Bring it on!

I have been warned that things are about to get craptastically busy for me at work for a few weeks going into March.

All I can do is to blow my nose, cough up gunk, pop my Lemsip pills, and offer up a plea to the powers that be:

"__________________________________________________________
Dear God,

Please take care of your little girl. She's going to be quite tired. Please make sure her health holds up for at least this period of time until the whole thing is over. No, really - I'm serious about this.

I reckon my soul is too far gone for you to bother if I threaten not to believe in you. But if you help me with this, I promise I won't talk about boys at all for one whole month! Wouldn't that be grand?

p/s. I hope you don't think this request is too frivolous

love,
e*
__________________________________________________________"

Okay... so I'm a bit mad. But in my defense, I think if I can do my work well, it should not matter if I'm quirky in my personal life, as long as I'm not killing people yeah.

Yeah.. so... I won't be around for a while. But.

I will be back.

One

Some people, evidently, have the ability to kiss, bang, and let go. Or maybe they just don't think much of it - if you want it, it's there, go for it. Chalk up a number - the higher, the better. But I'm not built like that, I'm not built to be able to divorce emotions from the physical.

Two¹ boys have told me, with a slight trace of surprise in their voices: "You're quite a good kisser"

I never know how to react to that - "Uhm... thanks?"

I don't know if it's a typical make-out session/bedroom compliment. And I'm half-offended at the hint of surprise in the boy's voice - why, do I look like I'm a kissing-moron from hell? At the same time, while I'm slightly flattered, I'm also half-puzzled and surprised - it's not like I've had a lot of experience with different boys.

By way of explanation (is it needed?), both times I respond: "That's what comes from 2 years of practising with one boy"

You see, all (if any) of the magic I've learnt to make, I've learnt with One boy. And all the magic my boy learnt to make, he learnt with me. And while I have no basis for comparison, it is true, I think my boy was awfully good at the boyfriend-things that boys do.

I believe that good things take time. I believe in special. I believe in keeping what I had with my boy, and what I will have with future boys, special. I believe in that kind of love and respect for myself and the boys. I believe it will be worthwhile.

And that is why, although I started fairly young - at seventeen, my number is One.



<sub>Note:
1. Out of the 3 boys I have kissed after my ex-boyfriend</sub>

School for boys and girls

Do they hold classes in school for boys to teach them how to hold girls close to them in their sleep?

How to hook your arm around the girl, gently but firmly holding her to you, so that her cheek rests against your chest, and the bottom of your jaw rests on top of her head, her head cradled in that cozy hollow of your neck. How to wrap the girl close to you so your body heat warms the girl like a soft, live radiator. How to make her feel safe, protected, and loved, so that whenever she has trouble sleeping, she turns to her side in her bed, closes her eyes, and pretends once more that she is leaning against a boy, and only then, with his arms around her, she releases a small sigh into his imaginary chest, and slips into contented slumber.

Do they teach little boys in school how to kiss her so she will be haunted by your quick stolen kisses, your limpid eyes behind their curtains of lashes? How to to tug at the corner of her heart just so, so that long after the the imprint of your bodies on the bed have smoothened away, she will feel the ghost twinge of you pulling at her heart strings, causing her to blink in confusion, torn between stop and go?

And if so, if they teach such lessons in school, can I enrol in a class to learn how to break a boy's heart?

Day 2

Of coughing up weird gunk into the toilet bowl
Of blue winter skies and warm sunshine
Of lying in bed with magazines (next month's Vogue)
Of playing Popcap's Bookworm Deluxe
Of sitting in front of my laptop surfing and typing entries

And it's already getting stale.

It's incredibly boring being ill. And I'm really not the kind who can lie about. Saturday: yes, cos I was really in such a bad shape, I could barely roll out of bed without aching; Sunday: not really, more time was spent online or pottering about, by nightfall i was hopping around the house like a crazed bunny and dancing to Billy Joel and Frank Sinatra in my room (which let to another round of coughing, unsurprisingly).

Today, I'd really almost rather be at work, spending a romantic Valentine's Day with a bunch of people who I Know have partners, and are consequently miserable at having to be at work, which would make me feel better about myself. Hah!

Yeah.. I know... vicious bitch huh?

No, not really. But still, it would be different matter if I were playing hookey from work to actually Have Fun, especially on Valentine's Day. But noooo, I'm playing hookey from work to stay home and be bored and feel unwell and miserable. It's not like I can even fulfil my intention to go out on a movie date with myself. And the girlfriend with whom I was supposed to go out boy-hunting with on Valentine's Day is not even in the Country!!! How bad can one day suck? (And by the way, dear World, it's a Rhetorical question)

Yeah... and Happy Valentine's Day to you too.

