cherylpoo.blogspot.com

Here comes 2012

2012-01-02T14:44:00.003+08:00

Happy new year, everyone!

My last post was over a year ago. Sorry for the pause guys. I was in the bathroom.

I took the past few weeks looking back at how I spent the year and it just came crashing down on me that I did not take the time to document the unbelievable experiences I've had! In my defense, the thought of coming home to blog after a long day of interviews and writing or even travel can often be very, very unappealing.

But bless those of you who have been checking in and nudging me about this. I really appreciate the encouragement. Writing professionally has been nothing short of a joy that I wake up to every single morning and I cannot thank God enough for it.

I started blogging a couple of years back with the sole intention to practise writing but my hobby grew into something I felt could earn me a living ... and it has. When I look back at my posts, I remember the points in my life when I wrote them - I wasn't always feeling very upbeat or positive, but many times, those experiences made me laugh, people made me laugh, and writing about them reminded me that there were people out there who could be feeling just as glum or beaten. But they might feel better after reading something laughable or inspiring about someone else. I know that sometimes I turn to certain reading materials for that very reason.

This year looks very exciting and you will find out why in the posts to come.

In the meantime, I'm preparing my own website - I AM EXCITED ABOUT THIS - at a secret location which I will soon disclose.

I can promise you more updates and interaction. And I guarantee you'll come back for more.

xoxo,
Cheryl

Scratched eye

2010-11-12T00:49:00.007+08:00

Have I told you about the time my left cornea got scratched? That really hurt!

It happened at the Forbidden City. After I purchased my flat shoes. I'd been in line for two things - entrance ticket and an electronic navigator for the inner city tour. I got the pass- a palm-sized square cardboard - and the device which is basically a squarish plastic gadget with headphones and an LED map on the back. Pretty neat stuff.

I'll describe the scenario at that time. I was standing amidst a mob of Chinese people and let me say something about the mainland breed (and east Asians in general) - they have a very interesting concept of personal space, in which they leave you with none. So you're either sandwiched between 10 Chinese people, or 30, and there are about a further three thousand more surrounding you guys. I had two bags on me - one on each shoulder - a heavy overcoat, the device slung over my neck with its ill-fitting headphone over one ear, sunnies lopsided on my face, hair an intricate network all over, ticket in one hand and a camera in the other.

It happened just as I stood before the gate before handing the ticket to the guard. The earpiece was falling off again as I was trying hard to listen to the voice which at that time was explaining something interesting about one of the nearby structures. My sunnies was falling off too. So were my bags. So I reached up - one hand to readjust the shades and the other to straighten the earpiece and that's when a corner of the ticket in my left hand made a clean flick right over my left eyeball. Folks, the pain was instantaneous. And lasting.

My initial reaction was to cup my hand over the the other eye and see out of my injured eye to be sure that it wasn't blinded. Mercifully, not blind but tearing rivers. Next, I reached in and tapped the eyeball gently with my finger just to make sure that it wasn't bleeding. Not the most hygienic thing to do but I needed to make sure. My rationale was quite simple: Rush to the hospital for treatment if there was blood but since there wasn't, I was quite happy to go about my day at the ancient district and head for the airport thereafter.

But oh my poor eye. It teared all through the day and got really bad during the flight home - the cabin pressure had made it worse - and continued to tear as I went to bed and woke up in the morning. The eye had gotten really light-sensitive and for most of the six-hour flight, I sat with a wad of tissue over my eye as tears (from a single eye) streamed down my face. I received kind smiles from the cabin crew who must have felt sorry for the poor lassie with the broken heart. And when the entertainment box set reached me, I listened to movies with my eyes closed. For some reason, my right eye had started tearing as well and that's when I grew concerned.

Anyway, after a quick consultation at the eye hospital the next morning (to specialists, corneal grazes like these are as insignificant as chipped nails), some antibiotics, lubricants and a three-day healing process, my eye's all good now. I think I've been extremely fortunate to have not scratched the pupil for the laser check revealed that the scratch missed the centre by several mm.

Thanking God that the cornea happens to be the fastest healing tissue in the body.

Happy feet

2010-11-08T18:12:00.011+08:00

Do you ever wonder if you can be highly unfashionable and happy at the same time? I've asked myself this and yesterday, around 9.30am, I realised that YES, it's absolutely possible.

Work recently had me travel to Beijing for three days and because I knew the agenda was to be quite packed, I thought it was be a good idea to travel lighter, which in this case meant bringing less shoes. Usually, I pack an extra pair or two, including a pair of sport shoes for a quick workout in the morning. But this time, my stroke of genius said Hey, why not just bring the one pair that I wear and keep it on there and back. And hey, of all the comfortable shoes in my keep, why not wear that versatile and smart-looking pair of boots without bringing another? The one that I know starts to hurt after a few hours. In hindsight, I cannot imagine my rationale for wanting to travel light because I had extra baggage allowance allocated for me. Perhaps it was because back when I was younger, I was teased plenty for packing more options for overnights and travels. An extra shirt or two may seem redundant but when your friends decide to slather cream and eggs all over you or if you slip and fall into a pond or want to lose that sweater for a T-shirt, you'll have options in your bag - not that any of the above ever happened to me.

When I was packing for this trip, I remember thinking that since I would in contact with business associates all the time, it would be good to not look sloppy in flats at any point. (Flats, in my opinion, are a necessity for everyday wear especially if your work requires you to scurry around all day. They can be pretty and exquisite and fashionable, but they offer no height and I'm not one for standing beneath the armpits of Europeans when I converse with them.) Flats are also great if you're tall. But if you don't have the gift of height to your advantage, a decent pair of two-inch heels is always necessary. Bring them everywhere with you. If on tiptoes you stand at five feet, it's quite imperative that you learn to use five-inch heels comfortably and develop a really charming personality. (Having said that, if you're already in possession of the latter, you can get away with anything.)

So, bottom line, I kept my four-inch boots on throughout. By the second night I was fighting back tears. So, the next morning, during my excursion to the Forbidden City in Beijing, I made a beeline for the first souvenir peddler I saw and purchased a pair of flats. I didn't even bother to bargain with the peddler. I gave her the money and came close to hugging her for saving my life.

A stall of sorts at the Forbidden City in the Tien-Anmen district

Instant relief: A highly unflattering shot of my relieved feet

And because of that, I could enjoy my two hours at the Forbidden City. As you see in the photo, the pavement isn't exactly heel-friendly. It gets even worse further down - filled with dips and cracks. (By the way, did you know that I'm a great descendant of the Emperor Pu Yi of the Qing Dynasty? But that's a story for another day.)

So the moral value from this: Pack extra shoes no matter what. And don't let your ghosts from past travels stop you from bringing what's necessary. At any point in time, a pair or heels, flat shoes and flip flops must be securely tucked into the suitcase.

Drugs made my brother funny

2010-10-23T19:12:00.005+08:00

I'm sitting now in the KL Sports Medical Centre having waited out my brother's arm operation the entire afternoon. He's out now and his arm's looking good. Nevermind that he was acting like a drunkard when we came to 15 minutes after the surgery. Now I know why hospitals usually confine post-op patients for at least half an hour before releasing them to their rooms. We caught him before the drugs thinned off and it was hilarious!

My brother was scowling when the nurse led us to him in the bay. He seemed really restless and...squirmey...and rather much like a drunk.

"How are you, Gene," we chorus. My dad had chirped, my sister purred, my mother cooed and I just barked at him.

He tries to sit up. "Huh? I, uh... I'm still unconscious,"he replies. I know my brother and this isn't one of those times he tries to be funny. "Is the doctor here? I have some very specific questions for him.

"Yes, son, how can I help you? Are you in pain?"

Eugene nods and tries to get up again. My sister pushes him back down firmly.

"What did you do to my arm?"

"We've straightened out your bone and it's looking good, son."

"Uh, how *slur* did you do it?"

"We cut your arm open..."

"You cut my arm???"

"Yes, we cut it open and..."

"Cut with what?"

"Don't you worry about that, son. The plate is in and your arm will be perfect in no time."

"Oh," he says gravely. Then he relaxes and seems to accept the explanation.

Not for long.

"Doctor. What are the results of my operation?"

Doctor flashes him the thumbs up sign. "All was great, boy. You're good as new."

"Oh," my brother replies seriously, a look of understanding on his face. Then he slumps over to one side and sighs.

"Doctor."

"Yes?"

"How is my arm?"

And so we listened to another three sets of my brother's repeat questions.

All this while I was giggling like a school girl in a corner. It was just funny listening to the conversation go that way.

The great east asian cuisine

2010-10-19T00:52:00.005+08:00

Yesterday evening, after swimming I got home hungry as a horse. Swimming in icy cold water after a thunderstorm will do that to you. When our maid told me we were gonna have Korean for dinner, I let out a loud whoop (in my head) and fairly leapt up the stairs to my room for a nice, hot shower, all the while imagining tucking into my meal. Korean's always great. A simple yet expansive cuisine of appetite-whetting delights. It's the sourish, spicy tang; always makes you want more. The more you eat, the hungrier you get!

I envisioned a piping hot spicy soup, tender strips of lamb, lots of kimchi, marinated noodle and a plate of succulent roast pork perhaps. My mummy's a great chef and this would be one of those meals one never forgets.

My parents were already seated when I got there.

And there, in a porcelain bowl, layeth my Korean meal: A steaming bowl of Korean instant noodles.

Fools of sorts

2010-10-16T23:31:00.006+08:00

As a journalist, I meet people of sorts on a daily basis. Like a box of chocolates one samples, there are the sweet, the rich, the the bitter, the funky and occasionally, the stale and dull.

Very recently, I met a man at a function whom I really wished would spend just a little more time developing himself. I was going around getting acquainted with the socialites when I came across two men engaged in a light conversation. The geeky one informed me that he was company staff; the other, I noticed, was a guest, and from his foolery, tipsy from the drinks of the night.

Now, I have a few, specific problems with people who talk stupid. Tonight, to commemorate the fools I've recently met, I shall simply name a few:

1. The type that expects me to know who they are and what they do without tellinng me.

The media's job is to sniff out a good story, sink their teeth into it and announce the truth. Not follow the trail of flashy, self-indulgent socialites. If you fancy a following, blog your thoughts and activities, then count your hits. And bear in mind that 40% read what you say just to disagree. Or laugh behind your back.

2. The type who refuses to reveal his name or profession even after being asked repeatedly because 'oh-you-don't-know-who-I-am'?

