Don't Waste Your Life

Time to move...

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 13:12:00 +0000

It was a love affair that started about 5 years ago. I started this relationship, not knowing where it would lead to. In fact, this is my 2nd relationship. I broke up with Xanga after a few months with her. Didn't like her inflexibility and her always showing my name when people went to the address to find her. And I didn't like the limited things i could do with her either. *wink* She just didn't turn me on. But you can still visit my ex HERE.

And so I broke up and quickly found a rebound. Blogger was right there for me. She was more flexible with me, more exciting, and more colourful. And besides, I had also grown and I was ready for more options, more interactions with other partners. Xanga was a bit of an experiment which I had outgrown.

Blogger has been my faithful partner for the past 5 years. She's always been faithful, there to listen, to hear me pour my thoughts, and my medium of communication to the world. People have heard me, read me, peered into my heart, touched my passions, through her. I flirted with other partners at times, but never got into anything serious. I guess they never attracted me enough for me to give up my comfort. But I think I was never fully satisfied with her. In fact, I've been taking this relationship more seriously in recent months, and even tried to overhaul her (as you guys have seen in e past few months). Almost like dressing up the bride or sending her for cosmetic surgery, you know. I know, it's sad, but sometimes even dressing up the bride still doesn't satisfy. Cosmetic surgery's just the outside, if the inside sucks, no amount of surgery will help.

And so I'm moving on. Sorry, Blogger. But I think blogging has become a big enough part of my life, for me to host the blog somewhere else where I can do more with it. Somewhere more exciting, more interesting, more flexible, and somewhere which doesn't give me a black face everytime I try to make it do something.

Blogger, I'm giving you another week. Just for nostalgia's sake. One more week. After which, it will no longer be possible between us. Thank you for the past 5 years, but people move on.

It's not you, it's me.

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 13:42:00 +0000

I'm an artist. Don't question my integrity.

Auction Rooms Cafe

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 10:27:00 +0000

I just passed the middle of this trip to Melbourne, and while it was wonderful being with Zhen the past few days, it was good that I had today to myself. One of the things I enjoy about travelling is often walking through the city centre on my own. I did that in Auckland, in Taiwan (hmm. did i?) and also last time in Christchurch. Walking through the city centre, people-watching, food-smelling, sound-hearing, gives your senses a barrage of information about the pulse of the city. For example, smelling coffee and hearing quick footsteps tells you of its busy-ness, smelling Laksa, chinese dumplings and fresh baked foccacia bread tells you this is a country with many migrants. Beautiful.

And so after a nap and some facebooking, I headed down to this cafe near my hostel I had chanced upon in a book called Melbourne Coffee Review. I was delighted! It was a beautiful quaint cafe in the middle of nowhere, and apparently they roast their beans on the premises! :)

My delicious braised beef cheek with black olives, a tomato-based puree and mashed potato. Mmmm.

Ooh. Can you see the jelly-gooey parts of the beef? *slurps*

At this point in the meal, Zhen popped by to visit me just for 5 minutes on her way to another meeting. It was really strange, because even though my braised beef cheeks wonderful when I was alone, it suddenly tasted a whole lot better when she came. I remember a JC teacher talking to us about why Chinese always eat their meals with friends or relatives.. and how a meal is a collective activity.

I've always believed this:

Good food = good food.
Good food + great friendships = AWESOMELY FANTABULOUS TIME.

I love it.

Look at my post-dinner cappucino!

Remnants of my dessert. I ate it all up before I could take a picture of it. By the way, it was absolutely delicious 'Chocolate Banana Spring Rolls with sour cream.' The chocolate in there wasn't chocolate sauce. It was half-melted chocolate lumps. OMG.

I really love this place, check out the interiors.

I absolutely love this place, except I won't be in Melbourne much longer. Stay noted of a new post on Jamie Oliver's restaurant Fifteen Melbourne!

Weeeee.

Auction Rooms Cafe
103 - 107 Errol Street
North Melbourne

Seismic shifts and home

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 21:55:00 +0000

Was listening to a radio programme about a week ago and I've kinda been ruminating about the issues for some time. It was one of those programmes which had call-in callers discussing about teenagers who have consensual sex and whether legal prosecution should be the way to go.

I guess, it would not have been hard to guess that most people would be against legal prosecution but were more in favour of education, counselling and sound parenting. Yet, the programme being on 93.8Live, most of the callers were understandably middle-aged people, who talked mainly about in-my-days, 'what-are-young-people-coming-to', 'no-more-morals', 'it-all-gets-worse-with-each-generation'... etc. Many suggested counselling, education, but the host rightfully pointed out that few took on the responsibilities of themselves as parents.