Revenge of the nerds

Just got my new specs, which winged its way all the way from the distant shores of sunny Singapore. h00t h00t!! Yay to my wonderful housemate who brought it back for me, and double-yay to the wonderful girl who got it for me (who I wish were here in London right now).

It's a pair of black, plastic, sturdy, nerd specs, also known as "Army boy specs", since it's practically part of the Singapore army boy uniform, being the only kind of specs that are sturdy enough to withstand the rigours of a miltary regime. Being the total klutz that I am, I totally need a pair of "spare specs" that I wear out on a regular basis, instead of just my fragile, rimless "work specs".

While I've been brazen enough to wear my broken specs out, it would be nice to look a little less Special, even on grocery-runs.

Plus, my new black-rimmed nerd specs coupled with my china doll haircut will sooo complete the sexy repressed nerdy schoolgirl/teacher look. It's wicked!

And below, my dear Moo-cow models Spring 2005's new look, hot off the runway of Singapore!!

my brave Moo, holding his head high, despite the broken specs 

but secretly downcast at his lack of chic

look at him now, strutting with style... 

suave, confident, sexay... ready to get the girls... Rawrrr..

Through hell and back

I guess it's true what they say about it being darkest the hour before dawn.

Just yesterday I was in complete and utter despair - I felt so ill, and so ill for such a long time, that I could not imagine ever being well again.

But this morning, at 6.30am, my fever broke. And while I'm nowhere near being in the pink of health - my voice is as sexy and husky as ever, and I'm still coughing up weird gunk into the toilet bowl - it's nice not to feel weak all over. Most of all, it's a great feeling to feel hope, hope that wellness is within contemplation.

In fact, felt positively cheery this morning, after throwing back my curtains to see it was warm and sunny outside. Spent the day flipping through trashy magazines in bed and enjoying the rare winter sunshine slanting in from my wide windows. With no commitments except for my next set of pills, no responsibilities except getting well.

Some day, I will look back, and find all of this very funny.

The bursting into tears

The sitting around the kitchen table and complaining of our aches and pains

The acute hopelessness and despair of ever recovering

The perennial pain in my throat and chest

The semi-lucid wakeful dreams: chipmunk treasure quest, Infernal Affairs, kungfu, decisions, work...

Although I am 22, there's nothing I want more than to be 2 again. I want my Mom here. I want someone to take care of me, to tell me You Will Recover. To take care of everything so I can drift in and out of sleep peacefully, waking up just to eat medicine, instead of having to shuffle downstairs to make my own food, and worry about the timing of medicine. But my mom is far away, and I don't want to worry her anyway.

I've just realised how heartsick she must've been all those years when I used to burn up with fevers. I was a Very Sickly child. I think she has suffered too much already.

The flu virus struck our home like lightning. Now the three girls are down with fever, chesty cough, runny nose, and aching bones.We moved with aching slowness while we shuffled our way painfully against the strident winds to Safeway this morning, each as incapable as the other two to take of herself, much less the other invalids.

The two boys are away - one boy has gone home for CNY, the other has flown to the States to do the romantic, extravagant Valentine's Day thing.

The picture we three pathetic ill girls made would be funny if we weren't so miserable.

Family

I called home on Chinese New Year's eve. In the background I could hear the raucous cacophony made by my cousins, who had all gathered at my dad's hometown in the quaint, northern town of Kota Bharu. My dad said that one of my cousins, Nick, who was doing his A-levels (already!!) was running around with the little kids, like he was one of them.

This is what I miss about Chinese New Year. I miss the noisy gathering of family from all over under one roof, the huge dinner spread, card games, old Jackie Chan movies. Most of all, I miss my little cousins, nieces, and nephews. I miss goofing off with them and acting all stupid.

It's funny how my paternal side of the family in split into two camps - the English-speaking camp, some of whom speak some dialect; and the Mandarin-speaking camp, who speak no dialect, and who are less fluent in English. Once a year, they are thrown together, and in the amazing way children have, will start off shy initially, then somehow overcome the language barrier and play together in a mix of languages and hand gestures.

I miss Nick, and Nigel, the youngest of the English-speaking camp. Nick is the youngest of the cousins in my generation, born in the 1980s. He is the last of my cousins who would remember the old days, when the entire family used to gather, in the old family house. The days I would always cherish in my memories, when it was just the four of us in my generation, and five more in the decade above us, before my youngest uncle and eldest cousins married and family stopped returning, and Chinese New Year lost most of its meaning for me. And I Adore Nigel. The cheeky mischievous boy that is my heart's angel, although I've only seen him... what... 6 times in my life? I haven't seen him in years. It seems unbelievable that he's already 11 or 13.