This just adds weight to the saying 'there are no stupid questions; only stupid answers. Offering an annoyingly immature answer one time is bad enough. Doing it repeatedly is begging to be tagged as an individual with subnormal intelligence. The gentleman I spoke with that night successfully earned himself that spot in my mind. If you're a teacher, say "I'm a teacher". If you play music for a living, say "I'm a musician". Try it. There you go. Three pats on the back.

3. The sort of employee who attends company functions and does...nothing.

I know, let's face it, who enjoys events. Unless they're launching something like, say, the IPHONE4? I understand. But if you're representing a body, trust me, your guests will appreciate your getting involved. People come to network. And invited medias are there to interview the right people with enlightening comments. So if a member of the media asks a question, like WHO THE HELL IS THIS GUY, you, the host, shall state the name of the guy. Yes, just that. Not tell me things like:

- Oh, I'm surprised that you don't know him

- You don't know him? He's really well known!

- Why don't you ask him? (I already have, you moron. He's drunk and talking stupid, that's why I'm asking you... which is a mistake because you're not even drunk but sound so stupid)

- That was awkward that you didn't know him. (No, not awkward at all. I wasn't, and neither was the fancy gentleman. But you twit you should feel awkward because on a scale of intelligence with 1 being the highest and 10 being the lowest a human can possibly achieve, you are definitely a high 15.)

This guy here did not impress me. Nuh-uh-uh. What he really did was impress upon me that no matter where we go, fools exist.

And friends, as a parting word; wisdom does not come naturally with age.

So, in conclusion, you want to know what I did? Would you have thought me to be the sort who'd walk up to someone's superior and toss in some negative feedback?

I'm glad, because that's just not my style.

I simply smiled at him.

But not with my eyes.

A photo with Karen Mok

2010-10-14T01:21:00.007+08:00

Check this out - a picture with the spunky Karen Mok. I'm in Singapore now for the launch of one of the leading diamond experts and I was pleasantly surprised to learn that this celeb would be officiating. Managed to catch her for this shot after all the other medias had finally left her alone. (By the way, I realise that I look very wide and very greasy-faced (darn the flash!) in the picture. But this is how I console; myself: It's not that I look bad; Karen Mok just looks REALLY good.)

I wouldn't call myself a die hard fan. An admirer of her sense of style, yes; her unabashed sense of comedy in movies, yes.

Getting this shot with her was painful, in every sense of the word. I'd wanted a shot with her but she was being whisked around so I waited and kept busy by interviewing other people. About 45 minutes later, her interview still ongoing and my team faint with hunger, we made for the restaurant - a good 12-minute walk within the Marina Bay Sands. It was that walk that had me painfully aware of the fact that all eight stones of my body weight had been sitting on the arch of my toes for the past two and a half house. I'm a flip flops girl, mind you. Anything beyond two inches begs for trouble. And possible tripping and then a broken head.

When we reached the restaurant, hardly had I caught my breath when one of the guys informed me that KM was available for pictures. So I went with him. The same long walk back from where we came from. And into a quiet room that reminded me of an Underworld den, where the celeb sat unwinding from the noise and lights.

So here we go (see our faces here. A forced smile on mine amidst the pain (Have you counted the times I mention the word 'pain'). I could have sworn that my pumps were filled with my blood. And the lovely Karen Mok; face aglow. She was wearing some pretty high heels too. Unlike me, she's been doing this a long time - wearing uncomfortable shoes, that is. She probably can't even feel her feet anymore.

Time to sleep now. A long day of eating and relaxing tomorrow!

Back from the East coast

2010-10-05T01:33:00.009+08:00

And so it will happen once again tonight that I will fall into a deep, restful sleep just as I did yesterday. And Saturday night. I'd woken up on Sunday morning to the sound of waves washing ashore while I lay on a plush bed in a beautiful resort room- might I mention that it was way past the time I was supposed to get up - thinking that that was indeed the best sleep I'd ever had.

It's been a week of work-related travels but the one I just came back from this weekend, is one of the best work trips one could possibly dream of. Just imagine a beautiful beach, crystal clear waters, a gorgeous and peaceful resort with impeccable service, delicious food, great company, a sunny sun, cool evenings from evening downpours... and check this out, folks: This was part of my work!

I was happy to be there, and for three days, immerse myself in the moment, soak in the pleasures and shove everything else out of my mind. And that I did, yes, I was a total beach-loving, life-living summer patron.

It's a busy month with lots of movement and scrambling to put my thoughts together to churn out the pieces. Some days are more difficult than others, when my mind is so cluttered that I don't know where to begin. Weaving a story together can be draining.

I travel again this weekend and next week.

For now, I leave you with these:

The Eastcoast-ern version of the Western fish n chips, only better: Tender fish with an amazingly yummy crunch with Thai-sauce. And the chips replaced with keropok!

The original lekor. What's Malaysia without it???

Breathtaking.

We cleaned the beach and seabed!

A beautiful day

After a night of absolutely sinful culinary indulgences, this was my breakfast. Plus one little piece of hash brown you see behind. Awesome!

The happy camper.

Missing my cat

2010-09-29T16:37:00.007+08:00

Kuching airport, 5.25pm

I went to bed early yesterday night - the earliest in months - at 12am but my mind woke me around 3 and kept me up for about two hours. I lay in the dark thinking, aching, feeling the weight of the grief that has yet to ease. Grief is such a big and inevitable part of this life that just sucks the air out of my chest and leaves me feeling like I've been shot right in the heart where no balm can possibly mend.

I feel foolish for not being able to get over the death of my pet cat when there is so much suffering going on around me in this world. People grieve the loss of a spouse, parents, friends, old people, even children but here I am, unable to let go of an animal. And I miss her every minute of every hour of every day.

A few people have asked me if I'd like another little kitty. Not for now. It's not another cat that I want; I want Coookie, specifically.

What wouldn't I give to hold her now and kiss her little head. I'll be boarding the plane soon. The last time I was away, I was so anxious to get back to see her. Everything is so different now without her. The emptiness of not hearing her sound; not seeing her chase around in the garden; waking up to the painful reality that she is no more; and going to bed in the dark of the night with images of my last moments with her swirling in my head.

At this point, I don't know how to 'get a grip', or how else to do it. I'm not moping around. I get up and go to work, I smile and laugh with friends and colleagues, I enjoy whatever I can; I eat, sing, run. It's not a ruse. I just do all of the above with a dull ache in my heart. Time has always been a great healer but I'm still waiting this out.

I have to catch the homebound flight now. The last time I flew home from overseas, I could hardly wait to unload my stuff before I reached for her and embraced her. I remember the very first time I did that when she was younger. She seemed surprised; she actually stared at me for a while before relaxing her head against my shirt.

This. Is. Rough.

Bye, baby

2010-09-10T14:48:00.010+08:00

Having regained a little control over my wrecked, emotional self, I woke up strong enough today to talk about a recent painful event.

I'd just had Cookie spayed a week back and confined her in a cage downstairs for her safety. I was perfectly clear in my instruction to everyone in the household that I did not want to risk the possibility of infection or a roadkill, which is not impossible in this concrete jungle. You can't keep a cat from its roaming and predatory instincts but you can minimise the risks. Unbeknownst to me until recently, my maid would let Cookie out to play on the road outside while she did her work there. In the wee hours of the morning last Friday, my maid released her into the garden and left her unattended. That was how - from habit - my baby made her way out and met the wheels of a speeding motorist, whom, by the way, doubled back to watch her struggle and die, but did not bother to bring her in. My neighbour witnessed the accident from his room and alerted my maid.

Minutes later, I awoke to the cursed news she came to bear. The cat's dead, she chanted through crocodile tears. Now why would I say something like that? Because through giggles, she later dismissed her irresponsibility and its consequence as an 'act of god'. Really? I'd like to have Ong-Bak-ed her in the rib and call it fate.

For the longest time, I'd not experienced the same gripping sorrow I felt then as I held Cookie's broken body for the last time before lowering her into the earth. I ran my hand through her beautiful grey-white coat and wept. I wept then, I wept at work, I wept at the end of the day, I wept through the night, the next day, and the next, until today where I feel I must put some closure to my gaping wound.

Dealing with mortality is rough enough on its own, but when it's sudden, there's nothing quite as excruciating. It's really crazy but amazingly so how these creatures can be such a big part of our lives. I had plans for her: to have her with me at Christmas; photography sessions; ultimately to have her live a long and happy life with me years into the future.

I miss her noisy protest, the frustrated bleat she expressed when she pounced down on flies, her adorable leggy trot and her constant head butting for a good cuddle. I miss not whispering goodnight, darling when she went to sleep at night. Most of all, I miss those adoring eyes - curiously round, bright, gentle and full of hope.

What shall we name her, my sister and I wondered when we took her in.

"Let's call her Patches!" my sister had said excitedly.

"Just which part of her is patchy?" I asked.

"Let's call her Michelin!"

"Like Michelin - the tyre company? Why?" I was starting to wonder if asking her for suggestions was a mistake.

"Fine. Let's call her Supper!"

"Like eating sinfully at night?"

"Why not, Supper is a great name. Oh fine. Come on, let's just go with Patches!"

"Never call anything Patches. Patches how you describe, say...a disease. So don't even think about it - we're not calling her that," I said firmly.

Over the next few days, we debated until she came up with Cookie. Hmm, Cookie... Well, I had to admit that it was cute, although I personally prefer to name a cat a prettier, non-food name, but for the lack of better ideas, we went with this. Plus, Cookie responded very well to it.

So Cookie she was, the four-month old kitten then that entered our lives and showed me what compassion and love for an animal is all about, along with the dark sadness that comes with their departure.

Whenever I walk past my garden, I glance over at her little grave beside my childhood swing to acknowledge the beautiful memories we built together - playing together in the garden; running my hand over her gorgeous coat when she fed; and quiet moments with her, soft warm body cosy in my arms, that blissful purr, gentle breeze against our skin. She was so special and so perfect; a stranger who came to us in the night, gave me her everything as she took her place in my life and departed with a piece of my heart.

I did something horrible to my friend's kid

2010-05-23T23:05:00.009+08:00

You know what. Now that I'm starting to write again, waves and waves of memories are flooding back into my mind. Of things things that have happened in the past, memories I cannot forget. Among these is a little incident - a most tormenting one - that I can't seem to erase, no matter how hard I try. It's about something that I did to my friend's kid (or rather, something I didn't do for him ). I want to be released myself from this condemnation. Maybe talking about it will help.

I was watching the movie Red Cliff today and a scene in particular reminded of me of what I'm about to disclose. It was horse labour scene. Beautiful, and very touching. Also very yucky because it was all gook and horse uterus.

