Bye Bye

Yesterday, I made a decision to say goodbye to an old friend. An association that we had both long outgrown. Holding on was not only pointless, it was soul-depleting. It is a load I can no longer drag, an idea I can no longer justify.

In my twenties, I set out to meet as many people as I could, to garner as many friends in my (then) imaginary Facebook list. At bars, at parties, at the beach, when I travelled. But here in my thirties, jet-lagged and spent from too many nights of downloaded TV, I am sold to the idea that while one spends their twenties furiously acquiring friends, the thirties are spent sifting through and picking out the viable from the not.

The separate-lives friends, the party acquaintances, the friends you keep at arm's lengths for various reasons, the friends you deem no longer worthy, the ones whom you love but have to get rid of in order to embrace the future (not unlike 80s pink legwarmers).

I have come to believe that getting rid of friends who have not only outworn their use but who's presence has become poisonous, is just like a spring clean. It is immensely detoxifying on a spiritual level. There is no dramatic burning of letters, throwing out of belongings or the meaningful handshake (after all, who needs the added drama in thier 30s?) - just a firm mental note that changes your outlook more than anything else. There is no need to say goodbye outwardly but there is a definite need to do so inside.

This a friend who meant the world to me once upon a time. Saying goodbye to this person (and the idea of this person) is hard. Maybe that is why it has been so long in coming. I barely scrape by with my knowledge of religion but I do know that life is suffering. The four truths — not one — about life: There is suffering, there is a cause for suffering, there is an end of suffering, and there is a path of practice that puts an end to suffering.

I am enlightened in my unsurpressible need to live. To truly engulf myself in the feeling of fullness and vitality. Life consumes me with all its wonder. Whether I am on top of a ski slope or at the bottom of a rock I am about to climb, there is a moment when my heaven and earth are moved by the enormity and wonder of life. I kid not, and for once, I exaggerate not. I realise, despite its cliche, that life at every twist, its every segment, its very juice, is meant to be savoured, like a great big custard apple.

A found a little inspiration on MTV. Jason Mraz was skateboarding and jumping off waterfalls in Central America and opening his heart to love. In a way, by saying goodbye, I choose freedom and I choose, love.

"So, I won't hesitate no more,
no more, it cannot wait I'm sure
there's no need to complicate our time is short
this is our fate, I'm yours

I've been spendin' way too long
checkin' my tongue in the mirror and
bendin' over backwards just to try to see it clearer
my breath fogged up the glass and
so I drew a new face and laughed
I guess what I'm a sayin' is there ain't no better reason
to rid yourself of vanity and just go with the seasons
it's what we aim to do our name is our virtue

well open up your mind and see like me
open up your plans and damn you're free
look into your heart and you'll find love love love love
listen to the music of the moment come and dance with me I
love one big family
It's our god forsaken right to be loved, loved, loved, loved"

Eeek...

Managed to move a household in a week. Never felt so tired in my life except maybe after that climb in the Batman Caves in Kuching after a huge night.

Walked into the office today, collapsed onto the floor and woke up 45 minutes later.

Oh God, I'm old.

PS. The pork thing...suspended temporarily. Proper nutrition is way more important than a man.

PPS. Dying to watch SATC: The Movie

PPS. Kungfu Panda was one of my highlights last week

Lent For A Year

So Slapper and I were chatting on the phone last night and we ended up, as usual, back to the same topic of conversation. How is it that some girls get quality blokes with the snap of their fingers while others get nothing but sore thumbs from all the attempts?

Firstly, take me out of the equation. Slapper is hot. As in she's smouldering. She's got all the physical attributes a man would want. Legs up to her pits, huge jugs and a wide open mind. She's been single for years. Bridget-Jonesdom is her comfort zone. And though that's all fine and well, it really really pisses her off that no man has come along worthy of enticing her out of it. Yeah, she meets hot men, intelligent men even. So she come away with a couple of great conversations but no soul-meet-soul connections, no lab-sized blow-outs, nothing happening on a cellular level that believe it or not, seemed so plentiful back in the '90s. Let's not even get into the issue of being too demanding. Life is not meant to be lived in mediocrity. Is earth shattering, you-rock-my-world chemistry too much to ask for these days?

Slapper told me about her best friend: diamond-dripping, Christian Louboutin-heeled, Chanel-wielding, fabulosity on legs, society princess Kimora. Poor Kimora's awesome international merger of an engagement has fallen apart in just six short months. All sad and truly heartbreaking stuff, but guess what, Kimora is back in the fast lane. Within 2 months, she wiped her tears dry, powdered her nose and hey presto, hot, intelligent Prince Charming no. 2 turns up in his C/S/A-whatever class of an automobile and sweeps her off her feet.

Question: Who gets Prince Charming No. 2?
Answer: Many girls do. Smart, ugly, witty, beautiful, fat, short, uneducated, black, white, brown, red, etc etc girls the world over are getting connected mind, body and soul!

I guess that makes Slapper and I Martians passing up as Venusians on planet Mars. Hey, its not as if we're hard up. Jeez, no. We like being single. Most ardently. But you know, we are a little bored. How is it that chemistry was all abundant a decade ago but so unbelievably absent in the millenium? We can't blame alcohol either. While I've been dry now for almost a year, Slapper is still prone to Chardonnays on Sundays (as if the weekend binge didn't kill her off already), so not much going for that argument. Goddammit, dry or high, we just want someone to fancy.

So here's Kimora's secret.

