davienne

Hi guys!

2012-04-27T17:38:00.000+08:00

I have a bunch of programmers using my blog as a test site.

I feel violated because here they are, using my innermost thoughts as an experiment ground.

I thought this post would be an appropriate way to say, "hi guys! You're on Candid Camera (the blog way)"

Oh by the way, that's Nicholas and he's been dragged into all of this quite innocently (as he's a designer and has nothing to do with all of these "tech" things as he once pronounced that word with a shudder of disgust).

Easy Conclusions

2012-04-12T09:21:00.001+08:00

Me: Uhhhh Elaine where's the charger for the Zoom?

Elaine: Huh. I don't have it.

Me: Didn't you keep it into one of your boxes or something?

Elaine: No, I didn't touch the wires here at all.

Elaine: If it's not here, it must be on the floor
If it's not on the floor, it must be in Truffles' tummy.

Me: Hmmm.

Moving Out

2012-04-09T23:29:00.004+08:00

One month before our lease was up, I finally relented and called the landlord, only to find out that the place had to be sold and therefore, it was only a matter of time that we had to give up our place in Lavender.

Ahhhh. 2 years. How did it go by?

Once a convenient excuse for tasting freedom, I can't believe there'll be some memories leading up to / of this place I want to pen down. And here's my mash up of memories:

***

The Other Choice was a shophouse unit, and we tiptoed up the stairs to an overwhelming odour. It was cramped with 5 tenants, the kitchen was littered with plastic bags and a cranky old pot sat chattering on the stove with boiling curry. I glanced at Elaine, who was barely masking her dismay. As we weaved our way out towards Novena, we comforted each other, "We'll get gloves" / "And lots of dettol" / "At least it has a balcony"/ "We just need to spend one day cleaning it up"

We never did get that place.

***

Neither of us told our families when the Ah Long ordered the graffiti of yellow paint on our blue gate. I was overseas and Elaine freaked out when she found out. Our unsupportive neighbours reared their ugly selves when one of them called the landlord to gossip - our unit number was scrawled on the walls of the corridor with 'O$P$'. It was no wonder they thought so; we kept to ourselves, we were always in and out of our units with our luggages in the wee hours of the morning, and we alternated bringing strangers (our foreign colleagues mostly) home to stay.

One evening I was walking home and saw a community poster urging victims and witnesses to call "1800-X-AH-LONG". I burst out laughing by the side of the road. The hilarity I felt was a mixture of irony, and how "X AH LONG" sounded incredulous in my head.

***

If I have to rank my meats in order of love and greed, it would be:

1) Duck
2) Duck
3) Pork
4) Beef
5) Chicken

And so it came as a surprise when the Roast Duck Uncle hit on Elaine, the One Who Asks For A Lot of Chili, and not I, the One Who Orders Roast Duck More Than Anything Else In The CoffeeShop.

By default we liked to sit outside and Elaine would order her usual Teh Peng and myself, homemade iced lemon tea (Milo Peng or Teh-O Peng siu-dai would be a distant substitute should I crave variety). We'd ask each other what we wanted to have, then sigh in unison about having a choice at all (#firstworldpains), and proceed to eat in silence / gossip fervently once our food came.

It was a cold morning though, and we had to sit indoors. After our orders came and she asked for her usual extra chili, the Roast Duck Uncle gave her a sweet smile and asked if she could give him her number. Elaine stared at him in delayed surprise, and mumbled an awkward no.

I gaped at her for a while. It made sense now that I had the bones and she, the meatier potions. Not that it mattered because I actually like the bones more (more to suck on!) but the Roast Duck Uncle didn't know that and he was short-changing me! That was a matter of principle and I huffed at the unfairness of it all, "What! He asked YOU for your number! What about me?! I'm the one who's his loyal customer!"

To which Elaine shot back, "You can have him all to yourself."

***

And now as I have these stacked boxes in my room I look around, almost bittersweet. Relieved that we are moving out of The Slum into a place with white tiled floors (hated the phase when Truffles was into biting her poo and we couldn't distinguish the poo because of the mosaiced bubble-gum floor). Yet a little sad to leave behind neighbours we can secretly make fun of (we named our wifi "ZhongGuoWaWa" to trick them into thinking we are prostitutes from China), and just only when the coffeeshop uncle can remember our usual drinks!

Till then, the next two years of my life.

Page 22 of 366

2012-01-22T17:42:00.000+08:00

It's the eve of the Lunar New Year.

I've moved back home to spend it with the family.

Things are really different when someone else is in charge and I can take a backseat off most of the cleaning and cooking.

Spent about 4 hours of the day sleeping after a night of Mahjong from which I grew $70 poorer. I count that a blessing because I was more than $100 empty but a stroke of positiveness turned the tides during the last round. Yes, I'm a little superstitious - I think that in gambling it all boils down to The Attitude. The more you lose, the grumpier you become, and that's when things start going downhill.

Truffles is here too; she spent her day trotting happily around the bigger house, poking her nose into everything: the table, the drawers, the tv remote... and still the dark space under my bed is where she seeks solace.

Scruffy has his routine shaken up with Truffles in the house. She jostles about him, drinks from his water bowl and outbarks him when he's trying to tell us of visitors. My sis bought him a strawberry bed that he refused to sleep in, until Truffles took over his bedding at night and he was forced to curl up in the strawberry.

It's raining now and I've just helped myself to two bowls of porridge. Sitting at the table, the rain sounding like shaken beads outside my window, chewing at the abalone clams that surprise me every now and then. I miss mama's porridge. It was creamy, smooth, sticky, stirred very carefully in her traditional claypot over some charcoals. Just plain white porridge, simple. She'd cut up abalone into slices and that was our snack for the day. I once asked her what her recipe was she just told me "oil'. And that's the memory I'll ever have, a porridge cooked with oil.

