Belatedly Kimchi

It's not that I have been so busy that I haven't had time for blogging, but seeing as this is the only window that The Boyfriend and I have before he and I both march into Cubicles of Slavedom and end our lives as we know it, it makes more sense to spend time with him (and family and friends), even if it's just hanging around and enjoying each other's company, not doing much else. Sometimes it seems as though he is all I need in the world -

which is a fallacy, of course: he is almost all I need in the world

- but I still enjoy the company of a few old friends at a nice get-together once in a while (like that one just held at Jln Tambur a few days ago!). Which is more than I can say about the expectation, and the norm, of socializing, after hours, with my colleagues. Most times, I prefer to keep my time after the job that way - mine, keeping the decision of whether to go out with someone or to stay in my room alone my own. But oftentimes, you are expected to make that effort to have lunch/dinner/supper/breakfast with them, if not go out with them. Sometimes, it makes me wonder if I am really a sociable as I think of myself, but honestly, it gets really tiring when it becomes a tacit prerequisite. Plus, with what awaits me after my six months, it almost becomes an overt requirement. Somehow, if it's written there in the job reqs just makes it that much more undesirable for me. I guess that's what that personality test meant when it said that I had a streak of the rebellious in me.

Which is why, I think, Seoul was one of my favourite locations so far: although I went out in a group with some of my colleagues, once at our destination we split up and did our own shopping, which suited me to a T. No need to make ceremonial smalltalk, no need to worry whether I was portraying the wrong image, just me, on my own, focusing on the stuff I wanted to do.

Like getting trigger-happy at the Lotte Supermart, for example:

After I took this picture, a salesperson came up to me, enthused. She, starting to speak in Korean, and I, starting to get embarrassed, pointed to my camera and said, "Only looking. I'm sorry I don't understand you" before hurrying away.

Poor Mr Live Crab awaiting certain death in someone's pot.

An odd sight, frozen whole octopuses! Er, octopi? Ooh, a quick check at dictionary.com tells me that both are acceptable. How cool is that?... Seeing this now reminds me of the teppanyaki octopus tentacles I had by a busy road in Shanghai the other day. Absolutely delectable stuff. I wanted to buy ten more and devour them! Sadly, there was no time.

Political disputes and historical feuds never got in the way of earnest palates.

On the top left-hand corner of the packaging it reads: 3 Times A Day. Pray, what? What do we do three times a day? Eat? Pray? Get laid?

At Myeong Dong station. Obviously, a self-portrait. I know it's sadly done but it took me four tries to get something decent! This was, by the way, the place in which I happily got lost in a maze of shops. My only laments? No time, not enough money. There were lots of lovely dresses and shoes, but things there aren't exactly cheap. In fact, I recently found a S$4 necklace of white beads in Chinatown, apparently made in Korea, that would've cost me two and a half times more in Myeong Dong!

My train arrives, and I am glad it does. By the time I reach my station, Seoul Station, the area is more or less deserted save for the odd office worker who left the office late, as well as the more discomfitting sight of destitute men taking shelter for the night at the underground passes I had to walk through trying to find my way out of the labyrinth that made up what appeared to be an interchange station.

Also, I had to contend with a bespectacled man who eyed me as I stood next to him on the train: each time I turned round to look at him, however, his asian conservativeness must have kicked in because he looked away or askance - so I thought I had been just flattering myself. He happened (or not) to get off at the same stop as me, though, caught up with me and started jabbering away in Korean once again. What part of me looks Korean to these people? I'd just come back from a dive trip in Phuket, for goodness' sake! The man tries to buy me coffee (no thank you, it is too late), offers to send me back to my hotel (The horror! I forget its name!), and, when all attempts fail, he hands me his namecard. Aw. And for his earnestness, I shall refrain from posting it up for all and sundry to see.

Actually after that I regretted a little for rejecting him, because it was not long after that I got lost and ended up resurfacing from the underground on the wrong side of the street, and the road I had to take back to my hotel was awfully dark, quiet and treacherously steep. Boy, was I glad to reach the top of the hill in safety, my hotel in full view.

But would I do it again? You bet.

I Should Be In Bed...

... But I couldn't resist the urge to use the internet for a bit. You see, ladies and gentlemen, I am now in the United Arab Emirates state of Abu Dhabi, where the weather is swelteringly hot, the hours are 4 behind Singapore time, and where picture-taking is a restricted affair. I read in the guide of the hotel room that no photographs are to be taken of government buildings and such-like, and that permission should always be sought before taking pictures of people; women in particular find having their pictures taken intrusive. They didn't mention anything about bookstores, however, so I was today gingerly trying to take a picture (even though two security guards were making their rounds in there - for reasons mysterious to me). I wanted to, for the benefit of you readers, demonstrate Mills and Boon's reach of the land - they have a presence, unexpectedly to me, in the Middle East - but before I could properly depress the shutter button, one of the uniform-clad men marched up to me, hand outstretched and waving vigorously, saying, "Sorry, no, no". So my camera's memory card is still empty. Maybe I'll have better luck tomorrow.

