Stilettos

Guys, if a girl wears stilettos for you, you should fall on knees -- no, on your bellies !, writhe in the dust, and kiss her feet.

Yesterday, I wore an outfit which I decided Had to go with my strappy gold stiletto heels. And the stilettos killed every part of me that could be killed -- my right knee, my ankles, my feet, not to mention my back in the longer term. I really wonder at the kind of pain girls can and are willing to go through. And I wonder if the guys realise the kind of effort that girls sometimes put in to make a pretty picture.

So dudes, appreciate every little bit of effort. Worship and adore the girl.

Start by taking foot massage classes.

One year anniversary

27th May 2005. It will be have been exactly one year to the day from the time I took the London-San Francisco flight for my Great American Roadtrip, 2004 edition. It was to be my last great reckless deed before I knuckled down and took on the role of Serious Responsible Working Adult.

One year on, I am flying away from London once more. But instead of spreading my proverbial wings towards distant lands, this time, I am heading home.

It has been 10 months since I've joined my firm, 8 months since I've actually worked, and I have only taken 7 of my 25 days of annual leave. I am exhausted. Physically, mentally.

One year from the time I was looking forward to work with a mixture of hope, excitement, and trepidation, I am older, tireder, wrinklier, and none the wiser. One year from the time I was speeding forth with some fear and boundless, reckless enthusiasm into the future, I am winging towards both my past and my future.

I will be spending a whirlwind two weeks in Malaysia, Vietnam (possibly Cambodia) and Singapore.

In Vietnam, I will be fulfilling that which is long-overdue. Tying up the last stray end, closing a chapter of my past to start afresh on a blank sheet of paper. And hopefully, metaphorically-speaking, the words will flow. Rich rivulets of red, the blood that courses through my heart and gives me life.

In Malaysia, I will be fulfilling my familial obligations. Visiting my parents, the extended family. In the tradition of the paternal side of the family, as a new working adult, I am to treat the extended family to dinner. In the past, my older cousins have always treated the family with their first pay cheque. It is now my turn. While I have treated close friends with my first pay cheque, and look forward to treating my parents, treating the extended family seems a little bizarre. Not because I am unwilling to do it. I am glad to do it, and I totally love any excuse to get together for a meal.

The only thing is... treating a big group of family elders, their offspring (my cousins), and their offspring's offspring (my nieces and nephews), seems like a big thing. It is a milestone. It is supposed to be a signal that I am now an adult. I remember, as a child, when my older cousins gave their first treat, they seemed so mature, and imbued-with a new aura of sobriety and responsibility. I don't feel level-headed, responsible and serious! I am all confusion and chaos. It seems wrong. I don't want to be viewed as an adult. I feel like giving my parents the cash and asking them to pay for the dinner on my behalf. I don't feel like an adult, especially not within my extended family. I have not seem them for ages. They remember me as a kid, and it would be easier for both parties to connect if the past roles can be maintained. But it is a rite of passage that can't really be avoided.

The truth is, I am resisting adulthood, responsibility and boringness with same ferocity that I once resisted the very fact of my femininity and all things girlish. Some things I have to deal with now, but I am sure I can duck and avoid most of it for a few more years. And you know what? I really should learn to go with the flow.

The French girl at work told me that I'm missing out on life. "Life is short. Don't be so serious. Have fun and enjoy yourself!" I think she is right.

思念

Despite my words words words that I will not return home often, do not miss home, sometimes, the fact is, I do.

Which is why, on Friday night, as I walked along the canals behind my house, I was reminded of the canals in The Chinese High School , next to the hostel where I used to live for four years. I remember walking through the roads, corridors and buildings at nights, on weekends. I remember four little girls dipping and splashing our feet in the water at night. I remember lying on the grass hill overlooking the basketball courts and studying. The feel of the rough, hot concrete underneath my bare feet when we played basketball in their courts over the weekends. I remember the green-ness of the plants above the wide steps facing the canteen. The red track beneath the fabled haunted clock tower.

And so, I sat down on the steps of the canal and cried.

That night, I walked for a long time. I followed my feet and the stirrings of my heart through the maze of quiet East London streets. Alternately attracted and repelled by noise, I mostly avoided humanity, weaving into tranquil streets which beckoned, but was attracted by the mellow live music and warm cheer of the White Swan and Cuckoo on Wapping Lane. Thus, I wandered aimlessly, hoping that the physical mirroring of my emotional lost-ness would act as an antidote to neutralise the chaos within.

At one point, I turned to look at a cyclist who had cycled by. He had turned back to look too. He said: Hey. And I replied: Hey. He stopped. I turned away to walk on. But he said: Don't run away. I responded: I'm not running away. I'm walking home. He asked me for my name. I paused to think about it, but because there seemed to be a sweet sadness about him, and I was filled with such deep ennui (there is a perfect Chinese word for it - 郁闷), I gave him my name. His was Martin.

