Addiction

I'm addicted. Damn.

The village people

There has been no blogging of late and for that I blame recent travels and family obligations. Being a pastor's daughter means that you are somewhat part of a very large family, often consisting of people you don't know. I have memories of bumping people on the mall, exchanging greetings (... and by the way they greeted my dad, I'd know that they're members of his church), only to discover that Dad doesn't really know them at all. I remembered meeting people in restaurants, and finding the bills paid for by the same people who bid us good bye earlier. There were also visits to our house by seminary college students, who in time became colleagues of my father. And there were constant streams of out-of-town pastors from all over Java who were invited to speak at the church filling the memories of my childhood.

I grew out of them as years went by. They simply became events of the past, close to be forgotten. About a month ago, my dad was to have his official retirement service from the congregation he had served for 30 years. I couldn't remember the last time I set foot in that church. It has air conditioning, a screen projector on the side and a different lectern, everything else was the same... only smaller. Everyone looked familiar. Everyone smiled and nodded towards us.

During the service I found myself busy trying to recall names and faces. Those who showed up at the service had some sort of significant presence in our family life. Little flashbacks began to appear and more of them surfaced as we stood in front receiving warm wishes from people. There were faces whom I knew when they were teenagers, and now they're parents themselves. There were friends' parents who looked the same, except their hair were all grey. There was this doctor, who made my 'cool-person' list because he was handsome, comforting and had a huge aquarium of arwanas (the dragon fish) many years ago; he had a stroke years ago and now barely recognised people and had to be wheeled on a wheel chair.

It's heart warming to be back, even if I was never very far from it. These people matters to us as a family, and being a part of this community means that we are never alone. It is a bit like having your own village people. I like that. I like my village people.

Intermezzo

Thanks to VC-C for this little note. I turned out to be just Joe Normal. Not sure if I should be happy or disappointed.

The Shoe

It is customary in this city to take off your shoes when you enter somebody else's house. Most people wonders around the house barefeet or with house slippers.

In our household of 3, the shoes are indicators on who is getting some action in the bed room. The MO is always the same, you arrive late at night and notice a strange pair of shoe. You go to bed, not thinking about it until the next morning, where you see the same pair on the same spot. Person number 2 wakes up, and notices the same thing. Simple deduction is made: the person who wakes up last, is the lucky one.

There was a strange pair of shoes last night, but it disappeared after a few hours. Somebody got lucky. Really quickly.

Colour Blind

For far too long our culture cultivates the black and white dichotomy, in which you're either this or that and there's nothing in between. Grey is not a colour; it is an undesirable stand point reserves only for the weak and undecided. Black or white is also often seen from a hierarchical view, where one is superior than the other or vice versa, depending on who's looking. We struggle to create a dialog that does not result in a shouting match. We struggle to converse without winning. For far too long, we are enslaved by our colours: red or blue, black or white, brown or yellow, green or blue.

The US Presidential Campaign is trying hard to NOT make it about race. But how can you not? For the first time the United States of America will have a person of colour (...that is not white) as a potential future president. It will be the first test for the democracy and equality they loudly preach around the world. The US Election should NOt be about race; it should be about what it good for the country. We will see if America is ready to be colour blind in a few days.

I once asked a foreigner friend what she thinks about having a relationship with a local guy. "I don't mind the idea. After all, a relationship is about the emotional connection you have with the other person and not about where he comes from. Those things are what makes him what he is, and that's what you found attractive. But,... it is hard for me to shake off doubts on whether he likes me for who I am, or he likes me because I could be a meal ticket." I understand her thinking completely. We hear horror stories about these type of relationships more often than the happily-ever-after kind. Generally, we hear more stories about failed relationships and remember them better, because sucessful relationships only exist in movie theatres. We'd like to think that we can be colour blind, but we can never be sure.

We are a generation who is bitter and jaded, yet still holding on to the possibility of that bit of romance. Therefore, it is really refreshing to come across something like Colour Blind.

Girls, girls, girls...

The best thing about being single is the ability to have multiple ego-boosting experiences when it comes to men. The looks of adoration, the uncomplicated language of hello and good byes in strange places, the generous amount of free alcohol are definite perks. In as much the single girls want the full-on meaningful "R" and the comfort and safety that comes with it, most of us who have been single for far too long become good at this, and learned to enjoy this state. Human beings crave for that attention and we learned to take it when it's there for the taking.

A single girl was going out with a 'friend' who was supposedly 'interested' (...this term is further to be defined). They had an absolute blast, and as part of a drunken stupor misinterpret a hand signal to be an invitation for a kiss. No animal was hurt in this proceeding, and both parties ended the act with content. This was a pre-text for another, obviously. A good kisser is not to be wasted, and the best way to appreciate him/her is to have as many kisses as possible.

Another single girl in another town was out with some friends. Recently she began to have some issues with age and her singleton status, and her mates decided to cheer her up. They spotted a cute boy in her 20s, and said, "It's her birthday today, do something to her." Our cute little 20 year old dutifully responded by giving our single girl one of his best, most luscious kiss.

Another single girl in another town went a little bit further with the boys in this department. She lived up her fantasy by being her own Mrs. Robinson to innocent young English subjects in London town. Her specialty was educating these boys on utilising physical prowess to much better use, for the glory and happiness of girls around the world.

Little is known to the rest of single girls' #1 story. The term "interested" which is to be defined may or may not present complication. She is fully aware of the stakes and quite happy to leave things the way they are at the moment, with the hope of something (... again, to be further defined).

Single girl #2 feels better about herself now, but continue to remain single until she can work out her own issues with the "R" word.

Our third single girl is now fully retired from her post as an educator to settle down with a lovely young chap called P. He is a few years younger, but seems to have mastered the balance of physical prowess and technique with the added bit of love and romance as a complete package.

Until then, the single girls will continue to take where they can, when they can, and what they can!

