A*Mei Star Tour Part Duex

I'm telling you, this woman really knows how to put on a show. Of course it helps that her fans are hot-blooded and ready to rock from the get-go, but she literally commands you to get off your seat and up on your feet. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, nevermind that the sound system was a bit distant-sounding for my liking.

Dwarfed under the light.


One of the many reasons why I loved the concert: the thoughtful inclusion of lyrics so the audience could sing along with gutso. Don't ask me about the dubious costume choice in this picture, though.
This one was my favourite. The jacket had armpit cut-outs, for better airing, I suppose.

The audience on their feet (or should I say, at her feet?) lapping it up. I must say this was one of the better concerts I went to this year, atmosphere-wise, and I've been to quite a number.

Costume Number.... Six, I think. I liked the birdy/feather headpiece as it reminded me of Faye, plus it conjured up scenes from the Sex and The City Movie. Would love to find an occasion to wear one of these! Ooh, my favourite part of the show, in part due to her four chippendale dancers. The dancers emerged from the center of the stage first, dressed in stuffy suits and doctor's gowns and whatnot, then ripped off their clothes, much to the delight of the females in the audience (myself included). And they strip some more!

Hubba-hubba! The ang moh has the cutest butt. He wriggled it so well.

A*Mei's enjoying herself, but ugh, it looks like there's some acne party raging away on that dancer's back too.

Poor dancers. Fluorescent leotards with bikini tops reminiscent of coconut husks. Lucky for them they've got rockin' bodies. But still, they reminded me of Stefanie Sun's styling gaffe (below).


The stars on this number actually were lit-up and blinking away. And check out the platform heels. Crrraaazzy.


No concert worth its salt is complete without the requisite 3-storey rising platform!

Well, waddaya know? The woman plays the guitar too!

All in, I really had fun. Really glad she came back to Singapore for this tour, because the first time, we had really sucky seats all the way up in the sky, and even though we knew the world below us was really having fun, we couldn't really soak it all in simply because we were so far removed. So yay for coming back again!

I'm Going to the Grand Prix... Qualifiers!

Heheh. My friend got free tix and her boyfriend's out of town, so she asked me along with her. His loss, my gain. I'm gonna snap many pix! Too bad my Olympus has been given away. Only left with The Sis' below-par Konica-Minolta.

Maybe I should bring a mini-tripod?

Watch/Listen to Eason

Yay videos! These are videos of Eason's Meet and Greet sesh at HMV on 23rd Aug that I've managed to find.

This first one was done by students of Ngee Ann Poly. Think they were commissioned by HMV to do so or something; saw them in their (I'm assuming) ECA t-shirts -ourvoicebox - with their videocams.

It was quite nicely done. At the end are scenes of him signing his albums. Makes me giggle just to realise that none of those expressions I saw there quite matched that on his face when he saw me. Oh, and see Eason do splits in the air @ 1:44!

The next two vids are fan vids, so they aren't as stylo. But thanks to the vantage point, I got a few peeks of Eason in slippers which I couldn't quite see where I stood that day. I never thought Hong Kong-ers would wear slippers beyond their apartment block!!! But he mentioned that these are what he wears whenever he comes here. Aww... What laidback charm.

Aren't You Glad



不要说话

Am still eagerly awaiting someone to post vids from his Lunar Bar showcase, though. I'll bet those'll be tonnes better than the Meet'n'Greet.

And if you're interested, I've uploaded the .wav files of the two songs he performed that day:

Download the live version of 不要说话 here.
And the live version of Aren't You Glad here.

Do you think I came on too strong???

So I managed to head down to Eason's Meet and Greet sesh on Saturday, even though it was raining and I was late. The Boyfriend was supposed to accompany me to the event, but he was put off by the weather and so, in an unprecedented move, I went down to a 粉丝 event on my own.

I was 10 minutes late by the time I'd arrived, and a healthy crowd had already gathered on the first, second and third floors of Heeren outside HMV. Still, I managed to find a decent spot to perch, and so I stayed for the next hour or so waiting, even though I had to go wee-wee.