Although I have rarely seen the other younger members of my family, because by then, I had moved out and abroad, and things had gotten complicated anyway, I love them because they are family.

I've sat through episode after episode of Power Rangers, and even discussed it ("I like the Pink Ranger cos she's pretty" - which, come to think of it, probably wasn't a good value to teach my baby cousin) Played almost any kind of game that the kids want - card games, board games, console games, PC games. I've bounced the kids on my knee; taught them to bounce on beds, which probably didn't make their parents too happy - I swear, in future, my house is going to have a crappy bed that just exists for kids (and myself) to bounce on, then no one will have to be worried about destroying the bedsprings. And I've sat through numerous proud recitations of boring stories, and smiled and nodded and told them how wonderful and smart they are - I believe deeply that children should receive constant encouragement and should be frequently told how special and loved they are. Entertaining my younger family members can be stressful and tiring at times. And yet I miss it. I miss them, being with them. I miss the simplicity of loving them, just because they are family. There's something so very therapeutic and life-affirming about how the family Is, even after years away.

It's funny how family can make you whole, and also tear you apart.

That day, I spoke to my grandma. Even in a mix of 5 dialects and languages - Hainanese, Hokkien, Mandarin, English, and Malay, I could only manage to say 3 sentences to her: "Ah Po, Happy New Year!! How are you? I'm good." I wanted to let her know, in the only way I could, that I cared. She is 93 years old this year.

Next year, I think I really want to go back for Chinese New Year.

Next year, it is said that Nigel and Nick's family will still be going back, and it may be the last chance in a while that I will get to see them all together, cos Nick will coming over to Glasgow to study the year after (or was it two years after). And who knows where I will be after that anyway?

I need to get one BIG dose of family to last me a while. It will be the first proper dose of family, CNY-edition, in... I don't know how many years... - at least 8 years I think?

It's been too long.

Happy Chinese New Year!!

Good health, luck, prosperity to all!!!

Hairy tales

Once a year, during the Chinese New Year period, I like to be bling bling, over the top Chinese. To me, it's the funnest thing in the world - I try to follow every strange outlandish Chinese custom that I know of. Wear red clothes, repay debts before the new year, and whatever strikes my fancy.

This year, in my enthusiasm to be the perfect Chinese girl, I decided to get a haircut before CNY. I know we're not supposed to cut our hair during the 15 days of CNY, and presumably it must be good to cut our hair before CNY because we are discarding our bad luck or something. - I'm not sure exactly... but either way, it sounds interesting, even if I might have made it up.

I decided to try out a new look altogether, while keeping my hair length long. Fringe? Yeah... why not. It's something different. New year, new look, sounds good to me.

Except that I ended up with a fringe that goes straight horizontally across my forehead above my eyebrows. I look like some ghastly china doll gone wrong. That, or almost like Cleopatra, really. In the correct light, if you squint a little... yeah tilt your head that angle, that's right.. - the spitting image, don't you think?

At work today, my VP commented: "New haircut." And I said: "Yeah. It was a mistake. I hate it." He replied: "The good thing about hair is that it'll grow back. Don't worry."

A suppressed laugh-cough from the other VP outside the meeting room we were sitting in. My VP challenged him: "What are you sniggering about? There's nothing wrong with what I said. I was just making a comment to say that I noted the haircut. I didn't say I didn't like it. Do you have something to say? Do want to come in and tell e* what you think you of her haircut?"

The other guy outside the room was pissing himself and trying to keep a straight face and avoid being baited into making any remarks on my hair. I was cracking up as well. Because I knew for sure they thought my haircut was disastrous and it was hilarious to watch them trying to avoid being rude. By their sheepish reactions, they must've been Truly appalled by my new look.

Ah well, but as my VP rightly said, hair will grow. Plus, it's a different look. And I'd like to think that I can possibly carry it off surprisingly, reasonably well. I've carried off worst hair disasters before, like once when I got bored and decided to cut my fringe slanted across my forehead because I thought it looked avant-garde. Or another time when I cut my hair so short in the back (and in an ugly V-shape too!) that you could see the blueish stubble where the hair was shaven off.

It's the personality and attitude, baby. And I've got plenty of both!!

the dreamer connection

Had a really lovely dinner with my friend Mai and her dad today. Even though he was 50+, it didn't feel like I was talking to someone much older. He asked me about work, and Mai and I talked about our plans, our restlessness, lack of roots and attachment to one place; and he said it wasn't just the two of us, everyone had the same restlessness.

Mai explained to her dad that No, in fact, there were many people who seem content to live in one place all their lives. And then she turned to me and explained that her dad was a restless, shifting soul too, hence they have moved around in China over the past twenty years. - I was delighted, here was a kindred spirit!!