Working on (IM)Patience

Patience is a virtue that has never been mine. You wouldn't be anywhere near when I'm annoyed, because I turned into this crazy, full-on swearing bitch whose looks would drive you away in an instant. Trust me, this observation was made by numerous people over the years.

Recent events have been really trying, and strangely my impatience is affecting me more than ever. I am trying to be calm about things; not to blow up and say things I don't mean. And yes, I can be really mean. I'm trying to forgive and forget, only to find myself even more irritated. Which lead me to wonder if it would be better to just blow off my top and get it over and done with? Because now, it's simply irritating... and it doesn't go away!!

Any ideas?? I want to work on this...

English? Ingles? Inglese?

English is my second language that I used more than my first language. However, my english is a loose form of communication with acquired accents from various places, and adapted terminologies whose origins I can not point out. Faetryn was once asked about my accent, and she said, "Yeah, she's got a funky one."

conversations with a bunch of north americans
C: This is really comfy. It's raining outside and I'm talking under my doona.
S: Huh?
VAC: Doona? *Big laughter* What the hell is a doona?
C: Doona. You know...
S: What's that?
C: Huh? *confused* Isn't that English? Doona, ehmm quilt cover,
VAC: Oh, you mean comforter! Right!
S: Where the hell do you get doona from?
C: I dunno, it's always been doona..

conversations with an aussie living in london in stockholm
B: I know I say tea, funny... I was speaking to my mum the other day. She laughed.
C: Yes, and did she ever get it confused with tea, as in tea the drink, and tea, for dinner?
B: Absolutely! Almost all the time. I get it with my colleagues with pants.
C: Pants?
B: Yes, the English don't use the word pants unless they mean underwear. They use trousers.
C: Ah, a pair of trousers *spoken with English accent*

conversation with an english girl who grew up in australia in geneva
F: Did you spend some time in Australia?
C: A little bit. Why? *I have only met this person for a little over 2 hours*
F: Well, you said no worries before and I thought, gosh! I haven't heard that for a really long time.
C: Haha.. It just comes out.
F: Yeah, I know what you mean. When I first came, I said "Hello, how are you?" all the time when I greet people and the Europeans looked at me funny. They were not sure how to respond.
C: They're not sure how to respond to that?
F: Yeah, they thought that it's weird that this person actually wants to know about their well being.
C: Oh! I know most times, I do want to know. But more often than not, it just comes out as a package...
F: I KNOW!!

conversation with an american in singapore
J: Why is it when you go to foreign language sites, the sign for English language is always the British flag?
C: Errr... because that's where English comes from? They're Eng-lish...
J: Yeah, but we speak English, too! So are the Canadians, why can't it be a different flag?
C: .... *Speechless. Puzzled. I just gave him a shrug.

FEVER

never know how much i love you
never know how much i care
when you put your arms around me
I give you fever that's so hard to bare

you give me fever
when you kiss me
fever when you hold me tight
Fever
In the morning
Fever all through the night

Sun lights up the day time
moon lights up the night
I light up when you call my name
and you know i'm gonna treat you right

you give me fever
when you kiss me
fever when you hold me tight
Fever
In the morning
Fever all through the night

Everybodies got the fever
That is somethin you all know
Fever is'nt such a new thing
Fever start long ago

Romeo love Juliet
Juliet she felt the same
When he put his arms around her
He said Julie baby your my flame

Now give me fever
When were kissin
Fever with that flame in you
Fever
I'm a fire
Fever yeah i burn for you

Captain smith and pocahontas
had a very mad affair
When her daddy tried to kill him
She said daddy oh don't you dare

He gives me fever
With his kisses
fever when he holds me tight
Fever
I'm his misses
Daddy won't you treat him right

Now you listened to my story
Here's the point that i have made
Chicks were born to give you fever
Be it fair and have a sense of game

They give you fever
when you kiss them
Fever if you really learned
Fever
Till you sizzlen
But what a lovely way to burn

But what a lovely way to burn
But what a lovely way to burn
But what a lovely way to burn

Over the Rhine does a wicked interpretation.

Tech-bubble-one-liner

Are we losing the essence of communication? In the world of high tech communication devices, of constant connectivity regardless of time zone and traditional nation states, how disconnected are we really?

Keeping in touch has never been so easy. Gone are the days of choosing the right paper if you were to write long letters to friends, the pain on your wrist that comes from writing lines lines of update that will only be outdated by the time it reached the recipient. Phone calls are often substituted by text messages. International phone calls are slowly making ways for VOIP. Social networking sites such as facebook, myspace, friendster and the likes are connecting the people dots in your life.

These days, it is considered sufficient to read the status line on facebook to think that you know what's going on with that person. One sentence is all it takes to make people ignore or contact you. I found it rather disturbing when your attempt of personal connection with someone is decided by one-liners from a social networking site. Are these technological conveniences promoting laziness, and undermining the whole point of being connected at all?

Conversation about one-night-stands

C: So, what have you been up to? You should get out there and you know... get some...
J: Naaaa. As much as I'd like to get some, most times it's just more hassle.
C: Whaddaya mean? Like, a girl gets all clingy over your one night stand?
J: Well, I have a theory about this.
C: Let's hear it!
J: Based on my limited experience, a girl would love to do things to you and make you feel good all over but when it comes for me to return the favour, she wouldn't let me.
C: Huh? What are you talking about? Are we still talking about a one night stand?
J: Yeah, you meet someone at a bar, danced a bit, talked a bit, get all worked up and went on from there. I always said that I was not looking for anything, that it's in the moment, yadda yadda yadda and the girl must agree before we go on anywhere.
C: Ok, I get that. It has to have mutual consent. What I don't get is what do you mean by "she wouldn't let you return the favour?" She would only pleasure you and not let you give her pleasure?
J: Yeah, she would... just she wouldn't let me make her come.
C: Huh? Why?
J: Here's the theory: girls wouldn't let guys make them come because they're scared of wanting more.
C: If you're good at it, of course they would want more! No?
J: But that's not supposed to happen in a one-night-stand. I'd be happily stay and cuddle and get all tactile after but that doesn't necessarily mean that I want to see them again. That'd just be against the whole notion of a one-night-stand.
C: Hmmm, I have to think about this.