It was worth the wait. When he finally arrived, Eason delighted the crowd with two songs from his latest Mandarin album <<不想放手>> Aren't You Glad and 不要说话. There was also a Don't Forget the Lyrics-esque game segment, and the participants had the honour of having Eason harmonise for them. He's super nice to his fans - he gave each of the participants a great big hug at the end of the game, and personalised the prize - an autographed copy of his cd - for the winner of the game, which was very thoughtful of him because the next thing on the programme was an autograph session. D'oh.

Which I stayed for, naturally, even though that meant that I would be late for my dinner appointment (I did struggle with my decision for a bit, though) and also that I would have to shell out another 20 bucks for an album I already had (albeit a newer version, complete with MVs).

Anyways, I joined the queue, which was mercifully short (relatively speaking) and proceeded to interact with my immediate neighbours, who initiated contact. As I edged closer and closer to the head of the line, I started to get more and more nervous and excited. I'm gonna meet Eason Chan, up close and personal!

In a short span of 10 minutes that we were in the queue together, us QuikFriends (because it was so instant and so brief) chatted about his songs, his performance and his recent concert. Someone started asking what we would say to him when we met him - provided we didn't suddenly get a case of Celebrity-induced lockjaw - and that was when I decided, and declared to my QuikFriends, that I would ask him for a hug.

I was the last of the QuikFriends to get my autograph, and as I stood and waited, heart pumping, for the right opportunity to pop the question.

I know he took his time to sign my albums, but I don't remember exactly what, so excited was I. I only knew that my cue to speak was when he finished signing and looks up to shake his fan's (that's me!) hand. Which by and by he did.

And so I launched into my monologue:

Me (Grabbing his hand): Hi Eason!
Him (smiles): ....
Me: I really like your music! (milisecond pause) Could I have a hug? (Please! I really meant to say please, I did!)
Him: ??? (I can tell he hesitated for a fraction of a second, then very magnanimously, he stands up and extends himself for a hug, across the table)
Me (after separating myself from him): Thanks!!! Thanks so much!!!!!!!
Him (polite smile, nods): ....

And that was it, my encounter with Eason Chan. I walked off with the albums in my hands, and almost did not bother to look at his name scrawled across them before placing them in my bag.

The moment was brief, but it was mine, all mine. For one second, Eason Chan the Amazing Singer with Manly Forearms, Effervescent Personality and the Energy of a Teenager was mine, all mine.

When I think back on that little episode where I was mad-struck by the Awe of Meeting My Idol, I still can't help but grin.

Well, at least I didn't take his hand and snatch it forward for a forced hug, which is what I heard some other (more manic) fan did.

I leave you with the best shot I captured of him that day:

(Wanted to upload a recording of 不要说话, but too lazy to find a server to put it up. Maybe another day then.)

My Latest Obsession: Eason Chan

It's been a long time since any singer has laid claim over my heart in such a way, with such intensity. I'm making it known here and now: I effing love you, Eason Chan!

I love you so much, I forgive you for speaking incomprehensibly in Cantonese at your recent concert at the Indoor Stadium (you did, after all, ask more than a couple of times what language us Singaporeans spoke; heck, you even put it to a vote! Sadly, Cantonese speakers out-numbered us Mandarin/English speakers 100 to 1, I think).

I love you so much, I am contemplating learning Cantonese so that I may understand you in your mother tongue. I may start by snatching up all your remaining albums I don't yet own, Cantonese releases inclusive.

I love you so much, I haven't been able to stop listening to your music since the concert ended on 26th July. I prick my ears for your songs on the radio, in the streets when I pass by shops, on tv and in my dreams.

I love you so much, I'm torn that I won't be able to make it to Lunar Bar to attend your album showcase. But I'll definitely try to make it to your autograph session this Saturday. Shake my hand again, please!!!! I promise I'll try to say something more than "Er," this time around!

Molly ♥ Eason

P/S: Interesting write-up on his concert on 26/07/08 here.

And a photo I took with The Boyfriend at the concert:

Don't worry dear, you're still my No. 1!! Heheh so corny.

NDP 08: Contemplation

This year was the third year running I had the privilege to attend the NDP; all three years I have enjoyed myself, but every year the experience is slightly different.