The picture that came to my mind as I heard those callers was almost like those cavemen shows, where the caveman clubs the cavewoman on the head and drags her back to his cave. We want the youths to be 'with us', not different from our generation. And so we club them on the head with moralistic judgments and hope that they pass out from the intensity of whatever-they-think-counselling-and-education-is and then drag them back by their ponytail back into the supposed safety of our own caves that we're used to hiding in.

Interesting, because in every other situation these people are in, business, work, social interactions, we know that we need to get out there and engage people. But it seems that when it comes to youth, we gotta club them on the head. No wonder our youths are always seeing stars.

What few of the callers understood is how there's been a seismic shift in terms of exposure and conceptions of morality that they can hardly understand. They don't understand that thoughts have changed, and will always be changing. Except that in this generation, they are changing as fast as it takes to update a Facebook status. 'What's on your mind?'

Perhaps the way to go isn't a moral lecture and a ponytail-drag. Perhaps the way to go is to enter their seismically-shifted world and re-create the rules into something healthier.

And perhaps, a few more hugs for our youths, would give them more of the physical closeness they seek in sex.
_______________________________________________

It's a little strange that I don't feel THAT out of place in Melbourne. Except I think I still don't feel very safe walking along the quiet streets at night. This place is as much of a multi-racial place as Singapore, probably even more. Don't know why we play up our multi-racialism so much back home.

Zhen was asking me how Singapore has changed and I told her it has changed much the past couple of years. And I shared that sometimes I don't know if I truly feel Singapore belongs to me anymore.

It seems that all the new developments are built for tourists. The IRs, ION Orchard, Sentosa, new hotels like Hotel Ibis, etc. Some of the shops in these places actually sell watches that cost as much as a condo. Many of these places are not places I would go to; I can't afford it.

Is it still home? Or maybe, I could just hide in my cave.

Breizoz French Creperie! Crepe-ily Delicious Crepes!

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 06:42:00 +0000

I had just landed from the airport and having eaten a really unsatisfying "Continental" breakfast on board the flight and the most expensive egg sandwich I had ever eaten (it cost A$8 at the airport cafe while waiting for Hannah.. I only bought it because I was hungry from the unsatisfying breakfast), we decided to head for lunch after checking in at the hostel.

Zhen has always been mentioning to me this yummy crepe place which seems to be her 'coping strategy' from hectic work schedules, so it was fitting that my first Melbournian meal would be turn out to be French buckwheat crepes.

The crepe here are not the soft-ish kind kind we tend to get back home, which I suspect has more flour and egg components. The ones here are made from buckwheat flour, which give the crepe a crispier consistency. And my gosh, it also smells darned good. We had 2 savoury crepes and shared a dessert crepe.

She ordered a ratatouille crepe, which was essentially a crepe with cheese and vegetable stew. I've never been a fan of tomatoes which really form the tangy base of the stew, so I didn't enjoy this one too much.

I liked mine much better. Don't ask me why, but I've recently become a big fan of smoked salmon. The flavour and the umami factor is just amazing, whether you eat it raw with a good potato salad, or cooked like in my crepe here.

Omg. Just look at that gorgeous sunrise egg-yolk leaking nicely out of my crepe. And just that little bit of smoked salmon poking its smile out at me from inside the crepe, almost as if to entice me to slurp it all up with the delicious egg yolk. I'm glad the waiter recommended me this egg and salmon crepe. I had initially wanted egg, ham and smoked salmon in my crepe to which she exclaimed in horror: "That's ridiculous! You either take meat or you take the fish. Not both together. It doesn't make sense." Hahaa. And so I obeyed her orders like a good Singaporean.

Dessert crepe. This was a Jaffa crepe with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream. Jaffa just means chocolate with orange, according to the now-naturalised Australian girl. Syrupped oranges, sweet, sour and bitter. Chocolate sauce, sweet and bitter. Crepe, hot and rough-textured. Ice-cream, sweet, cold and smooth. WHAM. Both Zhen and I couldn't help it but let out an uncontrolled pleasured 'ahhhhhhhhhhh......' What else can one ask for in life? (I think a good friend is still better :p )

Iced cafe. Nothing to shout about. I am on the lookout for the elusive perfect cafe. Watch this spot!

139 Nelson Place
Williamstown VIC 3016

(03) 9397 2300

Lunch Mon-Fri 12.00-3.00pm
Dinner Mon-Fri 6.00pm-10pm
Saturday 12.00-5.00pm, 6.00-10.00pm
Sunday 9.30am-9.30pm

Melbourne feels like home

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 06:26:00 +0000

Don't ask me why. I feel strangely at ease in Melbourne. I have a couple of theories why it is so.