What should one expects from a one-night-stand? By definition, I think, none. How often though you get into similar situations and allow reason takes over the moment? Girl, would you exert control and prohibit yourself from receiving pleasure for fear of what would happen after the next 5 minutes? I'd thought that if you put yourself there then you know what you're in for. Therefore, if this concept is not how we would naturally function as social beings, should we do this at all?

I'm rambling...and on the record, NO: I have nothing against a one night stand.

disclaimer: names had been hidden to protect the (not) so innocent.

A letter to T

It was one year ago that I first heard of your name, in brief description of an event that lead us to where we are now. A few months later, your name took a physical form and I have been entangled in a series of events catapulted from that first time. It was not a happy ocassion, it was full of tears, volumes of alcohol and several dosages of valium. That was normal for a broken heart. Time adds the missing ingredient and life goes on. Or, so I thought.

Dear T,
what saddens me the most is not how you're still not over your feelings, or how you're missing your best friend every morning but how hard you are on yourself. The brave front you finally managed to put up in the last few months turned out to be a facade, another layer of withdrawal where you can hide yourself from; maybe even from yourself. It was like trying to trick yourself to this "brave-face", to eventually gather the strength from your own projection. It worked for a while, until you tested it; only to find the image shattered the moment it hit water, leaving sharp objects on the open wound. You bled again.

I'm not an expert in healing a broken heart. God knows I had my own demons to worry about when it comes to relationships. What I've learned though is that being honest with yourself is the first step towards healing. That whole cliche of "if you love someone set them free" is true, too; and it should be looked at as less sacrificial on your part. Setting someone free also means setting yourself free first. You need to be free yourself of the what've, should've could've... and let it all go. Learning to accept there are things beyond your control is not easy. It never is.

I wish I can offer more than vague words, a hug and a listening ear. But trust that there are bigger forces in motion in our lifes and you will never be alone. Even if you don't believe it, I do. Hopefully it will be enough to carry you through. In time.

(The Hill, Oct 5, 2008)

Home Blues

Yesterday was Hari Raya Idul Fitri, a celebration of victory over mental and physical desires through a month of fasting for Muslims all around the world. It is a moment of rebirth and cleansing, of forgiveness and starting over. It is a day of silatuhrami, where family and friends reconnect and ask for forgiveness of any wrong doings.

Growing up in Indonesia, the fasting month and the Idul Fitri celebration that comes after is something that you can not escape. It is part of your cultural upbringing regardless what religion you hold. The whole country fast with you; an influx of religious programs on radio and teve, the closure of night entertainment places, the impossibility to serve alcohol in public places, the curtains over the glass windows of MacDonalds and any other cafes, the sleepy faces of public servants, and a general lethargy in the air. You can not miss it.

I miss it though. I don't miss all of the above, but I miss the celebration afterwards. When we were younger, the non-muslim friends would go over to our Muslim friends' house to take part in the feast. It was probably just an excuse to eat for free and hang out, but it was a wonderful feeling of camraderie and community where religions don't matter. We would have a table full of food, in a combination that you only see once a year served buffet style - during Idul Fitri: ketupat, beef rendang, dendeng balado, opor ayam, sambal goreng kerecek, sayur labu siam, and much more. There would be a pile of plates and cutleries and everyone is free to grab whatever they want, as often as they'd like. I get all warm and fuzzy just thinking about it.

The other nice thing about Idul Fitri is the emptiness of Jakarta streets. It is customary for people to celebrate Idul Fitri in their home town; and most people would leave Jakarta to join their relatives in their original birth place. This also means that every helper in most house hold would leave town, leaving their employer with their own devices. My mum used to give us chores: wash dishes, mop the floor, throw out garbage, laundry, make your own bed, and we would try to weasel our way out of doing them.

As I ate my dose of Idul Fitri food (as the local Malay Singaporeans have them, courtesy of S' mother), I couldn't help thinking of my people back home. My mum without the maid. The ketupat and sambal goreng. My brother avoiding to take out the trash (... yes, he still does it). For the first time since I moved here, I kinda miss home.

ROARING CARS

This is what the fuss is all about this weekend.
I gladly stayed away, although it kept coming back. It was just too loud.

Singapore F1 (Photo courtesy of Dean Luah).

BACK

Holiday was over officially 7 days, 15 hours and 34 minutes ago. The road ended back where I started. The cycle was complete and life was to resume the same way as before. But after you travel, you never come back as the same person. There's a little bit more or less of you, taken by the road experiences, which eventually might alter your future course. 

Travels always teach you something new about yourself, too. It helps to show you what you want to be, where you want to go, and what you have become. These pictures are not always pretty, often they're not what you want to see but having this knowledge can help you make decisions as you float along this crazy life.

My last trip was not a life changing journey. There was no 'eye-opener' that leads to enlightement or anything remotely close. I learned a few little things along the way though, that even if I stayed in dorm room hostels, I would no longer eat crap. No more wrapped sandwiches from free hostel breakfast, no more grocery shopping to save money. I know that Italian men are alright as long as they don't wear matching purple bets and shoes. I am sure that the reason why Scandinavian design is cool is because these people never knew anything other than, good design. I developed a new theory towards my red wine allergy; that I am only allergic to tannins when I'm in South East Asian countries. I realised that I partied less and observed more. I planned less and got lost often, but I didn't mind it at all; I still saw interesting things, just at a different place. I was not concerned about seeing everything, but wanted to feel something.

I wondered if I had given this place a chance. If I wasn't more concerned about how much I didn't like things, that things are... more than not, just different. Maybe I should try to enjoy getting lost, to be comfortable in uncertainty, and maybe, just maybe...I will get a little bit further on my red wine allergy theory.