So today is page 22 of 366. And for the subsequent days to come, I'll be forced to touch the thought of family a lot more. As I think back on the years, I realise that family is like a blurred casette tape - you know what goes on but when you want to rewind and revisit incidences, you find out that things just.. happened and before you know it, you're spending time rewinding and finding that correct spot.

Like the day Dad took up meditation. Or the time when we were discouraging Sis from her new job. When it was just one dog in the house. When Mom didn't care that much about spring cleaning. What has changed?

So many, yet they are the same.

Life and Death

2012-01-15T02:46:00.001+08:00

Last week while in Chiang Mai, I brought along a new book for bedtime reading.

Tuesdays with Morrie is a book about the author's professor who was suffering from a terminal illness, and his last moments before death. I'm never one for self-help nor inspirational books; I think they state the obvious and are for people who cannot discipline themselves, so much so that they rely on books to tell them how to live life.

Not that I absolutely adored that book - it wasn't like Morrie overcame a huge obstacle in life, he was just putting it into perspective. But its simplicity and little quotes about love, family, life and death threw me into quiet, reflective moods. Not a good pick for a bedtime story. On top of late nights after our tours, the book ate up whatever free resting time my brain yearned.

Not every part of the book was for me though. There were some quotes I agreed with, some I put on a mental KIV list, and some that fell into the dark corners of my mind. What it was though, was a stark reminder of my grandmother's death, it's consequences, and human nature.

This is what she left behind:

The familiar kettles that we used to drink plain water from

Gate of her place. It's been sold, so this is my last memory of it

Mama's room, empty.

After she died we went back to her place and I snapped a few pictures. And I thought I'd just jot down what I've been meaning to document, about my journey with her on her passing. Just something to remember her by.

***

The Calls
I was out for a meeting. I remember that the office sat on top of a car showroom. And after the presentation ended when I checked my phone against the backdrop of fancy cars, I saw the missed calls from (in order):
1) My mum
2) My dad
3) My sis

Usually the missed call list goes in this order:
1) My mum
2) My mum
3) My sis

Odd, I thought. Faint alarm bells ringing.

Called mum, who broke the news. Mama had passed away that morning.
What? How? I asked.
She didn't know much. Call your father, she said.

And I did.
It was an awkward, yet most heartfelt conversation I would ever have with my dad.
He's a traditional man of few words and his harsh parenting ways had created a rift between us. Yet I found myself spewing consoling words.
You take it easy, I said. What the hell, where did that come from, I thought in hindsight.
My father gruffly replied his thanks. Even in mama's death he was still the stiff, unemotional parent. But we understood each other.

Called my sister. She picked up after three tries.
She was sobbing.
I had predicted that. She was the closest to my mama, sometimes to my envy (like my dad, I was always distant). She'd bring her out for manicures. Dropped by her place to pick her up for food. Chatter about stuff and keeping the old lady basking in attention.
She's gone, she spluttered in between breaths.
I didn't know what to say. I was bad at this. I'll see you at the funeral, I ended the conversation, aftering mustering some sentences of what I hoped would be consolation.

The Wake
One thing about being one of the elder grandchildren was that sometimes the adults were less careful with their words around me. This meant that I was privy to their hushed gossips and unmasked intentions. I was happy to have this 'benefit' bestowed upon me and I used it to my advantage at gatherings - to be able to alternate between the adults and the cousins whenever one group suited me better for that day's mood.

I regretted having this flexibility as we were idling about before visitors came. One problem that because her passing was a sudden one, mama didn't leave any will behind, which raised a lot administrative questions among the adults. They launched into a conversation revolving around money. The costs of the wake, of the cremation. How proceeds of selling the house would be split. Of mama's love for jewellery and the value of her precious stones and gold, and how that would be distributed. Of her habit of stashing money everywhere and anywhere, so the person in charge of cleaning up her room had to scrutinize all areas.

Maybe they were just being practical. Maybe these were pressing issues that had to be discussed. But as I sat there, plainly eavesdropping, I couldn't help but feel exasperation. Was all of this necessary?

***

Mama was a Christian, as were most of my aunts and their families. The Christians believe that the dead are off to a better place and therefore we have no business feeling sad when someone passes on. This was a relief, for the wake lacked the type of graveness and sorrow that lingered in most wakes.

The mood of the wake for the rest of the days was light, as the grandchildren helped out with the snacks and beverages while the adults continued on their banter.

On one of the days, Mum enthusiastically grabbed her camera and got our family to pose for a picture beside mama's coffin.

Why, I protested. This is weird.
I did this with your grandpa too. It's good to remember death. I even took a picture of his face.

And so we lined up in a row of four, our hands clasped in front of us. (It seemed the most appropriate pose - if you put your hands by your sides you tend to smile.)

That's when I asked, so do we smile or not?

The answer: You have to look serious, but not sad.

The Cremation
I remember most vividly about the day of cremation: that the ceiling was really high and had a very grand yet simple feel to it.It was an architecture of wooden planks and white paint, which gave me a feeling of serenity.

We circled her coffin as we tossed flower stalks onto it - the final time we would see mama.

Is that jade real, one of my aunts whispered.
It looks like it is, someone replied.
What, I thought they wouldn't use the real thing! Came the hushed reply in an urgent tone.

As the pastor led us through a series of hymns, I couldn't help but think about life and death. Is mama watching over us? Where does one go when one dies? Are we celebrating her life? Or is life a constant battle and death is us losing?

"And then one day I'll cross the river,
I'll fight life's final war with pain"

Making Choices

2012-01-09T01:44:00.000+08:00

Funny how Life presents us with so many options. What may seem to be a luxury (of having to choose) might actually make you worse off than before.

