiing. With skiing, you could at least stand up and shuffle along. With snowboarding, the first few hours are usually dedicated to your bum. I must have fell a thousand times until I was too tired to regain my dignified position. Only completed half a real run and a few short ones. At the end of Day 1, all the muscles you never knew you had was aching, you panted on a cold day like you never did before, and being speed-height adverse, I was prepared to find some lame excuse to avoid it altogether for next day.
Day 2 proved to be much better. Although there wasn't a scumptuous breakfast, we went for the Level 2 class. The class was much bigger, 3 instructors and students who behaved very much like nothing can drag them down. Chris, my instructor for the first day was there, and I had to ashamely confessed to him that I still sucked when he asked me how I was doing. As a happy result, he took me and another girl out of the class halfway to personally coach us. He literally turned my bag of nerves into steel, and I was able to be more confident about anything 'toeside' after that. The happier confession was that he ran up the Poma with me, which just means I get to comfortably ride the T-bar lift upslope and he has to do the job of holding my hand, running along and doing a titanic 'I'll not let you go'. Was quite a smitten kitten after that... how can anyone resist a uber cool nitro-boarder with so much patience and fitness to spare?
For the uninitiated of the Poma/t-bar, I love the following description of it, since falling down 2 times on it:
"The T-bar is a cruel joke on snowboarders perpetrated by the skiing industry, but since more and more people with money are snowboarding instead of skiing, these abominations will soon die the hideous death they deserve on scrap heaps around the world. If you do see one the best response is to make a hissing sound in the back of your throat, the sign of the cross with your fingers, and a sharp exit in the direction of a more civilised lift, or possibly a bar of a different kind."
I am now a snowboard convert. Am itching to get up there again but the season's officially over by end of this month. The snow is melting, and it costs an arm and half a leg to go there. Speaking of half a leg, the experience comes with bruised knees, wham-bangs on the head, tailbone and red wrists.. not to mention a sore bum for the not-too-well-endowed.
Such a physical epiphany.
The intellectual epiphany is that I will now grudgingly study for CPA while dreaming of being an aspiring snow bum. I have also since thought of working in Borders/Subway to augment my winter budget.
Awesome blue-sky weather
From the balcony of Cloud 9 cafe (my fave 'watering hole' on Day 1)
The girls after lunch
Hanh and I- the only boarders in the group
My bruised knee
Went to Falls Creek over the last weekend. Made a quick dash after work, and Jason had planned it nicely for us to crash right after work. After 5 hours drive and a tidy sleep, it was time to hit the slope, and tame those nerves.
Decided that I will dump the skis for a board this time. If anything, carrying 1 board is 1/4 times easier than carrying 2 poles and 2 skis. Not to mention that boarding boots are much softer to walk around with. Barring the physical baggage, there was too much psychological baggage associated with skiing, such as finding yourself few inches away from the sharp drop.
Falls Creek was less crowded and was very pleasant compared to Mt Buller. The lodge was warm and cosy, and Sam was our chef for the trip. The weather was great, we narrowly avoided the gale that stopped the lifts the day before. I had to remove my beanie and was nearly happy to wear just a tank top. Unfortunately, I over-enthusiastically took off my gloves and scratched my knuckles in the process.
The learning curve for the first hours of snowboarding was definitely more trying than skiing. With skiing, you could at least stand up and shuffle along. With snowboarding, the first few hours are usually dedicated to your bum. I must have fell a thousand times until I was too tired to regain my dignified position. Only completed half a real run and a few short ones. At the end of Day 1, all the muscles you never knew you had was aching, you panted on a cold day like you never did before, and being speed-height adverse, I was prepared to find some lame excuse to avoid it altogether for next day.
Day 2 proved to be much better. Although there wasn't a scumptuous breakfast, we went for the Level 2 class. The class was much bigger, 3 instructors and students who behaved very much like nothing can drag them down. Chris, my instructor for the first day was there, and I had to ashamely confessed to him that I still sucked when he asked me how I was doing. As a happy result, he took me and another girl out of the class halfway to personally coach us. He literally turned my bag of nerves into steel, and I was able to be more confident about anything 'toeside' after that. The happier confession was that he ran up the Poma with me, which just means I get to comfortably ride the T-bar lift upslope and he has to do the job of holding my hand, running along and doing a titanic 'I'll not let you go'. Was quite a smitten kitten after that... how can anyone resist a uber cool nitro-boarder with so much patience and fitness to spare?