P/S I changed the time of post to reflect the country I am in.

The Bed Usurper Part Deux

After landing in Seoul, I whipped out my camera and turned it on. What greeted me on the screen just made my lips part and smile:

Don't get it? Let me elaborate:

Darling, next time just sleep on the other side, la.

Was going through my pictures looking for something interesting to post on Friendster, but chanced upon these instead. They were taken in Melbourne, about a week ago.

View from my hotel room

Street artist: chalk on pavement. Reminds me of Mary Poppins.

The picturesque view on Yarra River. Was a bit cloudy that evening.

Growing up is hard to do

"The most beautiful discovery true friends makes is that they can grow separately without growing apart."
- Elizabeth Fowley




On Mar 2, I typed in this quote, my heart full of bitterness and spite. My best friend of 7 years, the one person whom I thought would never be one of the many passersby in my life, was starting to fade from it.

She was one of the fallen ones. Someone came by, swept her off her feet, and subsequently, out of my life, too. And while I was happy for her, I also slowly came to the realisation that she was slowly but surely slipping out of my life. I saw her less and less, and my efforts at meeting up with her were displaced by her busy work sched, as well as the desire of a person newly basking in the luxuriance of love to spend more time with that one person who made life so perfect and worth living.

It didn't help that her landlady, my aunt, kept reminding me how little she was at home, everytime I went over to her place to give my cousin tuition. Slowly, happiness for her turned to jealousy, anger, and resentment.

And then, I stopped wanting to care. Of course deep down I still did, otherwise I wouldn't have been so upset with her. Stopped trying to catch up with her. Stopped trying to sms her about the nitty gritties in my life, to complain whenever things didn't go my way. I put up a big, big barrier between her and me, and refused to let her come close, even when she started to sense that something had gone wrong between the both of us. For months, I would rant to my boyfriend, about the anger, the sense of betrayal, of having someone come between us, when it was the exact thing she said she would never allow to happen. And I continued to shut her out.

In my eyes, we had drifted apart, not only because of the time we didn't spend together, but also in terms of our interests, the way we saw things. To be fair, they never really melded to begin with, but at least in the past there was music, movies, chionging sessions, slumber parties. But I guess what happened next was we grew up.

Or rather, she did. Got a job, worked her brains out, no energy left to have fun. While I was still in my final year of uni, she'd already finished her degree. By the time I found a job, she'd already been poring through sheets and sheets of papers for a year. How could we not have moved in different directions?

But the last straw was having a new man in her life. Granted, I was genuinely happy for her, to have found someone dependable and who loved her and treated her well. But I wasn't ready for the aftermath. For the first time in many years, she didn't need me anymore. I no longer had to be there for her when she ran into problems, when she needed a shoulder to cry on, to give her advice. I was relegated; I was redundant.

And, I suppose, at the end of the day, that's the part that stung the most. Not that she had neglected me, not that we were becoming more and more different from each other. I can see that now. I saw that some time ago, in fact, but the acceptance has now come along. I don't blame her for spending as much time as she can with him, because, looking back, I did the same thing as well. In the throes of a new relationship, anyone can forget the rest of the world still goes on; time stands still, you only have eyes for the other.

So today, I look back, and look at, our relationship with a kind of resignation. People grow up, fall in love, breakaway. It happens. It's happening all around me. I'm guilty of it too. Not that I'm proud of it. But, being aware of it now, I do want to have friends other than my Significant Other. It's unhealthy, to me, to enclose yourself in a world where only you and him exist. It is also impractical. I mean, look at me! My best friend is The Boyfriend. And he's prolly much the only person I hang out with these days, despite efforts to go out with others in a group (Over The Hedge being an example). What the hell, what's going to happen if one day, touch wood, we fall out with each other? He leaves the country again? Am I going to wait until then to run back to my friends, whom I'd neglected heretofore, and expect them to welcome me back with open arms? Hell no. Such unfair and selfish behaviour wouldn't you say.

Okay. From today onwards, I am going to put in more effort to go out and meet up with my friends other than the one having the initials T and B, starting with people closest to me first. Or who were. And while I don't know whether I can still call her my best friend, yes, she's included too.

I'm Really Good at Losing Things.

Intended to write to SingTel and get my phonebill to be mailed to me instead of my uncle/aunt as it has been for the past 5 years, but apparently, I lost the only copy of the bill my aunt passed me.

Wanted to see Tokyo for the very first time, but I lost my appetite, lost a lot of fluid (due to a semi-loss of control in my bowel movements), and hence, lost my chance to do so.

