I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

With the snow chaos all over the news in the last days, I was dreaming of a white Christmas in this land of sausage and beer. Especially when we woke up one morning to a white blanket of fresh snow everywhere and feathery falling snow flakes. I was thrilled.

Are we finally going to have a white silent Christmas this year? What is Christmas without snow right!!!

But nope. Like in the past years, I was hoping against hope. The blanket of clean serene snow has since melted away as silently as it has arrived. The magic is broken.

On the bright side, we have a huge white fir tree this year. The fir does look magically imposing with the lights turned on.

The one thing left to complete the festive mood: Presents!!!

Happy Christmas!!

How do you like your coke?

I have never been a big fan of coke. (Yes, the carbonate soft drink coca cola, not the other coke.) When given a choice, I'd rather have an ice tea, green tea, or water anytime. But when fancy does strike, I'll still get that occasional coke in the hope that the thirst would be quenched. Thing is, it doesn't work all the time, does it?

When serving me the coke, one must however observe my two big no-nos:

Do not serve the coke straight from the can. I totally hate that as the coke would be so gassy that most often than not, I couldn't finish a quarter of the can. And that is so wasteful, innit? So well, the only way out is to ask for a glass lor.

Do not serve the coke neat in a glass. Which is how they love to do it here in Germany and apparently the Germans including the man have no complaints about that. As for me, the coke is insufferably sweet without the ice. And I suspect the term ice cold coke somehow got lost in translation in this country.

One might argue that you can have more coke without the ice. Well really, who wants more coke when you could drown down a nicely chilled and not overly-sweet coke? So I say hell with more coke! Gimme a coke with plenty of ice anytime man! That's how I like my coke!

And so weeks ago, I was badly in need of a fix of caffeine high in my bloodstream. We were hooking up with the friends one evening at our favourite greek restuarant in a quiet litle nook. I jumped at the chance and got myself a coke with extra ice.

Several big gulps and thereafter with the cold caffeine cruising down my bloodstream, was I already tripping in my own happy high? By the time my fish came, I was into my second glass and beaming merrily at the friends and giggling silly at anything lame.

More than 3 years in Germany, what took me so long to ask for extra ice?

Or has the caffeine done its damages already?

Dying an early death?

I guess I've probably flunked most guidelines on blogging where its main objective is to help increase traffic to a blog.

Instead of updating frequently, I post only 2 or 3 times per month. And then of course I had to go block my blog recently. That is a definite big no-no in the blogosphere. Unfortunately the break actually freed up my time. I could finish up my half-read book, and idle on my couch in front of the TV. Sometimes it's just great to do nothing at all. That really helps to loosen me up.

Sure, I do feel guilty knowing that a handful of the loyal readers aka the friends would be disappointed in finding the closed blog. But I soon discover my worries are unfounded because I doubt anyone ever noticed the blog was even closed. All I got was the usual cold stony ringing silence. So much for the traffic to the blog.

Someone then wrote, if you are going to blog about yourself, you better have an uncanny knack for wit, humour or cynicism or your life got to be damn interesting or exciting. Because no one wants to read about the colour of underwear you wore last night, the fried rice you ate for lunch or that 98th travelling you did recently.

Err, my life is neither interesting nor exciting since I do not have glamorous friends to hang out or party with. A knack for wit or humour is beyond me...

Eh, everyone still there?

And according to a professional blogger, it is important that you include your blog's content in an RSS feed to increase readership and distribution. Well, firstly I had no idea what RSS was all about until I wikipedia-ed it seconds ago. So no, the blog is definitely not on RSS.

For reasons even unknown to myself, I somehow have this perverse obssession to keep the blog as invisible as possible. I don't do fellowship with other bloggers. I don't belong to a blog community. I hardly comment on other blogs. I forbid friends to link the blog. Not many are in the know of the blog.

And the last I checked, only less than 100 hits have ever graced the blog.