And there's many ways this could happen: a befuddled brain, a warped decision tree, emotions, time, Murphy's Law.. I've concluded that being able to pick through Life's offerings could just very well be a bad thing.

And I made this conclusion through? Buying shoes.

For some reason I can't keep track of where my shoes go. Somehow or another my favourite pairs go missing while shuttling about the office, my mom's place, and my rented place. So while waiting for Shirleen to show up I browsed the shoe store and settled on a pair of sandals.

Asked for sizes 36 and 37.
The assistant very kindly put them side by side and unclasped the sandals for me, despite me offering to help myself (I'm not naturally nice. I felt bad because it was sale season and the store was swamped with customers).
I picked a random pair to patter about, which turned out to be size 37.
They fit perfectly.

But I just HAD to try on size 36.
And that's when the unwanted seedlings of consideration took root in my brain and started growing.
They fit as well, maybe a little more snugly the previous pair.
Hmm, but my toes stick out a little.
Or do they not?
Wait, if these fit, then shouldnt the previous pair feel loose?
Was I not noticing?

And there I was, wasting another good 15 minutes of my time alternating between the two pairs when I could have just settled on what I was initially happy with.

Oh, in the end I got so irritated with my dallying self I asked for 37 and left quite huffily.

So there you go. Moral of the story: Sometimes it's better to be efficient and not have any choices to make after all.

New Beginnings

2012-01-05T03:59:00.000+08:00

So this post originally starts without a title; in everything I do I'm obsessed with the organisation and structure of things that prior to every blog post I'd title it - so that the blog post can have its focus, topic sentences and flow. But with the way my thoughts are jumbled up and the way they keep shooting out like electricity bolts, I suppose I'll let the post form its own title.

I don't know how 2011 went by. There's no desire for me to dig through my sparse archives to peg an emotion to the day when 2010 passed, just for comparison's sake. But I know that this feels different. I don't know why. Maybe it's the nonchalance. Maybe it's the disdain for the old year. I just know that I feel almost nothing for it. Like an old lover who's done me some injustice. Qiu says it's because I've "offended tai sui 太岁(heavenly generals to the Jade Emperor)" during the Rabbit year clash. I feel that maybe it's the year who has affronted me.

In 2011 I've loved and lost; probably lost more than I loved. And for that I claw desperately at what was lost.. look on forlornly at what has scattered. I regret that it's in my nature for letting things be the way I rationalize they should be, and not what my heart feels they should be. But that's the way how I am, once similar incidents transpire my cells push me to react in the same way. I can only learn through unwanted situations.

Last year when we crossed into the new year, I remember feeling squeezed for breath - as if someone robbed me of my time. And this year, it felt as natural as continuing a step. No end, no start, no finish. Just going through the same old rickety motions.

Maybe I should have some sort of reflections for 2011. Or a list of New Year Resolutions (that nobody ever keeps) that will mark this year as potentially awesome. Whatever it is, I have to find a way to push this creeping year into the limelight. I should never have gone blog-hopping, then I would never have chanced upon forgotten blogs with the old school style of blogging - pouring one's heart content into words on an online diary - and perhaps now I could have saved myself some melancholy.

So this year, I wish for Friendships and Success. Two words that are simple in their own meanings, but challenging to achieve.

And so I have settled on a title: "New Beginnings". Underserving because of its positive connotations when the mood of this post reeks of somberness, but fitting I hope; for in the past year I've learnt a thing or two about people, relationships and the rungs in the Ladder of Life, where now I'm starting at the lowest one again.

This time I can only hope I know what to do.

July

2011-08-02T19:07:00.000+08:00

I was convinced, for a myriad of (work-related) reasons, that July would be a sucky one.

We had just closed a deal that would demand our attention so much more than anything I've closed in the past 2 years, and in the midst of all that I had to prepare for our Country Managers' Summit 2011. ON TOP OF THAT it was my first time representing the company to speak at a brand conference, and while I like the way I am most of the time, I'm not sure I like myself when I do public speaking.

Okay, not exactly a myriad of reasons but the stress derived from all of the above would warrant permission to use the word "myriad"!!

What I've learnt though, is that maybe, when things can't get enough suckier, Life has no choice but to make it better.

1. Speaking at the Conference wasn't so bad at all
Nicholas screwed up the timings and all of sudden, the Conference shifted one day earlier. The tower of mental preparation I had built myself up for suddenly crumbled. Which was good, in a way. It left me with no room to worry and I had to bulldoze through our slides just hours before our speech.

I've been dreading public speaking but after this experience, I'm quite excited for more!

Our topic - "Social Media Planning Demystified"

2. National Day Parade
Because of our collaboration with NDP 2011, they gave us and the bloggers tickets to the rehearsals, previews and actual-day Parade. There's something magical about reliving our stories, the effort put into the costumes and chereography... I wish people who think that NDP is all "propaganda" will see that it's actually a nationalistic reminder. That we are a small nation who have braved the storms; we should celebrate it, and more importantly... remember it.

Confetti against Fireworks.. I love you Singapore!!

3. Finding out that things never change
Was up one day in KL getting ready for work when I found this note stuck on his door..
(His mum writes reminders/questions on his bedroom door and sometimes gets D to answer)

Did a double take when I saw it. Chuckled at his cheapo-ness (he struck out "But I'll buy"). And smiled to myself.. that some things don't change. And those that did, I hope they've changed for the best.

So. July. I'm done with you.

Bring it on, August!

the speakers that gave music

2011-06-15T22:24:00.000+08:00

More than 6 months ago I leeched on a laptop purchase to get a discount on a pair of speakers.

They cost $100, I knocked it down to $80.