But I will not lose my memories of my week in Phuket, at least not for a long time.

Here we are, doing as they do in Thailand, and zipping around the way locals do - going against a tourists' guide advice not to do so. On Phuket Island, it costs barely over a hundred Singapore dollars to own a little 125cc motorbike. So it's no wonder whole families (ie father, mother, sister, brother, baby) get around using that.

I didn't get to take any pictures underwater, nor did I have my picture taken underwater, and nope, no hunky shots of instructors either (thought they were in abundance), so you'll have to be content with this shot of my diving instructor and her class (that's The Boyfriend, me, and Petra, the other student).

See how much darker we've become. Really, I didn't know how much 4 months inside a building during the sunlight hours of the day is really the best skin-whitening treatment once could ever hope for, until I went out into the sun again and lost it. But it's alright, I think I look pretty good tan. At least that's what The Boyfriend says.

Speaking of melanin in the skin, we had a discussion over lunch with our instructor's boyfriend (one of the hunky ones) (The Boyfriend begs to differ, and I wish he wouldn't read behind my back while I am writing) about the economics of skin. If you know about the economics of weight then you would be familiar with this theory: In temperate countries, being tan means you can afford to pay a whole lot to get someplace far away with a lot of sun. And by extension I suppose, being fair in a tropical country would mean that you work a lot indoors, which by loose definition means you are a white-collar worker who lives comfortably well. Either that or you have the money to buy those expensive get-white treatments lesser souls don't have access to.

Whatever it is, dark or fair, I just want good skin. Which I do not have the privilege of owning right now, due to stress, hormones, irregular bedding hours, a lousy diet and so on. Part of which is my own fault, part of which is out of my hands. But at the rate people are bombarding me with skincare products I don't know whether work, however, I think my skin will only grow more stressed with the constant changes I introduce to my regime. Help?

Okay. As blog-deprived I am, it can't compete with lack of sleep. I'm just going to throw out some random photos and captions.

Seafood

Little crab on the beach. One of them snuck up on Chye, who sent sand and a "whoop!" into the air.

(Seems almost a crime to eat something that magnificent. That sounds like we ate it. Didn't.)

I have no frickin' idea why they put a potato (at least that's what we think it is) in that fish's mouth. Gross, huh?

Birds

At the Phuket Simon Cabaret (Or Cabeleh, as The Boyfriend likes to call it)

Only stickers to protect her modesty (not that she seems to care, however)

Getting rewarded for her brazen-ness later. She came down with her chaperone (the chubby one, on the right) during the finale, with everyone on stage! Tipped handsomely, I'll bet.

Having a field day taking shots of the pretty lady-boys.

Empress Dowager katoey

Cuban katoey

Thai princess katoey

Did you spot the only thorn amongsts the latter-day roses?

And finally, the bird with the most natural (though not necessarily most beautiful) plumage, the source of her irritation in the background.

Taking Off...

Am now standing at a internet terminal at the, erm, Budget Terminal.

I'm jetting off to Phuket!!! Sun, sand, the beautiful sea... and hopefully hunky diving instructors for me to ogle at.

Be back on 17th. Ciao, people.

For Posterity's Sake

By now, most of us would have slipped that folded piece of paper (which some say is marked) into the highly-guarded cardboard box; but I would still like to share a few pictures I took at the WP Rally at AMK (opposite your place, Marion!) I attended on Thurday night. For posterity.

By the time my mum and I arrived at the scene, the rally was nearing its end. Many people had gathered both on the field itself and across the road. Mum and I decided to take the lift from the block opposite the rally site to get a better view. Alas, many people had the same idea, and it didn't help that the elevators were of the obsolete variety (some say lau kok kok). It took us nearly 10 minutes of waiting before finally setting foot into the over-worked lift, which buzzed its buzzer whenever more than 6 people entered its premises. Tsk tsk. The message it was trying to send out was pulpably heard.

But when we got there, what we saw was similar to the scene at Hougang a few days ago:

The energy of the crowd was less intense than I'd hoped for however, but nevertheless the atmosphere was still rather contagious. Everytime a voice rose over the speakers, so did the core group of supporters, waving WP flags (bought at S$2 a piece). A even spied a young chap carrying a Pokemon inflatable hammer high above his head throughout the 20 minutes he was in my field of vision, and a WP member/supporter at the party make-shift counter - selling the aforementioned flags, as well as the still (though barely) fashionable rubber wristbands and of course, party newsletter - holding up a poster reading: Workers' Party - Let's Hammer 'Em! I must say I was amused.

How will the show-down between WP and PAP turn out tonight? We'll see. We'll see.

More on the Election Fever

At the rally I did not attend:

Last night's WP rally at Hougang. I was floored when I saw this picture, taken from Yawning Bread.