Before I begin, I must say that I'm fully aware of the fact that there is no direct relation between my story and the horse labour scene, but my mind works in mysterious ways, so let's please not question its workings.

Two years ago, my friend gave birth to a little cutie, whom I absolutely adore. He's a fun little guy. How about a round of applause for the warm maternal fuzz. Now that I've gotten you to assume my love for the kid, I must be completely honest. It's not just love, I also do it out of fear. Because if I let any danger befall him, his mother will rip me apart with her bare hands, but not before causing my eardrums to implode with her lungs. I kid you not. So technically, by guarding her precious son's life, I'm protecting mine. Some of you know whom I speak of. Bless your soul.

We recently went for the Terry Fox run together. After the run, she left me to watch her little boy so she could hit the ladies' and grab some snacks nearby. I told her I'd stay put with him in his buggy while I sat lazily on the kerb. He sat quite placidly (very unlike his usual self; being pushed in a stroller for 5km must have really taken it out of him), watching me as I watched him.

Our presence soon attracted the attention of a little girl, about his age, playing near us with her mum and her friends. As she approached us, a quiet mental note I made was how filthy she looked. This is where my earlier description of the horse birth in Red Cliff comes into play. I don't think I've seen a grubbier girl ever. I suppose I thought of her when I was watching the foal crawl out of the dark hole because somehow, that little girl seemed to possess that same fresh-from-birth/ miner-raunchy quality of things that are raw and untouched by the miracle of cleansing waters have. But wait, this is not the disgusting part.

We welcomed her, for she really was a cute and fearless little thing. She and my kid had begun engage in a serious conversation about the economy and the nation's most unpopular politician of 2009. I couldn't keep up so I started rumaging through the baby bag to look busy. [By the way, when I refer to him as 'my kid', please know that I'm still referring to my friend's boy. What. Do I look like I've had a kid? Do I have wide, child-borne hips? A plague o' both your houses if that thought ever crossed your mind.]

I found a container with baby crackers so I started feeding the boy. Of course I offered the little girl a helping too. She smiled and took one. And another. And another. And another. Not that I minded a single bit, of course. The boy had stopped eating and was staring at her expressionless. Did he have the hots for her?, I wondered. Or maybe he was connecting the smudges on her face. Who can know what a one-year old boy is thinking!

Here's the disgusting part: Do you know what the little girl did? She took another cracker from the box, chewed it for a bit and then removed it from her mouth with her hand and shoved it into my kid's mouth. Before my hand reached him, he swallowed it. It was after all, cud from another fellow human being, well-chewed and ready for digestion. Did I tell you that the girl's mother was highly approving of her benevolent act? She embraced her child. Her friends embraced her child. I smiled at her chid, but my eyes strongly suggested that she will pay for this one day.

Oh dear. What was I to do? Force gag the boy? Yes, actually, I think I should have. But why did he have to swallow so quickly? I'm not a fan of saliva and neither is his mum, and if she finds out (let's pray she doesn't read this) that I let her son down someone's spittle, she will not be pleased. I could have dropped her son into the lake, and that would have garnered more thanks than this.

If you have a solution, please provide it in the comments section ASAP.

My family will never be the same again

2010-04-11T23:17:00.007+08:00

Tonight my family went for dinner in a Chinese restaurant. What we normally do is book us a dining room with a karaoke set for our entertainment. Yes, that's exactly it. Our singing entertains no one but ourselves.

After listening to my uncle screech through half a dozen songs, my dad got me to choose a number for myself. I leafed through the meagre list and finally chose 'Always' by Atlantic Star. You've gotta know it; it's beautiful. I was handed the mic and asked my dad to grab the other, since it was a duet piece.

We were having good fun, pitching off here and there and laughing it off. Everyone was visibly having a good time. You know those karaoke videos work, if what's displayed is not the original version. There's the guy, there's the girl, and they are so in love. They stroll down sandy beaches hand-in-hand; they feed each other grapes; they caress each other's faces tenderly; they run or laugh or dance with each other; scenes like that. But the director of the video to which we sang to tonight was beyond these pretty, innocent couple camaraderies. Oh yes, he had stronger ideas about what love was and how it be projected.

As we sang, the following scene would change my life. In fact, ruin it forever. From the innocent garden scenes, the couple was now in bed. Sharing a moment of intimacy with each other. Fondling her neck with his sultry lips. Ever so gently, ever so lovingly. FOR QUITE A WHILE.

From the corner of my eye, I watched my father lower his mic as his voice trailed off. I looked away and cringed. The happy chatter of my relatives had suddenly died down as we watched the screen in horror. I wanted to jam my chopsticks into my eyes. I wanted to run my fingernails down a blackboard for kicks. I wanted to go to work. I wanted to marry an Orc. Anyone, anything but this. Can anything be more horrifying than accidentally viewing porn with your family as you enjoy an old classic with your father?

I have hardly said a word to him since. I envy his mature age and ability to forget things. But I, on the other hand, am young and brilliant, and sharp. I have fantastic visual memory.

Bloody Chinese restaurant karaoke. I'd like to have them know that we would have greatly appreciated some warning. What about "Contains explicit sexual scenes: Not suitable for duet singing between fathers and daughters" huh? Or "Erotica: Sing to your detriment". What about that huh? Huh???

A remotely annoying situation

2010-04-11T23:14:00.004+08:00

would be an instance where a random old man strikes up a conversation with you and keeps you listening for a long, long time.

See, just the other day I'd done my rounds at the part and was about to hoist myself up a bar when a voice next to brayed, "Say, what's that made of?" An elderly man was eyeing my knee guard with interest although I couldn't imagine why since he had one on. Was it because he couldn't see how a regular sized one could bind an abnormally chubby knee like mine?

I removed an earphone. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know," I said, fixed my earphones and repositioned my hands on the bar.

"Orrrph orrpgh orrrbrough?"

I removed my earphones again. "I'm sorry?"

"Is it stretchy?"

"Yes, it's stretchy," I replied with a loving smile, wore my earphone and reached for the bar again.

"Orph yoph nrorph?" he asked.

Have you ever had a meal with someone who didn't let you eat by asking you many many questions? The same thing was happening here during my precious workout time. How was I supposed to lift my person and engage in my fat-busting workout with all that distraction???

I removed my earphones again. Big mistake. He then proceeded to tell me about himself, his profession, his new interests, why the new interests, where the new interests were taking him and how those new interests developed. Have you ever been caught in a moment where time stood so still that all you could sense with your living body was your regret for removing your earphones?

Somebody kill me. It was ACCA flashback, a time where I had to endure classes and tutorials that started at 9am and ended at 9pm with three 20-minute breaks in between.

I simply stood there listlessly listening to him with quivering lips. That's how I thought I looked. Instead, I stood there politely, smiling, nodding my head, smiling, nodding my head, engaging. In hindsight, I think my behaviour was what egged him on.

Then he asked if I was working or a student. Working, I told him. He was on the topic of writing (his new interest) and said this:

"....someone like me would have ya'know, a mature view on things whereas a younger person like you would have a fresh, teenager viewpoint."

Teenager viewpoint???

I was starting to feel quite annoyed but greater was my annoyance at myself for allowing him to waste my time. This wasn't the first time I stood listening to someone prattle on when I had better to do. My hands were inching up to strangle myself but of course of course, I knew that strangling oneself would be an impossible thing to do.

I finally snapped. I excused myself. And I left.

As I walked towards my car, I realised that I'd just allowed someone to unleash his word quota for the day over me (with my permission).

I know what I'll do the next time something like this starts to happen again. When a stranger approaches me, I shall let my eyes glaze over and let my mouth gape a little. Then I shall position my head in a way that gives me a double chin. You should try it in the mirror to see what I'm talking about. There you go. You look special, eh? Well, I shall do just that. And I'll bet that no one will try to bug me ever.

Ever.

Ever.

The Lemang lady

2009-09-20T23:57:00.004+08:00

This morning, in the spirit of the festivity of Raya, I stopped by the roadside to get some Lemang. Y'know, that pulut stuff. (I'd only found out this morning that that's what it's called - Lemang).

Hawc chatted with the peddler woman as we waited while she prepared our purchase. I felt bad for her that she had to work when others get these few days off. Sorrier still was that she was working alone. No helper, no family member to be with her to help set up her stall, help with the packaging and payment or protect her if some heartless soul should rob her.

She explained that she had to work or she'd have no income for the day, which would mean she wouldn't have money to give to her kids, which also meant that they'd be sulky about it.

Seemed unacceptable to me that those kids could be so selfish and unkind but I suppose that this is the current generation that is coming after us, one filled with self-centered individuals. And it's not just the rich whose kids are affected, the mentality prevails among the poor just the same. I think it's largely to do with parenting. This world is filled with people who've had to fight very hard for what they've had, and the pattern with such folk is that they don't want their children to have to brave similar hardships, hence, sheltered kids.

Sometimes I wonder if I've made my own mother feel the same way the Lemang makcik felt this morning, that she had to make sure she sure she went the extra mile just so I would be happy. Yes, without a doubt. I suppose all good mothers do what they do, they serve their family, but I wonder if this world would be a far happier place if we all were to do a little, just a little something everyday, in attempt to outdo what our parents have been doing for us. It would be virtually futile of course, to achieve something like that, but it's better than nothing.

Yup, without a doubt.

The 7th day

2009-08-16T02:01:00.007+08:00

There was a time in my life where rest days were non-existent. I'd felt strongly then that my youth was best spent building my future; developing skills and creating a wealth so that I may have life easier in later years. The former, yes, but the latter practice I can no longer see reason at this point. I believed in going to extremes with the idea of compressing time for learning, for quicker results, and for a thrill I so loved. I believed in cutting out sleeping hours, meal times, recreation, the works. All of this for: The Future.

Through time, I began to see I did not need to remove balance from my life in order to be above mediocrity. Mediocrity is not measured by your social status, your paycheck, or even your appearance, although an undesirable degree of these may be by-products of a sense of indifference or slightly worse, a deceptively shallow mind. Mediocrity is apathy, poor attitude and unwillingness, traits that (I thank Jesus) do not run in my blood.

This year, I discovered the secret joy of resting on the 7th day of the week. Since I spend weekdays herding turkeys and Saturdays (daytime) running errands, my 7th day begins at 5.30pm in service and effectively ends the next night. I'm enjoying it so much that I wonder why hadn't I lived like this earlier. I suppose I know the answer to that but this way is just more... fun, more rewarding, more bespeaking of a normalcy a 25-year-old oughta have after all this time.