Purpose? Revenge.
I promised that I would combat the noisy weekend mornings where our neighbours would shrill at each other across the corridor whenever I was trying to sleep in.

My $80 discounted speakers never really saw the light of day. They sat, lonely, unopened by the wall of my bed. My neighbours continued their piercing exchanges, and I was $80 poorer without any output from my purchase.

Until 6 months later, when I had the unexplainable urge of unboxing them.

And now I've given up my favourite hangout spot - my couch - just to sit at the rickety wooden table. Where I'd plug the speakers in and get my music fix.

And that was when they became a separate entity instead of being "the speakers that came with the laptop".

Life goes on.

Insomnia

2011-05-23T03:41:00.000+08:00

It's past three and I am sleepless

The ticking hand my only companion

Who watches me as I learn its rhythm

Like clockwork it ticks; I am its minion

This book would come in handy

If only words were what I need

But blanks are the pages and my heart

From where should I take heed?

Our new bundle of joy - Truffles

2011-05-14T23:52:00.005+08:00

I'm sorry if the title makes me sound like a parent.

Well. I'm kinda like one now that Elaine and I have someone new in our lives now!

It's a she. She's a dog. The dog's name is Truffles (originally Waffles, but more on that later). Truffles is an English Cocker Spaniel puppy, and the start of a not-so-complicated story.

Truffles at 4 months
(thanks Tim for the photos and graciously allowing me to steal them without your permission)

The Not-So-Complicated Story of How We Got Truffles

To begin, I was sitting in the office one day when my boss' friend dropped by. James is a lawyer who talks (and bullshits) so much he got fined by a judge during court. True story.

It was a Wednesday and James was on leave. We were discussing the (selfish) merits of having a dog. Eg: automatically appearing as a compassionate person, getting extra attention from people, attracting hotties - all by holding on to a leash tied to a cute-looking dog.

Only problem was that James' parents wouldn't let him keep a dog because of young children in the house.

And the conversation accelerated to something like this:
James: If only I can just buy a dog and leave it to someone to watch over it, and come pick it up for play whenever I want to
Me: I can do it
James: Really???!
Me: Really!
James: Let's go get a dog!

So that's the accidental story of how James got himself a willing (and free) nanny, plus a living tool to help achieve his KPIs.

As a disclaimer I should probably add that:

Elaine and I have been looking for a playmate for Scruffy by visiting dog shelters so Truffles was not an impulsive decision. We didn't find any dog suitable because they were all big dogs
It may have been an impulsive decision on James' part but that's why I'm glad that it's us he got to help - I can trust us to be responsible dog owners!
So far there have been no sign of James being an irresponsible dog-owner-in-name. He's been faithfully visiting the puppy, buying her toys and food, fussing over her well-being. Perhaps all that talk was just a macho front.

And So The Hunt Begins

James, Wendy, Elaine and I drove to several places in search of our dog. With the occasional exception of Wendy, who would get distracted and trail off from us to swoon at grumpy-looking cats.

We found none. It also felt wrong - that we were aimlessly browsing through the cages of yelping puppies, just for the sake of buying a dog.

I was starting to despair and the excitement of having a new dog was wearing off me, when a litter of cocker spaniel puppies caught our eyes. Out of the pack we found our princess, the most docile one out of her siblings, with the diamond touch of white fur on her forehead.

James picked up the puppy. "This one. Everyone agree?"

And we were nodding in unison. It was like ...eating a bowl of noodles after going hungry for hours. Buying the perfect shoes. Laughing at a joke.

It felt natural and ...right. Our princess was coming home with us.

Deciding On a Name

We were very selfish in the naming of the new dog. We conveniently forgot to invite the participation of James during this process. On the days prior to getting Truffles, we had decided we would get a boy, and that his name had to be meaningful and not an obvious doggy-like name (namely (pun!) Lucky, Sparkly etc). We decided on Waffles.

James wasn't too pleased.
"Why Waffles?"
"What, we're naming it?"

"Waffles isn't a dog name."
"I think I want to call it...Doggie."
"What's wrong with Doggie? It's a dog."

But as fate would have it, we got a girl and James decided to rename her Truffles, which suited her golden coat and curly hair.

truf-fle
noun
Any of various chocolate confections, especially one made of a mixture including chopped nuts, rolled into balls and covered with cocoa powder.

Once again, we all agreed.

(I would like to add that having three of us agree on something together is actually a very difficult task! Case in point: before Truffles, James wanted a Husky, Elaine wanted a Toy Poodle, and I wanted a Terrier.)

The Start of Something New

So that's the story of how we have a new addition to our family. The next step would be to give her obedience training, something Scruffy never had because I got him too late into adulthood (and therefore me suffering the brunt of it now in the form of unreliable peeing patterns etc).

She's taken to the training well and is completely paper trained in just two weeks! She's also semi-house broken, as well as preliminarily leash-trained. She's easily distracted though, which makes it really difficult for me to teach her tricks.

There was a lot of stress for us in the first two weeks and to my horror, I found through friends and the internet that most of my stress was probably not going to go away because her behaviour was something typical of her breed.

I'm glad we pulled through though! More about how I trained Truffles in another post!

Decision Making in Life

2011-04-20T23:19:00.004+08:00

Back in college I had to complete a compulsory module which I thought was a complete waste of time - Management.

I didn't see the merits of having to theorize something so practical. Isn't Management something you learn through hands-on experiences?

It wasn't that I didn't enjoy the module; in fact I poured over every single theory and concept thoroughly, consistently doing so well in my class I'd hate myself if I weren't me. I learnt about Gantt charts and was fascinated with how Henry Gantt developed a concept so simple and straightforward, that we now take for granted as a process for project management.