This site, as well as Singabloodypore, I found at Jan's blog.

Molly Coddle Deliberates...

As mentioned in my last post, turning into my estate on my way home from the airport, something inside me stirred when I saw the logos and posters of both the PAP and opposition party WP flanking both sides of the road, as if admonishing me to "make the choice". Almost electrifying. Nevermind that the jaded taxi-driver, surely more concerned with making ends meet, commented that he was glad he did not have to go through the trouble. A walk-over suited him fine.

And thus, I decided I had to capture the rare sights (no sounds, regrettably) of the proceedings this 2006 Election, especially for those who do not have the honour and privilege to vote (for that is what it means to me, a privilege). Thanks to my cousin Jan who came along for the ride, thus making me feel less of a fool (and an eyesore).

The different posters put up on the side of the road:

I wonder if it was (the lack of) funds or the law books which resulted in this scene of David and Goliath. Or both.

Over at the PAP Teck Ghee headquarters...

The flags just wouldn't cooperate and fly in the wind, so Jan had to take action in order to make this picture happen.

PAP supporters, in their party whites, get ready to make their rounds. Jan expressed surprised at not seeing a white pick-up.

So far, I've only heard the messages in English once. Other times, they are either in Tamil or Malay. But I suppose what is being said matters less than the physical presence of PAP pulling for votes. All this in a GRC helmed by no less than the country's PM.


In front of the party's headquarters.

All we managed to take of what it looked like in the party headquarters...

Before the door was shut to our curious faces. Note the lady in the background (left) eyeing us with puzzlement and perhaps a little suspicion.

The two party banners put up, side by side...

The PAP's slick, well-funded one

and WP's endearingly hand-painted banner.

Come May 6, who will Ms Coddle pick? The answer, of course, is secret. And sacred. Unlike the taxi Uncle, I have been burdened with a choice. But it is a burden I gladly carry.

Methinks Singapore should move South. Or North. Just somewhere cooler.

Just got back from Perth this morning. The weather was great, compared to the humidity of Singapore (perhaps affected by the impending eruption of the volcano I've been hearing about). But turning into my neighbourhood, it was hard not to get excited seeing all the banners PAP and Worker's Party have put up in anticipation of 6 May. Will try to get some pictures of the scene around here, and post the pictures soon.

Anyway. I wish I could blog more often, because I really miss getting regular comments (what's the link between the two? If I blog only intermittently, people'll stop coming to as often, and thus leave less comments). And partly 'cause it's boring to see the same thing for too long at the top of the page. But I really can't help it; if it's not the time I don't have, then it's the fear that I may be committing a breach of contract. Specifically -

but I realise that I shouldn't elaborate. Suffice to say, The Company has added an entire section devoted to blogs.

Photos, anyone?

I found this flyer lying on the field located just outside my hotel. [Grandmother story alert:] Googling on it revealed that ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps; the day is a commemoration of the armed forces who sacrificed their lives in the first World War. The significance of their participation in the war lies in the fact that back in 1914, Aussie was a new country eager to establish itself in the world. Over 8,000 Australian soldiers were lost in the war. (More info here.)

On the other side of the field lies a lake, named the Swan Lake. I wonder if the ballet has ever been staged there... Hmn. Saw quite a few birds. And many many feathers.

Quite the photo-whore, this seagull gamely posed for a few pictures for me.

Conversely, this sea-bird (I don't know what it's called) which was sunning its wings shifted away uneasily when I got too near.

No swans in sight, however.

Fake Kitties by a shop window. The Asian population living in Perth seems to be quite substantial, if these gift shops are anything to go by. The salespersons I've seen so far are all of Chinese descent, I believe. (Edit: In fact there were a lot of Asian eateries all over. Even one of the guys working at Subway was Asian. I guess Perth isn't one of those places where rasicm is pervasive.)

The requisite vanity shot - which isn't that nice, actually, but I don't really know what other photo to upload hah. On another note, check out this link (in which a dubious character named Hard Gay pays an unannounced visit to the Yahoo! offices), that I got from my soci blog. Hilarious.

Hence concludes a rather boring post. Time for bed!

Edit: I really ought to add more sights of Perth to make this entry more relevant. Actually, the only place I went to was Hay Street, which is a little shopping district, so that's all that you have to content yourself with, dear reader.

Two very different places of worship, one juxtaposed over the other.

The famous Roc Candy of Aussie. Not that I'd heard of it until now.

Elder Paik and his novel (or is it traditional?) method of asking for alms.

There were in fact quite a few buskers on Hay Street, like musicians, spray-paint artists, and mime artists, one of whom mesmerised me so much with his slick moves choreographed to the likes of Justin Timberlake's Rock Your Body that I did not take any more pictures.

The Bed Usurper

(hee.)