Adidas 11km run - The detour

2009-08-11T23:16:00.008+08:00

Sam and I arrived around 6.30am just in time to meet the other guys to help each other with the bibs, to stretch out, etc. Then we headed over to the starting line and I gave Serena a call. We were to meet each other at the starting line at the flag off. The guys went off but Sam said he'd look out for me when they ran past.

The pistol fired and some 2 out of 10,000 bodies brushed past me as I stood by the side waiting for Serena. I waited and waited. Another thousand people ran past me and I felt someone tap me lightly. Sam

"Come on, Cheryl, let's go!"

"I'm waiting for Serena. Catch up with your guys further up!" I called back.

So I waited and waited some more and then my phone rang.

"Cheryl!" Pant pant. "Where are you!" Pant pant pant. "I've gone past the arch! Bye!"

If I could spot her, I would have throttled her right there and then. Mercifully for her, she was camouflaged in her neon yellow running vest running amongst the other 9,999 runners. I was annoyed and wanted nothing more than to track her down and bob her one.

So I started running with the hope of finding the guys. Wasn't sure if I would find them since they were planning on gunning it this time and I was in no shape to gun anything. After a few minutes of half-sprinting and dodging sweaty, slimy bodies, I found Sam (thanks to his engine red top) and the other two. Found a comfortable pace running alongside Nat and so the run began.

After some 3km, Nat began to slow down. I thought he had a stitch so I paced down too. I was surprised when he didn't pick up but started walking instead. Strange. I asked him what was wrong. Said told me his tummy was queasy and needed the loo. Concord hotel was just 300m up the road, across the street so we made our way there. I wanted so much to complete the run but (unlike a certain wretch who abandons friends) decided to stick with Nat to make sure he'd be alright.

So we got to the hotel and he made his way to the men's. Now that I was there, I felt something myself. Dang. The Nasi Briyani Daging from the night before! And so I went and did a Number Two myself while waiting for Nat. You see, it's good practice to not waste time not doing anything.

Nat got out, had some warm water, and we were good to go. We'd lost about 40minutes in all, and because he wasn't completely well, we doubled back from where we came from and hoped to reach the finish before the rest. The plan was to tell Sam we'd reached and give him a hard time for taking so long. You wouldn't imagine what he'd put us through after the Shape run. Wait. You do know Sam. You would know what he put us through.

1km later, we got in line with the herd of runners completing their 8th km. We found Jeremy and ran with him right to the finish and guess what, Sam was there long before us.

Then I found the good-for-nothing and snapped a pic with her.

Goodbye, Michael

2009-08-06T00:28:00.003+08:00

Been watching some videos of Michael Jackson, those of his performances as a child - I love those - and came across this. I can't describe how I feel watching it. I actually really really feel like weeping. I can't get over the loss of him in our world. I've never seen a performer like him. There are many astounding dancers in this world and I must be honest when I say that I sometimes can't tell between him and his backing dancers because they're almost as good. But his undeniable presence, there's nothing like it.

We used to have a tape containing his hit videos (Billy Jean, Beat It, Thriller) that I used to watch all the time. It was a time filler that my folks allowed me to watch when they had to leave me home for a bit and they knew I'd be still watching it. I used to try out his moves and do those sharp spins like him. To me, he was the epitome of cool (still is, actually) and I'm proud to say that he was my very first understanding of pop.

He was such a household name for me, my friends and an evergreen topic of discussion in conversations with people. Somehow, there's just no one that did/does not know his name. I listened to countless unfounded allegations against him - the molestation in '93, the public's disgust with his facial reconstructive surgeries and many many more - without commenting, and I'm glad for that! I guess I just never really gave much thought as to whether people were right or not about what he did in his private life; I wasn't there with him, neither were the masses, so in my opinion, we all deserved to shut up actually. Now that I think about it, I can't find a reason to believe that he ever did molest any kids. It's gotta suck when you reach out to underprivileged people to make a difference for them to have them turn their back on you.

I can't say I fully believe Michael Jackson's side of the story either, about his childhood of torment and abuse to the extent he revealed. I'm not saying that he lied, but perhaps his sensitive nature, coupled with his many unresolved issues, amplified any pain another may have shouldered differently. But I felt for him and could imagine why he always spoke of loneliness.

I'm sad that I took for granted that he'd be around forever and wonder what possessed me to not jump at the chance of his concert right here in KL.

It pains me especially when I watch videos of him as that tiny but amazingly gifted tot as part of the Jackson 5. Imagine having a kid brother like that and losing him at some point later on. He was the sorta kid you wanna embrace and treat to candy and movies for being such a good boy, for working so hard.

Who would've imagine that a wholesome-looking kid like that would yes have a wildly successful music career but live such a tragic life of emotional pain and wreckage. I could really learn one thing from him, though. He knew how to channel all that stuff in his life into his greatest passions and make it beautiful for millions of people around the world. What a man and now, what a loss.

Shape night run

2009-07-26T13:02:00.009+08:00

I just uploaded yesterday's run's photos onto Facebook (my bi-annual routine). Pretty fun run considering the fact that I been under-exercised and under-rested the past few weeks. Thank goodness for good running partners who made it all such a great experience.

The first 5km were strenuous. My sides were in knots the whole time because of the lack of daily muscle conditioning but it was good having Jeremy by my side. My heart sank when after what seemed like eternity I caught sight of the 5km mark. But I picked up there and the next 3-4km were easier with the momentum and all. The final stretch was painfully grueling but the only trick, I've learned, is to just keep going. Better to push and complete quicker than fall behind and prolong the pain.

This was just past the finish line, where our sprint left me feeling quite sick

This was us slumped in weariness save for the very sprightly Sam whose ceaseless enthusiastic chatter drained me more than the run did

Jeremy, twice my height and a constant by my side throughout... until a phone call came in and I lost him

so I finished with Nat and Daryl. We sprinted the last 200meters or so right to the finish and I near-barfed before the nice lady who handed me the finishers' cert

Thanks to Jowee for keeping our stuff safe

We each topped our Personal Best, which was a pretty good feeling, all in good time leading up to next week's King of the road.

You're on next week, Serena. I can't wait:)

Saved by the Heimlich

2009-07-15T23:25:00.007+08:00

My friend nearly choked to death and I was able to save him because I watched Mrs Doubtfire.

Whenever I see kids watching TV, I think, GOOD. EDUCATION. Thanks to Mrs Doubtfire that I watched when I was little, I saved a man's life last week. You know the Heimlich manouvere? A pretty darn useful manouvere.

And oh, Mrs Doubtfire's that hit kiddy comedy by Robbin Williams where his ex-wife gets full custody of the kids through a divorce and he dresses up as a nanny (one that gives you the willies) to be with his adoring kids. That was one queer looking nanny. Being the mean kid I was, I would have beat 'shim' up..nothing like the loving kids in the show.

So at dinner, he-who-shall-remain-nameless reaches for a lychee and walla, he chokes. I look up from my bowl, cast an irritated look and continue eating. Then, after a bit, when the prolonged gasping for air doesn't stop, it hits me that he's seriously choking.

I'd never had any experience with First Aid (except for eating when I'm hungry, I think that's the most crucial First Aid) At that point, I remember recalling that scene from Mrs Doubtfire where Robbin Williams does the Heimlich on his ex-wife's beau. Instinctively, I did the exact same thing - grabbed round his upper belly - and forced the friggin' fruit out. In two single pushes, it shot out to the ground. The plucky victim picked it up and paraded it on a place in the middle of dinner table for all to see.

I was haunted over the next few nights as I lay in bed wondering just what if I hadn't done that for him. He could have died. So I told a friend about it.

And he said: Wow, that must have been some scare for the fiance.

And I said: We're not engaged.

To which he was surprised and said: Uh, perhaps you should have left the lychee in there.

To which I'm thinking, I will the next time.

A brush with death

2009-07-12T01:24:00.007+08:00

On Friday evening, I made an illegal u-turn that nearly cost me my life. In a foolish attempt cut short my journey, I made a sharp 'u' onto a busy four-laner. Stationary vehicles lined the first two lanes before a traffic light, speeding vehicles on the third and fourth. As I took the bend, my car's limited steering radius prevented me from keeping to the first two lanes and instead, threw me sharply into the third. Darted a glance at the direction of the oncoming cars and saw one whizzing directly at me at break-neck speed. The driver couldn't have stopped with the speeding traffic behind him. I had exactly a quarter of a second to realise that the impact would result in a several-car-crash that would either 1) slice my car (and me) into half, or 2) crush it into pulp.

Someway, somehow, miraculously, it didn't. Barely inches away, the driver swerved (and missed my car just by the skin of my teeth) without throwing the car on its left off course.

It was only after steering away to safety that I realised just how close a call that was. It happened so fast that there wasn't, I later realised, much time to process the fear. Had the car not swerved, I can't even begin to think how different my life would have been if not completely taken away. Such a close one, as were so many other ocasisons I was careless on the road.

How do you thank a God whose hand never leaves your side.

Melbourne, Part 3

2009-07-09T00:02:00.006+08:00

As I stepped off the plane and made my way to the exit, I heard someone holler my name. There she was.. in her boxers and house-T right there on the street waving frantically - Pey Li!
Nothing short of a breath of fresh air, that woman.

We got home and she drew me a map and showed me how to get around town and to just follow the grid. I did. I left the house early in the morning, walked around the city lugging my camera bag and my 1.6litter water bottle like any nerdy-looking tourist, combed through every shop (and shopped, shopped, shopped) until the stores closed in the evening... and THEN, I had to find my way back to the house. It got chilly fast and I didn't have anything with me cos it was really hot when I left in the a.m. And then I lost my way with those 8kilos or so of additional stuff now.. I tried jogging back and then realised that I had overshot and by the time I reached home it was 8.15pm which meant that I wandered on the streets with that burden for well over an hour. I had literally walked non-stop for over 10 hours that day without even sitting down for lunch because time was short (shops there close early) and I hadn't a single minute to spare.

Over the next few days, I got to meet up with a few others..

My kid-sister Til-toe!

Daniel! (A wonderful surprise)

Pheebs! (Really enjoyed ourselves, didn't we:)

And oh, Max Brenner. You're right, Pheebs, nothing great and I must say, nothing like Brace Girdle's, nothing like it..But still better than everything we have over here!

After everything and everyone that gave me one of the most meaningful holidays ever, I prepared for home. And for work the very next day. I recounted my days there and found that I did manage to do all that I planned. I:

Had some good and much-needed chats with Aunty Chiew Har
Lived their lives over there for a while
Spent quality time with Sheen
Spent some time with Sun, Xiao, Nicci, Matilda, Phoebe and Pey Li
Was by myself at the beach
Got some great feeding at PCC
Shopped like there was no tomorrow
Ate like there was no tomorrow (of course, sometimes, now, I wish I hadn't)
Started to sleep better

and most of all, I began to look forward to new things and begin living again.