And so, it transpired that two perfect strangers who had crossed each other on a random street near midnight, made a connection.

He asked me if I would go back with him. I guess I should have been offended. But because he didn't seem aggressive and didn't seem to intend offence, and I'm a fairly easy-going girl, I didn't take offence. We talked for a little bit.

And then he said: "Since I'm never going to see you again, I might as well ask you this - will you Ever consider taking me home?" I asked: "You specifically, or generally a random guy I meet on the street?" "Me specifically." I took his question seriously and frowned at the sky as I tried to imagine if I would. "No," was my eventual response. He was upset. And I struggled a little bit on whether to tell him why. But because he had shared a bit of his life with me, I explained to him why he shouldn't take it personally, that it was not specific to him.

And he said something which I found amazing: "Love isn't just a feeling or an emotion. Love is a different world altogether." Although yes, I do realise that it was part of a pitch for me to sleep with him, still, his words struck a chord within me.

I gently insisted that I had better get going on my way home and said it was nice to have met him. And we both went our separate ways.

Dreams that shake us nightly

Two nights in a row, I have dreamt about people from work.

Monday night:
In my dream, I was showering in what must have been a bath house in some city square. Suddenly, I realise that the walls have turned to glass. And outside, on the sidewalk, was a group of my colleagues, including an MD for whom I had worked my ass off this past weekend (17-18 hours a piece on Saturday and Sunday), along with some of my team, and a couple of analysts from my year. They were pointing at me, talking among themselves in a fairly merry, laughing manner. I was shocked, rather embarrassed and also puzzled: "I didn't know they knew each other?" Then I discovered Venetian blinds which I hurriedly let down. Unfortunately, the gaps between the blinds were big and the outside world could still look in. So I had to hide in the one corner of the bathroom, right beneath the shower head, which was blocked from view.

And then I woke up. - The dream was traumatising enough to wake me up despite the fact that I had forgot to set my alarm.

Tuesday night:
I was with some friends - from work? or not? We were out exploring, when we chanced upon a wooden beach house/chalet/hut, the kind one would find on Sentosa island (an island of Singapore). In fact, parts of it looked distinctly familiar. We were chilling out, thinking we were alone. Then we discovered that there were people there. A child. And then we saw anMD, the head of the neighbouring team (whom I have worked for, and whom I rather like as a person), holding the child and taking care of the little boy, who looked indigenous Asian. Apparently this was his secret haven. It was here that he came to rest and be with the two people he loved - this child, and another middle-aged, not very attractive Asian woman, who I think was Japanese (the child was not Japanese), yet seemed to play the role of mother to the child. It was as if the three were a strange, secret family, who had to be kept hidden. Because this MD had two beautiful daughters (in real life, as well as the dream life) whom he also loved. He seemed tired, and resigned to us discovering his secret, and didn't stop us from invading his domain.

Then somehow, there were large insects - praying mantises and beetles. We were holding our breathes that they wouldn't harm someone, something, because something important hinged on that person/thing remaining unscathed.

I don't know what my dreams mean. I know that I haven't remembered my dreams in some months. And I am slightly disturbed/haunted by these dreams. Especially Tuesday night's dream.

The superlative

By way of conversation, a guy at work asked me: What's the most important email you've ever sent?

I thought hard about it.

And I replied: I can't think of any.

There have been many important emails in my life. But to single one out as The most important email is to say that that email has been pivotal in your life - without that singular email, your life would be significantly different. In other words, that email has most deeply impacted your life, and you would tangibly regret it if the impact (positive/negative) had or had not been there.

In fact, to say any single person, event, place, action is the most important one, is to say that that single person, event, place, action is the One that has made all things possible or impossible, has brought to where you are, or kept you from where you might have been. That "Most Important Thing" is the key to, or the bar against your deepest desires.

He asked: How about emails regarding your applications? Jobs, school?

And I told him, yes it's important that I got this job, the process of getting to this job, to where I am, did not hinge on one email. Many emails throughout my schooling life led here. And who's to say other personal emails I write aren't as important? The emails I've written to try to save relationships, friendships. If I had to choose between writing an email to accept my job and writing an email to try to save my then-relationship, or the one friendship I have lost, it is not certain that I would have chosen to write my work-acceptance email, even if the chances of saving my human relationships were significantly slimmer than my 100% guarantee of a job.

I am happy with where I am today. It is a fact I often forget. Sometimes, when I think about it, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Despite all my moaning about deserving happiness at last, dammit - the truth is, I have been given much of what I have wanted and asked for in life. And for that, I am truly thankful.

And the fact is, I said to him, many things in life are nice to have. But you know what? I can live without. Life is too short to be stuck on one thing.