The first year, I was cautious, almost cynical.

Last year, it was all about taking in the small things and relishing them.

This year, my mood was a bit more contemplative, perhaps in part due to the fact that we are facing an economic downturn (some say looming economic crisis?).

As I gasped at the Black Knights doing their precision display, I wondered how many Black Knights it would take to keep Singapore safe, should we ever (choi) one day need to fight.

As I sang with gusto the familiar National Day songs I had by now memorised, a little voice inside questioned how much, beside the catchy tunes and simple lyrics, I had imbibed.

As I took the Pledge, heart-on-hand, I faltered a little at the "democratic society" part.

As I watched in awe the fireworks in the sky, my mind turned towards the less fortunate in our midsts.

One thing I did without feeling any irony though - singing the National Anthem at attention, eyes fixed on the flag.

PS: All the above photos were not taken by me, but stolen from flickr. Below, however, are my own photos.

Take 1

Take 2.

The Best Rihanna Video So Far

Heard over Class95 this morning that this group of media students from TP made a video (called a lip dub) li-synching to Rihanna's "Umbrella". Curiosity piqued, I decided to take a peek.

Verdict? Funniest thing I've seen produced locally in a while! Very clever and creative kids these. (With a lot of time on their hands.)

See it here:



There's a whole bunch of them - perhaps they did it as part of a school project, or maybe one of them did it first, which started this whole trend - but this was my favourite out of the lot. Have a look and decide for yourself.

Hilarity ensues.

GEMS Part II

Made a short stop at Expo on Friday to check out another one of those regular sales affairs by local departmental stores. Wandering around, I found myself at the belts section, and saw a few that caught my eye.

Being the auntie that I am, my bag was stuffed full and the spillover contents were in a plastic bag in my hand. That made it considerably more difficult for me to try on the belts for size. A couple of times, the belts got entangled with their tags and each other, and some fell to the floor. However, that did not deter the salesgirl of that section from staying rooted to her spot, despite being within arm's reach of helping me.

When yet another belt fell, Miss Helpful finally decided I had damaged enough of her wares to un-plaster herself from her station and pick it up. A little while later, I turned to ask her if there were any mirrors nearby.

No came the silent answer, her sour mein unwavering.

I fussed over the belts a little more, choosing the best-quality ones. Finally, unable to accept that in the entire accessory section there would be zero mirrors, I walked towards the necklace section. Sure enough, no more than 5 metres from where I had previously stood, was a big mirror.

I glanced back at Miss Helpful, who was now attending to another potential customer. I even spied a smile on her face. What, I thought, did I do to deserve her sour mein?

The more I thought about it, the more pissed I became. I decided to update her on the mirror status, for her own benefit as well as future customers'.

I walked up to her, she resolutely ignoring me until I spoke: "Miss, for your information there's a mirror, right over there."

With a withering look, she replied, "Not my mirror." As if I cared whose mirror it was I used.

"I only asked if there was a mirror nearby." Read: Not if any of the mirrors in this hall belonged to you.

She rolled her eyes, gave a fantastic "Whatever" look, and proceeded to ignore me.

Great. I was slighted by the person who was supposedly hired to assist me. In any case, my ride had called to say she'd be arriving shortly, so I had no time to lose. I walked off, offended and defeated, to make payment for the goods she did not help sell.

GEMS: Grotesque Existence of Meagre Service

Started writing this on Sunday, but didn't have time to complete it til now. Somehow it transformed from a little gripe to a full-blown missive about the lack of proper service in Singapore (or Orchard Rd, at least). You have been warned.

Oh, Great Singapore Service, all experienced in a day. How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways:

1. Let's start with the most minor incident. We were in one of the loos in one of the many malls of Orchard Road, Ching and I - one which supposedly caters to some of the country's most well-heeled customers, if its tenancy is anything to go by - and speaking to each other by the basins as we washed our hands.

We had barely finished rinsing when from behind me a cleaner sulkily sidled up, mop in hand, waiting. As Ching was obviously in her way, I asked Ching to move so that the cleaneing-lady could pass through, but no sooner had she Ching done so did the cleaning-lady's mop make an abrupt stop at her feet.