Just before my flight, Pey Li and her mommy brought me out for this famous Duck rice dinner which was absolutely yummy. Her mum seemed surprised that I could eat so much. I'm not sure if it's a good thing that people comment that I'm such a hearty eater. It means I'm an indiscreet and immodest glutton.

But oh well, I only live once.

Adelaide, Part 2

2009-06-19T00:12:00.009+08:00

Last few things I did before leaving:

-Visit Barossa Valley. Here in this pic, we were sitting in a beautiful lawn with oak tables and benches and lush surrounding trees. People sat around and connected with people over wine.

-Cook with Nicci

-Some last-minute shopping

-And a little more

-Hang out with Mish

-Have Yiros with Sheen and Dyl at the beach

-Have seagulls ambush me for my fish n chips. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man grinning and then taking a picture as he watched this helpless Asian girl being near-attacked by birds.

-Kick back all my myself on the beach. It was my final day there and I woke up early for the trip. As I lay in the sand watching the waves lap, I thought of everything that had happened, how quickly time had passed and that it was time to move on. Made my way away from that beautiful beach to PCC to say goodbye to Sheen, which reminded me of that time she first left.

-A farewell dinner with the clan. Couldn't have asked for better hosts than the Rajs were.

What a trip. Off to Melbourne.

More tomorrow.

Adelaide, Part 1

2009-06-18T00:51:00.013+08:00

After TWO WHOLE MONTHS, my camera-phone finally returned from the warrantor's. My precious phone which holds all my precious photos taken in Australia. I lugged my SLR all the way there and took erm... 50 shots max?...and took the rest with my phone and a good thing too because they're all I have!

Here are some things I did in Adelaide:

1. Breakfast with Xiao!

Aunty Chiew Har rapped on the door EARLY (10.25am) in the morning and told me to hurry.

The Rajs so kindly sent me to Xiao's and we headed to the city for a hearty, scrumptious brekie!
And then some major shopping after that.

2. Paradise Community Church. Absolutely loved it there!

Sheen and I ready and waiting for Dyl

Shi Wei! Looking gorgeous as usual

Met Bahkut again (apparently we look alike... Ps Kia Seng went up to her and asked 'Hey, how's Hock?')
Met a whole bunch of them but I dont know why the pics I took with them are not in my camera.

Then, we headed for dinner: Organic pizza!

Many, many thanks to Dyl (and Sheen) for that lovely treat plus so many more meals and for taking me everywhere!

3. Cockling at Goolwa! ( Is that how you spell it?)

Trooped to their home to freshen up before the far-ish trip to the beach.

Was very unprepared for the very, very bone-chilling wind.
We did manage a bucketload ... yes we did the Asian thing and poached them baby ones

for supper....

That's Joobs who'd so kindly taken me here and there.
Can't wait to meet you both at year end!

4. Dinner at Hahndorf! (Is that how you spell it?)

We ate this HUGE platter of pork which included seriously yummy pork knuckles
Cleaned out the plate...
(Thanks again to Sheen.... and Sun, for driving us there)

After stuffing ourselves, we went for dessert at Brace Girdle's. What I wouldn't give for a mug of that hot cocoa...

5. Supper with some of em

Kelly and Vanessa!

Gracie darling!

A seriously exhausted Sheen who spent the day waiting for me and trudged on to entertain me. Am still sorry about that fancy dinner. Love you so much and can't wait to see you!

And then, an art-something-something-whachamacallit night at the Garden of Unearthly Delights. It started with an "F"... I just can't remember what on earth...

That's all for now. More tomorrow night.

I Was Nearly Eaten By A Monkey

2009-05-02T00:43:00.004+08:00

Do you believe everything you read? If the above title drew you all the more to reading this, you probably do.

But I really did have a monkey scare today.

Was running at the TTDI Kiara Park this evening when I ran past two monkeys. Normally, I pace down when em monkeys are near because they're known to be quite vicious. I actually didn't notice those two as I ran past them. One scampered away but the bigger one bared its teeth at me and drew back as if to lunge at me.

I took a step back to slowly withdraw from the site of offence instead of running afap (as fast as possible) because any sudden movement would have threatened the beast further. It made this sound at me, crossing between a screech and a hiss which scared me and caused my ass to perspire.

I was moments away from contracting monkey rabies.

Wait a minute. Why was I afraid of this insignificant creature, an eighth my size.

I took a deep breath and bellowed at the monkey and it actually shrank back. Not for long though because it came at me and as it approached me (from it's oroginal position a foot and a half away), it screeched again and I heard some russling in the trees. Good grief, it called for reinforcements. Tattle-tallers are plain hateful, aren't they. At that very moment, I was reminded of so many people I know.

(I am brimming with insight.)

I issued another what-was-supposed-to-have-been-a-menacing sound at my opponent (not oppressor, no, we were equal) but it came at me again. I looked around for help and in that populated park that day, only a man ambling 30yards away was in sight. He obviously was in full view of my plight but didn't make an effort to help. No Would you like me to shield you from the monkey? No Are you okay, ma'am?

Finally, I let out this King-of-the-jungle roar at the monkey and I feigned the motion of attacking it. As it hissed at me again, this time, I spun heels and ran.

It followed me a little but gave up within seconds.

As I completed my run, and as I tried to shake off the scare, I couldn't help but feel the slightest sense of glory over my little victory.

But just to be safe, the next time I run at the park, I'm bringing my pepper spray.

Watching Sicko - Con't

2009-04-14T23:11:00.005+08:00

Okaaaay. Now I get it.

Did a little online reading. Thought the name and face was familiar. Turns out Michael Moore is an Academy award-winning American filmmaker, author and liberal political commentator. He's been known to criticize globalisation, gun ownership, big corporations, and George Bush in his written and cinematic works. I would have felt more intelligent had I known these facts prior to watching his third, highly-grossing documentary, "Sicko'. Hah, and I thought it was a comedy. Well, it said so on the cover!

Well, I'm glad I watched it. I'd give this movie a discerning 95% pass for truth. But then again, I wasn't involved in the works, so I'd really never know.

I'm not sure if I was clear in my earlier post. The documentary, begins with some profiles of unhappy American citizens whose lives have been disrupted and in some cases, ended, all thanks to profit-making insurance companies that continue to rob under the shrewd eye of the US government. How did the world of America get entwined in such a mess? Profits and Nixon.

Michael Moore, the commentator himself , then visits some countries around the world to contrast their policy on "Universal Healthcare" to American's clever plan - Keep citizens down, keep profits up.

Some powerful insights in the movie, although I can't say at this point that I totally stand behind Moore's dim views on the US. Further research is in place for me right now.

Later in the film, Moore reveals that an arch rival who was keeping alive a "Hate Michael Moore" website, came to a point of crossroads in his own life. His wife was close to expiry from an illness, and this lil ninny here had to choose between fueling the site, or pay for his wife's medical bills. Fortunately, he chose the latter. There was a shortage in finance, however, and soon Moore came to be in the know and to donate a cheque of USD12,000 anonymously to the guy, which to me came as a substantiation of one of the reasons for this movie - To inform the creep, along with the rest of the world, of his response to unjust partiality. If it were true, I applaud Moore. I would have done the same in the same elaborate fashion.

Watching Sicko

2009-04-14T00:56:00.004+08:00

I got home from work tonight yearning for a good comedy. I scrounged through the stash Tjer lent me for a particular DVD I saw earlier. There was a liner on the cover that held my memory to it. It read "One of the year's best.. You'll laugh till it hurts". Well, I COULD do with a laugh that hurt. I'd only had laughs that made it hard to breathe. I'm still not done with the movie, another third to go, so technically, I could really injure myself laughing in some 40 minutes. That's the hope.

From what I can tell so far, Michael Moore is one smart dood. This was supposed to be a comedy, as I was tricked into believing. Rather, it's a documentary sort that zeroes down on the millions of highly disgruntled, highly demoralized, highly embittered Americans whose pleas for medical aid have not only been denied, but denied for the most unjust reasons.

Moore then zooms in on strangers and friends living abroad - in Canada, England, France. In these lands, people live the life, they enjoy government benefits - paid leaves that stretch up to 3 months, maternity leave up to a year (half paid), a home assistant from the government for first time mothers to see to your every need for 4 hours every single day.

This movie, it's very unfunny, although Michael Moore's witt is astounding.

I'm trying to make more sense out of this. I'll need to complete the movie and continue this post tomorrow.

On a side note, I've just glanced through my past few posts, and wow, I've really gotten pretty dull.

Ughh.

And oh, the title of the movie really is "Sicko". Grab a copy and watch it.

Say Teemee

2008-12-23T15:25:00.006+08:00

I'm in the works of developing a brand new hobby. It's called cooking, because the word cooking is very general in nature, and does not imply that the result be edible, which is a sum up of what happened this afternoon.

If you think I switched on my computer on a sultry afternoon just to blog about how bad a cook I am, please think again. Am I the sort to do that.

I'm here to talk about Teemee. Your next 2 minutes is gonna be totally educational.

I was in a hypermarket yesterday, to fish out a pack of Thyme leaves, amongst other ingredients, for the soup I planned to make today.

I gathered everything I needed and finally headed for the Herbs and Spices section for my Thyme leaves. I stared in dismay as the rack lay empty and out of stock.

There must be some in the store behind, I figured. I wasn't gonna travel to another supermarket just for a pack of leaves.

"Hi there, " I called out to an attendant, a young Indian lad of 22, I think. "I need some Thyme leaves. Think you could check if there's any inside?"

"Huh apatu?"

"Nak Daun Thyme. Daun herba."

"Oh." He motioned for me to walk with him towards the Herbs and Spices section again. "Yang mana u nak?"

"Thyme."

"Ini ah?" He asked, pointing to a rack with a sign that bore the words SWEET THYME.
The rack was bare as it was, earlier, baring a sign that read Out Of Stock.

"Ya."

"Haiyoh, itu bukan Taim. Itu Teemee."

I panicked for a second. Did I like, just, mispronounce a word? Teemee? Like Timmy?
Lord. If I can't say Thyme right, I have nothing!

I looked at the sign again. THYME. That should read thy... like Thai... and me.. so Thyme, like Chime with a Th.

I looked at my English guru, whose expression had taken on a tinge of smugness and impatience.

"It's Thyme," I finally said.

"Itu Teemee la. " He pointed at the sign again. U tak tau baca ke?