I think I might have single-handedly killed my own blog. *grin*

My Halloween rocks!

The man, all dressed up in his black robes, has left to rock the halloween party while here I am wallowing in my self-pity.

The fever, of all weeks, chose the week leading up to All Saint's Day to visit. Well, I can't really blame the virus and bacteria as how could they possibly know I've been looking forward to the party since weeks?

Minutes ago NW likened Halloween to our Chinese Ghost Month. Thanks to her, I am now keenly aware that I am all alone in the pad.

Or am I? *look over shoulder*

The doorbell shrieked just then. Repressing my thudding heart, I answered the door to have a trick-or-treat thrown at me. I mumbled briefly to the boys I had to see if I had any treats for them and found the kids all gone when I came back. They were probably too freaked out by my oily and unkempt hair and ran away. No need to even put on my war paint to do scary.

Anyways, I resolve to not answer my door anymore tonight to save myself the embarassement and the kids, a fright.

Like a conspiracy, the TV is dishing out party tunes and anything halloween to rile me. Oh well...

The last days were spent drifting in and out of a feverish trance. When I finally woke, the cobwebs in the head casted a haze over everything in sight.

TV was boring. Being online for too long gave me a throbbing headache. I couldn't register the dancing words on the book. With nothing else to do, a movie marathon transpired.

But the cheery bright sunshine was too dazzling for my newly-acquired vampire eyes. Thank goodness for the german blinds which are able to block out each single ray of sunlight.

In the darkness of my living room-cinema, dishy young Al Pacino was ruthless villain Michael Corleone and Robert De Niro the streetsmart and cool as a cucumber Vito Corleone. Part II is definitely my fav among the trilogy simply because De Niro rules in it! Albeit scrawny, his portrayal of the Don was vivid and beautiful. His mannerism spoke of his cold-bloodness, his family values and his rise to power. He was Vito Corleone and not De Niro.

Then Robert Downey Jr was incredibly hawt and sexy with or without his iron suit. Let's hope he stays clean and gets casted in more films so that we will not be deprived of his mastery.

Now, cobwebs are being spun and and the head throbs...

I don't want to be a corrector

Having lived in Germany for more than 3 years now has not led to a fluency in the language. Which is not exactly that bad especially since I am not a rocket scientist in the linguistic department. Nonetheless, carrying out a proper conversation these days does not leave me cowering in shame like before.

Of course I cannot deny I have the flair for committing frequent grammar mistakes and for not able to find the right vocab to express myself aptly. My German vocabs remain sadly limited owing to that sloth monster who has decided to stay for good since that winter in1972.

Hence, my imperfect German leads me to uncover something which is rather interesting.

In times of sticky language-predicaments, most friends, instead of correcting or helping me, would choose either to ignore my hiccups, remain silent, change the subject or simply look away. Or when I asked for the meaning of a word which I have never heard before, I would receive no reply. Don't even ask me how awkward the air was.

Sometimes I didn't even realise I have made a mistake until these subtle reactions appeared. And I was literally left to my own devices to scramble out of the embarrassing hole.

I am bewildered.

The reason of such responses I did not understand at first. I put myself in their shoes and the only conclusion I could make was they were just too embarrassed themselves to put me in a spot by correcting my language. But then again, most Germans are no strangers to voicing their opinions loud and clear. Sometimes, I suspect they even enjoy doing that. Hence, such reactions are what I least expect.

Once, during our german lesson, someone remarked that nobody ever tried to rectify her mistakes. My teacher's opinion that these people are simply too lazy and find it a hassle to correct us, has a lot of truth in it. It is indeed a fuss to keep correcting someone left, right and center during a conversation. In the end, even the correctee (is there such a word?) would be frustrated too, let alone the corrector. The fun of the chit-chat would subsequently be robbed.

Sure, it is not a written rule that friends, colleagues or aquaintances alike should be the corrector. Though it would certainly be helpful and important for intermediates like me. How else would we learn, right?