I also found out about the various management school of thoughts, and my favourite quote about management was summarised succinctly by Henri Fayol:

"To manage is to forecast and plan, to organise, to command, to co-ordinate and to control"

I didn't know it back then, but subconsciously it probably made a whole lot of sense to me. Now as my job throws me into the middle of the management pool, I find myself swimming towards the classical approach of being structured. (Which isn't really a good thing. In college we were taught to have management styles borrowed from all schools of thought.)

When I first started I took wobbly steps in decision making. As I grew more experienced with organising and structuring, the top-down approach became second nature to me. Before I knew it, I was making (or at least, trying to make) informed and calculated decisions in the form of a decision tree.

If Outcome 7 had the best calculated decision probability, then steps would be taken to achieve it. We were taught the tree and I was awed by how a complex problem could be broken down into potential actions and outcomes. To solve a problem, all I had to do was: calculate and evaluate.

That was how I was - rational. I applied it not just to work, but life - friends, family, love.

My point is, in life there are so many decisions, uncertainties and outcomes. Lately I've been thinking about the uncertainties - what if I let the heart decide? What if I not make any decisions? What if I just fuck it and do what I'm impulsed to do??

And suddenly I'm in a place where my structured brain is at a loss: you can try and make the best decisions possible, but what if the method of calculation isn't right?

All of this is very depressing. That one day you realise, you've been making decisions on what you THINK is right, but you forgot to account for the many errors and anomalies that life throws you. And after all that calculation, you're probably worse off than before.

For example. You have a $2 note left and you're far from home. The bus ride costs just about $2. You see a crippled beggar with his empty bowl, take pity on him and give him your last $2. Which results in you walking home. Just when you're about to embark on your 45 minute walk, some mean kids pick the $2 off the bowl, leaving Mr Beggar still poor, and you $2 poorer.

And that's Life.

How unfair.

Real Love Works

2011-03-21T14:16:00.000+08:00

I've always been squirmy around the notion of the four-letter word.

Which is weird because I put quite a lot of effort into my relationships. Just that I can't seem to admit and dump all of that into a word so sacred and high up on the emotion pedestal.

So. This disability comes with other handicaps as well (which applies to friends):
1. I don't do hugs that are "frivolous" (in my opinion this means goodbye hugs, hello hugs etc to acquaintances)
2. I only say "I'll miss you" when I really mean it
3. and many more because I've just realised if I listed all of them down here I'll sound like an asexual.

But I do believe in Real Love, and so I'm going to list down positive stuff.

So here goes. Real Love is all about...

Sharing
Sorry I won't give him all my fried wanton but if I care for you enough, you can have half of the plate's worth!
Being able to be ugly (but not too much)
Holey socks, dark eye circles, yawning without closing your mouth... being comfortable is what works!
Being illogical
Emotions aren't logical. Which is why Love will never be. So go ahead, if she's crying, say something so that she'll be laughing the next instance. It'll be crazy but.. what the hell!

So.. spread the love, and you might just win an iPad! (plus other cool gadgets)

Anyone wants to let me know what their version of "Real love" is?

do you know... i like jam?

2011-03-01T00:25:00.000+08:00

I found out about the butter-and-jam combination in one of those cheap hotel breakfast spreads that you get free when you stay 2nights and more. I was ten, maybe twelve, and I fell in love with jam.

I've loved it ever since. I'd eat jam off my butter knife. Spread it on top of peanut butter. Smear a thick wad of it on the corner of my bread and bite off a wholesome piece of bread + jam.

This is one of those things, that when placed in a mini jar with a checkered cap, you'd eat your bread plain just because jam belongs in jars.

My Hair Woes

2011-02-08T00:11:00.003+08:00

OK. I know what most of you are thinking.

I'm known to you as the girl with the thick, luscious hair - what is she doing writing about "hair woes"?! Does she understand the meaning of "woe" that is this:

woe [wəʊ] noun
1. Literary intense grief or misery
2. (often plural) affliction or misfortune

Now yes. I don't deny the thickness of my hair that people envy.

But thick, also translates to these:

Dry and coarse hair
I think because I have so much hair, there isn't enough natural serum to go around. True story.
Hair loss - lots of emAsk me to brush through my hair anytime; I guarantee you a chunk of fallen hair.
Tightness at the scalp wheir hair is tied up
You know girls with high bouncy ponytails? I can NEVER have that. A ponytail only serves to tug at my scalp and the weight of all that hair makes my fringe area pretty bald :(
HOT!
Thick hair is extremely unsuitable for the weather in Singapore! I perspire all the time and my scalp gets stinky, so I take the easy (and lazy) way out and bun my hair up. This also means I look very auntie. Boohoo.
Time loss
I take about 45 minutes to tong my hair because I have so many layers to handle.

Now the reason I'm blogging about this is because Svenson recognises that there are laymen people like US who have everyday hair problems!

If you have a hair problem (or many woes like mine) and you'd like to win a treatment, you might wanna blog about it so that you can win a one-on-one treatment (or an iPad if you're lucky)!

OK lah I know my hair woes are probably small compared to people like my fellow country manager Nicholas in Malaysia (he's facing some real serious hair loss issues that he gets paranoid if people talk about shampoo hahahha) or girlfriends who have so little hair I don't know if they have enough to lose during old age.

Nicky and I! (Hope he doesn't murder me or charge me royalty fees)

window

2011-01-29T18:31:00.000+08:00

I've been staring at the blank blog editor for some time now.