P.S. Someone suggested that I should only drink Italian red. Something about the way Italian red wine is produced that makes tannin allergy almost impossible. Thoughts anyone?

A busted bubble

It was a moment of insanity, one said. It was a moment when electrical currents run through your body creating an adrenaline high. It was a moment where minutes turned into hours, and days turned into weeks. It felt like blowing transparent rainbow bubble full of dreams of the moment.

You keep the rainbow bubble safe at the back of your mind, checking it back every now and then. At least once a year, it gets taken out of the safe for some spring cleaning. Memories bring out new colours that put a smile on your face. Every now and then.

Then there was a second moment. You would think that it would be similar to the first one. You would think that it would make your bubble more beautiful, but this time around it had prickly thorns that eventually blew everything up. Your pretty, transparent rainbow bubble of dreams made a big sound of pop, only to vanish into thin air.

Suddenly it was no more.

ON THE ROAD STATUS

Geneve-Varese-Milan-Vernazza-Roma-Stockholm

On the Road

I said I will follow you into the dark, but for the next few weeks I'll be looking for a little light. You can find me here. There will be gorgeous lakes, plenty of wine and pasta in an Italian countryside, stories of the Viking and encounters with the happiest people on earth. Hang out with me every now and then.

The 30 blues

Somebody asked me a few weeks ago about how it feels to be 30. At the beginning of the month I joined the 30's club and marked the crossroad that comes with it; note... 'marked' not 'crossed'. Life is an on-going journey and birthdays are not always the most accurate measure of where you are. The long and winding road presents many routes to the destination, with variation of bridges and rivers to cross. The mountain path calls to distract and I, am easily lured for wanting to taste, see and feel everything.

I used to think that it was lack of focus blamed on youth and inexperience; something that will diminish as years add up in your life. I dread adulthood (...and 30 is an adult number) and secretly hope that all I have to do is close my eyes that night and wake up an adult. I want to wake up with all desires to venture and explore and going with the flow, replaced with responsibility, focus and determination. You know, something a bit more.... adult!

Days gone passed and the 30 tag forever stuck. There was no magic wag of the wand that transported you to adult-dom. I still struggle with the daily challenges of being a single girl, 30 and all, with not much means for the future. If anything, at least I'm aware to certain adult-like responsibilities and trying my best to deal with them without losing myself. There's nothing worse to be a totally different 30-year-old Cynth. Now, THAT would just be wrong...

I will follow you into the dark

Fear is the heart of love, so I never went back...
Death Cab for Cutie Concert
Aug 12, 2008
Esplanade Concert Hall, Singapore

Passing through...2 hours in Changi Airport

I anxiously checked my watch. It was 21:59. My phone lied still on my desk. No buzz. No little envelope unopened. My shift would be over soon, and yet I did not know where I should go next. Flight status on the web marked: arrived. I stared at my phone, willing it to ring. It did.

Changi airport newly opened T3 looked flashy, but barren in the middle of the night. The only bar in this terminal shut at midnight, so unless I planned to gulp my drink in 5 minutes the night just had to be without. I guess I could drink tea,... I wanted to sleep when I got home after meeting my girls.

SMS: ...waiting for key, drop bag then come out to cu.

HH sent AL to meet me first. Hugs, kisses and stories of importing foreign maid kicked start a new day. It was good to have that familiarity, the kind you get with wearing old pajamas to sleep. I saw HH approaching, she waved from a far with a big smile on her face. The moment she sat down, she reached inside her bag for a duty free bag with a bottle of red wine. There were grins all around. For 2 hours we sat in an airport coffee shop, trading stories of yesterdays over wine in plastic cups. If only we had cheese... Did I mention simply how perfect it all was?

A few plastic cups later, we needed to call in the night... HH and AL had a plane to catch in a few hours. I had work to go to. Time to walked back to where we came from. It was fantabuloustic!!

It was always about the company. Always.

Lost Words

This urban jungle swallows all my words. I keep thinking about things and yet unable to express them. Maybe the truth scares me and that as long as I don't hear them life goes on swell, all hunky dory.

This time I will learn to listen to the silence. I want to be able to translate the silence into words again someday. For now, enjoy the deafening silence.

There's too much sadness in the world, but then there's Kungfu Panda

There are too many sadness in the world. More often that not, we manage to feel sorry for the hunger in Africa, the closed regime of North Korea, the stolen generation of Australia; we get angry at the violence of Mugabe, the fuel hike in Indonesia, the closed-mindedness of Burma. All of them are sad, horrible and infuriating, but they hardly ever make you feel as sad, or near as bad when your loved one is sad.

Recently I came face to face with sadness. It came to me in a form of my best friend; clothes down a size, little of an appetite and sighs awfully a lot, thanks to a broken heart. Most times I didn't know what to do, or say. I didn't know whether it was better to leave her alone, or whether I should try to break her cocoon. It was one of the hardest week (...despite all the fun times we had) of my life.

How do you tell someone who was feeling lonely, at the lowest of low, and afraid and angry and sad that she was surrounded by gazillion helping hands? How do you make them see that all eyes were on her, and that people were watching out for her, waiting for her to reach out and meet their helping hands? Even if they're only to hold and to comfort, because often they alone did not have the strength to pull her out of the darkness; that her broken heart breaks their heart, too.

And just as I thought I was overcoming my pseudo broken heart, once again I was surprised by another friend's story about her cancer. She is one of the bravest people I've ever known, and I haven't known her for very long. In her quiet ways and soft-spoken words she told me, "I know I beat it once, but deep down I'm still scared... that it will come back and I won't be able to defeat it the second time around." There was fear in her eyes and again, I didn't know what to do, or say.

