Written in Sand

Don't tempt me with your darkest fears, your fragile dreams.
I am afraid of the intimacy. I have to fight the urge to be strong.

Don't hold the door to your heart ajar.
I am afraid of the impluse to come bursting through.
And of how it will end.

Weave your dreams into mine.
I am terrified.
Of chasing them.

But if you'll only say it.
Even now.
I will walk to the ends of the world with you.

~ Sandstone


Something Chinese This Way Comes

"Eh! Xiao jie! Xiao wen ning yi xia." (Hi! Miss! I was thinking of asking you.)

He called out from a few metres away -- his Mainland Chinese accent unmistakable -- just after the traffic junction towards Amoy Street Food Centre.

As I continued my frontal assault on foot, eyes staring straight ahead (target acquired: past Amoy Street Food Centre -> into Telok Ayer Street -> Unit 157 -> up the stairs -> Yogaffinity), I noted however, something tall with glasses, coming my way.

"Ey! Ey! Eyyy!!!"

I ignored the persistent calls behind my back and continued walking -- my heels hitting the ground hard, drowning him out.


If I had not continued walking -- yes, unhelpful, unfriendly and unsympathetic Singaporean that I am -- and deigned to stop and spare a moment in my busy little life for a fellow human in need -- and who would have expressed embarrassement about having to impose himself on you -- and listened to a story he would have related of how he was in Singapore to visit a friend but said friend was unfortunately uncontactable and so in the meantime would you be so kind to spare him some money for a meal or two . . . . . .

I would have told him that under Singapore's Destitute Persons Act, Chapter 78, Paragraph 4 (emphasis my own):

(1) Any person being a habitual beggar found begging in a public place in such a way as to cause or to be likely to cause annoyance to persons frequenting the place or otherwise to create a nuisance shall be guilty of an offence and shall be liable on conviction to a fine not exceeding $3,000 or to imprisonment for a term not exceeding 2 years.

And I would have told him to stop being a nuisance and annoying me.

And just as he would be backing away from me slowly, I would have moved closer to him and asked him to convey this to:

The first Chinese man who had approached me a few months ago at the traffic junction near Republic Plaza and told me the same story -- I declined to help him;

The second Chinese man who had approached me at the same traffic junction a few days later and told me the same story -- I ranted at him in English while he stood there speechless; and

The Chinese couple who had approached me some weeks later at the overhead bridge outside Great World City (Kim Seng side) and told me the same story -- I stayed with this one a little longer because I was trying to get them to tell me exactly how much it was they wanted and their smiles widened when I reached into my bag (to pick up a call) and when I finally got a figure from them (a few tens), I smiled, nodded, turned and walked away -- satisfied.

So, as I was saying, it was definitely better for me -- and for him -- that I had ignored his calls and continued on my way to yoga class. I certainly did not want to start my meditation feeling annoyed.


Random Musings

Funny, I don't remember getting any particular vibes pertaining to the 'tongue-tied' variety during that first meeting at the foodcourt -- he seemed comfortable and spoke easily. But I would concede that his balls tongue probably almost dropped out of his mouth when I jokingly said that he would have to marry me after that most unfortunate accident. Yeah, I know . . . I'm scary. Heh. Heh. Heh.

The Rise of the Phoenix

What I learnt the past few days (and weeks, actually):

[1] There is always a bigger fish right behind you. Make that many bigger fishes, bitch. So watch it before you sink your teeth into that harmless-looking damselfish.

[2] Let the men play knights in shining armour.

[3] Of course, when you are left to your own devices, you sometimes need to bark at people to get work done. And surprisingly, they actually move faster, no questions asked. (And they get your nice shield mithril-spiked in no time at all too. Ahem.)

[4] But if they are more interested in talking amongst themselves during the briefing; make faces when you need something done just because it is not in the original walkthrough; waste time complaining about not having enough attendance sheets when they should be tearing their sticky behinds from the chairs and getting into the crowd to usher guests like they were told to; it's time to set fire to those 20 eider down mattresses that they've begun to take for granted (when everyone else has been sleeping on the hard floor).