In order for new things to come into your life, one must make sacrifices. Make space for fresh produce. Clean out the fridge. Out with the old, in with the new. Sacrifice something to show the universe how much you want it. (PS. this is radically different from what I proposed in my post entitled May The Force Be With You written November 2006 but never mind, let's just go with it)

So Kimora gave up....chocolate. Within months, she was married to the sweetest guy ever. OK, so that didn't last but the universe didn't stop giving. In reward for her denial of Kit Kats, ganaches and all things brown and gooey, the universe presented her with Prince Charming No. 2.

I totally see the logic in the proposoition (?? well, kind of). I gave up alcohol, smokes, parties and high-heels and got sobriety, sanity and a faint resemblance of knees back didn't I? OK, so maybe I'm grasping at straws but hey, anyone in their 30s would agree that its the new age of experimentation.

So, what would really be a sacrifice for me to give up?

To meet someone absolutely fascinating and mind-blowing, I will for one year, starting now, give up....drum roll...

I will give up Pork.

Blek

Gosh I can really drone on and on with the heavy stuff...

Neeways, Pilates instructor tells me I have weak legs. Almost non existent inner thigh muscles.

So sad.

Fat and weak.

Ugh!

Re: Parents

I just realised that for the first time in many many years, things have actually been going well between me and my parents. Somehow, the stifled angst for whatever they did or did not do has sneakily uncurled from my store of 'wrong done to me ' and dissipated into thin air. Where did it go? How did I resolve them? I don't know. All I know is that it vanished and I find myself wanting to spend more and more time with the cantakerous old biddies I call my parents!

I guess we all have our issues with our Mums and Dads. Mine weren't conventional in their choices but I actually think that enriched my life rather than handicap it. Sure, there was a lot of pain and confusion in the past. Endless fits of rage and tears as I wished and wished I had been born into another family.

In the small town outlook of this supposed metropolis I live in, my upbringing appeared dysfunctional to say the least. So Mum and Dad didn't live under the same roof, there were these additional parent figures and of course all those rumours that sad people who have no lives of their own still speak of today. Believe it or not, I have been asked the strangest questions.

To the judgemental majority, it was no environment to raise a child in.

"Poor girl, she is the way she is because she's the product of a broken home".

Jeez. So many comments to make about that.

Firstly, that word 'broken home' totally sucks. It sucks also that I have to point it out. Having to explain the issue I have with it is like having to explain to a white person that I am not 'coloured'.


Secondly, I think people like to categorise. To fit people and situations into stereotypes and piegeon hole them 'cos then it becomes simple and convenient to deal with. I'd like to remind those who have forgotten, that both my parents went on to become part of long-lasting and what I would term 'successful' relationships. If perhaps not at first, they certainly have now. If that's not a lesson (or several lessons) in what works and what doesn't, I don't know what it is.

My parents made their mistakes but I can see now that I am the fortunate one. I've had the fortitude to witness the real deal in the making rather than live through a poor imitation stuck under the same roof "together because of the children".

So here I am defending my parents. Who would have thought.

My family and I have always lead independant lives. They did their thing and I did mine. I was left to my own devices at a very young age. It was easy to lie and pretend I was at over at so-and-so's place when really, I was out clubbing as young as thriteen. And believe it or not, I never ran off with random men (a prude then and a prude now), never took any drugs and certainly never got mindlessly drunk - I left those past-times for university.

It's my independance that has allowed me to weather many storms and it's something I totally enourage of my son. It puts your life in perspective and gives you the courage to live it. I thank my parents for it - from allowing me to leave home in ridiculous Madonna outfits to fully supporting me through bigger mistakes I have made in adult life.

I think what makes it the sweetest thing is that though my parents have given me the full freedom to live my life, and though I may have flown the coop on several ocassions; at the end of a long journey, I just want to hang out with them. Maybe its the Asian in me or maybe they're just way too cool to resist, but I cannot imagine not being close to them -physically and emotionally.

And I think that this coming to peace with them has actually settled a feeling of restlessness. It's not just that it's one less issue to thnk about. It's a feeling that, here comes the cliche again, that though everyday life is so mundane and so incredibly uninspiring sometimes (no man, no money, no dreams, ex boyfriend hates you, hate boss, etc etc), there is still love. Two people (or maybe four people) out there still think you're the puppy.

Life In Imagination

It took a fiery som tam and an image of Jaisalmer to snap me out of it.

A paragraph describing sunrise over the red sand dunes at Jaisalmer fortress and a whiff of that papaya salad that is so definitely part of the buffet spread in heaven, I snapped. Enough is enough.

Life has to be lived. And lived now. Not whiled away on afternoons of Spider Solitaire. Or camped out at the cafe with Temporarily Jobless Homo. It's been one excuse after another, week after week, year after year. And it's been almost 3 years since I started perfecting the art of procrastination.

Especially in the past month. With my knees in dire starits and with the image of my ransacked home fresh in mind, my sprint has broken into a run. A great big Olympic race to god know where. But for sure, faster and faster away from reality. And I've done it all by sitting still.

It's my own little attempt at a nervous breakdown. Doing the Demi rock ala St Elmo's Fire except saner (wtf?). With my head in the sand, work, duties, responsibilities - they all don't exist. I flit from one good time to the next. Planning dinner parties, holidays, getways, jetaways, breakaways. Whatever, as long as it's away.

For hours on end, I hole myself up playing computer games, and yes, ladies and gentlemen, lately, I've regressed into reading lurid romantic novels. No, not just reading. Gorging would be a better word. It's as if I've substituted my binge eating on binge romance reading. Doughnuts for dongs, mayo sandwiches for salami. Perhaps I have sunk to my lowest point?