But then, there was Kungfu Panda. Dreamworks' latest animated movie about the fat, noodle seller Panda who loves food and dreams about kung fu. Everyone can always relate to the story of a loser who finds his potential and beats all odds. Po, the kung fu Panda master still has problems climbing the thousand steps into the Temple after beating the evil Tai Lung, but he learned that faith can make the impossible comes true. That the secret ingredient is no-secret ingredient, you just have to believe.

I left the cinema with a smile and newfound thoughts on my recent encounters with sadness.

Life works in opposite forces. Negative and positive have to coexists. Happiness and Sadness walks hand in hand. One can not function without the other, and one is never permanent. At times of sadness, we must rely on our faith. At all times, we must believe. Not only when reasons fail us, not only when we can not control things anymore. It needs to be the ground we stand on, because the thing about faith is,... it is simply beyond comprehension.

It is about giving in, closing your eyes and letting it guides you, even if doubts fill your heart and mind. That's why they call it a leap of faith.

Sex and The City Pt. 1

Gold class cinemas around the world is fully booked weeks in advance; every girl in town is having a "Sex and The City" girls-night-out where gorgeous dresses and fancy shoes make way for the clinking of cocktail glasses. All in the name of the return of Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte. These 4 girls captured our hearts and minds through their trials and tribulations of single girls in NY. All girls living in a big city can relate to them, and that was how they lasted seasons over seasons.
The single girls of SATC are 10 years older, and not single anymore. But when it comes to love, being older never means that you are wiser. You simply have traveled more miles in the quest of finding love, perfecting love and discovering love. Breaking up when you're 40 still feels as crap as it was 20 years ago. Leaving someone at 50 is as hard as it was when you're 23. Nothing much had changed.

What makes it different is that Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte are as relentless in their pursuit of love as they grow older as when they were younger. Most of us are jaded and disillusioned with love as we get older. When we walked out of the cinema, the movie affected my friends so much -- they were dissapointed because the 4 girls' NY no longer echoes theirs. Carrie kept a "love" key chain as her good luck charm!! What's up with that?? These girls should wisened up and be more like Miranda. Realistic and tough.

I wonder why my friends take the pink-coloured-SATC movie so personally? It is after all, just a movie, and not only that... one that is sponsored by Manolo Blahnik as the star diamond engagement ring.

For the longest time, we believe that the NY lived by Carrie is a representation of our own world; the same horrible yet exciting, excruciating dating scene, the struggle of gender and career, the constant battle with wanting everything,... that when all of these are reduced to the simple quest for love we get angry. We are disappointed that our lovely characters are losing sight of the important things in life. Not to say that love is not important, but really... it can't be all?!

Is it? Or is it not?

IN - eating, living

It's hard to go the extra mile to cook something at home, especially if you are on your own. I love grocery shopping and I always end up buying things and keeping them in the fridge forever and ever because my social schedule is never fixed, and I do things on the fly. Last weekend, I planned to be home; to not go out. Yes, call me weird... but I need to plan these things; psyche myself into domesticity and not to succumb to the evil temptations of being 'out'. I made sure I had enough food for breakfast, lunch and dinner to sustain my abstinence from the world that weekend.

Domesticity is a bliss.

Ha! For several days, I spent quality time with myself. I read, did laundry, hung out by the pool, did a bit of writing, and most importantly, ate well. I am not claiming to be a fantastic cook. Most of the time, I imagined what certain things would taste like, see the ingredients sitting in the fridge and come up with something. Cooking is always an experiment, but for the whole of last weekend, it was an experiment gone well.

I will attempt more of these domestic moments. Recently I've just been busy trying to 'have a life' and that's almost always means being out and about, doing stuff. Life gets hectic and it becomes impossible to listen; to the little birds in the morning, to the voices in your head. Last weekend was a good reminder how eating well (IN) can make a lot of difference.

It's (not) just another city

It is an island country city of 5 million people consisting of 30% foreigners, 40% people above the age of 60, and 30% of everything else. Singapore does not have much in terms of population, which is probably a good thing in the age of over consumption and stressing the planet. It is a well-oiled run island that over compensates its 'islandhood' by coining the term 'kiasu' and 'kanchiong spider'. These terms basically mean that one needs to be faster, to get more, before everyone and anyone, even when you don't need to be; you just have to. On paper, these things are not that bad, but in practice they make people do stupid things, annoying things... and rude, impolite things. This place is comfortable, but at times can be unbearable.

People complain about the size of this country, about the lack of things to do; that most social activity always involves alcohol or sports. Comparisons were made to Indonesia (where I come from) an archipelago with tons of places of interests, richness of culture, variety of food.
Singapore is boring. Singapore is small. It's only logical.

A friend shared with me what his boss (who was also a foreigner) told him when he first arrived in Singapore, a little over two years ago. "Just think of Singapore as a city. Forget that it's a country. It's a city where you live and you work and everything will be okay." I frowned. How can you not remember that it is a country? A small, boring, country? My expression must have been really obvious to him. He then continued, "It's true. Think of your life in where you used to live. In a city that you live, you do the mundane. Life is a set of routine. Most of us shop in the same grocery shop. We buy our flowers at the corner florist. Our favourite Italian restaurant is 20 minutes away. You keep going back to the same bars over and over again, regardless of the new places. You work. You go home. Maybe you go to the gym. It's suposed to be boring. It's the city that you live in. That's how it's supposed to be."

It is interesting to see that on the quest of making life 'interesting' and in the spirit of 'experiencing' this new place, I did the opposite. Simply because, I felt I needed to 'live' here; totally unaware that I'm contradicting myself. I seek for that one supermarket where I can always buy my vegetables. I looked for the closest fruit stall that is on the way to work. I tried to buy my coffee in the same place every morning, where I can practice my "kopi-c-sui-dai" and the guy would understand my attempt at crappy Hokkien, and made it perfect the way I wanted it. I screamed out hungry for excitement, but did the exact opposite.