There's been many times I've opened up this window to stare, only to close it a few minutes later with the excuse that "I'll find the words to blog later"

It's been weird because

I can't find it in me to blog about work without going into the details of things, which would then be a potentially sensitive issue and I'd rather things remain neutral than for me to tip the scales over/under. Does this make any sense?
I can't skim across the work-related stuff if I do, because then I'll hate the way I sound like a stereotypical "PMEB", thinking she knows everything about working life but has no idea how other 'top' people cope with theirs
There's always the inner me clawing at every chance to translate my emotions into words, but without other topics to balance things, I risk turning my blog into an emo-feed
Love. That's the most frightful thing. Feelings are the most volatile. Today I might love this and the next day it's the bane of my life. I like to be certain about things and putting feelings down makes it very definitive, physical thing. Which isn't, and I'd rather pretend to not have it at all

I know what you're thinking:it's just.. blogging.

I love writing. But a friend once told me that a writer is only a true writer when he finds it uncomfortable not writing every day.

For me I sometimes dread it. Writing is such a personal thing. It's the window to one's self. You let people peer in and see what's inside.

That's why I like to control what people can see through that window, which social media has made a whole lot harder.

Bah, what an awful lot of rubbish for something that'll only be seen by a few people. Moronic, I am. Till then!

First Conversations of 2011

2011-01-06T15:50:00.000+08:00

1. Crammed in a tiny shop near the Hutongs. About 10 people are huddling around a table, with chips and poker cards.
Random poker dude: Hey it's 12:05 (midnight)
Everyone: HAPPY NEW YEAR!

5 seconds of hugging and congratulations
Random poker dude #2: Whose turn?
Random poker dude #3: I check.

***

2. In the living room. A pear is sitting forlornly on the table.

Me: Can I eat this?
David: Yeah. Wash it before you do

Seconds later
Me: Done!
David: Wash it more. This is China. You never know what they paint on them pears.

***

3. At the squash court. I'm a sore loser.

Vig: It's 11-2 to David. Come on, shake hands
Me: NO!!
Julie: *guffaws*

***

4. While walking to dinner. It's -8 degrees.

Me: My god. I'm freezing.
Julie: I did. I froze.
Me: Whaaaat?
Julie: There was this time, I just finished shower and my hair was damp. I walked out in the streets and when I touched my hair, they were all frozen and hard like icicles!!

Christmas

2010-12-23T15:17:00.003+08:00

Just like travelling, I've never been a big fan of festivals and occasions.

To me they're just excuses. For the selfishness in humans of not wanting to care all the time. Oh, I think I care about you but I don't really wanna give you presents all year long, so I'll just create Christmas and give one present to you then. (Ditto for Valentine's Day.)

My boss Ming is the complete opposite. He celebrates anything. People coming. People leaving. Manchester winning. Liverpool losing. Coming home from overseas.

Every Christmas, he'd set up a tree, leave the lights on the entire night and get us to stock the bottom of the tree with presents for our Secret Santees. He'd marvel about the light-ups in Orchard Road. Loop Christmas songs in the office til before you know it, you'd memorised the entire CD of Xmas songs.

It's infectious (or maybe the constant looping of Christmas songs was a form of propaganda) and after a couple of Christmases with him, I've grown to like it. And if not for the occasion that brings people together, my friend Ying wouldn't have shattered the glass door in the office during our Xmas party (long story) and we wouldn't have an aluminum one in its place right now.

So every year now, we've been playing the same CD of Christmas songs from Jaci Valasquez, because it was the first folder I found and downloaded, three years ago in our dingy little office, when Ming asked for some Christmas songs to set the mood.

Memories, and it's a nice something to have.

This year I decided to make Scruffy part of the memories. I took the Christmas decorations off the Jipaban office door because I was too cheap to get Scruffy a Santa doggie suit.

Here's to more Christmases to come!

come and gone

2010-12-14T00:42:00.001+08:00

I can't believe we're back from the cruise already. And I can't believe that 2010 is almost over.

I feel like this year has been a mirage. I can't recall significant moments in my life; everything just went by in a blur. And before I know it, it's passed and all's left is the breeze that's caught in my hair.

That's me enjoying really light wine on Formal Night, where everyone dresses up to their tuxes and gowns. I was in something less than a gown because I thought, come on, who would follow the freaking dress code?! So I ended up in a sequined black dress which I hope passed off as versatile, while the Malaysians were decked out in their lovely dresses.

I think for Christmas, I'd really like some nice wine. Mmmm.

I think I am Funny!!

2010-11-29T20:07:00.000+08:00

William is a new programmer that our sister company Ripplewerkz has hired.

I am well, just me, irritating them in the evening as usual when I get overdosed by my work. (I think that programmers need irritating people like me or else one day they'll all evolve to be mutes. Seriously.)

**
(bunch of useless bantering prior to this. I think I imitated the Chinese accent to ask them for dinner and Lionel indulged me.)

Me: Yo William! What choo doing here so late!
(It's about 8pm and William usually leaves at 6.30pm)

William: I'm debugging.

Me: Hey! Can you help me debug my table too?

William: *blank stare*

Me: It's infested with termites!

**

I think I'm awesome, don't you?!

A Tangled Tale: The Lion's Mane

2010-11-22T00:30:00.001+08:00

I think two parts of my body that I'm most satisfied with are my eyebrows and hair.

Eyebrows because they're not overly bushy and they have a nice shape that I can trim minimally on my own.

Hair because it's THICK (the envy of many girls). Thick = any styles goes. Seriously.
Thick + curls = vavavoom waves
Thick + straight = sleek with volume
Thick + messy = just-woken-up sexy

AND...

Thick = frames face = makes me look skinny.

(Sorry all you ladies out there with thin hair, I don't mean to gloat but I'm sure you girls have something like, long slim legs/big eyes/long lashes/straight teeth that God decided not to grant me so that I am a balanced equation.)

The only gripe I have about my hair is because it's so thick, I perspire quite a bit!