I haven't read a romance novel (not of the Sweet Dreams sort) since I was fifteen and I was amazed to discover that many things have changed since then. It appears that we have moved on from blushing heroines to very hungry, very demanding, very horny heroines. Buggery, threesomes, orgies, and 11inch schlongs are the order of the day (yes, hero and heroine actually measured it in Beatrice Small's 'Sudden Pleasures'). They have come out of the shadowy alleys of porn flicks and walked straight into the bright flourescent lights of MPH. Hot off the shelves.

I can see why its so easy for women to get so caught up with them. They are written by women for women after all. And who knows what women want best? All prerequisites fulfilled, all needs considered, all fantasies played out in minutest detail. Despite my initial balk at these novels, I figured, what's a harmless dalliance? (Note: My prose is beginning to read like the novels in question). Before long, I found myself wanting to know more about the Italian count with the smooth chest, dark hair, the piercing blue eyes and the scent of danger about him! Oh, but its been a breathless start to the week.

But enough already. I marched urgently into Times today to buy my latest fix (anything with an Italian count - whcih narrows it down to just about 2 whole shelves - the other is taken up by pirates and vampires equally). Somehow I drifted to the travel shelf with the Lonely Planets. India. That's when I saw Jaisalmer and I realised how I just can't wait till September when I hop on that plane I finally fulfill a dream.

I've realised one thing about myself. I am one hell of an escapist. I often think how content I may be locked up in solitary confinement, alone to live out my lives in parallel universes. But with that image of Jaisalmer and that utterly enticing scent of som tam outside the bookshop, I was pulled back into the busy thoroughfare of Plaza Damas at lunchtime. My life can be so much more. I know it's there right in front of me, willing me to do something with it.

I think I'm made of sterner stuff than Spider Solitaire mindlessness. And certainler sterner than a poor slave girl waiting for a count to whisk her off her feet.

So I came back and wrote this post.

Birthday

Sitting on a chair lift in -20 degrees, wind biting my uncovered cheeks and snow on me, on my skis, on the ground below, on the slopes all around, and for hundreds of miles beyond, she asked me "So, how old have you just turned?"

"32", I replied, by instinct, without thinking. I cursed aloud. "Sorry, jeez, where did that come from?" I chastised myself for sounding like a bimbo. I mean, really, at my age.

"I'm 34 today. Which I guess puts me in the mid-30s."

Thankfully I was answering someone who was 44 and still on the roll. Ski Buddy has that quality that enables her to flit from being deadly serious to deadly funny in about a second. Which means that she can innately blend the opposing personalities of serious lawyer and fluffy party bunny into strangely, one sane person. She really ought to considere a career in PR should she ever decide to call it a day as a partner in her own firm. It's a talent for some, bloody hard work for me, to relate to people.

She said "Nah-lah, still young". I glanced at her, as she grinned from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat, loving life, and more importantly, living life.

Ahh, birthdays - the little milestones on that road called life. To be perfectly honest, I don't have an issue about getting older. I am one who believes that knowledge is power, and if wrinkles are a by-product, there's always surgery. I had a fabulous youth filled with drama, zits and unrequited love. My salad says were fulfilling and I have enough memories to fuel me to the winter of my life. My birthday wishes are not for the return of my youth. Since hitting 30, my birthdays fuel an angst within for a life yet to be lived.

I knew very early on that I wanted to live a full life. That there would be choices I would make that would be wrong but lead me down a path filled with stories and adventures that I would be able to one day impart to my grandchildren. I know that all sounds very romantic in the context of our daily lives as they are but I have increasingly come to realise that living in Malaysia, remaining cocooned in the small little village we call KL Society has trapped us unknowingly to its standards, beliefs and culture.

Its a life where we are expected to act a certain age when we reach a certain age. Married by 30. 2 children by 35. Millionaire by 36. A culture that has specific expectations. Like not wearing colourful print unless it is a baju kurung once you hit 30. Like keeping your hair short if you are over 50. Like heaven forbid you wear a fake designer. Or crack a joke that's not appropriate. Or laugh like a child.

Success measured by your name card, what car you drive and what class you fly.

I was raised by parents who instilled in me how little all this meant, yet when you are surrounded by it, it's hard to not be sucked in.

Watching enviously as glamourous women decked in diamonds flow out of expensive cars on the arms of titled men, I have often wondered "Why not me?" Why do I not have the home in the gated community, why am I not the one shopping for groceries during office hours, why am I the one without the supplementary credit cards? After all, I am not that young anymore, if it doesn;t happen now, it is likely it never will.

It's an immoral standard to have held myself to.

After all, I have made the choices I live with. I'm not the one in compromised relationships, not the one who has to be nice to someone because he keeps me, not the one who has anything to lose. I pay my own bills, I dictate my own time, and I live my own life. I live my life with as few regrets as possible.

And if I wasn't in KL, I wouldn't have to keep reminding myself.

When my lousy Japan Airlines plane touched down in KLIA over the weekend and I walked back to the sights, sounds and smells of my litle village, I felt a huge wave of disgust that I had never felt coming home. I felt the true meaning of touchdown. This is my reality, this is where my life will continue.

This birthday, I am thankful for my supportive family, angels around me disguised as friends, my strength and above all, a gift in the form of my son, and I am happy. Undoubtedly, I am happy.

But where I live, the people I live among, the web of culture they have weaved, I increasingly dislike and increasingly wish to be away from. This birthday, I wish I remained far away.

I've Started Dating Again

Yes.

