A late dream

I tried rereading my last post minutes ago. Yes, I do that sometimes and I have a feeling I am not alone in taking this little ego trip once in a while. So I was saying, I was rereading the last post and I had to stop after a few sentences because the unfortunate entry was terrifyingly boring that even I, as its guilty author, couldn't stand to finish reading it, what more the readers of this blog? Which entails me to genuinely pity them, provided there is any left by now.

How did I manage to get so suicidally boring? That is not to say I wasn't boring in the past but since I hardly ever receive any criticism, whether constructive or not, I presume no news is good news. Or perhaps I am just being self-deceivingly positive. I almost forgot that this blog is quite akin to an undiscovered virgin island shrouded in a cloak of mystery in the choppy waters of blogosphere. Ok, I am romantising things here because I can't help it and I digress.

What I am trying to say is, I am fully aware how awfully few readers this blog has. That is decidedly no gratification to the already vulnerable ego. But I ain't complaining because the only reason why I construct this blog to be as invisible as possible is I am truly and painfully self-conscious of my own writing. So there you have it, my naked soul.

Which brings me to the next question. Why do I continue to blog? Well, this may sound cliche but I got hooked on writing when this blog was born. And like many countless bloggers out there, I imagine one day my insufferable amateurish scribble would be read and being curiously appreciated by someone and get published somewhere, even if it's an unknown publication which no one has ever heard of before.

Don't ask me how on earth would someone like that get to read my scribble when this blog is as secluded as the aforementioned virgin island. I haven't figured that out yet. But when I have, I will let you know.

You might say how dare I dream such big dreams. Just look at the rubbish I write, it's neither professional, entertaining nor informative. No on will ever pay attention to what I have to say or write.

Well, for a start, no matter if it will ever come true at the end of the day, it doesn't hurt to have a dream. Secondly, (another cliche!) dreams keep us alive! Some people don't even have dreams, sadly. As much as I am a dreamer, I am also a very practical person. I predict it will take me at least ten years before that big day will arrive, if ever. Why ten years? Ten years is the politically correct time frame for one to graduate from a novice to a reasonably qualified scrawler. Just look at any successful cooks, doctors or craftsmen, it took them years and years of sharpening their skills and improving their expertise in their field before they got to where they are right now. For me to get there, I need to put in a plenitude amount of hard work and strive to read extensively and to write as often as I can, preferably everyday, through all of which I hope I will eventually find a voice and style that I can call my own. That sounds simple enough. But if you have been following this blog for a while, you would have noticed that diligence and self-discipline aren't exactly my strengths. I do try my best nonetheless, irregardless if I have the writer's block or if I am running out of things to write.

Now you understand why the ridiculous previous post. As the saying goes, practice makes perfect. This space has become my training ground. Thus, do bear with me if you can. Thank you.

The agonies of a mom

It didn't cross our chaotic minds to get our baby the little matching mittens as we were too caught up in the hustle of purchasing more essential winter garb for her, like the quilted coat, cardigans, warm trousers and so on. Then in the midst of the frenzy shopping, Oma's keen eyes spied the sweet but fashionable knitted hat and scarf. One look at the products, we gave her a quick nod signalling our approval. Off they went to the pram (which incidentally also served as our makeshift shopping bag for that day) to wait in line for the trip to the cashier later.

The man and I were dithering over what's necessary and what's not when good old Oma came in to keep us in check. Ok well, they're the ones paying so perhaps that's why. Hahaha.. Obediently, we put the remaining unsuccessful contenders back to their racks and proceeded to make the payment, with Opa's wallet already ready in hand, despite the long snaking line.

Happy with our loots, we headed home after a pleasant dinner.

I promptly washed the shopping the next day and waited impatiently for them to be air-dried. Oh yes, I did read the labels. Knits, coats etc and dryer really don't agree with each other.

The fall weather was clear and sunny but crisp. As the man was wrapping the little one up for her daily walk, I discovered, horror of horrors, that she only has a pair of fuchsia gloves to go with her beige knitted hat!! The glaring mismatch is an annoying sight. I determinedly resolved the unforgivable oversight must be fixed.

Two days later, I needed to be in the city to do an exchange and eagerly popped by the store in the hope of finding the matching gloves. No luck. They're sold out.

Shortly after that, the man chanced upon a gadget (among many) which caught his fancy and made up his mind finally to indulge himself this time. So off he rushed to the city happily in search of the device, but first not without my instruction to check out the store again if they had new stocks of the mittens. Sadly, we're second time unlucky. The man returned home empty-handed except for his new toy.