"Okay. So ada lagi Teemee tak?"

"Sudah habis la. Esok datang lagi la." And with that, he spun heels and scampered off.

Teemee. So folks, remember, from now on, it's Teemee.

Bright Shiny Braces

2008-11-13T00:44:00.008+08:00

Yesterday night we had a family reunion, celebrating the birthday of my grandmother. On the way back, my fluffy white cheeked brother of a raging adolescent relayed an incident at dinner that had me laughing fits.

My brother is a dear as you would have seen in the photos I've put up. Awkward and plump, my brother reminds me of a fattened white rabbit with long, round legs. One with a low voice, he uses it very often to pester me mercilessly about this and that A LOT.

He strayed away from our table to seat himself amongst cousins his age. About 6 or 7 of them were clustered around him, impatient for their turn with his PS3. Or is that the PS2. Whatever. You know what I'm referring to.

At one point, my brother was left to himself and an older female cousin saw all means to snag the opportunity to have my brother show her something of his she had been dying to see all night.

"EUGEEEEENE!" she pounced on him, half startling him. He looked up at her in horror. Her eyes had this crazy gleam in them.

"SHOW IT TO ME," she rasped excitedly, sandwiching his cheeks in her palms.

He should have kept close to me for I would have shielded him from any danger, but there he was, out of my sight and covering.

With quivering lips, face still in the cousin girl's hands, my burly brother obediently opened his mouth and bared his teeth to reveal to her the bright shiny braces beneath.

"Ooooo...." Our cousin was obviously enthralled.

Throughout the night, she kept appearing suddenly at his side, repeating the act and asking him absurd questions in very funny sounding Cantonese, for she mainly spoke Mandarin. She was cute in her way, the sort of girl who could release reams of chatter in a single breath, pausing only to breathe so she could chat more.

As he was relating this all to me, I asked him why didn't he just say no if he was so annoyed. Turned out, her requests were too weird and too candid for him to know how to act but to just obey.

My brother didn't think it was necessary to inform her that he understood and spoke Mandarin, which would have made their one-sided conversation a lot less painful for the both of them. Finally she got tired of her own Cantonese. Her moment of truth came when she finally thought to ask another cousin if there was another dialect that my brother spoke. The cousin whispered in her ear, confirming that my brother could indeed converse in Mandarin.

"REALLY! Oh, Eugene! I'm so sorry for underestimating you! Show me one last time?"

And my brother bared his metal studded teeth to her one last time.

50-year old Elitist Wannabe

2008-10-31T00:28:00.010+08:00

Today a guy walked in for an evaluation. He was tall and built, his height masking the porkiness he really was. A cow on platforms. He stood silent, scanning the testimonials with a look of shrewd skepticism. One of those time-wasters that zap up all of your patience if you let him.

Solely out of professional courtesy, I smiled at him, handing him a form to fill out. I think I would have preferred to bat his head with a frying pan but somehow, the love of God got to me and I remembered to be nice, especially those the most undeserving.

Somehow, his silence and tight-lippednes made me conclude that he was a mute and I began to feel a little more understanding, and a little kinder perhaps.

"I wanna see what this is all about first."

Wow so he had a voice. I nearly wept with joy.

He filled out his initials, a bare J-C, and his height, omitting any references for contact.
"I'm not giving you my number. I don't want you calling me." His voice was low, unreadable save for the undeniable arrogance.

My partners sensed an oncoming show and leaned in close by to watch. We found a microsecond to exchange looks with a raised brow.

I did the procedure for the guy and went over with him the results. They were not surprisingly, a poor reading, indicative of a poor lifestyle deprived of good health and balance.

He justified himself with a snooty, "Well, I'm half a century old, what do you expect?"

I explicated to him the classic case of a regular I see daily at the swimming pool. An elderly man in his 60s, he was an Ironman, competing in Triathlons, so as to go to show that age should never in any case be a barrier from regular and sustainable exercise.

"Yeah well, there are those on the other side of the spectrum as well," he retorted. I could not bother to size him up to find a reason as to why he sounded so disdainful and yet, so defensive for he knew I could very well read the factors behind his poor health. The quality of the food he was eating was key. Didn't matter to me if he dined lavishly. He was a stark example of a living slab of lard.

Uh huh, I thought to myself, you are surely one of those on the 'other side of the spectrum' missing half a brain to choose wisely for yourself.

In our brief conversation, he had initiated the claim of living a very relaxed lifestyle for the lucrative income he was receiving. For a fact, I know that most people who actually earn a lucrative income do not flaunt it. Not by talk, at least, which is a most pathetic, most desperate manner of showing off.

My colleagues were still watching, transfixed and amused. I must credit myself to have kept my cool, for 'coolth' was the last thing I was feeling with this small small person.

Snapping my file shut, I smiled at him again and declared loudly, Thank you for your time, a wonderful way of really saying Now Stop Wasting My Time And Get The Hell Out Of My Hair.

"Oh well.. uh...," he responded, trying to look reluctant, "I'll give you my phone number." He quickly completed that section of the form, adding the punchlines of the day, that is now by the way the new war cry I will apply when I should decide to be made infamous by stupid liners stupid people teach me as he taught me today.

He must have thought that I was dying of suspense as to why he'd wanted to conceal his identity till the last minute, for in those last moments, he stated coolly, "I'm trying to remain incognito."

"Uh huh....," I replied. So? I thought silently.

"Do you know what incognito means?"

I pushed it. "No, I don't."

"It means I don't want to be under the radar."

"Uh-huh. Of?"

"Do you know what under the radar means?"

It means you have a giant superiority complex problem? Or you just bought a spanking new dictionary and learned some English yesterday? Or you stopped growing up before you ever started?

I gaped at him dully for about 5 seconds, allowing myself into the shallow pool of his thoughts he must have had most of his life.

"I said do you know what under the radar means," he repeated, failing to sense my disbelief.

I was again tempted to say no but time to quit playing him out. Enough time was wasted on him. Instead, I replied with a smile, "Yeah, under the radar of whom.. what?"

"Well, people. I don't want people to know, " he replied, picking himself up and leaving without looking back.

What an incredibly intelligent answer.

It is a shame though, that whilst I have the solution for his hog gut, I have no concoction for the misery that is his wannabe elitism.

A 50 year old elitist wannabe is almost as pathetic as a 50 year old elitist wannabe with a hog gut. I thought you might wanna know that, JC hon.

Taipa Village, Macau

2008-10-23T01:54:00.010+08:00

Day 2 - Hong Kong

2008-10-18T00:50:00.011+08:00

First thing to be thankful for - Knowing how to speak Cantonese.

Spent most of the day there doing two main things.

Shop...

Eat..

After eating it was time to eat again..

Then shop again...

Visited St. Andrew's church..

Then it was time to eat again..

Fermented tofu!

You can see in this photo how my waistline has expanded over the past 48 hours.

Finally, after a 12-hour walking day, it was time to relax and take in the beautiful view of the city lights at Harbour City.

Absoutely gorgeous.

Mama like.

Macau - Day 3

2008-10-17T13:41:00.005+08:00

It has been good good fun.

Will leave you with some pictures taken on Day 1.

There's this lady sitting next to me in the hotel lobby who's been combing her hair for the past 10minutes. From before I got here till... now. There. She's just stopped.

Gotta run! More later.

Macau - Landed Safely

2008-10-16T03:07:00.005+08:00

It's been the longest day and this was only the first. I'm sitting in the hotel lobby in my jammies, freezing my tush off, stewing in the foul reek of cigarette smoke.

It is Autumn here now and the weather is good. This is such a strange land but intriguingly so. This was a Portuguese colonized nation, so there are remnants of that everywhere. Some here speak Portuguese but mostly, Cantonese. Queer sounding Cantonese. And queer-looking-Cantonese-speaking people.

People here are funny. They don't smile very much nor seem to try to hide what I gather to be hints that we foreigners are not welcome in their country. I'd be most afraid to offend anyone here. I should hate to burst out laughing in the heat of some pick bone. The accent. I've never heard anything like it before. Makes me feel so refined.

Discovered something interesting here today. Harry showed it to me. Over here, when pedestrians cross a road, cars politely pull to a stop even when the pedestrian suddenly hops into the middle of the road. I was so wowed, I tried it again and again. Something to for you to try when you get to Macau. I made a passing comment, that roads here are so pedestrian-friendly, which prompted Harry to inform me that these are normal roads, an unlikely find in KL. And I think he has a point there.

Most cab drivers here are notorious though. The one that drove us nearly got us into an accident on the way out from our hotel.

And the food. They. Cost. A. Bomb.

Ok, I can't take the fume any longer. Getting a headache from it. I think I've inhaled at least half a pack's worth.

Will post up pictures tomorrow if possible. Another long day out. Can't wait.

Macau - Day 1 - A land of cold people

2008-10-16T02:00:00.005+08:00

It's been a long day and I expect the next few days to be too.

Off to Macau!

2008-10-15T01:03:00.005+08:00

All packed and set!

I hate packing and am so relieved now that I'm finally done. Packing is hard for me because I always feel the need to pack in this and that only to realise five minutes later that I probably wouldn't need all of it... then I'd begin to unpack.. and whilst unpacking, I would predict that maybe I would need it after all... then I'd need to sift through the clothes strewn all over my room looking for just that one item..
For some reason, I can't help myself from repeating this. Sigh. Someday, I'm gonna hire someone to do it for me. A clothing packer. Or, I'll marry someone and have him do it.
One more reason to get married.

Another work related trip. Looking forward to some learning. I've heard great things about this School.

Stay tuned, folks. I'll be updating on the go.

How Starbucks Saved My Life - Book Review

2008-10-12T23:55:00.004+08:00

I loved it!

As captioned on the cover, this is the riches-to-rags true story of a man who had it all, then lost it all and found it again. Michael Gill was a high flying corporate marvel whom in his late 50s lost his job, marriage and well, everything. Laid off by the woman whom he had hired and done much to promote in his organisation till she surpassed him in rank. Aged and diagnosed with a brain tumour and having no insurance, Mike is offered a job as barista in a New York Starbucks store, and thus, begins a new chapter in his journey that would change his life forever.

Mike is insightful and progressive in expressing himself from his fall from a former lifestyle in high society to now the bottom rungs of a blue-collar job. Progressive because he begins his story with a tone that bespeaks his disbelief and agony from what his life had become to a warm ending, how working in Starbucks had changed him, changed his life.

By the end of the book, I had not only fallen in love with Mike and the characters that had become his friends, I fell in love also with Starbucks coffee, which for me is the oddest thing because I do not drink nor fancy coffee much. I expect this infatuation to be short lived.

