Lull before the storm

The impromptu trip during the summer was a fabulous one. It was almost perfect except...

In the silence of the night, the vicinity of the hotel transformed itself into an orchestra of dissonant sounds. The bang of a door, the footfall of guests returning to their rooms, a tap turned on, a flush of the toilet, a running shower, muted conversations and laughter and best of all, moaning from fornications. To go into a deep slumber was quite a challenge there.

Then the man and I both fell ill and were sick-abed for one whole day. Though I admit I was rather glad to be able to catch up on some sleep after the restless nights.

Despite the slight dampers, the trip was an orgy of senses with an unique play of colours of the breathtaking landscape. We are smitten with Santorini and I was most reluctant to leave and go back to the real world.

The holiday ended with a brimful of lull in my mind that eventually spills over into the whole of my being. Which explains my absence in this space.

Okay lah, simply put, I was slacking.

The breather prompted me to face a crossroad which has been lurking in the shadows even before my vacation began. I think I am too chicken-shit to choose a path and walk it down, fearful of the consequences my decision would bring and unsure if I am tough enough to bear them.

But I know as long as the choice is not made, I can never be at peace with myself.

I need strength and wisdom.

Rendang = Messy Kitchen and Burnt Sunday

The aftermath of my ambitious undertake of making the dish from scratch was a battlefield waiting to be cleaned up.

I cannot be modest anymore especially when my Sunday is burnt slaving over the stove.

My reward is a heart-stopping, artery-clogging, authentically and sinfully delicious beef rendang.

Will I do it again? Oh definitely. But not so soon. I need to recuperate first. :D

Try walking in my shoes

From where I come, shoes are considered filthy. Hence, to walk into a home with shoes on is, to many Asians, scandalous.

Contrary to the Asian culture, no one raises an eyebrow here when shoes tread on homes' carpet, parquet, flooring tiles. Be it raining cats and dogs, snowing or hailing (pun intended) outside.

At first, I would attempt to convince myself that to integrate into the German society, I should embrace their way of life. In another word, to close one eye to certain practices.

After hosting a few parties, I realise I would either have to close two eyes or to refrain from entertaining altogether.

Because my skin crawls each time someone walks into the pad with shoes on.

A research shows shoes contain *surprise surprise* bacteria. Many different species of bacteria on our shoes can cause infections in our stomach, eyes and lungs. These bacteria live longer on our shoes than in other places. As we walk, we constantly pick up new debris that feeds the growth of more bacteria. The bacteria on shoes would then transfer to the flooring tiles in a house. Carpets harbor bacteria even more.

And we have two big rugs on our hallway.

After said parties, I would suffer from sleepless nights. As we were usually too worn out to clean up afterwards, my mind would run wild that bacteria was manifesting itself on the couch, the floor, rugs, toilet, our feet...

I had the sudden compelling urge to leap off my bed and start scrubbing away. Not unlike Cinderella, eh?

Despite my cleanliness streak, I still find it improper and ungracious to request my guests to remove their shoes as they might be uncomfortable in doing so. What if they have foot odour or have ugly toes? A good hostess wouldn't put her other guests at such risks, would she?

To refrain from entertaining is entirely out of question, however. So, I resign myself to the inevitable cleanup after each party. No matter how late it ends...

Last night's barbeque was no exception. Although it was a familiar group with whom we have an unspoken code of understanding pertaining to the no-shoes-in-house rule, a newbie in the form of the friend's new girlfriend was present. Unaware of the code of understanding and seeing the sotong friend had absolutely no intention to casually enlighten her of the shoes issue, I gritted my teeth silently, gave up gradually and traced mentally the route of the pair of flip-flops.

Along the way, I flinched involuntarily when terrace-graced feet were lifted onto the couch. On the bright side, my guests were feeling at home.

Oh, it's going to be a looong night, I groaned inwardly.

The man asked, 'Can't we wait till tomorrow?' after the party had dispersed.

Bloody no way!

He rolled his eyes.

The pad is at last spick and span after some serious scrubbing.

Chilling out with some Woodstock footage on the TV into the small hours, we finally dragged ourselves off to bed.

With a peace of mind and a smile.

Brightest bulb in the box? Not!

On the phone with a potential client today, he remarked suddenly after minutes into our conversation, 'You sound very intelligent.'