Anyway, one (very big) project down. 99 more to go! Huff.

Chocolate Cravings

Presently savouring Prestat Rose and Violet Creams. I especially love the Violet Cream, which tastes just like Violetta (smells). Now I know what *I* taste like. Laugh.


* The Phoenix is hawwwt!!! (Not Jean Grey.)

* Is it just me or is Rebecca Romijn not looking a little pudgy?

* 1.5 hours is just too rushed.

* Hey, where have all the hawwwt men gone to???

The Beginning of The End

"But maybe, just maybe, one day when you settle down in front of a television set or a cinema screen, you just might hear words you swore you had read before somewhere, or see scenes that had once played in your mind. If you do, remember me that way."
~ Tetanus

And another one bites the dust.

The Chopping Board

The thing about instant messaging systems in an office environment is that you should think twice about talking about your colleagues / superiors / bosses over IM -- especially if you have butter fingers.

For instance, ranting to your good friend that you have your own deadlines to rush and hope the event coordination meeting for staff will be "chop chop" (read: "Don't waste my time!") is not acceptable.

One, your not being able to meet your own deadline is your problem. Not mine.

Two, coordination meetings for major company events (make that the top event this year) are never "chop chop" ones. In fact, they are, I promise you, "long long" ones, for the very simple reason that if things are not done properly, I promise you, there will be a lot of "chop chop" heads for supper. And, I promise you, your head will be the first on the chopping board.

On another matter, it is nice when your Masters back you up to show their "weight and colour" to evil admin officers from a certain Ministry. *cue damsel-in-distress routine*

Dayang 19 - 21 May 2006


The Olympus SP320

Underwater Housing PT030

Adobe Photoshop :-D

'Nuff Said

I think I would rather prefer you trying to correct me and influence me personally then blogging about me where I might not have seen, in a way that rather makes me sound like a juvenile attention seeker in a ‘playpen’ =p But in any case, yes I do respect and agree with your right to have a reaction to an incident and voice it. I may even quote Kausikan, if I may be so presumptuous! “I much prefer disagreement to indifference.”

So much for speaking one's mind and urging others to likewise keep an open mind. Is it not often the case that they who preach practise not? Tsk. Tsk.

Oh yeaaah, this one is perfect for the elite civil service. Laugh.


Three light bulbs in a room are operated by three switches in another room.

How do you determine which switch is connected to which light bulb? You may only enter the room with the bulbs once.

Wicked Ironies

That it has to be the one who goes around saying that others have "copied us", who is now being taken to task for, shall we say, "copying" someone else.

What's Your Name?

Twice? Maybe the new yoga teacher has a bad memory.


The Princess and The Pea

Characters and events that follow are obviously fictitious and a result of my fevered imagination (doctor say 37.3C leh) and violent inclinations.

Seriously, how do you throw out a staff suggestion for conveniences like a 'personal' printer and shelves so that one's cubicle is so 'self-contained' that one no longer has to waste precious time commuting 20 metres to and fro one's desk several times a day (having short legs must be a real pain, no???), which the rest of your long-suffering colleagues have been doing. Heck, why even need to stand up and walk a few steps, or roll your chair (hold on, you do know the chair has rollers, yes???) if you can have shelves within arm's reach from where your butt cheeks are superglued to the chair.

I suppose it runs in the family, which would explain His Royal Pain-in-the-Ass Highness' seeming oblivion to the fact that our resources are limited and meant to be shared.

So you see, I am not exactly looking forward to the passing of the baton when the boss goes for a month-long holiday. Though I must say that it looks like a handy little club. Grunt.

Mission Impossible IV

Also known as My Sunday Plans, starting in about 7 hours from now.

0830 h - Blading at East Coast (hOphOphOp)

1100 h - Exchange camera at Sim Lim Square (Nooo, it's not the same -- now hand over the SP320!!!)