I'm aiming for us to see each other at least three times in the week and since he's stationed just down the road from my office, there really isn't any reason why we shouldn't see each other more often. But you see, my body aches after each date, and until my body is able to cope, it will just have to be three dates per week for the moment. I do often think about my dates, yes there are more than one for I get really bored and I confess that I like all my dates equally, though sometimes, I'm more in the mood for one than the other.

Yes. I am openly admitting it. I am dating the treadmill, the stairmaster and the elliptical trainer all at the same time.

Scandalous.

To gossip mongers out there....tsk tsk... sad that celebrity mags don't satiate your hunger for gossip and you have to graze local pastures for news.

Bottoms Up!

Last weekend, my friends and I celebrated Actor's birthday. In typical diva fashion (but of course), we pounced on the occassion to dress up to the nines and partied the night away as if we were starring in Fergie's Glamorous video. Out came the faux gems, the gold heels and the Nippits.

Zeta Bar is nothing to shout about. Actually, it's nothing to even write about. It's Hard Rock with drinks priced as if it's Bar Marmont, it's the nirvana of travelling white men, the diamond mine of SPGs who began their journey at The Beach Club. You get what I mean right?

For a very long time, I was a stalwart subscriber to the notion that I could not have fun on a night out unless I was:-
a. completely inebriated with alcohol
b. completely inebriated with alcohol and had a love interest present
c. completely inebriated with alcohol and passed out in somebody's car

Fast forward to last Saturday night - I realised that with only one whiskey soda all night long and no cigarette in hand, I was actually having fun. Great, great fun! Great, great fun at Zeta Bar!

The first time I realised that fun was possible without alcohol was back at the Rainforest Music Festival a month ago. Before the Black Label fest began, I was sober and loving every moment of partying outdoors at such an amazing gathering, high on the idea of kicking the pretentious KL scene in the butt and imagining myself in a Woodstock moment. Of course, sobriety is equated with being diseased in the pickled-liver town of Kuching, so I was quickly 'remedied' by locals. With twenty slugs of whiskey (straight out of plastic Coca Cola bottle) and some token water, I was no longer the leper. But the point is, there was a short moment of sobriety and in that flicker of a moment, there was happiness.

I have probably been waiting for this to happen ever since I stepped into Faces for my 13th birthday in 1987, complete with parental entourage.

Is it truly possible? Apparently it is. At Zeta, I danced like a maimed donkey, posed like a salah Paris Hilton and pranced about in a very Benny Hill fashion that is, if you really think about it, stupendously salah. The idea was to celebrate a friend's birthday, not just in action, but in feeling. The door to liberation had indeed sprung open and I was amazed I was allowed to gain admittance.

My explanation is this: As corny as it sounds, it comes with being at peace with myself. With not having to prove anything to anybody, especially me. Not having to please anyone, or to include anyone else's feelings and wants in my selfish pursuit of hedonism. It's about acceptance - largely about accepting that perhaps, I'm not all that (egad!), that plans don't always go the way I want, about being happy with what I've got - not constantly trying to make it better, or be with certain people or somewhere else completely. I know I come off really sad at this point but if the truth be told, this has a been a real obstacle for me to overcome (I really am that shallow). I'm not entirely sure how I arrived here, only that I have.

Having said that, here comes the disclaimer: I am not saying that I don't enjoy being off my face - of course being drunk is REALLY LOVELY, but what I'm saying is that it's no longer the precursor that stands in the way to a good time. I genuinely have a good time when I choose to - and I think that with most things, when it comes from inside out, it's all good.

Erm...almost everything. Not puke.

I Love Nicole Richie

For those of you who shop till you drop (and you know who you are wink wink)...

If you have exhausted Eye Candy yet still have this desperate need to throw your money away, there's Wondermomo to restore your faith in KL retail.

Here's a place where you will find edgier, more current, funkier stuff. Lots of DvF, Stella McCartney, Missoni, Marc Jacobs and plenty of accessories - Coach hats, Chanel sunglasses, Kate Spade bags, ugly ass shoes... The theme is current - many of the labels will actually tell you which season the things come from and many were as recent as spring/summer 2007.

Mind you, prices are steeper too. A too-die-for DvF mini bell dress (none of this wraparound shirt thing going on) in cotton, expect to fork out about RM499 with a measely 5% discount if you buy two.

You will find it in Mont Kiara - on the ground floor of the Sunrise tower block itself (the one with the Subway, Maybank ATMs and the supermarket).

I almost cried when I left behind three dresses that Nicole would so approve of - one olive silky girly thing, the bell (in all its glorious variations) and a colourful cutesy girly number by I can't remember who but I just can't afford to blow over a grand at the moment. Boo hoo...but seriously, you go. Spend! Rub my face in it!

PS. Their jeans are on sale. Rock & Religion for RM50? Log off already!

The Prayer

A while back, I wrote about how Crystal Healer taught me the concept of asking from the universe and receiving. When it comes to love, it is possible to conjure the qualities you want in a man and simply to wish him to appear in your life. Despite the Cinderella ring to the whole notion, I listened very carefully. She told me to be very specific, after all, she was when she asked for her man and Prince Charming (now Mr Crystal Healer) really did appear four months later as if she had ordered him straight out of a catalogue. He was exactly as she had requested.