I was caught completely off-guard by his comment. Most people aren't exactly friendly towards sales persons, let alone paying them compliments. Besides, it is not often that I get such praise. And I wonder why. *wink*

Anyhow, I stammered a little before I managed to spit out, 'Oh, you are very kind..... *pause* Errr... I am just doing my job...'

Which did not sound a wee bit intelligent at all. And I even forgot to thank him!

So, who the idiot really?

An old interlude

In the midst of my moth-eaten childhood memory, a fragment re-emerged rather distinctively recently. I recall that familiar sense of fear each time this sliver of fuzzy memory came into focus.

It is a memory of a photo.

The subject was my 1-year-old brother. He was sitting on a golden furry blanket, with a cake next to him. On it was a single candle burning brightly to celebrate his first birthday. Behind him was a huge picture of a blue lake with surrounding greenery. The view was spectacular.

But the 3-year-old me couldn't rejoice in the celebration. Each time I peeped at the photo, I couldn't help but be furious with my parents.

Why on earth would my parents allow my young brother to sit on the edge of a lake??? What would happen if he were to fall into the water? Nobody would be there to catch him! And he couldn't swim! Besides, nobody would be around to save him!

What were my parents thinking?! Why did they put him in such danger?! How could they do that to him?

Many terrible thoughts ran through my juvenile mind.

My then naive thinking couldn't process the fact that the picture was taken in a studio and that the photo-shooting was long over.

I remember I couldn't bear those paranoid thoughts even at that young age. I was worrying myself sick. So I put the photo away and never laid eyes on it again.

Distracted by play, kindergarten, school, and other grander scheme of things, I forgot all about the photo.

Until recently. When the image re-surfaced in my consciousness again.

I have to but smile at my own silliness over this fond interlude.

The quest for Toni

JO's very compassionate comment arrived very timely.

Before the hair has time to recover from the trauma of the recent breakup, we met the new rebound. However, instead of heeding the signs of warning, we chose to ignore the invisible fingers of admonition carassing the hair.

A series of unfortunate events therefore unfolds the moment I sat on the electric chair:

1. The head was being manhandled. The insensitive rebound could easily tell me or tip the head to the directions she wanted it to be so as to cut the hair properly and I would take the cue from there. Because I am not a wooden block and the head is not a football which she can manhandle anyoldhow!

2. Done with leafing through the magazines, I looked up in the mirror and saw with great horror that she cut away my baby hair*. Yes, you read that right. She cut away my baby hair!

Which bloody self-respecting hairdresser would commit such a crime these days? Doesn't she know how fugly it will be when the baby hair re-grows? And not to mention, I now have a thin strip of white patch along the right side of the hairline!

I am seriously comtemplating to tan my hairline now. I am not joking!

I want to strangle her!

3. When she was finished with her edgy cutting, she proceeded to style my hair. And let me tell you this, I have never met a professional hairdresser as clueless as she is. She had no bloodly idea how to style the hair. She was experimenting this way and that way. And in the end, I was like WTF?! I can style the hair way better than her!

Did she turn up at the wrong workplace that day? Perhaps she belongs to the school academy and everyone made a mistake that day?!

For that kind of money, the ex(-stylist) is definitely a godsend in comparison! But he chose to leave us in the lurch. Hmpf...

The hunt for the right rebound continues...

Sigh...


*Eh.. Can someone tell me what is the correct term for baby hair?

A breakup

A catastrophe descended on me today.

I was trying to arrange an appointment with my hairstylist when I was told he has relocated! To another branch in Austria!

WHAT AM I GOING TO DO NOW??!!

Who is going to take care of the hair now that he is gone?! I can't possibly go to Austria each time the hair needs a trim!

After the initial shock receded, anger took over the hair. That selfish bastard left without breaking up with the hair properly. No word, no goodbye, no nothing. A sms would do too (okay, he doesn't have my mobile number). Still he could have left a message at the reception just in case the hair needs him again. With ample notice, I can at least prep the hair for a new rebound before Mr Right appears.

But no, he has to leave the hair to it's own devices.

The hair is now in despair.

HELP!

Trials and Tribulations

The Dear facebooked me and shamelessly remarked that I wrote only 2 posts in one month. That I should, in her words, cho kang, cho kang!