"Can you move over there," Cleaning-Lady said, her tone making it obvious that was a statement rather than a question. Her hand raised and a finger pointed in the direction of the powder area. Her eyes were windows to nothingness. Except maybe a hard brick wall.

2. I went for a wax and, as usual, the lady serving me was trying to sell me an IPL package. It was a soft sell compared to some of those I'd heard before, and since I was considering getting my underarms permanently de-fuzzed, I didn't mind listening and even asked some questions.

When I got to the part about the price, which was in excess of a thousand dollars for 8 sessions, I was beside myself. "That's so expensive!" I blurted. Two seconds later, I yelped in pain - which had never happened before, mind. The lady had pulled an inordinate amount of flesh up together with the wax, causing - obviously - much pain.

That prematurely ended all talk of IPL.

3. Later on, I was at the beauty floor of a home-grown mall (whose chief very recently made the local news), in search of a new sunblock. I sampled three before going back to my current sunblock brand, one with Japanese lineage, and was promptly approached by its counter staff. I told her what I wanted, and she led me to a drawer containing at least a dozen versions of my required product. So far so good. She recommended a couple to me, which I tried on, and then just stood there waiting for me to make my choice.

I ask some more questions, she shows me another option. By this time I could feel her getting a little testy. A little embarrassed by my indecisiveness (and pressured by her presence), I decided to pick up a type that I usually reserved for outdoor activities. To reward my purchase, she brought out two samples and briefly instructed me on their usage.

But still, I pondered. I told her to hold onto my product as I wanted to continue taking a look around. A walked round to the other side of the counter; she tailed me like a watchful dog. I walked back to the drawer of sunblocks. She followed suit. I pulled it open, and picked out the items she had earlier introduced.

Finally, unable to take it longer, she placed her hand on the drawer, and said, "I'm sorry, actually this drawer is not for people to sample." (Actually I don't remember if she said "I'm sorry" but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt here.) I looked at the bottle I was holding. On it was a sticker that clearly read: Sample Only Not For Sale.

What? If I'm going to buy a $1.5/gm sunblock, shouldn't I have some time to decide from your dizzying array? Honestly, at this point in time, I had not taken 10 minutes of her time, which, by the way, she was being paid for to serve potential customers. But I merely mustered, "I'm only taking a look at the bottles."

In the end, being the loyal (and stupid) customer that I am, I chose one of her recommendations and was ready to go pay up. Perhaps seeing my pushover-ness, she tried her luck at making more commission out of me: "If you spend $XXX you will receive these free products." She gestured, to a display case of boring-looking items and a pathetic make-up pounch.

I baulked. That would mean buying another expensive item I didn't need just to make up another $20 dollars to be eligible for the redemption. "Er, no thanks."

With that, she cordially sent me to the cashier. There was, however, no word of thanks.

4. I also went for a back massage today. (Yes, it sounds like I did a lot of things in one day.) My back is a knot of muscles. I didn't specify any masseuse, assuming they'd assign me a guy (I'd never seen a lady masseuse before) like they had always done before. But when I got there, they gave me a lady, and I thought to myself: Oh no, it's going to be painful. Someone told me this theory once that because women have smaller hands, their massages will naturally be more painful because for the same amount of force, they will exert more pressure than a man would.

Anyways, the massage was not so much painful as it was uncomfortable. The woman kneaded me like she needed a loaf of bread in a hurry. I did not feel any relief of muscles or acupoints or anything. She also spent an inordinate amount of time on my arms and hands, despite noting earlier that I had a very stiff back. I had a niggling feeling she was just trying to "Get it over and done with" with me. So I made up my mind to make it known that she was a lousy masseuse.

"How long have you been in this industry?" I asked in Mandarin, making sure my voice sounded pleasant and innocuous. I even had a faint hint of a smile on my face. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the lady boss approaching with a cup of tea. She was definitely within earshot of the ensuing conversation.

"Oh, I was trained elsewhere," came the evasive reply. Her face, however, remained expressionless, even nonchalent.

"What I meant was how long you have been giving massages," I pressed on.