So I bun it up at home. And because thick long hair is so versatile for styling, I turn my bun into something useful..

Thick but unkempt. And HOT!!

2-in-1 solution

After a couple of hours. No marks on hair!

Just one of my frequently-used, lazy ways of styling.

Guess what though, Rapunzel probably has ten times more creative ways of putting her hair to good use. What about YOU?! Bring your hair to life at www.magichair.com.sg ;)

Rapunzel: A Tangled Tale Movie is starting from 25th November (3D only) & 2 December island wide, so catch it for a hair-raising experience (funny or not, my pun!!). You can join the official Disney Studios Singapore Facebook & Twitter page to catch up on movie updates too!

p.s.: I had to toss my clothes that were hanging on the hooks aside for the pictures - my room isn't really that neat.

Dos and Don'ts of Travel and Beijing - Part One

2010-11-18T18:56:00.000+08:00

1. DO NOT forget to bring your camera.

It was my first time to Beijing. I had planned on using the trip to expand our meagre photo collection (believe it or not I think David and I have less than 20 photos together). And the only purpose my camera served during my trip was to sit on my table back home in Singapore, 6 hours' plane ride away.

2. DO remember to have an alternative.

I had my Blackberry Bold 9700, which takes amazing pictures. Alas...

3. DO NOT forget to bring the charger of your alternative.

Yep, I forgot that one too. I had probably 3 hours of access to my phone, which battery life I milked to receive BBMs and emails.

4. DO try to stay in Malaysia for some time.

You'll need to pick up serious jaywalking skills. The ones you learn in Singapore are like our textbooks - you think you know the techniques but there's no way it's gonna help you in everyday life.

We jaywalked quite often across this big road to get to a particular bus stop. I once kowtowed to the Malaysians for their jaywalking techniques, but nothing beats the Chinese. It's one thing to jaywalk and stop traffic (like in Little India), but it's another to weave in between vehicles to somehow appear on the opposite side.

5. DO try to do as the Chinese do.

They generally speak in decibels ten times normal people do, push around like it's their right to, and demand more than they ask. If you don't you'll lose out because it's your ear that suffers the ringing (without retribution), it's you that gets squeezed out of the queue/crowd, and you'll probably never get people to listen if you ask.

6. DO NOT become them.

But remember, all of this is an act. Do not allow your Chinese roots to take over and be comfortable in homeland of casual spitting, shoving and second-hand smoking. Keep telling yourself that and you'll be fine.

7. DO remember that not all of them are like that.

I'm ashamed to admit that I once very badly marginalized the China nationals. (To my defence those that I met were really horrid!)

The two Nuffnang China girls are really quite something. Julia is curious, childishly-funny and a whole lot of fun. Rachel is steady, has humor in her sarcasm and dependable. I'd hate to admit it because Dave has an annoying way of bragging but I'll take his finger-pointing and hyena-laughter. Nuffnang China has hired the right people!

8. DO NOT open the wastepaper baskets in toilets

They usually contain stained tissues post-'business'. I was quite put off upon learning about this habit from Dave (who told it during lunch time, no less) and made him ask the girls the reason for not dumping the paper into the toilet bowl after their bowel activities. (I thought it would be rude if I asked since I didn't really know them and Dave's probably said quite a few near-offensive things anyway given his free and spirited nature, and they hadn't quit yet.)

Rachel said that they would love to dump the toilet paper into the bowl if they could, but China's sewage pipes gets congested so frequently that everybody dumps it into the bin.

I found it really unsettling that China made their roads so wide, but they couldn't afford to have thicker pipings?!

9. DO take the subways and buses

I was quite surprised to find out that Beijing has a really comprehensive and efficient subway system. (Did I mention that I was once really biased? The one reason I hated learning Chinese in school was because MM Lee said it'd be the path to China.)

It's a flat rate of RMB 2 for trains, RMB 0.40/RMB1 for buses. They are really convenient, not difficult at all to understand (Korea's was a headache) but it can get a little squeezy during peak hours. (I survive because David pushes me through and takes on the brunt of the shoving.)

10. DO NOT visit the Forbidden City in heels.

Ladies, you heard me. Yes you'll think that looking cooler than anyone else will be well worth it but trust me, an hour into the walk you'd be stabbing yourself mentally for allowing yourself to think that way.

I still draw a line at coats though. No WAY I'd wear those ugly, fat, shiny jackets that makes people look like they're wrapped in coloured bubble wrap. I actually seethed at Dave when he kept pointing them out while I was shopping. And then afterwards I actually relented and tried one on. My gawd.

I need to stay true to my roots!

***

OK. A picture I stole from DW's blog and photoshopped because he mentioned he looked fat.

Abruptly ending this post because I have a cock-up at work. Gahhhhhhh #!#@!$!#@

Disjointed

2010-11-10T01:21:00.001+08:00

Have you ever felt like there's two parts to your life..

And one portion goes fine.
The other, fine as well.

But they just don't fit?

Like little fridge magnets that I've tried binding together, but the magnets keep repelling each other until they stick on the side of each other than face-on-face.

Or worse yet, they just won't stick.

How to be a Friend

2010-11-05T00:14:00.001+08:00

I think I'm a very harsh friend.

Actually, I don't need to think; I have enough people telling me to believe it's true.

Most people like to give advice to try to change their friends' perceptions, but not me. I think that in order to change someone's mind, that person has actually got to go through the lying/cheating/obviously-fucked-up process to learn.

So I end up giving advice people don't want to hear: "Yeah, hang on and you're doomed. But you'd hang on even if I tell you not to, so, whatever, hang on man."

The Problem:
I think that in Life, everything is as how you perceive it to be. Perception is the root of all evil.