For the uninitiated of the Poma/t-bar, I love the following description of it, since falling down 2 times on it:
"The T-bar is a cruel joke on snowboarders perpetrated by the skiing industry, but since more and more people with money are snowboarding instead of skiing, these abominations will soon die the hideous death they deserve on scrap heaps around the world. If you do see one the best response is to make a hissing sound in the back of your throat, the sign of the cross with your fingers, and a sharp exit in the direction of a more civilised lift, or possibly a bar of a different kind."
I am now a snowboard convert. Am itching to get up there again but the season's officially over by end of this month. The snow is melting, and it costs an arm and half a leg to go there. Speaking of half a leg, the experience comes with bruised knees, wham-bangs on the head, tailbone and red wrists.. not to mention a sore bum for the not-too-well-endowed.
Such a physical epiphany.
The intellectual epiphany is that I will now grudgingly study for CPA while dreaming of being an aspiring snow bum. I have also since thought of working in Borders/Subway to augment my winter budget.
Awesome blue-sky weather
From the balcony of Cloud 9 cafe (my fave 'watering hole' on Day 1)
The girls after lunch
Hanh and I- the only boarders in the group
My bruised knee
Saturday, July 14, 2007
One Nuah Weekend
I've been rather nuah this weekend, and it started out on Friday night.
Been feeling sleepy this entire week nights, I think it must be the backlog of midnight snooze and the morning after. Plus met a friend on Mon night and colleague's farewell dinner with lotsa wine on Thurs... flat out!
My good friend sha is finally engaged! And the wedding is next Sat! Gasps.. it does sound like shotgun doesn't it? Nothing of this kind, they have planned the wedding a year back, the proposal only came through this weekend. Zp is going to play the flute as a march-in song, and it was quite touching seeing a video recording of his practice. Guess that fella has a different way of being romantic.
Feeling like hitting the sack again... it's been one rather cold winter!
Been feeling sleepy this entire week nights, I think it must be the backlog of midnight snooze and the morning after. Plus met a friend on Mon night and colleague's farewell dinner with lotsa wine on Thurs... flat out!
My good friend sha is finally engaged! And the wedding is next Sat! Gasps.. it does sound like shotgun doesn't it? Nothing of this kind, they have planned the wedding a year back, the proposal only came through this weekend. Zp is going to play the flute as a march-in song, and it was quite touching seeing a video recording of his practice. Guess that fella has a different way of being romantic.
Feeling like hitting the sack again... it's been one rather cold winter!
Monday, July 09, 2007
Break my heart for what breaks yours...
I don't even know why I am hardly angry with the control freak in my office. If I know myself, I should be, even if it's not for myself.
But instead of psuedo-ly staring at the computer screen plotting how to exhaust the last bit of milk before she makes her coffee, my heart was turned to what happened during the weekend.
I was unintentionally thrown into a conversation with 2 friends. While it wasn't a bible-bashing session, I thought one of them was being rather unobjective, claming that a 'slick marketing ploy' was used to lure her into Christianity, and how she finally saw the light and got out of it. Who you choose to believe is your perogative, but re-pledging your allegience and biting the hand that feeds you during your down-time, and attempting to persuade others to think on your side is principally despicable. Of course, the other friend was happy to claim that there's no point in believing in anything, because doing good works will be her passport to heaven/happiness etc.
One day later, I bumped into a friend in church. This is a not-too-close friend whom I've been praying for his cancer to just leave. He's 30, newly married, and after a merry-go-round of ups and downs, he's been given 6 months to live by doctors. Even if I don't know him that well, it's surreal to have someone you know to be hit by news like this. I was in a 'no-you-must-be-kidding' stage, thinking that I'll see him well soon. He walked up to me, said Hi, and I asked him how he was. He told me that the doctors have all given him the bad news, but "I'm still beliving for the best and that I'll be well". At this point, I really do want to cry... I don't know where he got his faith from, why he's even in church, but I tried to maintain a happy face. I asked him what he's doing, and he was occupied with buying a new bible for his mother. I now know why the people who visited him came back and related his story with tears in their eyes- not the sad kind, but 'I-really-don't-know-where-he-got-that-kind-of-strength-from' type of tears.
Surely this sick friend has not placed his last bet of life and death on a marketing ploy, nor is he hoping to rely his hope for living by getting more good works done.
"Break my heart for what breaks yours...."
But instead of psuedo-ly staring at the computer screen plotting how to exhaust the last bit of milk before she makes her coffee, my heart was turned to what happened during the weekend.
I was unintentionally thrown into a conversation with 2 friends. While it wasn't a bible-bashing session, I thought one of them was being rather unobjective, claming that a 'slick marketing ploy' was used to lure her into Christianity, and how she finally saw the light and got out of it. Who you choose to believe is your perogative, but re-pledging your allegience and biting the hand that feeds you during your down-time, and attempting to persuade others to think on your side is principally despicable. Of course, the other friend was happy to claim that there's no point in believing in anything, because doing good works will be her passport to heaven/happiness etc.