Maybe it just feels very much like NZ. The brands, street names, accents, banks, number of Asians etc are all so similar to NZ.

Or maybe it is the comforting presence of a long-time friend. I have a feeling it's the latter. A big hug, a spontaneous arm around a shoulder, a familiar laughter. Perhaps those are closer to the heart than external sights and sounds.

Some photos, I think food will come in separate posts. :)

This is a new journey. And it starts here.

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 13:13:00 +0000

New Life.

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 14:09:00 +0000

My newborn nephew.

We all started out small, didn't we?

And weak. and vulnerable. and helpless.

Somehow, that was when we were the most adorable.

Another life, begins.

Many more lives, begin.

Love's passage

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 01:29:00 +0000

Blinding Faith

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 12:13:00 +0000

I heard this beautiful story told by the Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of Commonwealth Nations. Basically, big-shot Jew ok. Let me just say before I type it that I hope you guys will read it in the right light, and not read too much into the story and hence deny it's deep profound meaning about our place in the world.

~~
“DO you believe,” the disciple asked the rabbi, “that God created everything for a purpose?”

“I do,” replied the rabbi.

“Well,” asked the disciple, “why did God create atheists?”

The rabbi paused before giving an answer, and when he spoke his voice was soft and intense. “Sometimes we who believe, believe too much. We see the cruelty, the suffering, the injustice in the world and we say: ‘This is the will of God.’ We accept what we should not accept. That is when God sends us atheists to remind us that what passes for religion is not always religion. Sometimes what we accept in the name of God is what we should be fighting against in the name of God.”

~~
I went online to search for this passage after hearing it on an iTunes U lecture by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks. And of course, as with any other story that has elements of faith and the state of the world, there are many detractors. But to be honest, I don't even think this passage has got to do with religion, which is what many people take offence at. It's not even about Jews, Christians or Muslims, the three great monotheistic faiths.

This is about the place each of us have in the world; atheist, believer or believer of other faiths. It is about those who have hope; hope that is real and not to be discounted, and yet not allowing that hope to numb the pain we feel at seeing the injustices and pains of the world. If faith can change one life, it is natural that that life will cherish the hope that one day his faith will also change another. For the believer, it is his hope because the world is valued to him.

It is a reminder that those who discount the value of faith in this world often do so with good reason, because faith often tolerates that which it should condemn. For the atheist who seethes at injustices, he is a primarily a justice-lover and then an atheist by deduction.

It is an alarm for us ringing in our heads that no matter where we are on the continuum of faith, we have a responsibility towards our fellow human being. And this responsibility is just that; responsibility, not a means to any other end. For the rest of us, wherever we are, may tolerance work both ways, for those with faith and those who profess not to have any.

And let us not forget our brother who needs our hand.

~~
If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be, we're all okay
And not to worry
'Cause worry is wasteful and useless
In times like these

I won't be made useless
Won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear

My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
and I am never broken

Poverty stole your golden shoes
But it didn't steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me
But I knew it wasn't ever after

We'll fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what's right
'Cause where there's a man who has no voice
There ours shall go singing

My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
and I am never broken

In the end only kindness matters

- Jewel "Hands"

CBT: Starbucks at Shaw Towers

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 15:19:00 +0000

The week came and went, I do have some thoughts to share which belong in the other generic 'Life' categories, but I don't have much of the energy to write them.

And so Sunday came, and I found myself at another Starbucks spending my weekend afternoon. This was more a work meeting than a coffee break per se, though.

Who would've thought, that when I reached the cafe at about 11:30am, the cafe would already be packed? And who else with, than the usual students. They're everywhere, I tell you. Criowded especially around this lone pillar which had powerpoints on them.

This Starbucks is kinda special because it's located in a shopping mall which has really nothing for the regular shopper unless you're looking for specialised stuff like high-end cameras and super expensive massage chairs. So besides Starbucks, the rest of the shopping mall is practically secluded. It does have a nice Turkish restaurant that some of the Reach people celebrated my birthday at though.

It's also got a weird corner at the back that's just got 2 tables and it's really quiet. The bad thing about it is that the air-con doesn't reach the quiet corner so it can get quite stuffy there, especially for people who perspire like crazy like me.

On the bright side, even though there's a lack of powerpoints and the internet is the slower Wireless SG instead of Starbucks Wireless, there was certainly a plus point for the day! I discovered a new drink that I like!

New favourite drink: Caramel Mocha! I used to love the dark bitterness of Iced Caffe Mocha, and the savoury sweetness of Caramel Machiatto, but this drink has combined both. Omg! *slurps*

Location's a little far from Bugis MRT station, but still okay. Service and music were fine. I didn't like the crowds but I think it may just have been cos it was Sunday afternoons. Students are getting richer.