For example:

Because I perceive money to be my door to Happiness, I'll perform all sorts of money-grubbing tricks to open that door. Or I'll sit through a lousy job day after day even though I'd rather spend that time flying kites.

Because I perceive Love to solve all problems in life, my life is my love-life. Besides surviving by smelling my lover-stained socks, I also can waste two hours every day staring at his picture.

But people don't believe that. They bank on themselves being great judgement of characters and situations.

That's a folly.

Why is that?
I had this indian-looking tank top which showed my belly button and weird sections of my chest; I have absolutely no idea what led me to make the purchase.

I perceived it to be cool and unique, but when I finally bought it I realised how stupid it looked on me. I would never have admitted back then that I had bad fashion sense.

Actually, I wouldn't admit now that I have bad choices in clothing, but yeah, I'd like to equate my fondness for vintage clothing as a classy and acquired taste.

The conclusion:
Don't try to make your friend see the big picture.

She'll probably only see how ugly the tank top looks after she's tried it.Which also means, ironically, that she's in full control of the situation.

There's always the I-told-you-so dance.

Losing My Mind

2010-10-29T00:31:00.005+08:00

I was lamenting to QY one night about how I couldn't blog regularly even though I want to. I have so many theories and writing ideas floating about in my head every single day but whenever I sit down to translate my thoughts to Blogger.com, my mind draws me a blank.

And then we started talking about Absent-Mindedness and I scrambled to take out my phone: "Oh, I absolutely have to jot this down so I can blog about it." (And here I am, accomplishing said mission.)

I've been trying to convince myself for years that absentmindedness is an illness. Just like how people have depression, I believe forgetting things so often is a natural handicap that some people (like myself) are unfortunate to have.

So I did a search for "Why am I absent minded" and the first few searches were tips on how NOT to be absent-minded, thus throwing my theory of absentmindedness being a disability out of the window! The articles made it seem like absentmindedness is something you can change. Well, If someone gives you tips on "How to reduce fat" it just means: YOU ARE FAT, CHANGE IT.

So being absent minded is a bit like being fat. You stuff yourself silly because your stomach doesn't know it's full. You can't help it and you think it's genetic - your grandmother was fat. But nobody understands. They put up tips on the internet on how to slim down as it it's something you can negotiate. Gosh.

And to the people who think that bringing along your housekeys is a natural instinct that doesn't need effort, I have invited the locksmith to my place not once, but three times. It's futile no matter how hard I try to remember to just walk out the door with my keys in hand.

To comfort myself, I also found that incidentally, some absent minded people happen to be well-known geniuses.

1. Nobert Wiener invented the field of cybernetics. He forgot he’d driven to a conference, took the bus home, and then reported his car stolen when he didn’t see it in his driveway.

Okay, pause. I confess I don't actually give a shit about Cybernetics but for the purpose of this blog post I shall, because it sounds important and geniuses invent important things.

For the uneducated, Cybernetics is the interdisciplinary study of the structure of regulatory systems. Wiener described it as "as the study of control and communication in the animal and the machine". I guess what it means, broadly, is that it's a study of how things work.

2. Isaac Newton (you ought to know what he's famous for) was distracted on the way home by a student, and had to ask the student which way he had been walking (he had forgotten whether he was just entering or just leaving the university building). His response when the student tells him that he was walking out of the university: "Wonderful. That means I've had lunch already."

And the apple fell. (Sorry I couldn't resist.)

3. When Albert Einstein immigrated to the US, he was invited for dinner at the White House. He was two years late because he had misplaced the invitation.

I'm counting my blessings after hearing such terrible forgetfulness. Still, forgetting things is particularly annoying for me. I would have plenty anecdotes to share, but I don't think I can recall even if I wanted to. My frequent mistakes are: locking myself out when I forget my keys, leaving home without my mobile, arriving at the office without my laptop, unable to remember names when I'm introduced in a large group.. etc.

So anyway. I hope I've prepped you enough for a short story I'm going to tell.

This is David. (Yes I need to make sure everything is kept as light as possible, hence the picture for comic relief.)

He came back for two weeks and I went over during the weekends to spend time before he flew to Beijing again.

I took a morning flight back; the plan was to head straight back to the office after I'd touched down. It was 5am. We woke up blurry and lumbered around. It was dark while he drove to the airport. I kept chatting so the long drive wouldn't put him to sleep - well, it was more so I could keep myself awake. Crap, I don't even remember what we spoke about, only that it was raining and I was really sleepy.

He dropped me off to find parking. My phone's battery was dead and I went to search for my check-in. And then the first mix-up happened. I went to the counter and panicked when they said they couldn't find my name on the passenger list.

That's when I realised we didn't specify a meeting point. I scanned the airport, it was unbelievably busy for such an early morning. OK, who am I kidding, it's an aiport for god's sake. I found him, and got chided because I wasn't at the counter where I was supposed to be.

Yeah, I'd forgotten my airline and went to the wrong airline's counter to check myself in. FML #1.

We went for breakfast and David being the scheduled-pooper that all guys are, had to excuse himself for morning unloading. He passed me his car keys, and gave instructions like one would to a child who'd misplace items, "My keys. Keep them safe in your bag."

When he was back, we finished our grossly overpriced breakfast and hugged goodbye on the 30 minute dot that I was to leave for the gates.

When I got back to Singapore, I charged up my blackberry and got a couple of missed calls, some from clients and some from Dave. (Which is weird we have BBM so calling isn't that necessary.)

And a text: "U got my car keys, they paged u but didn't get a response."

Oh, my gawd.

I had brought home his car keys, leaving him stranded in the airport while I flew back to Singapore.

The epitome of all FML situations.

Absentmindedness is a sickness, really.