One day later, I bumped into a friend in church. This is a not-too-close friend whom I've been praying for his cancer to just leave. He's 30, newly married, and after a merry-go-round of ups and downs, he's been given 6 months to live by doctors. Even if I don't know him that well, it's surreal to have someone you know to be hit by news like this. I was in a 'no-you-must-be-kidding' stage, thinking that I'll see him well soon. He walked up to me, said Hi, and I asked him how he was. He told me that the doctors have all given him the bad news, but "I'm still beliving for the best and that I'll be well". At this point, I really do want to cry... I don't know where he got his faith from, why he's even in church, but I tried to maintain a happy face. I asked him what he's doing, and he was occupied with buying a new bible for his mother. I now know why the people who visited him came back and related his story with tears in their eyes- not the sad kind, but 'I-really-don't-know-where-he-got-that-kind-of-strength-from' type of tears.
Surely this sick friend has not placed his last bet of life and death on a marketing ploy, nor is he hoping to rely his hope for living by getting more good works done.
"Break my heart for what breaks yours...."
Friday, June 29, 2007
How My Day Begins...
7.30am: First alarm rings... (slaps snooze button)
7.45am: Alarm rings again... (turn on itunes to listen to 5min news by BBC via podcast)
8.00am: Stand and stare at wardrobe wondering how to vary winter clothing.
8.20am: Pack for what seems like a ridiculous pinic outing (aka: lunchbox, fruits, yoghurt, breakfast, to bring to office).
8.30am: Leave house.
That's when the adventure begins. First I'll walk past the smell of espressos, lattes and flat whites at the italian cafes along Lygon street, and the tempting cakes and breads. If I have a gold coin to spare, I'll go and buy a chocolate scone from Bakers Delight- freshly baked! Then I'll walk pass some little parks, lots of victorian houses, and finally pass the stretch of RMIT uni, cross over to Melbourne Central for 2 floors of window shopping, and if I'm a minute late for work, i can cut pass Myer and pretend to speed-shop (and enjoy the heating)... And finally dart under the Commonwealth Bank building, slid and slide down the underground parking at the back lane, and arrive at another day's of work. 2.6km worth of travelling, and some calories burnt.
12.30pm: Lunchtime at the Galleria@ Commonwealth bank building, since it's winter now and the outdoors aren't worth spending time at. After a quick lunchbox lunch of whatever-was-yesterday's-dinner, Claudine and I will go in search of adventure (part 2). Frozen yoghurt at Myer? Or coffee at degraves? Hot choc at Brunettis? Kaypo-ing at David Jones Food Hall? Go browse cuilinary books at City library?
5.30pm: It's dark and cold. Retrace morning walk. Think about what to cook for dinner, and lunch tomorrow.
Sounds like work is an adventure everyday isn't it?
7.45am: Alarm rings again... (turn on itunes to listen to 5min news by BBC via podcast)
8.00am: Stand and stare at wardrobe wondering how to vary winter clothing.
8.20am: Pack for what seems like a ridiculous pinic outing (aka: lunchbox, fruits, yoghurt, breakfast, to bring to office).
8.30am: Leave house.
That's when the adventure begins. First I'll walk past the smell of espressos, lattes and flat whites at the italian cafes along Lygon street, and the tempting cakes and breads. If I have a gold coin to spare, I'll go and buy a chocolate scone from Bakers Delight- freshly baked! Then I'll walk pass some little parks, lots of victorian houses, and finally pass the stretch of RMIT uni, cross over to Melbourne Central for 2 floors of window shopping, and if I'm a minute late for work, i can cut pass Myer and pretend to speed-shop (and enjoy the heating)... And finally dart under the Commonwealth Bank building, slid and slide down the underground parking at the back lane, and arrive at another day's of work. 2.6km worth of travelling, and some calories burnt.
12.30pm: Lunchtime at the Galleria@ Commonwealth bank building, since it's winter now and the outdoors aren't worth spending time at. After a quick lunchbox lunch of whatever-was-yesterday's-dinner, Claudine and I will go in search of adventure (part 2). Frozen yoghurt at Myer? Or coffee at degraves? Hot choc at Brunettis? Kaypo-ing at David Jones Food Hall? Go browse cuilinary books at City library?
5.30pm: It's dark and cold. Retrace morning walk. Think about what to cook for dinner, and lunch tomorrow.
Sounds like work is an adventure everyday isn't it?