CBT (Coffee Break Therapy): Starbucks @ Wilkie Edge

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 11:48:00 +0000

Somehow, I haven't managed to have chances to visit cafes for sometime, so today was a little treat for me. After church, I wanted to find a place to sit down and focus on some work, so I went to the Starbucks nearest my church: Wilkie Edge.

Wilkie Edge is a new development right on the edge of town, about a 10 minute walk from Dhoby Ghaut and right next to Peace Centre. It houses Citadines, a block of serviced apartments and another floor of Kaplan's (a private commercial school). Besides that, there's only a bank, a Korean food cafe, a restaurant, and Starbucks. As you can tell, there are not many people in the building.

Unfortunately, well-located Starbucks' don't stay unknown for too long. When I went today, it was packed full of students. Wonderfully, Starbucks really knows how to cater to its crowd. It really is no longer a place to drink coffee; it's a place to surf and read.

Rarely do you find a Starbucks where you can really sit and get some work done, but I must say this was one of them, even though the barrage of students and books really makes it feel like a cafe in a school. I like this cafe cos it's quiet, there's no music played on the 'other half' of the cafe and there are really plenty of powerpoints for laptops. In fact I think there's at least one for every table.

Strange, but the internet connection here wasn't too stable today. I could connect on my iPod, but it took more than half an hour before I managed to log in to MSN even though I could get some stuff displayed on my browser. I had to buy my coffee at full price cos their NETS machine wasn't working, my new credit card hadn't arrived (the old one broke) and I didn't have enough cash so I couldn't buy the coffee passport (which gets me every coffee for $5).

I liked my Sunday. :)

Week away from home.

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 15:23:00 +0000

Cannot have too many reflective posts. These posts are just random ok.

I'm now at NSRCC (National Service Resort and Country Club), slacking and surfing Internet. haha. Tomorrow is staff retreat day, I decided to stay over cos I'm lazy to travel all the way home from this ulu pulu place after helping to settle the logistics today. Yawn.

But this place quite a lot of red tape. Sian. I need to show my NS 11B cos I booked it as a NSman rate. But I seriously dont know where my 11B is, which means I got to go home and dig all my cupboards to find it. Good luck to me.

Still looking for the elusive cafe with the best ambience and coffee. Sigh. Maybe I'll find it in Melbourne.

ieat Makan Session

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 10:38:00 +0000

And so after some anxiety in the signing up process, Jialin managed to get us down for the ieat Makan Session at Beijing Hand-in-Hand Restaurant hosted by the cool food blogger of ieatishootipost.

It was a very interesting experience. It was cool to finally hear Leslie Tay's voice instead of reading his words, and see him in person instead of on a picture or in video. And he actually sat next to me explaining how the makan sessions were organised. And gave hints as to how to stand a better chance of getting into the list. Haha. Celebrity blogger sitting beside me leh! Heh. Cheap thrill, I hear you say?

Too bad Jialin and Larry were separated from Gin and myself. So we were at a table on our own with 8 other strangers. The food was above average but not wow-inducing, I would have liked more servings of some specific dishes though.

Yet it was a very interesting to sit at a table with 8 other people who don't know each other, but each totally focused on food. And these people know their food, I tell you. There were some who were totally focused on taking photos, others who were explaining why a certain species of long beans are used and not another kind, and then there were the rest of us who were just ooh-ing and aah-ing through dinner. And oh, there was the lady who would stand up, take a mouthful with her chopsticks and chomp on her food still standing. Now that's a food-lover.

Seriously, it's a joy to eat with people who also love to eat.

Love, Me - Learning to Sign (Part 3/3)

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 15:31:00 +0000

Learning to sign, for me, took a few steps. I remember trying out various ways of writing my name, but invariably all these ways included my given or my family name. Some do sign with names that they have given themselves, but that perhaps represents something else.

In terms of form, I remember I had tried to imitate the form of those who I deeply respected. I had tried to do that with a teacher whom I had a crush on in Primary 4 (who I knew as Miss Yap), I tried it with a teacher who worked hard for my class who I respected in Primary 6 in another school. And the one that my final signature looked most like, was my dad’s.

I have a strong feeling that my signature which involves my given and family name, represents where I come from and who my parents wanted to be. My surname means I come from somewhere in Swatow, China where my grandfather first came. I am the descendant of a coolie who carried 50kg sacks of rice at the Singapore River and a seamstress, aged almost 20 years apart and who married each other during World War 2 to escape Japanese atrocities; especially soldiers who liked to rape virgins. Their efforts at earning their keep produced a man who would eventually spend the most part of his life in stability as a civil servant, and who would also become my father. I don’t know very much about the people who brought my mother into existence.