Poolside Pests

2008-10-07T13:49:00.012+08:00

Didn't feel so good not exercising, resultant of the cold and congestion. Today I found the don't swim when you have a cold myth untrue. I did some ten laps, did not near drown although I did choke on some pool water which was because I was watching a guy swim. I was watching his technique, people.

Speaking of guys, there were two large, fair-skin and very loud Cantonese-speaking ones hanging out by the pool when I got to my usual spot. Settling my things down, I tried to ignore them best I could. It became quite impossible when one of them lifted his hand to point at me. I saw it out of the corner of my eye and glanced over to see them both point at me and laugh, still speaking loudly. Did they think I couldn't see them? Could not hear them? Sure, I was seated a remote four feet away. Sheesh. I had every mind to look south and point and laugh right back. Sheesh.

They were applying some sort of tanning oil and if I heard correctly, were teaching each other how to apply it. They were applying from before I got there, still applying as I got ready and still at it when I was done. And still speaking very loudly.

I grabbed my bags and huffed over to the other side of the pool. Did my laps. Finally they had settled down and lay motionless as two giant slabs of bacon, baking on deck chairs pulled to the edge of the pool. I resisted the urge to accidentally knock them into the water.

Done with the laps, I got out to settle for a short rest by the chairs under the shade. Then the pesky lifeguard popped over and asked if he could take a seat, proceeding to seat himself before I could say no.

Seriously. Pool etiquette, guys.

Hanging By A Thread

2008-10-04T23:45:00.004+08:00

You are forever in my life
You see me through the seasons
Cover me with Your hand
And lead me in Your righteousness
And I look to You
And I wait on You

I'll sing to You Lord a hymn of love
For Your faithfulness to me
I'm carried in everlasting arms
You never let me go
Though it all

Book: The Children of Hurin

2008-09-30T22:16:00.008+08:00

This book, is a very very dark book. I wouldn't encourage anyone to read it, unless you're a melancholic perhaps and thrive best when feeling heavy and shadowy and hence be inclined to experience an outflow of creative juices which may compel you to write a song or a book and be thanked for it.

Having said that, I did enjoy the book, in the sense that I appreciated the depth of the characters created by the authors (father and son Tolkiens). The life of the chief character, Turin, spins through a series of unfortunate events though before the tragic end. The tale is bleak, but beautifully narrated. I found the first chapter rather a notorious read, what with the Ancient English. It wasn't however too hard to get used to after a bit. In fact, the Old English enhanced the entire story and staged well in my mind the dark, grim setting of the tale.

In ways, I felt an uncanny connection with Turin in terms of the isolation he felt in his life. In how he often took matters to heart and harboured many a painful event and careless characters. But these are just similar traits of the personality. I do not bear a dark disposition, nor a brooding persona, nor find a need to hew apart those who stand in my way.

I'm not gonna throw in any spoilers here. The book's worth a read, so go check it out.

Now, a dire need something more feel-good. Suggestions, anyone?

Growing Up Tomboy

2008-09-27T01:58:00.006+08:00

When I was young I used to cry when I had to wear a frock or a dress. I always begged for pants.

I used to scamper around with the boys and climb to the highest bars in the playground.

In kindergarten, my teacher sentenced my friend Ming Yew and I to stand outside the class for not being able to shut up. After ten minutes, she came out to look at us. She let him in and left me there. That operation happened every year till I was twelve.

In primary school, at the sound of the recess bell, my friends and I would race to the bottom of the concrete steps leading from the classrooms to the canteen. These were not the typical narrow flight of stairs but wide concrete steps measuring about 10 feet in length. We used to climb the stairs from behind the railing on the left and jump off, each starting from first step. About six of us took turns everyday and each step was one Level. I was the only daredevil that used to jump off the Level Eight drop off, which was about at least 4 meters off the landing pavement. I was barely seven then.

In one of the afternoons in the bedroom my sister and I shared, I did a front flip from my sister's bed to mine, about 4 feet across. I landed nicely and smacked my feet on the wall. Had I missed by a few inches, I would have broken my neck and smashed my face in the parquet floor.

When I was ten, my friend Matthew and I played 'catching' after tuition. It was quite easy for me to run and hide, for the place was built like a maze. Matt suddenly appeared out of a corner right in front of me. I panicked so I kicked him in the stomach and ran for my life.

When I was eleven, I attended a day camp upon my neighbour girl's invitation. During one of the outings, a boy hit me and I retaliated. He yanked my hair so I punched him. He held fast to my hair and yanked again and and struck my back again and again and again. His friends gathered around and cheered. I twisted his arm and bobbed him one. One of his friends cheered for me. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed an adult counselor look up from the papers he was reading. He watched the commotion for a bit before burying his head into the papers again.

I used to challenge classmates to a game of arm wrestling. I won every time, even when up against the big girls. I finally lost to a petite little neeny - my sister.

My sweet little brother has two older sisters but I've always taken on a more brotherly role with him ever since he was born. I used to pin him down by the nape of his neck, pull his arms back and tickle him senseless. He's thirteen now, twice my size and still growing. I really should have been more gentle with him. He got strong overnight and now, for the first time in my life I'm a little afraid. I wish there was a way I could help him understand that I'm just a girl.

Darn noisy kid

2008-09-25T20:59:00.015+08:00

In shopping malls, do you know where kids hang out? The hang out in libraries or book stores, in the Children's Section. I know because I was there and each time I'm there, they're there.

I was checking out some books right by a platform for the kids, hoping to quickly scan through a few books looking for something good. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an adult with her tot approaching the platform, across from where I sat. Book in hand barely past the intro lines, I heard a thump, like the sounds of chubbiness against carpeted wood. There the irritant layeth, possessed and squirming. I continued reading.

"I WANT PAPAAAAAAAAAAAA.....".

I took a deep breath and raised my eyes to glower at the boy. He was about four or five. I normally remember little details like if they were cute, fat, thin, tall, short. I generally love children so they all look good to me. Some are exceptionally adorable like yours truly when she was little. But I couldn't really get a good look at this kid although he was right before me. He was so full of noise so full of racket it fogged my vision.

I could see the little boy's eyes darting about, scanning his environment and looking to see if anyone was available to listen to him wail. His eyes met my glare and his little face crumpled again and continued informing everyone at the top of his lungs how much he wanted his 'Papa'.

His mommy sauntered over carelessly, hands in the back pockets of her jeans, and stood looming over her son. Her little angel continued thrashing and screaming when Mommy finally spoke.

"You stop crying first".

Which was of course, not the most effective of commands. Stop crying first was a prelude to what reward?

Nobody seemed to mind the noise very much, which just supports my point that book stores are where mums bring their noisy kids and let them throw fits as they like and shop attendants have really learned to literally turn a deaf ear to these things. I sighed again and looked down. It was all I could do to not walk up and stuff a hardcover book sideways into his mouth. At that moment his mouth was so wide, I could look past his tonsils into his brain.

Why was his mother just standing there doing nothing while watching her son writhe and wail. And she didn't seem to wear the sort of helpless or exasperated expression most mothers have when they can't control their children. Perhaps she was devoting her energies to analytical thinking, summing up many many wizardry solutions before acting. Wise woman.

The cows came home and left for the meadows again when the boy's mother finally spoke again. She held out her hand to her prostrate son and bellowed with great dignity and authority,

"Come, take my hand".

The very loud howling suddenly diminished to whimpering, and lo, her munchkin took the outstretched hand that hoisted him up and there he stood victorious.

It was as if she had just saved him from falling off a cliff. How tempting it was for me to stand up and clap my hands.

Watching the mother and son pair walk away, I thought of some ill mannered children that I have known in my lifetime and whilst thinking that, I also arrived at a root culprit for the lethal epidemic of uncontrollable and undignified children.

Lax parenting.

Pesky Lifeguard

2008-09-22T00:42:00.005+08:00

Skunks have this wonderfully crafted feature, their anal scent glands which they can use as a defensive weapon. I hear that the notorious scent produced is highly offensive and and can be described to be a putrid harmony of eggs, garlic and burnt rubber.

At the local club pool where I swim, there's this incredibly annoying lifeguard who enjoys a wretched sport ie. hitting on me. Because

Suburban City Kid and Her Series of Unfortunate Animals

2008-09-20T02:35:00.022+08:00

Get a load of that! A spanking new PSP. And guess what. It's not mine. It's my little brother's. He spent the noon lounging lazily on my bed, his entire thirteen years of life experiences facilitating his focus in the new toy he held in his tubby hands.

Reminds me of childhood days. Just that, my toys/games were by far more natural.

I began with colouring books and staying within the lines. Nothing much to tell so a few years shot by and I progressed to keeping pets. My mum had (still has) a phobia for furred animals with teeth, so canines were not an option. Cats were just not my thang, having been scratched when I was eight. Was it so criminal to touch it when it was asleep.

Finally decided on fish. Fresh freshwater fish. I called my neighbour friend. That friend and I shared adventures any female city kids could dream off. "Michelle, come see this now!," I shouted into the phone. My turn to 'go over' that Saturday so I raced the whole 10yards to her home, fish-in-tub in hand and showed her. "Oooooh, they're so cute," Mi gushed, reaching into my fish tub to scoop my fish up with her hand. I didn't think better either. I was actually very supportive of her lovin' towards my pets. Caressing gives little ones a sense of security.
My new pets bellied up two hours later.

Michelle got herself some fish the next weekend, we continued to reassure them the same gentle way we did with mine. We had a gift right there going for us. Her new pets died that same hour.

Life moved on. One evening, I walked into Michelle's house and without notice, she dumped a partially fury revolving piece of warmth into my hands. I knew it would be something bad. There it was, a rat, almost hairless and wriggling in my hands. YARK. Some people say dwarf hamster, but that's just some new-age rebranding jargon. A rat's a rat. It sensed my fear and bit me and I was happy for the excuse to fling it right outta my hands. I've never wasted a moment fretting over my estrangement with those critters since.

Next, spiders! Caught them and kept them in jars and fed them with nubs and grubs I caught in the garden. It was great, I'd even managed to enchant Anna and Amanda the twins (we went to school together) that my idea of keeping them as pets was a great one. I led by lifestyle and example, so in no time, they were proudly exhibiting their spiders to me as well. It was heaps fun, till I contracted an eye infection.

I had terrapins too. I was a wonder with them. One died of malnutrition and an apparent mozzy bite on its eye. Apologies for including that crude bit there. It was actually worse but my mercy beckons me to spare you. The other died of malnutrition and too much time swimming in its filth. It's Sorry Day, for telling you more than you asked for.