It is (not) just a city. It is a city, and like any other city I've lived in, it has its own charm, it's own craziness. There are always annoying people. Rudeness is a social disease we all need to work on; more of the word "please"needs to be heard, and less complaining, please. Singapore is far from being called home, but it is the city where I live now; where boredom and comfort goes hand in hand.

Here I am.

Mummyhood

Two years ago was the year when EVERYBODY got married, all but me of course. I endured multiple "When is your turn?" questions long enough before I hit another stage in the game. Baby-time!! From the middle of last year until now, the same people who got hitched are having kids. They're either pregnant or enjoying/hating motherhood. After all, a baby come with tons of responsibilities.

I caught up with 2 young mums last Saturday. Both of them are first timers in the game and they gave me interesting insights into mummyhood. They're not entirely new to me, but somehow become more real when it's coming from people you know.

• ADULT CONVERSATION can be a struggle when you spend day in and day out with your baby. She actually has to make an effort to not get suck into baby talk. Babies are cute and amazing and adorable, but to have a conversation with other adults about the same thing over and over again does not show intelligence. It is kinda pathetic, but it's hard and you really have to be aware of yourself when you're doing it.
• TOO MUCH ATTENTION to your baby is not necessarily a good thing. You know when there's a cute (or sometimes just new...) baby in some family function and everybody just goes crazy over it? All of a sudden, you hear adults making incomprehensible sounds and behaving like 2 year olds. Babies know when they get attention; and they like it and boy! they can manipulative... They'll make these suckers give them what they want, and after all the frivolities are over, mummy has to reset discipline all over again.
• HAVING NO MAID is the best way to lose those extra preggers-pounds. Lack of sleep, plus taking care of the baby, plus housework, and being somebody's wife show on the body. Don't worry about diets, just don't give in to the great Filipino maid your neighbour has been rambling about. You'll look fabulous in no time!
• MOTHERHOOD is the most selfless thing any woman can do. These mummies complained about not being able to dry their hair properly; not being able to see their friends; not being able to travel too far because a coffee with a friend requires at least a bottle of milk, a bag of toys, and a pram. But at the end of the coffee, babies are amazing little creatures (especiallly if they're yours) and they're the biggest rewards you can ever have in your life.

These points don't mean that I'm into baby and mummyhood and feeling ready to settle down. Ugh! Far from it... I have enough mummy-friends (the non-Egyptian kind) to get a taste, but I'm still looking for my relationship drama, sleep overs, dates, girls-pick-up night and the likes. Yeah, I haven't had enough of them... lousy as they may be.

Reaching Out

Have you heard of the expat-blues syndrome? All expatriates experienced displacement, the roller coaster ride of fun and misery, alienation; a mixture of incorrect dosage of the above is more than potent. It started as a syndrome, then all of a sudden it's a condition.

One expat friend said to me, "You're busy with work, and you get comfortable with the small group of people you have and you don't really put effort into making friends. You hang out with the same people, most of them as foreign to the place as you are, and you just keep to what you know. Now you're all gone... and suddenly, I'm in the same place I was when I first came in this country. I thought I'm done with the blues." She shrugged and let out a long sigh.

Why is that the older we are the harder it is to make new friends? What is about adulthood that prevents us from connecting to other people? Imagine if reaching out to fulfill our need is already that difficult, what about reaching out to help other people? Is true that we lose our innocence as we add years to our lives; and therefore grow more distrust in the human race? Do we fight less for our need to connect with others, because we simply... can't be bothered?
Even if I don't think that I have the condition, I'm determined to shake off the expat-blues syndrome. I'm determined to actively pursuing a remedy.

Tonight, as I walked out of my building, my fingers dialled a number. A new acquaintance who turned out to be free for dinner. There we were; two strangers with little knowledge of each other trying to find a common ground. Tonight I learned that he has family responsibilities, younger siblings. I discovered that he would love to travel someday. I'm not sure what he learned about me, but hopefully he's interested in knowing the bits he didn't get to find out.

No more night like that night

It was that picture again. A shot of her smiling amidst the knick knacks of his work. The same setting where they met a long time ago. She was young, fresh and full of energy. She radiated a positive beam ready to take on the world. He was a little more jaded; lacks direction but somehow her warmth drawn him to her.

That was a long time ago.

They spoke about travels, about moving pictures of tomorrow, about tales of the young and old. She spoke of her passion. He told her about his nightmares. There was electricity in the air that kept them in their own bubble. It was the kind of buzz that kept you on your toes, where its strength charged your battery to keep on going. The moon watched this exchange of fear and love under its stare until the break of day.

That was a long time ago.

Sometimes their path would cross again, but there were no words like that night. It was as if the moment was then and they let it slipped. Words filled the insides of their whole being wanting to be expressed but time swallowed everything without giving them any chance. It was like being on the same narrow bridge with a separator and heavy traffic behind. It only pushed you to go forward. The only sign visible was the no stop sign, until there was nothing more left but silent stares of the moon as distance grew further and the other was out of sight.

On their own, they still whispered their dreams and desires to the night sky, but there were never enough words like that night.

There was no more night like that night.

To be Singaporean

One late night I took a cab home after a few drinks. It was the end of a long day and chatting with a taxi driver is the last thing you wanted to do. As if able to read my mind, the taxi driver started asking the usual questions: where I'm from, how long have I been in Singapore, what I'm doing in Singapore, etc. The taxi driver turned out to be a fellow countryman who has been living in Singapore for more than 20 years. He named a small city of Kendal, in Central Java as his hometown.

The conversation took a different point that point onwards. The below conversation was conducted in a mix of English and Indonesian. Or rather Indonesian spoken with a Malay accent, much like how the locals speak.