These two significant people, then, wished for me to have certain qualities; namely to be upright and compassionate. Li means standing up straight, and ren means a kind of a wise, compassionate, controlled and transcendent love. As I think, I have come to believe that to be able to bring the two together requires deep wisdom to meld and synthesize two qualities that are often perceived as conceptual polar opposites: that of justice and of mercy. And I want to pursue that wisdom.

And so everytime I sign, I am reminded of where I come from and who I am supposed to be.

Beyond that, I realized that over the years my parents’ signatures, which spell Tay and Tan respectively, have somehow developed into wordforms that are incredibly similar to each others’. Interestingly, the first half of my own signature looks like their wordforms that have evolved into each others’, even though in my signature it spells something else. And then the second half of it is something that I added on to lengthen it, increase the difficulty of imitation and differentiate my signature.

This reminds me that however much modern day individualistic psychology tries to convince us we are unique individuals, we cannot escape the reality that we are also an extension of those who came before us. If I were to think of parents who start out with young children, I can’t help but think that most parents have little idea who they really want their kids to turn out. The truth is, perhaps they don’t have that much control. I don’t think my parents ever imagined I would become a social worker. It would already be a blessing for a young child to have parents who at least knew what they didn’t want their child to turn out being. Interestingly, parents who take enough effort to bring up their children in a specific direction, would usually be good enough people to render wanting their children to be somewhat like themselves.

But in the process of growing up, which in some ways culminates in needing to have a signature of our own, each of us adds extensions of who we were supposed to be. We do this to make ourselves better, more special and difficult for others to be us.

I have my extensions. There are things at which I am better than they are, like writing or knowledge of certain areas like psychology, techie stuff and maybe insight into life. But there are areas which I would never be able to emulate them; like my dad’s humility and industry, my mom’s eye for detail and concern for people. Extensions are just parts that build their existence on that which was passed down; they cannot exist independently. I am in some ways like my dad in temperament and in my way of dealing with problems, and I think I inherited some of my mom’s ability to care for people. As I go along, those qualities become mine, not merely a hand-me-down. I learn that they are good and I own and embrace them. Others which are rotten rags unwittingly passed down, I learn and try to throw away. I may not always succeed, some of these rags seem to be permanently sewn onto my skin. And yet, there are parts of me which I have that they don’t; like the ability to connect deeply with people.

And so, each time I sign, I remember that my signature represents me; all of me. Parts which I inherited, parts which I brought from my own journey to add-on, parts which were thrust on me which I then decided to own; parts which were thrust on me sometimes as expectations and sometimes as hopes. It represents I give my word to honour that which I signed off; and I stake it on my being.

With that, “Love, me.” now means a whole lot more.

Love, Me - Learning to Sign (Part 2/3)

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 13:20:00 +0000

I recall that when I started needing to sign 'documents' for school. Such as attendance for excursions on the attendance sheet, or other stuff (I can't exactly remember what). I had about 3 or 4 different signatures, different patterns. Each one signed a different part of my name, like Liren, Ren, Zheng, Tay, Zheng Liren, Tay Liren. I'll leave it up to you guys to guess what my current signature is made up of. And no, it's not any of the above.

I remember looking at the signatures of the adults around me; my parents, teachers, even the school principal. I remember trying, not to fake the signatures, but to emulate them. I certainly didn't try to sign the signatures of the teachers I hated, only those I liked or at least had some form of respect for. Up till today, my dad has 2 signatures. I tried to imitate my dad's simpler one, not cos he used that one on my report books, but because it was the only one I saw. He used the other one for other major stuff like credit card transactions.

I remember spending hours trying to imitate their signatures. It felt like their signatures were for them a notation of their adulthood, and in my imitations, I craved to be initiated into the world of adults.

I chose between the different signatures. Should it be angular, or curvy? Simple, or complicated? English or Chinese? Bold or gentle? Long or short? From a mess of scribbles, they got narrowed down to the 3 or 4 which were nicer. Long pages of mess eventually became, still long pages of mess, but now the individual lumps of mess looked more homogeneous.

And I got confused which one I signed at different points. Especially for the bank accounts statements. But I guess the bank teller was gracious seeing my little kiddiness struggling with signaturising? :) Perhaps, I wasn't an adult yet no matter how badly I wanted to be one?

Love, Me - Learning to Sign (Part 1/3)

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 00:33:00 +0000

We were signing some forms, after which I had put down my initials on the form and she asked: "This is strange. Why do you write down your initials after you sign?"

"Er. cos if not, we don't know whose signature it is ma."

"Really meh. But after a while, we can recognise each others' signatures ma."
__________________________________________

And so started a short conversation about signatures that prompted me to think about the little thing called signatures that we pen down so many times each day.