This idea of custom-making and pre-ordering Mr Right was nouveau to me - not just novel in its concept, but outright audacious in its nature. It leaves nothing of fate and to suggest that us mere mortals are capable of conjuring a dream partner practically reeks of withchcraft and godlessness. I battled with it, I really did. I'm not sure if it's Asian humility or just my family upbringing but asking and receiving with no reference to whether one deserves it or not, is just completely outrageous. Yet, somewhere in the inner sanctum of my consciousness, I liked it. I really really liked it. It made so much sense. What's the big deal? Ask and you shall receive! Who could resist what Crystal Healer was suggesting? Create the man and he will come! It's almost like Harry Potter being told he can have his parents back.

After alot of tossing and toying and wondering and debating, I got to work on my man.

Has anyone ever watched that '80s flick "Weird Science" starring Kelly LeBrock and Anthony Michael Hall? It's where these two teenage geeks stumble on a computer programme that enables them to create the woman of their dreams. Well, it's a little like that minus the technology and the big hair.

It took me a while to think up the qualities I wanted. It's hard to deal with intangibles. Physical attributes are easy. Tall, hunky, lean muscles, six pack, no BO are pretty much standard orders. Hobbies too came easily. I wanted him to be outdoorsy, to value nature, to enjoy travelling so we could wander the world together, to be adventurous etc etc. But his virtues, that was a bit harder. I will never forget my step mother in all her unrealised wisdom, who taught me the importance of kindness in a partner. Kind is not a thing that springs to mind when you are checking out guys at a party. Some girls checkout booty, others check out eyes and hands even, I check out hair on the head. Nobody checks out kindness. I have been out with unkind men. I tell you, it's a vital factor. It's whether he opens doors, whether he curses violently when the car in front slows down or just shrugs his shoulders and makes a joke instead, its whether he will yell at his mother in public or just deal with it in a dignified manner. It's true, it's the little things that matter.

So I finally got my list done, and it spanned a couple of pages. I mean, it's important to be meticulous in such a situation, no?

And everyday, I asked the universe. I added this 'prayer' to my list of prayers. I know what the universe must think. Here comes the demanding one again...

Funnily enough, months later, I believe the universe answered. It sent me The American. When Dear Friend saw him she gasped, gaped and gawked at the same time. When my gay friends saw his photo they Googled him. He climbs rocks like a fiend. He really kicks butt. He's a scientist. He's published 'findings'. When I saw his body, I silently thanked God for creating the world in all its beauty. He is thoughtful. He is unpretentious. He isn't throwing away Daddy's money. He's clean. He eats organic. He doesn't have BO! He fit my 'prayer' like a glove it was uncanny.

The problem is, and continues to be, me. I didn't fancy him. There wasn't an inkling of fancy. I liked him, he was nice but he did not make my heart race and my knees weak. There was nothing to not fancy and everything to fancy, but there was no fancy. End of story. I quickly smsed Yogi and asked if the universe ever got mad if one turned down something one asked for. Perhaps I had not been precise enough in my prayer. Perhaps what I thought I wanted was not what I wanted. Perhaps I did not know what I wanted.

The Universe sent me another candidate. Out of the blue, The Englishman made me a friend on an online community. As a friend of a friend I replied his message and we became friends. He made me laugh out loud with his wit, he was generous, he allowed me to ramble on about me, me and me. He acknowledged my oddballness and found it a laugh. He flew thousands of miles to see me and as touched as I was, I wasn't. So here again, on paper, the boy fit. Again, the problem is and will continue to be, me. I cannot say why not, I just cannot say yes.

Mind you, I'm not saying these two are throwing themselves at me. All I'm saying is that on my part, I cannot find the spark to even start the engine. I hope the universe is not mad at me. It appears to have answered my ad, only that now, I'm not sure whether the job opening is really there.

I wondered if perhaps I'm all loved up. That I had a go at love and I blew it and nothing will ever compare. That I've gone off the waves and cannot ever tune into the right frequency again. My quota is up.

But that's just so defeatist.

Or maybe what I want is not want I want. Maybe we know so little of ourselves that sometimes, it's impossble to break it down to a checklist of requirements. We know what we don't want, and we work from there, relying on instinct and 'a good feeling' to guide us to The One.

To be optimistic and positive about the whole thing, I am thankful for my two new Transatlantic friends. Though there's no lurve vibe going on, their appearance in my life has reinforced my belief that there are good men out there and that yes, they are in Asia too. Maybe the time is not right for me, maybe despite wanting to be loved, I'm not as hard up a I thought. Maybe I have no inkling of what I want in a partner, maybe I have worked myself into a corner with too many specifics. The bottom line is that it all reverts back to you. The good men are out there, they really are. Yes, single, available, good men of our age. The issue is not what's out there, it's what's going on inside. Inside you and inside me.

Alive and Kicking

Oh I know...smack my hand why don't you...

I'm back. No, I haven't been in Kuching all this while. I did come back in one piece (barely) and live to tell the tale.

In truth, I haven't blogged because frankly, I'm a little intimidated. I know, it's hard to imagine how someone with such a supersized ego could possibly be so easily intimidated, but I am walking proof.

It worries me that this is actually a public blog. Oh, I know, it's on the web but I really thought that the only people who read it were the ones who commented. And they are admittedly a handful of people I know and those whom I don't but have come to know over the months/years. They're friendly parties, with their encouraging comments and "I'm so happy for you" remarks. It reassures me that whatever crap I write, I'm safe.

It just goes to show how people like to believe what they want to. Safety on the internet - that must be a classic.

No, I haven't been attacked in cyberspace or anything. Just over the months, I have come to discover that an old flame has dropped by, a Rinpoche has circulated one of my posts and when shopping at my favourote discount designer store, the owner thanked me for bringing in a customer who read about it on this blog.