Infuriated, I racked deep in the brains where else I could get my hands on the hotcake mittens....

Then it hit me! The online shop, of course! Where else! Why didn't I think of that earlier?! And to think that I brag all the time how frequent I shop online! I truly deserved a good kick in the butt!

To my utmost relief, the online shop still carried the mittens! On the pretext of making the shipping cost worthwhile, I lingered on the website for some knits for myself. Then the man indiscreetly peeped to see what I was up to and asked the doomed question, 'Are you shopping for me?' To which, I gave the doomed reply, 'You need anything? We can check out their menswear.' His doomed answer, 'Not now. I am not in the mood to shop. Tomorrow maybe.'

The quintessential cheapskate in me still insisted on making the 4€ shipping cost worth its while, which led to the even doomed-est decision to wait till the next day to purchase the mittens.

Well, this is no Sherlock Holmes. All of you would have guessed by the time I visited the online shop again on the morrow, the mittens were gone! Gone, Gone, GONE!!! AAAARRRRRGGGGHHHH! Why didn't I just get them there and then when they were available?! The hell with the 4€! I was THAT close to pulling all my hair out!

What should I do now? No matching mittens for my little girl? And subject her to the disdain and sneering of the fashion police and risk leaving her with psychological scars on her tender little soul and having her grew up as an insecure and painfully self-conscious young woman who's socially inadequate and facing the bleak prospects of living sadly ever after, alone?!! And all because of a pair of mittens?!

I shudder to think further.

I fail as a mother.

Photo credit: here

Customer is king, not!

Our dinner over the weekend was a pleasant one. When he set his eyes on the cherub, our chirpy Chinese server quipped, '真是个漂亮的小姑娘!'

I had to beam at the remark. Not because someone thinks favourably of my playful darling. Ok, that too. It's just how the way he put it: terribly old-fashioned and yet so very endearing. Never mind if there is any truth in it or not.

Each time he passed us by, he would make friendly comments like, '怎么啦?不让妈妈吃饭啊?' His warm and attentive disposition is a welcome change from the usual malevolent and disagreeable temperament which is the Cantonese server or ex-server, at least I hope.

Which brings to mind a most unpleasant incident involving this particular waitress. It was the first day of the Chinese New Year, some two, three years ago. The few of us, yearning for our own kind, agreed to meet up at the said restaurant with the hope that the mediocre Chinese grub would at least quell our cravings and thereby dissipate our homesickness. Merrily chit-chatting away, we finally settled into our seats. With the menu spread out in front of us, we casually wondered aloud to the server if there were any special dishes for the occasion or any specialties to be recommended. Instead, we were rudely greeted by loud clinks and clanks of table-setting by none other than our leading lady, the unbelievably grumpy woman. She was anything but light-handed when it came to handling the tableware. At one point, I was quite certain one of the cups was about to break from all the deliberate manhandling. Her body language was literally screaming: she couldn't wait for us to leave, let alone take time to inform us of their specialities!! And to think that we hadn't even ordered our food yet! The lot of us was bewildered by the plain hostility and couldn't fathom her dark mood. But once the food issue was sorted, her unconcealed display of sulkiness became a source of curiosity to us. A brief discussion ensued and we came to the conclusion that she must be immensely maddened by the fact that she had to be working on this important day of the lunar calendar. As a result, she must have secretly swore that whoever crossed her path on that fateful day would get it from her.

Other than raising our eyebrows in protest, we stomached in silence the dreadful service which somewhat marred our festive mood. Our inaction is virtually unheard of since we Singaporeans are notorious for our penchant for making our displeasures known. In other words, we love to complain. Yet, in this instance, I suppose we, as much as we loathe to admit, kind of empathize with her. To be fair, we wouldn't be too delighted if we were given no other choice but to work on this day. So we held our tongues.

Still, a service staff audacious enough to unleash her private resentment on customers is an undesirable attendant. Such perplexing work ethic is inconceivable. It is a crime.

From then on, I eye her with misgiving whenever she waits on us. Even when she is all smiles and everything, I resolve not to be fooled by her falseness. First impression lasts forever, so they say.

I see you are wondering what draws me back to the same crime scene and perversely indulge myself in the awful service again and again. Well, the sad truth is, that is the only decent Chinese restaurant to be had in our miserably small city center. And beggars can't be choosers. But lately, word has it that a competitor (a much better one, finally!) has just set up shop next to the said restaurant. It's high time for me to leave the dark side of the force.

And may the force be with the chirpy waiter I mentioned earlier.