Despite the age gap, and the language barrier (I spoke in an awkward mix of painstaking Mandarin, liberally peppered with English phrases), I found it easy to confide in him about my issues with Mandarin-speakers; that while I'm happy to move around in life, I'm beginning to worry about ever finding a boy to fit in with my nomadic lifestyle, and a boy would be Really nice; and no, I won't quit my career just for a Boy - to quit my career to travel or to pursue other dreams, yes, but solely for a boy, no. He was smiling and good-natured and very easy-going. And we talked about everything from my haircut to accents, San Francisco, work, how our past has shaped us, travel plans, food, whether I think Mai is childish, characteristics of Chinese from different provinces, his plans for Mai... in a wonderfully random way, the way old friends do.

I like how Mai and her dad are friends. I suspect it's the only child factor at work. That, or the living apart from parents factor at work. I've been friends with my mom for almost as long as I can remember too. And I really enjoyed talking to Mai's dad. It's magic that we got along, the Chinese man who spoke entirely in Mandarin, and the unlikeliest of chinese girls who struggles with her limited vocabulary.

In flux

the latent volatility within is resurfacing intermittenly. flashes. subsides. flashes again. redder. more fiery. more frequently, insistently:

a sense that i am ready to move back into my old blog, soon. a few months ago, the weight of my past seemed to crush me, and, as always, i took flight. i started anew. threw off all the pages of my past that defined who i was, pyschologically limiting me within the parameters of what had already been written. started afresh. something i needed at that time. a hiatus from myself. an increasing sense that this blog is not all of who i am. theprocess renewed self-discovery and reinvention has matured and i will soon be ready to meld old and new.

restlessness has gripped me again. stronger than before. a previous general feeling that it would be nice to move on has crystallised into a definite realisation that i will Have to leave London sooner rather than later. will keep my eye out for the first opportunity to leave this city that has opened more doorways, fed me more dreams, and given me more hunger, than i had expected when i made the journey to London in 2001, resting my head in sleep on the shoulders of the boy i had already broken up with, with a bleeding heart, holes in my pocket, a bag full of dreams, and a determination to not look back.

by the time i get the opportunity to leave London in two, or maybe three years' time, i would have been here six or seven years. and that is about as long as i can stay in one place. London is getting too small for me. i'm thinking NYC or SF or LA. had this plan to move in with my friend in SF, if he is still living there and not yet married by then. which of course was all in my head, and which i didn't tell him about. still, hopefully, now that he knows, he won't object. :) if it comes to that at all.

the other day, i suddenly felt like i needed to be alone. i wanted to be a hermit. to not see anyone. the inherently anti-social side of me appeared with a vengeance. if my neighbour who has a place all to himself were in London, i would have gone to him and asked him to please please please swap places with me for a few days - for him to move to move into my house just temporarily, so i can seclude myself in his house until i felt ready to be social again. i needed very badly to be alone, completely shut off from society, and my regular surroundings.

that same day, i suddenly realised that Binh's birthday had passed a few months before, and it had completely slipped my mind until that very moment. it was a strange feeling, like, wow... i forgot. yet strangely, i dreamed of him just last night. unusually, it wasn't filled with pain. it was comfortable, like my favourite teddy bear or a pair of old sneakers. it was reaching over and asking him a math question, and knowing he was there, without having to turn to look.

Craving

_{This entry is dedicated to kopikia ~ "because you can write about anything at all"}

Have you ever had a really deep craving that seems to dig its claws deep into your flesh and seep through your very pores?

That's the kind of craving I'm having for pineapple tarts. Just this weekend past, I ate a pineapple tart from Prima Deli, and since then, I've been in the vise grip of an all consuming craving for pineapple tarts - and not just any pineapple tart, but Prima Deli pineapple tarts, or maybe That specific pineapple tart that has since been consumed, digested, and excreted.

The act of eating that single precious pineapple tart was akin to a religious experience. The sensation of it melting in my mouth, and the buttery rich taste of the pastry played themselves over a million times in my imagination, even as I bit into the tart. The craving for more of the pineapple tart more More MORE was like a hand reaching down through my throat into my chest and clawing out my heart, leaving my core hollow, an emptiness that can only be filled by that perfect golden cylindrical pineapple tart. It was a I-Have-to-jump-onto-the-first-plane -back-to-Singapore-to-buy
-the-pineapple-tart kind of delirium.

I have to keep the hunger in abeyance until I get my magic tin of Prima Deli pineapple tarts. When the girl opens the catch of the magic tart tin, and lets out the genie of Chinese New Years past, only then will the truth be known - will the spell be broken, and the power of the evil Deli over the captivated princess be broken? Or will the Prima Prince fulfill all the unspoken dreams that were promised in that enchanted tart?