I am honoured that people drop by. I do churn out mounds of crap but I am glad to see somehow, there are the odd few who don't see it as that. But at the same time, I'm not one who likes to disappoint. I'm the type of person who buys things that I cannot afford just to please the sales staff (I'm working on that and conveniently blame my unconventional childhood and my role model parents for this hungry need to please). It just feels that now there is an audience of some sort, it is accompanied by a pressure (self imposed nonetheless) to cater to expectations. Now I have to think up more profound things to say, more issues to divulge, more boats to rock, more revelations to post. Oh, it's lame I know. I just don't like to disappoint, that's all.

So, I've been running a few issues through my mind that would be worthy of posting alongside all the notable contents on the worldwide web, and surprisingly, I didn't draw as many blanks as I thought I would.

But that's fodder for future posts. Just want to say, hello, I'm alive, life is good. It's mid-summer in the Northern hemisphere and relatives are invading. It's one of my favourite times of the year when people suddenly realise I exist and include me in their plans. It's the season of birthdays, the race to the calendar finish at work, hastily booked holidays as half a year has miraculously flown by and a big gear up to the end of the year festivities.

I am so looking forward to the next six months.

PS. It's also my son's birthday today! I'm so proud. I can't believe I've mothered someone for so long.

The Significance Of Kuching

When I was busy trying to make an unworkable marriage work and cleaning baby shit, my peers were flying business class to important conferences on the other side of the globe, partying in Shanghai and the rooftop bars of Bangkok, comparing the latest Ws and voting in best airline polls.

Travelling is one of the greatest sacrifices of young motherhood. From being able to take off at any whim and fancy (budget allowing) pre-motherhood, to making endless packing checklists (motherhood), my holiday destinations dwindled from luxury party destinations and exotic locales to family-friendly resorts (with mini club please).

I had once prided myself in being a travel junkie, but when my marriage broke up and I was forced to reevaluate my dreams, I realised that in the last few years, I had been nowhere new and it was one of the causes why I felt so isolated and removed from this world. I am embarrassed to admit that just like I'd defined myself by whom I was dating, I'd also defined myself by where I had been. I have stood at the Parthenon, therefore I am kind of thing. Sad but true (notice all of this is in the past tense).

The thing about motherhood is that even when you do get time to go off by yourself, you are never free of the guilt that you left someone behind. And you allow it to eat at you, until you realise that instead of working on that black on the ski slope, you're on the phone, counting 8 hours ahead.

Holidays with young children are holidays for them, for a parent, it's work as usual. But as ZW grows and becomes more independant, so my heartstrings stretch and relax. I have learned that he can live for a few days without me, and vice versa. I know that he not only lives, but actually has a blast! No Mummy means no vegetables, no bedtime, no nagging. I also realise as he gets older that hey, he can come with me! He can walk, listen and most importantly, understand! No, this does not mean he's ready for the Everest Base Camp just yet, but we are slowly getting there.

This weekend, at the behest of Slapper, I shall be travelling to Kuching for the Rainforest Music Festival and ZW is coming with me. Travelling to Kuching may not sound especially exciting to some, but for me, it's the first stop in my quest to visit at least one new place every year. It is the first step in a long time, a first step for things to come. It's a place I always said I would go but shelved for another time, whenever that was supposed to be. It will be first tick in my freshly drawn up checklist of Places To See Before I Die.

In that respect, it symbolises my first step in the right direction.

I am really looking forward to it, to travelling with ZW, Chum and Chunk, and spending time with Slapper and her friends.

Of Food Fights in Cyberspace and Devils in Gucci

I haven't been in the mood to write. It's not from the lack of content, mind you. Life has been eventful, in a good way, but I reckon sometimes there's a need to get in there and live it rather than write about every episode that comes along.

What have I been doing? I've been living in Facebook - reliving days when my nickname was Spadie. I've been busy throwing food in cyberspace, meeting very strange people and comparing baby notes with an ex boyfriend.

Haha, we live in a strange and surreal world.

I've been living in Philip Pullman's worlds - the one which we share with daemons. The Northern Lights (aka The Golden Compass) is alluring. Am about to launch into another universe in The Subtle Knife. I've been living in Hogwarts too, with The Making Of The Order of the Phoenix and the showing of The Goblet Of Fire on HBO last night. I'm eager to see The One Who Cannot Be Named in a Gucci suit in the movie installment of the former and waiting with bated breath for the release of The Deathly Hallows.

I've been imagining what it must be like to volunteer in a Nepalese orphanage. Wondering if The Silk Road is as captivating as I imagine it to be. Conflicted over whether to still travel to India and face the touts in Delhi come October or trek to the Everest Base Camp.

I've eaten lots of durians, lots of pork and lots of McDonalds chocolate sundaes.

The tummy is happy, the mind is ticking, the heart is full. My, it's good to be alive!

Back To The Future

On one hand, it's such a tool for showing off. Look, I have 275 friends! On the other, it really is nice to see old friends again.

Friendster, Facebook, and the like.

I don't know how I got sucked into Facebook but I've spent a whole precious morning 'reconnecting'. Friends from school, friends from university, friends who know friends who you didn't know were friends, you get the drift.

With the photos so small it's sometimes difficult to indentify if the Tom Brown you went to university with, the player who tried to feel you up once, is the same Tom Brown staring back at you from the screen - the one with the beard, in the in the tails, standing next to the bride.

At first I was a bit worried about approaching people whom I had lost touch with for so many years and ask them to be my friend again. After writing so many "remember me?" messages, I did feel like a silly broken record but what the hell...they did remember me!