TD: Nona (yeah... nobody uses that word anymore these days), are you Chinese?
C: Yeah.
TD: Can you speak Chinese? What dialects?
C: None.
TD: How come? A chinese should be able to speak it. I am Malay, but I can speak Hokkien, Mandarin. I have very good friends who are Chinese. You know, if you want to get ahead in Singapore you have to make friends with the Chinese. I am Malay, but I hang out with the Chinese.
C: Just never learnt it.
TD: You're very pretty.
C: Thanks.
TD: I am Malay but I like Chinese girls. Many Singaporean chinese men go to Indonesia for girls, you know. They go to Batam. I also go to Batam. There are many different women in Batam. They keep mistresses from everywhere in Batam. I have a chinese girlfriend there, too.

My disinterest only kept him going more. It's aggravating to learn that his way to assimilate himself in Singapore is to join in all the 'festivities' all the other 'Singaporeans' do. There was pride that he could speak more dialects that I do; and that he's so well integrated that he gets it with the local Chinese ladies. And he's proud because???

I wonder if he is who he is (as he claimed to be) because he is a sleazebag, or because he's trying to fit in. Living in Singapore is easy enough, but living in all sense may not be as simple as it seems. When shopping is the national sport and everyone is obsessed with their image, one can not help to start feeling self-conscious. Am I not meeting new people because I'm not pretty enough? Am I too fat? To what extent would one compromise to be able to live in another country, in a new place? To be able to feel like they belong?

I will let you know in the near future.

Forgiveness

Are you a forgiving person?

I used to think that I am, until one day when I got really upset that the anger stayed with me for a really long time. Anger lingered for a few months, then it turned into bitterness and before long, it evolved into a dark, evil feeling impossible to shake off. It was buried at a corner ready to strike poisonous hate venom.

What is it about forgiveness that makes it really hard to do? Probably because to hate is much easier than to love. To be able to forgive, we must overcome ourselves and let love takes over. We need to let go of all the hurt that came with the deed that made us hateful and angry and unable to forgive, before we can forget and move on. And we all know that letting go is never easy. Often it is more than anger, but also the desire for revenge that is holding us back. And oh, don't forget disappointment; not only to the person you hate but also to yourself, for being such a poor judge of character, for misplacing your trust, yadda yadda yadda.

But you know what? To love is supposed to be easier, and it actually is. You need to recognise what you need to do. Realisation is the first step. Then it was the initial contact: the phone call, the email,... And the final gesture, an actual meeting. I'm a great believer in action that speaks louder than words. Therefore it is important to look at this person (...that you're supposedly hate) with nothing but affection. It is the only way to prove that forgiveness is not simply lip service. You need to be able to feel it first in yourself, before you can say it, or do whatever it takes to get over your nemesis.

You do feel better afterwards. Trust me, I know.

Question

How do you treat a blast from the past that suddenly appear? Do you let the familiar smell linger or do you quickly check your notes on why things didn't work out the last time? I breathed in a little and I liked the soothing feeling. The question remains, do you learn your lesson? or do you take a chance again?

Progress

I told you we're going to get curtains. Pecan is missing in this picture. That's Muddy being really lazy.

Stories from the Weekend

Lesson No. 1 in the Expatriate Life

• GO AND MAKE NEW FRIENDS!
• GO AND MAKE MORE NEW FRIENDS!

Studious and obedience I am never. Delinquent and stubborn, that is I. Instead of investing my time to try and make new friends on my first long weekend off, I ran to another neighbouring country for some familiar faces and delectable feasts. The lonely expatriate existence was a tiny detail I seemed to overlooked.

Life is in the now. It is living the moment and taking what you can from the present. Never mind that I had to start 6 am the next morning. Never mind I missed my bus. Never mind the queue of gazillion airshow spectators and the Saturday heat.

Among friends.
My private mastercard moments.
Priceless.

Better Part.2

I never thought that I'd experience the cliche 'older and wiser' first hand. The last time I moved to a different country, it took me two years to learn about acceptance in order to function better. This time, it only took me 4 weeks before submitting to the reality that life is going to be different in Singapore. I am creating a home for myself; a current sanctuary of fluoro lights that need to be replaced, a living space that needs to be filled, but most importantly a soul that craves for change.

We live a life full of contradiction. I said that I'm hungry for change, but at the same I hate the loneliness that comes with it. I said that I realised that life is going to be different, but I wish that my friends are still as close to me as before. We live in a constant pull of what the heart wants, what the head knows and what the reality is. It is what makes it interesting and excruciating.

But it does get better. Acceptance brings about a certain calmness about the new things around you, the scent of the unfamiliar, the harshness of the new. Most importantly, it kinda makes fear your best friend. I'm getting to know my new best friend; we're getting along okay so far. So yeah, things do get better.

HOME

After a few weeks of denial, I finally left the great comfort of JS & SS's house to start my own adventure. I moved into my own apartment last Saturday, whilst still working on the morning shift, and started at 6am for the past 5 days. I can't remember the last time I was so tired. That Saturday, my roomate Kenneth and I roamed IKEA alleyways, running around Giant, shopping for the house. Imagine making an empty house liveable. Trust me, it's more than just furniture.

Our first guest arrived on my third night. My luggage was still lying around, my desk was not assembled, but the kitchen looks like a real kitchen (minus a fridge), and we can have cool drinks, drip coffee and microwaveable meals. City gas was only turned on yesterday afternoon, and Kenneth cooked our first pasta on our own stove. We sat down in our living room, sipping wine, and feeling pleased with ourselves. As our guest pointed out, the place is still barren. We have no curtain, no paintings, no decorations, no dining table. This looks like anybody's house; we have yet to put our marks in it.

This is home. It's not complete and there's still a lot of work to be done, but it is our new home. And when Theresa, my other roomate moves in next week, the house will be even more alive as she has two dogs. And oh, we're going to have curtains!

Have faith.

Better

It gets better. You just have to give it time. If it's playing in a cinema near you, make time to go and watch THE DIVING BELL AND THE BUTTERFLY.