"There is no how long or how short," was her initial reply. And, after a split second, "Two or one years." Yes, she put the two ahead of the one.

I nodded knowingly. "Is there a problem?"

"Well, I just thought that the massage could have been more well-done." I started evenly. "It seems like you didn't really hit the right nodes on my back."

"Your back is so tight, I cannot use too much strength." Er, lady, I've received massages before, and 90% of the time, my massages were not of the bake-shop variety. Thanks for trying to pull the wool over my head.

I ended the unpleasant encounter by telling the receptionist not to assign me that lady again, even though I know that they don't take down customers' preferences. My purpose was to send a pointed message to the owner, and the masseuse herself, that her work was not up to par, and something should be done about it. And if possible, that attitude too.

5. And finally, I saved the most fume-worthy for last. Woke up in the super-early hour of 7am as Ching had booked me a 10 o'clock spa as a treat at The Fullerton's The Asian Spa, (Yes, I have decided to give full disclosure) and I didn't want to be late. In fact,

The booking had been made two weeks before, so I was expecting to waltz in and get pampered for the next one and a half, two hours. So imagine our record scratching to a halt in our heads when the receptionist told us point-blank, "I'm afraid I don't have your booking, Miss."

I couldn't believe my ears. What?! I screamed inside. I came all the way here for nothing?!?! Outwardly, I remained calm, if sour-looking. We insisted that we'd made a booking. The lady re-checked her booking schedule and tried the rehearsed reply on us again: "I'm afraid we don't have your booking."

"So we wasted our time coming down la," I tried not to sneer at her.

Finally she relented and asked us to sit down while she made some calls.

After 15 minutes, she walked over apologetically, asked if a call was made to confirm our booking (there was none), and told us she would extend our voucher, which was to end tomorrow, by another month. The spa would also throw in a free Swedish massage.

But the damage was done. I told her how incredibly dissapointed we were, how the spa had wasted our time coming down on a Sunday morning - that was the only slot available - when we could still be snug under our covers, and how downright shameful it was for a hotel of The Fullerton's stature to have made such a mistake. I also made up my mind not to go back for a very, very long time. For the inconvenience they had caused us, this was a very lame attempt at making up for it.

+ + + + + + + + + +

Thankfully, however, not all hope is lost. I also went to Robinson's and am happy to report that the sales staff that attended to me there pleased me with her professionalism. She fielded my questions with ease, giving me the necessary information I required to make the decisions on my purchases, and even suggesting alternative options that suited my needs better but not necessary the store's. I did however, detect an undeniable China-accented Mandarin in her voice, which led me to wonder if she was the exception or the norm. But that's another entry for another day.

Argh...

Played around with the template and inadvertently lost my blog template. Sad.............

The Thing About Blogger...

One thing I dread about using Blogger is all the extra formatting I have to do when I upload photos. Each photo I add goes right up to the top of the page, and formatting can be hellllll because I don't know no basic html. So I'm giving Google Docs a chance and hopefully, posting pics will become less of a hassle (not sure about the formatting part still, though). So, here goes:

A random pic from my escapade to Redang in March.

An Analogy on Accountability

Something I nicked off this blog., which was in turn sent to me by Barry:

Domestic Maids, Mas Selamat and Why Wong Kan Seng Should Be Fined

Pardon the slightly bizarre title of this post. In a roundabout way, it was inspired by the following article from Today:

2 years on, employers still skirt day-off clause
Should there be a law to get employers to comply?
Friday • April 25, 2008

NEWLY arrived, a maid asked her employer if she could get a rest day. Her employer was incredulous.

"If I wanted to give my maid a day off, I would have hired one from another country," said the employer, who had signed her up on the assumption that maids of some nationalities were more pliant than others.

Faced with an employment contract that requires them to either give their maids a rest day, or compensate them accordingly for working, some Singaporean employers have sought ways to get around the terms or extract the most from their workers.

And this begs the question of how much has truly changed for the 170,000 foreign domestic workers in our midst — two years after the industry association put together a standard contract requiring employers to give maids at least one day off a month.

A Today straw poll of 50 employers found that only 62 per cent gave their maids a rest day.