I even found an ex boyfriend and my heart lurched a little because we have not kept in touch for over ten years. I wonder if I ought to say hi; our last contact was when he dumped me in a letter for someone else! Would he think I was trying to get back together? Hahahaha...

It's funny how you can spend so many years of your life with a person only to one day be afraid of approaching them again. It's as if the closeness never existed. The friends I made at school and at university were so close that we knew everything about each other. How we ate, how we slept, how witty/slow we were, what our toilet habits were. When we graduated, our different paths in life brought us to opposite ends of the world and our friendships faded in the distance. They feel like strangers now. Actually, they are. Scrolling through their friends lists, I realise how small a part I played in their lives, and theirs in mine.

It really puts into perspective the whole idea of our lives being lived in chapters. That the present doesn't really matter because it will pass eventually. New issues surface, values are reevaluated, new people become meaningful. Things from the past don't become less important, but they become less urgent if you will. There isn't that need to press, push, maintain or hang on for dear life.

My friends from a previous life will always hold a special place in my heart but there is no way intimacy can be re-established to what it was before. But they're still there in the parallel galaxies of Facebook and Friendster, testament to the fact that they did once exist in my history, and still continue to uphold my life as it once was.

Fat Girls Are Hungrier

Especially when they've lost all their weight.

It's like somehow they've found a way to convert all the stores of shiny, blubby, white fat into a bottomless well of motivation and hunger.

They fight harder. They're the ones meticulously picking out the fat in the fried rice, the ones you mistake for demons right at the front of spinning class, the ones who have sworn off puffy sleeves lest they highlight their imaginary fat arms. And the amazing thing is that they do it consistently. Ie. for the rest of their lives. They have taken a vow, a pledge to the inner fat girl to never ever be fat again. Whatever it takes to never ever EVER return to what they were once before.

I have never ever seen so much self control. Not even in a monk who's accidentally swallowed a Viagra pill.

I am amazed at the kind of commitment and dedication. I mean, we can all diet, and we have. Sometimes they last a few a days before we get withdrawal symptoms and reach for the sugar bowl. If we are lucky, a few months, in which case we may lose a couple of pounds but then someone offers us a glistening KFC and in a moment of weakness, we reach out and inhale it. Sometimes even a year if we suffered a major heartbreak and need a new figure to match our new 'outlook' in life but in comes someone new and off we are again, having cake. But to keep at it year in and year out, FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...well, that's like being married to your diet.

These days, they call it a lifestyle change. You're not on a diet, you have merely changed your eating lifestyle. Oh crap, if you're cutting down sugar, cutting down fat, eating low fat mayo and all the rest of it, it sounds like a damn diet to me!

Apart from vanity, which I think all women are guilty of, I really believe that this will to ward off the fat stems from far deeper. It goes way back to childhood days or teenage years when these girls were big. When boys bypassed them for thinner girls, when parents and relatives made their weight a topic at the dinner table to the laughter and delight of others. When they couldn't finish the race because they were huffing and puffing too much. When they couldn't wear mini skirts and halter necks when everybody else was. When in photos they appeared so big next to the regular-sized person they look like they were superimposed. It does things to your mind and leaves scars that in time, become as much a part of you as your DNA.

The irony is that it's these very memories that sting so much that now serve as the very impetus to keeps these girls going - to run the extra mile, to wait another hour before the next meal, to forego the baby doll no matter how adorable.

What I find commendable is that they've taken the negative and turned it into the positive. And as cliched as that sounds, it's what life is all about isn't it? They're in it for the long run. It's not just some fad diet they embarked on, but a lifelong commitment.

To all the fat girls gone thin, a standing ovation from me. Well done! Fight hunger with hunger!

Note: At the other end of the spectrum, you will find girls like me. The fat girls on the fence. The ones who have not taken the vow but who want to be thin just as much. They also have their fair share of fat memories and scars but somehow just can't find the hunger to fight the hunger. As a result, we yo-you our way through our adult lives, swinging from the end of a self-imposd pendulum as it brings us from fat to chubby to thin and back to chubby and fat again. And so it continues to swing, year in year out. Who would have thought French fries and chocolate cake could cause so much trouble!

Juicy

I wasn't going to share this juicy little secret, especially not on the net, but I am learning the art of detachment from all things material, so here goes.

In Wisma Atria in PJ, you will find a shop called Eye Candy. In there, you will find all sorts of treasure from Diane von Furstenburg wrap dresses; to the sweetest BCBG and Karen Millen babydolls; Ted Baker tops; Seven, True Religion, Rock & Republic jeans; and evening dresses to die for. I have put on hold a Ted Baker dress and a BCBG top. Trying very hard to resist...but they're so PURTEEEEE....!

The best thing of all is that they are real, current or last season only and they are at least 40% off rack prices. Go! Go now!!!

I have Resourceful Mama to thank for sharing her find. Thanks to her, I will have a wardrobe of lovely clothes and plenty of debt.