I retorted immediately that this is quality-writing and that I don't do mass-market. *trying to be very niche here*

On second thought, I must confess it was just an excuse which I plucked out of the air conveniently. I guess I've been slacking lately indeed...

I am pleased as punch with her note however. It's a boost to my confidence that there are people out there who are reading my blog.

Other than the NW from Singapore. Lol.

My absence over here is probably because I feel I am stuck in the rut of late. Especially in the work department. With one year on, the work challenges which I used to face and enjoy are no longer in existence. The job fulfilment seems to be dwindling day by day. That feeling sucks.

On the social front, it hasn't been terribly exciting either. By that, I do not mean paryting or get drunk at some watering holes. Okay, not that I get drunk easily. I don't get drunk because I hardly drink!

But I suppose I just miss having the friends around me. With them, conversations flow easily without a need to think what you have to say next. We can chatter about everything and nothing, giggle over silly nothings and not being embarrassed about it. If we run out of topics to talk about, we will still be at ease in each other's company. Only years of friendship can achieve such intimacy and familiarity.

With the work taking up most of my time now and feeling exhausted at the end of each workday, it can be such a chore to go tend and nuture a new friendship. Therefore, my social life during the week is pretty much zilch.

What's more the man himself is facing some uncertainties at work. The company he works for will announce their cutbacks very soon. With bated breath, we await judgement day.

The term sleeping like a log is alien to me. Sleep is a series of unfortunate ruffled dreams composed of fleeting and forgettable images. I feel anxiety and agitation in my bones. My skin is dull and lacks lustre. I look terrible.

In my attempts to sooth my nerves, I resort to my favourite pasttime: drama watching. Japanese drama to be exact, with none other than Takuya Kimura. But instead of calming me down with the eye candy, I got even more emotional. Depending on the composition and situation in each episode, I could be laughing, feeling angry, agitated or sobbing (like in the final episode where he took his own life).

The man was of course shocked by my great display of emotions but he chose to say nothing and smiled indulgently at me instead.

But I know exactly what's lacking in me right now. My only antidote is that age-old yet very effective remedy:

A Vacation!

So much for the above excuses.

All because of The Dear.

It sizzles!

It is 30 degrees outside. You are simmering at the workplace. 8 hours everyday.

With no air-conditioning and no fan to sooth that ardent summer heat, you find your face is perpetually clad in a flimsy layer of oil. You are sticky with undried perspiration and your t-shirt plasters to your body. Your armpits are damp and so is your underwear.

When you sit, your legs are wide apart because you can't bear the touch of your own skin. Your underknees are giving off heat.

Your breathing becomes a little irregular and you cannot focus on your work.

The above ensemble causes your ill humour to rear its ugly head. You knit your brows, snap at your colleagues and look daggers at them over the slightest thing.

The drive back home is no better. The long warm and humid day has taken its toll on you. Motorcyclists, cyclists and idiots threaten to push the boundaries of your temper. In the car, the air-conditioning at full blast seems like help which arrives a wee too late.

At home, you recoil from the greeting of hugs and touches from the man because you are both sticky and both your body temperature is emitting too much heat. To spite you, he gleefully rubs his arm on your bare skin and walks away, laughing.

ARRRGGGGHHH!!!!!

The lion city girl loathes summer without air-conditioner.

Swim Swam Swum

I love the pool down at the the bestie's apartment. The tranquil blue water was so inviting that everday I would squeeze in intervals between appoinments and errands just so I could take a dip.

There were more activities than usual probably due to the school holidays. Unfazed and armed with my speedo armour and goggles, I probably looked like I meant business and were going to dive into the water anytime and swim them long quick laps like a pro.

Alas, I had to let my audience (imaginary?) down when I warmed up by swimming the breadth instead. Wahahahaha... I could almost feel their jaws dropping.

Oh well, I do not swim for an audience. I swim because I take pleasure in it. The rhythmic strokes were calming. With rays of sunlight on my body while it's submerged underwater made me feel relaxed, cool and warm at the same time. The laid-back vibe allowed me to slow down and perfect my strokes. The sounds of chirping birds above water seemed almost like I was on a holiday. (Okay, not totally untrue.) It's therapeutic and serene. I feel great when I swim.

And I finally graduated into doing full long laps. Not just one, two laps okay. But many many laps.

HAPPY.