Signatures are profound. And each signature has much to say about the person who signs it.

Come journey with me and ponder more.

Part 2 to come. :)

He thinks I am stupid.

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 14:18:00 +0000

In Mandarin, we have a saying: "speaking like the blind with his eyes wide open." In rough terms, it basically means "lying through your teeth".

This happened at Sim Lim Square.
_________________________________

Me: So.. why is this hard disk so much cheaper than the other 2? (it had an older looking packaging than the other 2 brands)

Salesperson: Oh. Because when a new product is released, they usually give you a cheap price for it. Then after that when it's not so new, they jack up the price. So this is a new product, newer than the other 2. So cheaper.

Me: Oh. When the product is newer, it's cheaper? So this is cheaper cos it's newer..

Salesperson: Yeap.

FUCK YOU.

奶粉 Milk Powder

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 14:18:00 +0000

I am scared to be a father. Not that I'm actually going to be one, but I kind of felt like one today.

Needed to buy some milk powder for a low-income client and I went to the supermarket to look for the brand she gave me.

So I walked around the supermarket (I HAVE NEVER ACTUALLY EVEN HAD TO GO LOOK AT THE MILK POWDER SECTION), and then when I came to that aisle.. I stared. STARED. stared. stared. stared.

OMG. I didn't know milk powder was THAT expensive. The most expensive kind is actually those for the infants. I wonder how much difference the infant milk powder really makes. But I suspect it's really just a marketing ploy to jack up the prices cos parents are more careful about what their infants take. I seriously wonder how the low-income families cope, especially if they have 4-5 babies in a row. Especially when a SMALL can costs $16. How? Nan 1, Nan 2, Similac, Grow, Progress, Enfagrow, Pediasure etc. Oh man.

In other situations, this may not be appropriate, but for a moment like this, I think can la. Here goes....

I LOVE BREASTS.

cos they produce milk for free.

Sigh.

One thing I hate about being in social work

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 15:37:00 +0000

One of our profs at NUS used to say, social workers are like professional beggars.

I hate it.

I hate it when people look down on me/ us just because we don't have money to pay them what they want. Or don't have money to pay the insane amounts of money corporate 'trainers' charge. Or think that what we have to offer is an insult.

Maybe it's because I seriously don't believe the work we do is of any less worth than what others are doing and charging. Except somehow some people think that just because we don't charge as high, our work is not as valuable.

I hate it when people look down on us. Or even those who think that we have an easy job.

Every story awaits its storyteller.

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 08:48:00 +0000

I think the break to be with myself at the cafe for a couple of hours helped to calm an anxious heart always nervous at the amount of things to be done at the office. And with that came a certain open-ness to the things that were happening around me and the potential stories they would become. I've noticed that this subconscious open-ness to new reflections and insights only come when my heart is rested from the stresses of work and daily life.

I took the walk to the MRT and just as I was about to take my place to wait for the train's arrival, somebody called out to me. A petite sized lady with a few bags and a backpack slung on her front asked 'Sir, is this the train I should take to Bishan?', pointing to the train map. I said 'yes.. this is the way..' and smiled, recognising her Filipino accent.

'Hmm. Which part of Bishan are you going to?' I asked in afterthought, realising that if she didn't know how to get to Bishan, it wasn't likely that she would be able to navigate her way around the neighbourhood. She dug up a scrap of paper from her plastic bag with an address on it. I took a look and realised that it was just a couple of blocks away from my own home, and hence I offered to travel with her back and be her travel directory.

It was only then that I realised that the little pouch she dug the scrap of paper from contained air ticket stubs and she was dragging a huge luggage along too. Obviously she had just landed and was looking for her way around to go back to her employer's house.

Asking her to follow me without trying to make some small talk was strange, and I found myself asking questions about her. She lives far away from Manila, has been here for 3 years and her two boys are aged 16 and 6. She had just been back home for 15 days for her yearly holiday. She wants to visit her family, but yet at the same time each of these trips saps her savings.

I think I spotted a teary eye as she mentioned her children as she blinked and looked away. On hindsight, it probably wasn't the best time to ask her about what she left behind at home. But she did share that after 3 years here, things have gotten easier.

It's definitely interesting that she didn't know how to get to Bishan from City Hall after 3 years in Singapore though.

It got a little too awkward asking more, and so I decided to shut up and plug my mp3 earphones into my ears. She really was carrying a lot of things and there were times I really wanted to help her carry some, but I was afraid that she would see me as someone trying to con her by being overly friendly or what. Screwed up world where we are taught can't even trust people on the street. so much so that we even disallow ourselves a chance to be trusted. Who taught us that? And I noticed that I tended to ask questions that emphasised differences, not similarities. Emphasised how different she was from me, and not how we were similar as human beings.