Therefore, it was a breath of fresh air when a friend actually corrected my german during dinner one evening. Several times, in fact. She even asked if it's fine for me. I was like, 'Oh yes, please! I would be most grateful!'

The entire evening I considered her with new, thankful eyes.

Of black boots, mooncakes and wellies-smelling weirdo

I was racking my brains all week on what boots to get for this fall. With the change of seasons, everyone is scampering off for that hottest pair of boots in town.

I am seriously overwhelmed with the array of choices available. My vision is bombarded with a myriad of boots: ankle boots, booties, country, vintage, biker, overknees, UGG...

I stood in front of my shoe racks and pondered. As my eyes scanned over each pair of shoes, my little eye spied something which I have never worn before.

A pair of black boots.

They were from the Lion.

Flashback: Just before I left for Germany for good, the Lion pampered me with gifts from her HK trip. 2 lamb-wool sweaters to keep me warm because she often chides me for not able to tahan cold. And not forgetting of course the pair of said boots.

I love the sweaters but couldn't say the same for the boots. The boots are round-toed and not flattering. I looked stumpy with them on. I could tell the Bestie shared my sentiments but she kept her mouth shut. Because we both know very well this was an out-of-the-ordinary gesture from the Lion. She never ever shops for presents for friends. That's the Bestie's task, not the Lion's.

Thus it's very heartwarming to know she purposely took time off from work and search for stuffs which she thought I might need in the cold winter months. So tell me am I not lucky to have her as a friend, albeit her short-temper? *wink*

Back to the said boots. I pulled them out of the dusty corner and decided to give them another go. To my surprise, they look rather high-street chic when paired with leggings which are all the rage right now.

It was the Mid-Autumn Festival yesterday and the boots finally saw the light of day.

In fact I was just fretting days before I wouldn't get to eat my favourite mooncakes this year when I had a pleasant surprise. Not only did I get to eat my mooncakes, the mooncakes this time round were from the 6-star hotel, Ritz Carlton, no less!

They were delicious and not overly sweet. The absence of the yolk was not a deterrence at all. What's more there were no signs of oil spots. I almost thought the mooncakes were cholesterol-free! Even the man helped himself to a second slice. And he used to claim he was not a huge fan.

The girlfriend's sweetie once thought the mooncake was a cake assortment and actually gobbled up a whole mooncake in one seating. No prize for guessing how put off he was afterwards that he swore off them from then on. He is so hilarious! Wahahahahahaha...

BUT.

As attested, the Ritz's mooncakes has the uncanny power to convert even the greatest mooncake loather to a devoted fan. That is just how good they are.

Now. I am going to be shameless and not beat around the bush:

Will the beloved friends back home be getting some Ritz Carlton mooncakes for me next year? No need yolk.Just plain traditional lotus bean paste will do. Let me know if you need my address. Thank you very much in advance! LOL

After the mooncake o.d., I woke up this morning, starving. Again, I stuffed my face with what else but food. Leftover fried bee hoon washed down with gulps of coffee. I then decided to be a good girl and went about doing some of my chores.

During my task of peh tau geh (removing the brown parts from bean sprouts), I watched the re-run of a popular German variety show, Wetten, dass?. The concept of the show is people can offer to perform difficult or often very odd stunts and top celebrities would bet whether these people could carry out these stunts successfully.

Today a man claimed that he was able to identify a person by smelling her wellies. But firstly she had to work out on the stepper for half hour. The man was blind-folded and brought to another corner of the stage where there were more than 10 seated women, all wearing red wellies, having worked out on the stepper for 30 mins earlier on. The host went randomly to one woman and removed one of her wellies and brought it over to the waiting man.

The bet began. The nutcase stuffed his big nose into the welly and took numerous deep breath from it. This lasted several loooong minutes!

You should see the disgust on the celebrities' faces. Priceless.

But true to his word, he identified the right candidates 4 out of 5 times.