Old Song, Timeless Lyrics

唯獨你是不可取替

曾聽說有許多戀愛
沒有結果卻剩傷心者感慨
令我都刻意避開
是我不敢相信真愛
但你不惜真心真意對待
竟令我再感到意外
讓我獻出同樣被愛
全面喝采

如果今天將失去眼前的一切
剩低清風兩袖也不計
唯獨你一個是不可給取替
是我生命裡的一切
哦oh如早知今生跟你有幸可相愛
在當初應更努力為未來
其實我知道是可一不可再
下半生准我留住你一直相愛

Only You Cannot Be Replaced
Composer: Nakayama Miho/Useugi Shou/Oda Tetsuro
Lyrics: Canny Leung (梁芷珊)
By: Andy Hui

I've heard of many relationships
Ending without results leaving behind hurt and regret
I've avoided them deliberately
It’s me who cannot believe in true love
But you treated me with sincerity
I was surprised again
Allowing me to give all my love in return
And all my happiness

If today I lose all that I have
I won’t care if I have nothing left
Only you cannot be replaced
You are everything in my life
If I had known that I would be fortunate to love you in this life
I would have worked harder for the future at the start
Actually I know it is once in a lifetime chance
Allow me to be with you in my next life

Who else is like you to appreciate me?
There’s no one else who understands me so well
What else would I need?
I wish for the rest of your life to be handed to me
Allow me to take care of you properly
Please let me understand your needs
So I may give you all my love

If today I lose all that I have
I won’t care if I have nothing left
Only you cannot be replaced
You are everything in my life
If I had known that I would be fortunate to love you in this life
I would have worked harder for the future at the start
Actually I know it is once in a lifetime chance
Allow me to be with you in my next life
Loving each other forever

Welcome To The Fairytale

PMS is a delibitating illness. It targets your self esteem, shoots down all the hard work you have spent building it and stomps all over your confidence and self image like a barbaric neanderthal.

We can try to fight it off with herbs and pills, in my case red clover blossoms and plenty of calcium. Whilst it does take the edge of the PMS bite, I am learning that it doesn't really tame the beast within. Without anti-PMS herbs = Medusa on a bad sulphur trip. With anti-PMS herbs = Glenn Close boiling rabbits. Ie. not as scary, but still as psycho.

It is a curse, I tell you. At my age and correlating baggage size, PMS begins two weeks before the actual event. That's two whole weeks of griping with emotions, moods, insecurities, unresolved issues and a steady bloating of the belly. Then D-Day announces its arrival with a huge splash of red that despite years of this monthly torture, still never fails to shock when you go to the loo and it glares its angry surprise back at you from your knickers.

Then come the cramps. OK, I must admit, my period pains have noticebly numbed post pregnancy, but still, cramps are cramps - numbed or otherwise - and it makes you want to crawl up in bed (not snuggle) , tenderly nest over a hot water bottle and drift into a semi conscious state of hopelessness and helplessness, ie. hell.

This lasts for another 3-4 days and it is of no help that you have to visit the loo every 3 hours if you are tamponing or have to walk around with a big fake smile on your face so as to not give away that there is a loaf of a pad wedged between your legs as you bleed out.

Finally, as the period wears off, so does this PMS beast and you return to 'normal' before it begins all over again in less than a week's time.

And so, it brings me back to the person who asked me this question when I was a pre-teen, "would you rather have been born a girl or a boy?". With hindsight, I conclude that this person must not only have been of the male gender, he was also mocking me despite my naivete - not only revelling in the fact that we live in a man's world, but rubbing in what he already knew was coming - that I was on the brink of experiencing PMS for a good three weeks every month for the rest of my god-damned life until finally, even menopause is welcomed with open arms.

Have a nice week girls.

Just Get Over It!

I'm a hopeless friend to have around if you've just broken up with someone. I can never find the right balance between being the sympathetic "awww, you poor thing" shoulder to lean on and the short and straight friend that tells it as it is - "pick yourself up and stop being so pathetic".

I do genuinely feel for people who have had their hearts broken. I know what it feels like. It's horrible. Like falling down a black hole and not knowing where you will land. Yes, the 'mourning' period is not nice, with its accompanying thoughts of suicide, lack of will to eat (hang on...that's a good thing, no?) and loss of of motivation to live. Yet, its a necessary step to take in order to get back on our two feet again.

But it's also so horribly annoying. OK, I'm not the most sympathetic person, but really. I mean, especially if we have been hurt before, and we have, why do we simply set ourselves up again? Have we not learned from previous episodes that it hurts and reliving every little detail of what happened over and over again just ain't going to change anything?

Of course, its easier said then done. I'm not the one who's heart is in pieces right now. I have been extremely fortunate to have around me a network of people who have been my safety net at times like these, and their efforts are immensely appreciated. There are some people who are better at cooing and coaxing and others at being blunt. The most effective advice I have ever had after a devastating breakup many years ago was "Just Get Over It".

It was said with a tinge of exasperation and it was exactly what I needed to hear. It woke me up with a jolt. You know, sometimes when you are in shock, all you need is for someone to give you an order? It's that - I needed a direction. Enough talking, enough analysing, enough wondering, enough plotting. This deal is done.

I guess the crux of the matter is this: how long exactly is an appropriate public mourning period? Of course, that depends on the person, the relationship, the time in life...no, you can't say 2 weeks or 2 months or whatever. What I mean is that a part of you will indeed mourn for a long time, however much the relationship meant to you, but you can mourn inside.

When you've exhausted the details and there are no more twists to the plot, enough! I am guilty of long drawn out post break up public mourning and it need not have been so. It was indulgent of me to have carried on doing that to myself. One needs to move on from the frantic need to relive and enter the phase of quiet reflection.

The key to turn that locked door of awakening? It's perspective. Once you put that huge relationship in the long and vast life you have lived and will go on to lead, and then put your life within the context of the world around you, and then put your world into the context of the universe at large, you kind of get the message. The relationship moulded who you are going to be, but it so is not your life!

I don't like seeing weak people. When I see refugees, people abused in their childhood, those living in poverty, and I see survival in their eyes, I think everyone is capable of strength, of great strength. They just don't know it.