We reached our destination and I said bade her goodbye as I went towards my block and she went towards hers. 'Bye. Take care.'

And as I took the elevator up to my home, I wondered if she was also taking an elevator to a house which was not home. I wondered what she might say if I bumped into her next time at our neighbourhood. I wondered at the story behind the little details she shared relatively openly with a stranger like me. Did I make her feel comfortable sharing? Or did her 'just re-landed' status slice open a cavity in her heart that prompted her to let out some of those details?

She has a story to tell, just like every other worker in Singapore from another country. But her story awaits its telling by the best storyteller for her story: herself.
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And so as I am typing this, a couple in their 30s are standing outside my room window (which faces the corridor) and read the little tag I have on the window.

It feels strange typing about the domestic helper's story and hear someone read out that tag while I am immersed in thoughts about my experience with her. "Social work... is my response when God called 2 years ago.." The digit in that little phrase may no longer be relevant, but nonetheless it's written by a very significant and important person in my life.

And it also happens to be a small detail about my story.

I roll up the blinds and reveal my overweight topless body to them, grinning to them that what they were reading was a little tag about me, and also about the other important person. But it almost felt like I was rolling the blinds up to ascertain to myself that those were human voices.

For that little second, the voice sounded a little too distant and aloof to be human. It sounded like some divine being was reading it out to me to remind me of my life. Just like the domestic helper was telling a little part of her story, I have mine to tell too. My story about social work and about people.

I am the only one who can tell my story best, but I've got God as my scriptwriter. :)

CBT: SG Passion Cafe @ Esplanade

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 05:33:00 +0000

It's a Tuesday afternoon and I'm at the Esplanade on my day off after a lunch with Ginnette near her office. Being in the same area, I didn't want to try out the same Starbucks at One Fullerton that I had previously blogged about last week.

Ventured into SG Passion Cafe here at the Esplanade Library and while it's not the quietest cafe around (there are still those students discussing their projects..), relatively speaking this is like an oasis of peace compared to the hustle of Shenton Way just 5 minutes walk away from here. Besides, being right beside the library, people are compelled to be relatively quieter than other cafes.

I enjoy the slightly dim lights which are supported well by the sunlight streaming in from the windows as well as the comfy seats. There are 2 couches, some cube seaters, a bartop counter, some single seat mini-armchairs as well as the regular tables and chairs with the tables at just the right height for typing and enough space for a mouse at the side of the desktop.

Looking around, I think there are about 5 -10 power sockets hidden in the floor, which means people don't have to run to grab seats near the pillars. But there's also a higher chance people might trip over your cable. Haha. WirelessSG running well.

They seemed to have changed soundtracks since I started blogging on this post. It was some classical violinist backed up by an orchestra just now and now it's some jazzy-popish-rnb singer. But it's not too loud, and honestly, quite enjoyable.

The barista looks like she may be of African descent (cool!) and her coffee is GOOD! While my iced mocha latte looked kinda pale initially, one sip and the deep flavourful coffee shoots its fragrance right into your senses and wakes you up. As I'm writing this, one of the ladies in the cafe is pouring her own self-made muffin mix into little muffin cups, which means they will be out soon. I wonder what flavour it is.. but seriously.. home-baked muffins in cafes of this location are really hard to find. I shall tell you how it tastes like later.

I like this place. It's quiet, and the music is getting kind of addictive. It's a good place to chill, relax and love yourself a little bit. We need it, yea?

As for me, I'm gonna love myself by getting myself a nice warm muffin later. *wink*
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The muffins just got released from the oven. I'm having an Oreo muffin and it's the first time I'm eating one. I normally get either chocolate or banana ones. It literally steams as I peel of the crusty top of the muffin and bite off the Oreo chunks. Yum. Seriously, for stuff like muffins, it doesn't always have to be super rich or super full of ingredients. They taste good as long as they are fresh from the oven. And no. Not the microwave oven. :) :) :)

Happy Day!

Friend(s) Feature

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 12:14:00 +0000

The pre-cooked food was nonsense, the barbecued meats like the baby beef, garlic beef and the lamb were absolutely fantastic. We surely didn't eat $40 worth of food per person, but we stayed until the restaurant closed, and then stayed some more till 1:30am when I had to be in the office the next day at 9:30am.

We stayed so long because the conversation was wonderful. I miss conversations with my brothers James and Edgar, how our wavelengths click, how we are insightful into different areas of our own but we compliment each other well.

What would we do if money was not a problem? How would he bring up his kids if his business booms and one day he's worth $150 million? What do we really want to do with our lives and what we know?