1145 h - Registration duties at company event (Dunno how to plan properly, blame other people. Tsk tsk.)

1700 h - Yoga at Telok Ayer Street (hOphOphOp)

1900 h - Dinner with The Usual Suspects at Tiong Bahru Plaza's Loy Sum Juan (Yummmmy.)

Now, if only I can find a Jonathan Rhys-Meyers lookalike somewhere in the midst of all that :-)~~~

I, Poser

Progress in the Dandayamana Dhanurasana (Standing Bow Pulling Pose): I can now see my foot coming up above my head in the mirror. Grin.

The Dress

Also known as There Goes Another Dive Trip To Dayang/Aur.

I decided to skip yoga tonight to hang out with The Best Friend who has been feeling sorely neglected lately (awww) and wonders why we do not get to see each other as often in a week as before (ehhh ... gulp).

Anyway, work kept both of us late and we only managed to meet close to 9. We went looking for The Dress at Lavender (#01-05 Stamford House), which The Best Friend had seen featured on TV (see, TV is gooood for you!). The selection was most pleasing -- a collection of off-the-shoulder dresses with clean lines and lovely details -- and about 15 minutes and three dresses later, we had decided on the winner. (The other two were a printed white and beige dress that flared out mid-thigh but did not hug me in the right places, and a tweed in shades of red and pink which was really pretty but a tad short for a formal dinner.)

Dinner was at Tamaya behind Centrepoint, with a mostly Japanese clientiele (need I say more?), and it was good -- charbroiled grilled foie gras (always a winner with me, heh), some dish that came with konayaku cubes (cute), deep-fried camembert (The Best Friend did not take to the bitterness and thinks I only like it because I'm a rat mouse, hmmpfff), sirloin (cannibal!!!) and salmon sashimi (disappointing). Dessert beckoned next, but we realised to our dismay that the mango pudding joint at International House had closed down. So it was TCC at Cineleisure for the new ginger-inspired drinks using Korean ginger jam. Yummy.

Before I Forget

Jonathan Rhys-Meyers is sooooo HOTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!

But I thought Maggie Q looked a little scary in that red cocktail dress -- too sinewy.

And oh, before I forget again ...

Jonathan Rhys-Meyers is so, so, sooooo HOTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!


Spread 'Em

The first night in Genting, we decided to catch Mysteria, a magic cum dance extravaganza thingy, since mum had free tickets and they were front row seats, which was a nice bonus for freebies -- not that it put me in the best of moods for the rest of the night. I was still nursing a persistent cough, stiffer-than-usual neck, terribly bored and feeling decidedly grouchy.

So, when the 50-something man sat down next to me (with his wife on the other side), legs and shoulders spread the way so many men spread theirs expecting extra space on either side of them to magically materialise -- which resulted in us seated thigh against thigh, arm against arm -- my Grouch-O-Meter went up several notches, though I remained resolutely still and refused to make 'adjustments'. You think you have balls, Uncle? Well, so do I, meeeeeester.

A while later, he turns and says something in Mandarin to us about shifting seats to the left. Move? To the left?? Even further away from the centre of the stage where most of the action will be??? My arms still crossed, I ignore him. He stands up and moves past us to the end of the row, just a few seats away, and sits down. That's right -- if the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad will go to the mountain.

From the corner of my eye, I see that he has instead shifted the last seat further to the left. He then gestures to mum to shift her seat to the left as well. She does so. He looks at me next. I continue to ignore him even as he returns to his seat on my right. He sits down and asks me to shift my seat to the left. Eyes fixed on the stage, I bark that I am very comfortable seated where I am. He reels back and looks at me affronted. He explains that he is just concerned that I would be uncomfortable and he is just trying to make it more comfortable for everyone. (I was very comfortable until you came along and decided your balls needed chair space too.) I ignore him. He gives up and briefly explains the situation to his wife. My mum turns to me askance and I bark that I did not think I should inconvenience myself just because someone wants to spread his legs.