With some industry watchers criticising the rest-day clause as being too flexible, should legislation be put in place to mandate the issue? ....
There are several simple reasons why many Singaporean employers are reluctant to give their maids a day off.

You see, if the maid runs away, the government will fine the employer $5,000. If the maid commits a crime such as shoplifting, the government will fine the employer $5,000.

If the maid is caught having sex with someone, the government will fine the employer $5,000. If the maid gets pregnant, the government will also fine the employer $5,000.

(Oh, and you have to send your maid for a pregnancy test every six months).

If you didn't know any of the above, then either you do not employ a maid, or you didn't read the small print of the Manpower Ministry's work permit conditions.

Many employers are afraid that if their maid has a day off and gets into trouble, the employer will not only have to solve the trouble, but also have to fork out $5,000 as a free gift to the government.

(Not that the government will then help you solve the trouble. It's just a fine, plain & simple).

Intuitively, this smacks of gross unfairness. The employer gets punished not for something he did, but for something that somebody else (the maid) did. Furthermore, once the maid leaves the employer's residence, the employer has no way of monitoring where the maid goes and what she does there.

To encourage employers to give their maids a day off, the government needs to change these ridiculous rules.

I agree that employers should be fined and punished, if they fail to perform their responsibilities as employers - for example, paying the maid's salary on time; providing adequate food and accommodation; and ensuring a safe, secure working environment.

But employers should not be held responsible, for things that a maid may do, of her own free will. When the maid goes out on her rest day, the employer simply has no viable way to ensure that she will not do anything that breaches her work permit conditions.

(Which, by the way, are quite extensive and onerous).

We may draw a curious parallel with Mas Selamat's escape, and PM Lee's determined, if muddled, defence of Home Affairs Minister Wong Kan Seng in Parliament.

Mas Selamat ran away. But PM Lee said that Wong Kan Seng was not at fault and should not be punished in any way. The reason being that Wong Kan Seng personally did not do anything which allowed Mas Selamat to escape.

Strangely, if your maid runs away, it IS your fault and you SHOULD be punished. Even if you did not personally do anything to let her run away (apart from giving her a day off).

Similarly, if your maid becomes pregnant, it IS your fault and you SHOULD be punished. Even if you did not personally do anything to make her pregnant.

Oh well. What can I say? Maids are not terrorists. But then you are not Wong Kan Seng. So the rules remain stacked against you. Wong Kan Seng gets off lightly, but you won't. Even if his lapse has far greater, and graver, implications than yours.

Your runaway maid wouldn't blow up Changi Airport, would she?

Questioning Normalcy

Was looking for information on the film Taxidermia when I stumbled upon this report:



I wonder how these fines take place, but somehow I suspect it wasn't the fruit of some young graduate sitting in a darkened room screening tv shows for objectionable programmes.

Why don't poeple just live and let live?

Taxidermia

Grotesque, bizarre, repulsive. Weird.

I really wanna catch this movie!

Wistful

The SIFF is almost over. I tarried too long. Oh well, even if I can't catch Lucky7 (which I'm hoping will get a commercial release sometime later), there are a few films I could still possibly catch this weekend. Even one would suffice. Now, if only JW would confirm when our short has to be filmed...

The Mangled Jacket & Thrift Store Thrills

I was out of town for a business meeting this week, and thought I'd bring my smart new jacket along with me. I love it because it is

a) a Missy Elliot design from Adidas
b) almost perfect in the way it hugs my curves
c) bought on sale at like, half the original price
d) a gorgeous shade of navy blue
e) satin

Behold:

But, alas, point e) also became its undoing. Unbeknownst to me as I was rushing from one end of a terminal to another, a tiny, almost unperceptible rough spot was hooking onto my sleeve, causing it to snag and tear in twenty different places:

And trust me, it's worse than it looks. All those little dotty lines running across the sleeve? Those are not a result of poor handiwork.

Lesson learnt: Never buy a fragile item of clothing if you're gonna be a tomboy with it.

But there is happier satorial news. I went to The Salvation Army today and scored a few gems!