One thing is in common: we want to make the world a better place. One thinks about culture and would probably make a good politician. One is in business and has a heart to earn enough to employ the thousands of Christians in societies where Christians are looked down upon.

What would you talk to the youth of the next generation about? I'd like to help them come to terms with their past so that they can embrace their future. He'd like to discuss about not wasting their lives on frivolous things. And another would like to share with them about friendship.

It's an incredibly lonely culture we live in. Many go through life without a single person they could talk to if they ran into trouble with their real deep personal life. Many less have friends whom they could fully entrust their lives to and know that their friend would give anything to save it. There's a need for young people to raise the qualities of their friendships and relationships with people, to purposefully share and do things that would sharpen one another. But we are so lost in our busy-ness and pursuit of every other thing, that we don't even find a need to connect to somebody else. Christians think of it in terms of fellowship, but fellowship has evolved into a term that is synonymous with accountability. It is not. Fellowship is about giving and receiving love. On its own, it has nothing to do with doing the right or wrong thing, which is what accountability is about. Confidence is result and behaviour-oriented, comfort is relationship and people-oriented.

And guess what. That paragraph was spoken by the 3 of us, each one adding and enriching the previous person's thoughts.

That's what friendship is about. And I'm glad I have it. Here.

Bump

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 04:45:00 +0000

And so it was a random Sunday morning. One of the mornings that I play drums for service, which is actually quite a tiring thing. And I hopped out of church wondering where I should go for my ritual reading time with myself on Sundays. I decided to go to the newly opened Iluma to look for a cafe. I could take one of two routes.

Route 1 (normal route): Prinsep Street => Albert Street => Across Bugis Village => Turn right on Victoria Street to Iluma.

Route 2 (never taken before): Prinsep St => Albert St => Bencoolen St => Middle Road => Turn left o Victoria Street to Iluma.

These 2 routes are by foot by the way. And so just out of pure desire for novelty and a general disgust at the extreme crowdedness at Bugis Village, I took route 2.

Was walking along enjoying the new buildings and wondering about God's plan for putting our church in such an interesting artistry-laden, commercial, edge of the city area. How touristy. And I was about to cross a little street called Bencoolen Link when I looked up across the road before crossing.

I rubbed my eyes. Hmm?! Is that my friend across the road? My friend from Korea studying in USA? Huh? It can't be her. This is Singapore. This is a random Sunday morning. She's on my Facebook and MSN. She didn't tell me she's coming to Singapore. It can't be her. It can't be Julie. Julie can't be Singapore.The thoughts floated around until a scream pierced the tourist noise. "OMG OMG OMG OMG!!!!!!!!" it went. I looked up from my thoughts and saw that she was really who I thought she was and that she was running across that little road risking her very life to come over to my side. And my mouth was gaping too. OMG.

It was her! Hahaaaaaaaa. I absolutely couldn't believe it. Of all places, a random little tiny street at Bugis. She was heading to Bugis Village, which I also happened to be happily avoiding. Turns out she was only in Singapore for a couple of days, but didnt have time to get access to the Internet to get in touch with me.

What a blessing to bump into random friends from halfway across the world!

CBT: Starbucks @ One Fullerton

noreply@blogger.com (the camel who was poor) — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 13:56:00 +0000

So, after a week of hiatus, I've decided to start a new series on the blog. It'll be a series that blogs about cafes in Singapore. Since I visit cafes relatively often, it makes sense for me to have a section on the blog where I can write simple reviews on the cafes and it gives people a nice option to look to when they're looking for a place to chill.

I'm got some time off work today and headed down to One Fullerton after taking a short nap at home. Thought I'd have a relatively relaxed time in a cafe in town on a weekday afternoon.

Times have changed. Students can afford to go to Starbucks to study nowadays. I could hardly find any seat after coming in to the aircon section of the cafe. Laptops, books, calculators all strewn around. Surprised.

I think decor at Starbucks is in general quite similar. What makes this one interesting is that it's got a large waterfront section, directly facing the Esplanade, Marina Bay Floating Platform and the new IRs. The waterfront view is not the most fantastic one in the world, but I should say it's not too bad for Singapore.

This is a nice place to chill, and the outdoor section is quite windy because of the waterfront. It's got some big tables outdoors should you need some extra space to get some real work done.

The indoors section is a little narrow shaped corridor and if the other coffee lovers are talking and joking, the sound can be a little noisy. :)

I ordered a Iced White Chocolate Mocha. It's a nice drink if you want a flavourful drink without the heatiness of the chocolate. I like the nice burnt caramel taste that you get with the drink. Nice!

Putting up a sign like this in front of your rival (Coffee Bean), is not very nice. In fact, it makes lions with fishtails puke.