Really, I cannot figure it out how he came to discover he has such an enviously talent? Did he sit around all day long and smell all the wellies within 10km radius from his home? Or did crack his brains all day on what he could do in order to get on Wetten, dass? Hasn't he better things to do at home, like read a book, surf the net or watch TV?

But alas, his bizarre attempts were in vain. The grand prize, an Audi, eluded him. You see, the winner is chosen by public votes. Now, who would want to vote for a nutcase who goes around smelling people's wellies?

Not me, for sure!

And not the Germans too, apparently. Phew.

Au naturel

While going through my emails at work early this morning, I noticed something about me was amiss. I looked down at myself and discovered with horror that during the mad rush this morning, I forgot to wear a bra!!!!

I glanced around hastily to make sure I did not alarm anyone. I did not.

Instinctively I hunched and crossed my arms over my chest despite having a vest over my t-shirt. Not that I have breasts which are so in-your-face. Rather you can christen them as small dumplings or char siew baos because they are very inconspicuous.

Even so, I couldn't help feeling self-conscious about it.

The entire day I walked with a hunch or attempted to cover my bosom with files or papers when moving about.

My female colleagues cracked up when told of my plight. And to my surprise, even agreed that they would too feel ill at ease. One would even go to the great length of driving home for her brassiere.

And I thought the ang mohs were more liberated?!

Well, I am not a prude who does not leave home without her bra. There are clothes in the wardrobe which require me to go braless. Not a big deal as long as I am prepared for it since indecent exposure is not exactly my cup of tea.

Actually I would prefer to go braless anytime simply for comfort and health reasons. Though it's a no-no at the workplace unless carefully camouflaged.

Later on I related the trivial incident to the man. He looked pointly at my chest and shrugged, 'No difference.'

Ouch!

Is contentment a moral laziness?

Some people might have the inspiration since young to be a rock star and hope to wake up one day as the coolest rock band on Earth instead of with shitty hair like Thom Yorke.

While the only challenge of a rock star is to write great music so that suckers like us will idolize them like gods, their biggest perk is also to trip a great deal in order to produce great music so that suckers like us will worship them like the devil.

The days of our rock stars' lives are filled with glitz and glamour. While the lives of us earthlings are filled with mundane decisions like what to do with our mortal lives and to deliberate on intelligent questions like where do we see ourselves in the next 5 years.

Right now my most pressing question is however what's more important: to be challenged or to stay contented?

Like I've said before, challenges are absent from the work front thus presently I feel like I am drowning in stale waters, urgently in need to come up for a breath of fresh air. Putting the office politics and the strange ways of the management aside, there is really nothing else for me to whine about.

The man remarked that I have it all too good till now, therefore, I need to kick up a fuss to spice up my life a little. I do not know whether to laugh or to cry at that observation. But who knows, he could well be right.

And then NW quipped, 'How old liao. No strength to climb that stupid ladder man'.

This is not about climbing the corporate ladder either. I am way past that phase. My reasoning is if there is no more personal growth or since I am not learning new stuff from the work anymore, isn't it pointless for me to remain? Whatever happen to job satisfaction and fulfillment?

Or should I be a meek lamb and wait for fate to decide what's in store for me?

In the self-development department, I am pleased to say in my first years here I've acquired a new language, overcome my aquaphobia and picked up swimming, refreshed my driving skills and can now cook to feed hungry mouths.

These may well be small feats to others but to me those were actual survival challenges which I had to overcome to fit into this society.

I refuse to lag behind and be an obsolete human.

And then I also started a new blog to chase those boredom blues away. My writing maybe amateur but I doubt anyone suffers nosebleed from following my blog. Or do you?

In other words, I have grown quite abit, haven't I?

Honestly, it just boils down to my fears of being an obsolescence. Which explains my compelling need to keep exploring new things and to evolve so as not to fall into the complacent trap and be a passè.

My most pressing question is self-answering.

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