A vintage clutch (total steal!!!), a pair of 1kg dumbbells (to train those flabby arms), and eight pairs of plastic fantastic earrings (because they're cheap). How much did these cost? Just $40.

(The Boyfriend commented: "It's not so cheap after all." *pffffft* What do men know about good buys.)

I love thrift stores! Like flea markets, I love what treasures you could find if you rummage/loiter/poke around long enough. If I could, I'd shop in them all the time.

Cebu Rendezvous - A Preamble

I know, I know, I promised photos and a blow-by-blow of my trips to Cebu and Scandi. I still intend to do them. Actually for the period of time where Facebook was at its fever-pitch for me I was considering ditching the thought altogether, but then I realised nothing seals an experience quite like writing about it. But since it's a little late on a Sunday night to be putting up dozens of photos online, I shall just give you this little nugget to bate your breath. Heh.

(Damn, this shot is really unflattering. But still, I do like it.)

In Praise of Lurve

I don't know where we get our ideas from - Bird Park, Botak Jones, and now, Camping at East Coast Park - but we certainly mark the significant occasions in our life as a couple with visits to unusual locales.

So, last Saturday, The Boyfriend and I biked to ECP with heavily-loaded bags, picked a choice spot and starting pitching our tent.

Twenty minutes later, we finally got it up! I noticed that, besides the four corners, there were "hooks" in the middle of each side supposedly to place pins to further secure the tent. Before I knew it - the sea breeze began to blow.

Our tent shifted and moved, and got all wonky and out-of-shape.

"Argh!" I screamed. "Go buy pins!"

"No need la!" The Boyfriend countered. "One day only, buy for what??" As penny-pinching practical and thrifty as ever.

"But it will get windier at night," whined I, "and then we'll be in trouble." He then proceeded to fuss over the four corners, walking round a few times to re-adjust the legs of the tent, as I sat stubbornly sulking inside.

Finally, confident that the tent would hold, he entered the tent with a satisfied look written on his face. "Actually," he mused, "should've asked my brother for the pins, hor? Army sure have one what." (His brother is currently serving his NS.) By this time, however, I had missed his presence and was glad he was back, so I let the matter slide with a good-natured roll of my eyes.

And thus, the day proceeded, with him doing most of the tasks (buy tea, fuss over tent, buy dinner, fuss over tent, clear rubbish, fuss over tent) while I hid in our little cove.

The highlight of the day must be the shared reading of old letters and cards (I brought his, he didn't have space in his bag for mine). We reminisced, questioned, clarified and mostly laughed through the incidents and events that brought us to where we are today. On hindsight, it was part serendipity, part careful (sly?) planning and part dogged determination that we even managed to be together.

Night-time presented itself with a few minor challenges. We were to shower in the public toilets of the Resort (formerly NTUC Costa Sands), but by the time I went in, the pools were closed and the loo was deserted. The dimly-lit shower stalls were creepily silent except for the incessant dripping of a tap at the end of the row. I gingerly stripped, allowed the water to touch me, washed my privates hastily and got dressed again in a jiffy.

Later on, a group of foreign workers decided that 15 metres away from our tent was the best spot for them to lay a huge canvas, sit cross legged on and regale each other with stories while drinking sobriety away with an assortment of beers. Needless to say, they started making quite a din.

When the time came for us to retire for the night, I found that the ground that we picked to lay our tent over was rather uneven, causing my bum area to be lifted at an angle. I made do with by locating a small dent in the otherwise high mound, settled down and went to bed. I'm sure I now have a few small bruises on my pelvic area.

But all the more blissful for it. :)

I leave you with a few pictures we took of our experience:

Wayang

I don't know how to do it. Or rather, I don't like, or want, to do it, most of the time. It is too effort-intensive. It is a snivel. It is what people would screw up their noses at, behind your back.

Yet, at times, it is essential, if you are not to get into trouble with The Man. Or receive a black mark. It is a mode the more street-smart amongst us would get into when necessary.

I should really learn how to wield it properly so that, when the need calls for it, I am alert enough to use it for my own well-being/survival. But the inner struggle never quite goes away. Can one be wayang and yet not be fake/hypocritical?