For several minutes after that, we continue to sit thigh against thigh, arm against arm, each proving his/her point. Though he eventually shifts ever so often, leaning towards his wife on the other side, while I occasionally lean away ever so discreetly (but only after he leans away first), this goes on until the show starts, and then ends an hour later.

Oh yes, my Grouch-O-Meter was definitely off the scales that night.

* Kang Kang = wide open


Have you ever taken the cable car that goes up to Genting, passing over the forest en route -- at night?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As the cable cars on the other line made their way downhill, dazzling reds/pinks/yellows descending soundlessly (mostly) into the depths of night, I was reminded of a familiar scene from one of those documentaries on deep sea exploration. I watched, keeping words and thoughts to myself, still as the surreal silence that surrounded us in the misty cold.


Over the past weekend at Genting/KL with my mother (to torture myself for her birthday), I surprised myself by finishing half of Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore. I have not read so much, in as uninterrupted a stretch, for such a long, long time.

Perhaps it was all that idle time on the road to Genting and back -- almost six hours each way -- and the few hours before bedtime when I cooped up in the hotel room while mum went down to the casino to contribute to the Malaysian economy.

Or maybe it was the charm of a story so sublime and yet written so simply that kept me reading, and reading.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I remember the dismissive laugh as he declared that he did not read fiction because he thought it a waste of time and of little relevance to modern living. (Nevermind that a lot of fiction, take Shakespeare for example, are as much revelations of the human condition -- if not more illuminating.)

And I suppose, for many others like him, time is deemed better spent picking up practical lessons from the real life experiences of other people: people who are flesh and blood as they are, and lessons that they can readily apply to their own lives -- lessons that are invariably tied to achieving the kind of (financial) success measured by the modern world.

Obviously, not everyone approaches reading with the same, shall we say, utilitarian purpose in mind. Some people read for the love of stories. Some people read for the love of words themselves. Some people read for the love of dreams and of possibilities -- of Hope.

It is one thing to work towards that which you are 'assured' of success -- if he/she can do it, so can I. It is quite another to follow the voices in your own head (ermmm, not the sort that tell you to put your hands around your boss's neck and squeeze really, really hard) and the stirrings of your own heart.

Do you believe that words can take on a life of their own?

Ah, but what do I know? I don't even read that much nowadays -- it's mostly just my Nano and me to and from work, and some virtual violence before bedtime. Shrug.

I Spy With My Little Eye

Everyone, meet my new Dive Buddy.

Better known as There Goes A Nice Dive Trip To Someplace Further Than Dayang/Aur.

It's the Olympus SP310 SP320 (when I go back to Sim Lim later this week to return the 310 for the 320 that I was originally promised -- I don't care if the 320 is just a later release and they're "the same"; OF COURSE THEY ARE NOT THE SAME) and underwater housing PT030. I also had it upgraded to 1GB memory and added a red filter.

Doggy Heaven

Bye bye Terror. Sniff.



I AM sick and tired of this stiff neck.

I WANT to be rid of this stiff neck.

I WISH this stiff neck will just go, go, go awayyy.

I HATE having this bloody stiff neck.

I MISS not having a stiff neck.

I FEAR this stiff neck will never go away.

I HEAR that a stiff neck can eventually lead to a slipped disc.

I WONDER if this stiff neck will eventually lead to a slipped disc.

I REGRET not fixing this stiff neck more aggressively a year ago.

I AM NOT going to talk about this stiff neck anymore.

I DANCE rarely.

I SING even more rarely.

I CRY when dogs go to heaven.

I AM NOT ALWAYS as intimidating as I seem.

I MAKE WITH MY HANDS Christmas cards -- a long time ago.

I WRITE in words what others think in thoughts.

I CONFUSE my insecurites with my perceived inadequacies.

I NEED to sleep more.

I SHOULD go to sleep now -- it is three in the morning.

I START writing with questions.

I FINISH writing, sometimes, with answers.

I LOVE being able to do something well.

I REMEMBER being happier.

I TAG no one.