It was a blissful childhood.

Many more stories of my short-lived pets. I'll save them for another day. In the meantime, feel free to leave your pet(s) with me when you go out of town.

Momma's Road Pal

2008-09-12T10:55:00.007+08:00

This morning I spent a week with my Mum in the two and a half hour car drive to and back from the airport. I haven't the best sense of direction, but I must accredit myself for the vast improvement that has happened this year. I used to be real bad, even for a girl. Then I improved to just bad. Now, I'm not bad. But my mum, she makes me look good. In fact, she makes me feel like a born-again country road map.

Today I was her navigator. Making our way home from the KLIA isn't too hard, is it. You just need to look out for signs that say KUALA LUMPUR. And that was my duty in the car today. To remind her that we were headed for KUALA LUMPUR and to follow KUALA LUMPUR road signs.

On our way back, some five minutes after leaving the airport area, the road forked to two. On the left - KUALA LUMPUR and right - SOMETHING ELSE.

Just to be safe and just to be prudent, my mum pipes up, very urgently

"Left or right???"

"Left," I reply calmly.

"Are you sure??? Left or right???"

"Yes, it's left,

"But how do you know???"

"It says so on the board."

Very skeptically, one makes the left turn.

"Are you sure this is correct?"

"Yesssss."

A moment's pause.

"I don't wanna take the wrong road, you know."

"This is correct, I saw the sign."

Half a moment's pause.

"Are you sure we're not headed towards the airport again?"

Wow. My own mother doubting me. I did not fret. I've a host of life experiences in that area. Don't you worry for me either, I'm still brimming with esteem. I just make a conscious effort to praise myself everyday.

"We're on the right road, Ma. Relax."

She considers this.

"....hung chor choh lah, ha maiyah..." (Cantonese for 'this is wrong, isn't it')

"It's correct.."

"Are you very sure?"

"Yes."

"Right or left?"

"Left," I say politely. I noticed through the headboard mirror that my cheeks were starting to look rosy. We were so far into the left turn we took earlier. What was she thinking. U-hop-and-turn over the divider?

After a bit, she seemed satisfied that we were taking the correct path after all. I began to relax just a little bit. We were after all on a straight road home.

Eventually, a friend's call came in, I answered, Momma missed an exit and spent the rest of the journey not letting me forget that I spoke on the phone.

Now, I'm at home, singing softly to myself, hugging my knees rocking back and forth. To calm the nerves, friends, to calm the nerves.

Next time, I know to insist on taking the wheel.

The Village Review

2008-09-08T13:17:00.006+08:00

Last night I stayed up to watch The Village, by M. Night Shymalan. A horror-suspense movie, it would keep you in suspense alright but is not all that horrifying, really. It was my 3rd time watching it. The first 2 times were a good 6 years ago? I appreciate M. Night Shymalan's work, and this was one of his best. A riveting low budget film flaunts the creativity of the director. And a steady and genuine cast to carry out the movie plot with minimal effects. Brilliant.

For a show like that, Joaquin Phoenix is a must. He did a marvelous job, as usual. I'd recommend it for anybody, even the faint hearted.

When you watch it, look out for Little Red Riding Hood.

Tabloid Friends

2008-09-04T00:40:00.011+08:00

I don't trust them.

I was talking with a friend tonight, who was telling me something, that someone told him, about someone else. Let me help you out here. He told me a juicy piece of gossip about someone he'd heard from a friend.

I have a major peeve with things like that. I cannot for the life of me understand how people can be a friend to a person, listen intently to their intimate struggles, be understanding and supportive about it. Then walk out and tell others about it.

And what drives me even crazier is that these trumpeters are usually good conversationalists, and the sort of friend you wanna tell things to. Probably also the reason how they are able to very naturally draw some talk outta ya.

I wish I could sound kinder about it, but that is the last thing I'm feeling right now. They get under my skin.

Not hard at all to identify these people. In fact, you'd probably enjoy the company of this select group of people. They're the ones you go to for interesting exchanges. I'll show you how you can recognise them.

First of all, they're complainers. And they have an art about it, a method of complaining that it makes you feel lucky you're relating so well to them. Debols.

The way I see it, if a person can't shut up about his/her problem... they would have absolutely no reason to keep yours under wraps.

And I don't trust people who spill other people's private comments. I trust these people to misrepresent me with others under any circumstance.

Ring a bell? Thinking of these friends that you have and feeling worried now? You should. I'm writing this because I just found out something about you. Through the friend that you trusted.

Burly Gym Guys

2008-08-27T20:41:00.008+08:00

I decided to gym today with that added push. The sort that would allow me to come home to a condemnation-free Fish & Chips dinner, which I just did.

Today I found out a few things. I started my routine off today, as warm up, on the rowing machine. In the local gym, there are only 3 of these, lined side by side next to the treadmills. When I got there, 2 were taken, leaving only the middle free. I hopped on to snap out of the lovely mood I was in. In my mind, I'm always lounging in a bed of plush white cloud, wrapped in a blanket of satin, sipping white wine and being fed grapes by J, only this time, I have my blinders on so I would not have to face the glare of her overcoloured, overpowdered eyes.

Back to my workout. Rowing between those guys, I realised I could control their speed. I rowed faster and they followed suit. I pushed for more and so did they. I slowed down and so did they.
Would you like to know how? It's very simple. Guys are very prideful. Guys have a ego that must not be busted. Guys do not allow females to win, even if it kills them. And I do not blame them for feeling that way. Guys are different from Men.

Then I went for a Group Class. This was a fun aerobics class, utilising a step board. To discipline myself to follow through the 55-minute session, I placed myself and board right in the centre of the hall and 3 feet from the instructor's platform, in perfect view of him.

You see, this class is vigorous, very upbeat and filled with lunges, squats and high uppercut punches. You have to focus to follow. I usually spend the first 30minutes focusing on keeping my mass of uncoordinated limbs from injuring my neighbours too many times. I think they don't like it. Then, I try to not die of breathlessness. Then, I try to not fall of the board and break my ankles and my head.

After attending so many Step classes, I got good. When I get good, I get to observe other things.

Remember how I placed my board right up in front? Remember how it's not something I normally do? Remember how I was in perfect view of the instructor? Those are just about the right words. Very befitting to describe the view that he was.

There was music. So, I mentally wrote him a poem.

Leotards are cool please wear them and think not you look gay.
For unwise is the fool who wears boxers that are not long.
But I forgive you, you did not know what would come your way.
We your class neither did know we would see your schlong.

Gymnastics at the Olympics

2008-08-19T02:01:00.017+08:00

Just watched the rerun with my sister. Truly a great, high profile sport. China has in almost every gymnastics event snagged the gold. And I am not surprised. They paid the arduous price for their much deserved victory, having always bowed out to the Americans and Russians in the past.

This round's games seem a heartbreaking disappointment to the Russians, who thrived in medal contention all these decades. They have lost their star anchor to her overdue retirement, 3-time Olympic gold medalist Svetlana Khorkina. Svetlana knew she was a diva and never hesitated to remind her audience why. She was the first gymnast to ever inject elegance to an extent of sensuality into her routines, keeping audiences spellbound.

Olga Korbut, my all time favourite gymnast whose timeless routines never fail to impress me. Olga moved with cat-like agility, never missing a beat. Here's why she's my favourite. Olga had almost single-handedly changed the course of women's gymnastics back at the 1972 Olympics. Women's gymnastics before that used to be a sport for older, curvier, larger women. In essence, ample-bodied, muscular women dominated the sport. Back then, women could compete in the game until they reached 30. Today, that is unheard of.
Ever since Olga showed up at her first Olympics, 16, tiny, pixie-like, limber, flirtatious and show-stealing, the course of women's gymnastics changed forever. Olga showed up with a fresh set of daring unprecedented moves that were offensive to the judges and was almost banned at the trials. To the judges, her striking routines were nothing more than 'rude circus tricks'.
Eventually, they succumbed and the real games began. The girl knew just how to flirt with the judges and the audience and always emerged with top scores. In a particular bars routine, however, one unnecessary and unforgivable mistake cost her greatly. The world watched as the little Russian girl sobbed into a towel. Since the World Wars, no one had really thought Russians to be capable of emotion. If there was anything that was more history-making than Olga in action at the sport, it was her public display of emotion and pain. For this other other reason, Olga made headlines again and the world waited expectantly for her next show.

Very unfortunately, pride and poor attitude got in the way. 4 years later, an older and undertrained Olga showed up at the Montreal Olympics to buckle to the newly emerged champion who made Olympic history - Nadia Comaneci. First and only person in the world to score perfect 10's on several individual apparatus. Nadia's unreachable feat remains unbreakable to this day.

Fast forward. 32 years later today, a sprightly powerful little gymnast has emerged. She is 16 year old America's darling Shawn Johnson, the current reigning All-Around World Champion. I've seen her stuff. Lacking the advantage that elegant long-limbed gymnasts have, Shawn compensates with efficiency, consistency, style and attitude with a capital A. Her team mate, best friend and biggest rival Nastia Liukin beat her to the gold in the Individual All-Around but that too was a well-deserved win. The two ladies had always been in gold contention, always with Shawn topping the win by a few tenths of a point.

Shawn (left) competes at the Beam Final tomorrow evening. Very uncharacteristically of her, Shawn is yet without a gold medal in her hands. Just silver so far. I admire the grace that she displays in the face of defeat. Defeat because this girl is for nothing short of gold. While others sulk and brood, this woman of a girl smiles graciously. You just get the sense that there is just no pretense, no facade, that this girl is genuine. A silver-medaled champ. They just don't make em anymore, do they.

I get so much out of every character I know and some that I just watch. Yet, this young girl has inspired me and reminded me of a grace that my Jesus had been trying to teach me all these years.

The order of character is stiffly askew. So much is given to those who win matchlessly. There is no doubt that where much is paid, much is celebrated of course.

Though there is that, I'll start also to look to those who lose graciously.

I'm rooting for Shawn for tomorrow's game. Once a winner, always a winner.

Oscar Pistorius

2008-08-18T15:08:00.007+08:00

Oscar Pistorious, a double amputee

Saw this guy on TV. He

Lost both legs kneedown since 11months of age due to a congenial bone problem but never found any reason to not play sports.
Played rugby union, water polo, tennis and even took part in Olympic wrestling.
After a serious knee injury, his knees succumbed and he was introduced to running!
Now he runs at the Olympic Games alongside normal, able bodied men.
Says that "You are not disabled by the disabilities you have, you are able because of the abilities you have"

This guy is something else.

Hello world!

2008-06-04T12:42:00.000+08:00

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