Human stories are the best stories of all. The best thing about TDBATB is not only the remarkable story of Mr. Bauby's 'locked-in' syndrome and his attempt of self-expression, but the lightness of how the story was told. There was no tear jerking moments, time of pity, only amazement and point-blank reality. It is heartfelt, soulful and at times, funny.

It's a condition that forces you to live in solitude; literally because you're almost always in conversation with yourself. When you are alone, you can not help thinking about where we are, and how we turned out to be the human being we never desired to be. The various twists and turns mess you up, puts you down, swirl you around to become somebody else. You might not like who you become.

All of a sudden the world is seen through a different view point. The camera work lent us Bauby's vantage point. We felt Bauby's desperation because we see his tears on screen; because the image gets blurry. But we regain focus and life goes on. In Bauby's case, he went on to tell his story, got it published and then died.

Sundays

My Sundays were always the best days.
A perfect combination between solitude and company.
There's nothing like a bit of art, like this swinging chandelier
at the National Museum of Singapore.

Or hanging out with world-class jazz pianist
over good jazz and even better wine.

High-er Expectation

There are 'better countries' where one would have higher expectations about most things. Better sanitation, better air, better traffic, better infra structure, better economy, better life style, better service, better education, better water, better food, better... better... better. The assumption of better does not always mean that you will like it more. It's just a general acknowledgement that certain things are better here than in other places. In Asia, it is in countries like Japan, South Korea, Hong Kong, and Singapore that you would most likely to make the above assumption. Certain things are supposed to be better.

I went into a bank grumpy looking at the long queue, but realised that I had no choice but to join the crowd and waited for my turn. The queue was moving rather quickly and the bank tellers seemed to be moving swiftly and efficiently. The afternoon was not going to be wasted after all. It did. A bunch of my foreign currency notes failed to pass 'the machine' and the teller could not tell me why.

Bank dude:I've explained to you that we can not take notes that the machine did not pass.
Me: I know. I understand, but what is it that the machine looks for?
Bank dude: We can only run them in the machine once. I already told you.
Me: I know. I understand that bit. Are you saying that these bills might be counterfeit?
Bank dude: I'm not sure. I just can not take your bills.
Me: Huh?!

The guy who served me was incapable of thinking, or responding out of the box. The great machine cleverly programmed the humans behind the counter a set of questions and answers. It was as if in the name of efficiency that the human was stripped of the one thing that makes them human; the ability to think independently and make judgments by comprehending certain situations.

My better assumption was completely wrong. Or is it that I have too high of an expectation? I missed out the fact that sometimes when things are too orderly, we lack the creativity to assess a situation and coming out with a solution. What seems to be better, might not work after all.

The Weekend

The weekend came with a cloud of blues over my head. The thought that I'd have no one and no events to go to, sent me to gloomy mood. This what comes with a fresh new start; new place, newly (yet to acquire friends), new activities. My second weekend comprise of me-activity, me-time. No more complaints of not having enough time for myself. Sunday came with blazing warm sun and cooling breeze, that I just had to go out. Even if only to walk around and do nothing. I ended up in the National Museum of Singapore, without much expectations. I'm not particulary interested in the history of this country, nor the details of its making. It was to my surprise that I found fun, thought-provoking works of contemporary art by local artists greeting me in the museum. There were several installation works that tickle minds about our relationship with the environment; a play of the mundane, image and false perception. It was a very pleasing surprise. Often the best things in our lives happen in the least expected moment.

There was hardly anything special in spending a Sunday afternoon in a museum, nor was it extraordinary to have a latte after walking the halls of the gallery. What makes things special in life is when we are able to appreciate the so-called little unimportant things, the mundane that is often overlooked and be grateful for them. Not so much for the things themselves, but more for our ability to notice them; to learn to see things with fresh eyes and smile at the tiniest moment. Yes, that latte in the museum (though rather pricey) was a very good one... and the whole afternoon at the museum put a big smile on my face until today.

Lost In Abbreviation

I finished the third day of my new employment still feeling excited. Good, I thought. I have not regretted my decision, nor having second thoughts. The work is completely new, completely incomprehensible, and the new jargons and details transported me to another world. We're an entity (EVO) which is part of a bigger company (EBU) which has a main system (EOS). Our head office is in Europe (GNV), and we operate out of Singapore (SGP). We have a sister office in London (ELL), and run a global satellite network which is monitored 24 hours by the master control (EVC). My first transmission was a tape playout (TPO) going to Tehran (IRBA).

When asked how I was, my reply was "I'm lost in abbreviation."

Abbreviation, like the greek symbols often used in mathematics, the material codes in chemistry or even morse codes, have a specific purpose. It is like learning a different language in a foreign country. A language is the door of a culture. Learning a few sentences might give you a peek of what's inside, but it takes a mastery of a language to truly appreciates the content behind that door. When we visit a foreign country, or encountering something new, the face of the unknown often conquers curiosity and beats thirst for knowledge. It deters us from finding out and reduces us to passers-by.

When asked how I was today...

T: So, how is it? Clear as mud?
C: No, it's better now. It's as clear as mud after a drizzle.

It is still not clear, but there is not many dirt. And THAT is progress.

NEW IN 2008

"Time flies", is a really old saying. As years gone by, I'm beginning to really understand how true it is. 2007 was a really good year and here are a few highlights:

• I was involved in the development of Indonesia's market from scratch. The market grew with the team; the excellent new people I had the privilege to mentor. Working with them and watching them grow professionally must had been one of the best thing last year.
• There's nothing better to be grateful about acquiring new friends. Last year was a pivotal point in going into a new level of friendship.
• Siem Reap, Phnom Penh and Ho Chi Minh -- 2 weeks of bliss. That should speak for itself.
• New job, new country, and new beginnings at the end of 2007.
  
• Learning to surrender, to believe and to have faith.
  

2008 is a new year, and it is new in many ways than one for me. It is the first time I work overseas, move overseas. It's the first time being in Singapore. It's the first time of everything. The year of firsts.