Conrete island paradise

Sitting by the Esplanade at night, looking across the Singapore river at the CBD — an island of light in the night. There is the blazing Fullerton like some ancient temple of Apollo with its pillars and its bright lights like a beacon. Rising above are the towers — Maybank, UOB, HSBC, Hitachi... with their neon signs. And below, the lighted river bank along which must surely lie the narrow bars that I remember from... 5, 6 years ago?

With the great jackfruit of Singapore at my back, and the night lights of the CBD creating a beautiful pointillism landscape on the dark water, I am gripped with strong emotion. Longing. I remember the days of working in the CBD during the long wait between my A-levels and the start of my uni life. Of lunches at the Golden Shoe Carpark. Of walking along the river bank during lunch time and sitting down and having my lunch. Of running over to the the nearby take-away bubble tea shop to "da bao" a little list of orders for my colleagues and myself. Or walking along the riverfront bars. It almost physically hurts. This feeling of missing Singapore engendered by this shining glass and concrete island that rises from the dark, a spectre from the past.

I miss this, I say. I love Singapore. My friend (WS) says, then come back. I shudder involuntarily. I don't love it that much, I reply. The both of them and I laugh. But I do, I do love this little piece of land on the outer rim of the South China Sea. This concrete jungle is in many ways my little island paradise.

The untiringly spouting merlion, lighted in hellish red, stands like a sentry at the river's edge near the Fullterton. I am told it had been moved. Had it? I am told that the entire Marina Square has been revamped ("You'll get lost inside. You won't recognise it."), and the plans for this area of the Marina Bay — a reservoir here, a fresh water lake there, parks all around the rim, and the famous integrated resort over there. My JC has already been razed and reinstituted elsewhere, apparently the old World Trade Centre is now known as Harbour Front, Wisma has now been revamped with this snazzy facade with an escalator outside leading to the new Food Republic (even its logo has changed). And thus, slowly, the romantic landscape of my past is being reshaped. Until one day it will be moulded out of recognition.

No longer will I remember the World Trade Centre (Harbour Front) where we cycled to and used to walk around or study at. No longer will I see the same view while sitting at the sinuous tail of the Merlion at night. No longer will I be able to wander round the nooks and crannies of my old familiar cosy school grounds where we spent many happy hours.

It is not a bad thing. That the romantic landscape of my memory will be effaced. But then, so too will be the landscape of my youth. The happy days of growing up. One by one, the familiar contours that I hold dear will be gone. Soon, some day, this will become a strange new world with new landmarks. Maybe then, this land will release my heart from its vise grip.

Where is the love

This weekend, I saw a couple from my community walking ahead of me in the long underground corridor between Monument and Bank stations. They walked stiffly apart from each other, the boy carrying his shopping, the girl carrying hers. There was no physical contact, no talk or laughter, no chemistry between them. Walking 50 metres behind, I could feel the tense cold wall of anger between them.

I looked at them and wondered what kept them together? Of course I know that all couples have their moments. All couples quarrel, fight, make up, make out in a passionate cycle that celebrates the glory of the freewheeling roller-coaster ride of emotions that is love. But all too many I think, fall into a rut. In that case, what keeps them together? Is it a force of habit? The idea of security blanket, a safety net? A matter of convenience? One of apathy, inertia? The fear of being alone?

Watching the two before me, I wondered if they still truly loved each other. Or whether it had all gone into cruise control, and it was a matter of: Oh since he's there, oh well.

That thought hollowed out my insides. I felt like the bottom of my heart had fallen out. And I thought, you know... that's complete bullshit. I could never buy into that. And frankly, maybe I'm not a relationship kind of girl at all. What's the point of holding on to something that's on life support?

My cousin said that she'd read somewhere that the feeling of "being in love" wears away after 2 years anyway, so it's completely natural, and you need to have foundation of something more than just that stomach-churning feeling of love.

And if one thinks about it, that makes complete sense. All living creatures are genetically engineered to have one fundamental goal—that of perpetuating their species (more specifically, their own genes). In which case, 2 years make perfect sense. The first year for the requisite courtship, subsequent mating, and then the 9-month pregnancy during which the male needs to guard over the mother and her unborn child. Year 2: in the first year after the baby is born, the mother is still weak and needs to nurture the infant, and is thus unable to fend for herself (e.g. return to work, or defend her home, or whatever the case might have been in pre-historic hunter-gatherer societies) and therefore the male must needs have that protective instinct that feeling of "being in love" generates in order to safeguard the continuity of his line.

Therefore, it seems possible and logical that humans are genetically built to only have relationships that last for 2 years (or at least fewer years that the "forever" of 40, 50 years that marriage entails). And who are we to fight against the very laws of nature?

Better that we all take part in a great game of "musical partners" than to remain apathetically, unhappily, aye - unnaturally! in monogamistic relationships. But of course that only works if everyone participates. And also, ideally, if both parties "fall out of love" at the same time (or all parties switch affections as clockwork at specific points in the cycle).

There is something to be said for free love . Or at least the social acceptance of the freedom to love and leave at will without the pressure and pretense of marriage.

I'll probably regret spouting these arguments. Especially when I'm old, decrepit, alone and in danger to being gnawed to death by my nine cats. Also, I have a sneaky suspicion that when the time comes for me to fall in love again, I will recant my argument.

But till then, I remain cynically yours.

Parlez-vous français?

My painfully crafted application essay after some revision this week and reference to a dictionary:

"Je m'appelle X. J'ai 23 ans. Je suis Malaisienne et je viens de Kuala Lumpur, la capitale de Malaisie. Mes parents sont en Malaisie. Je n'ai pas soeur ou frere.

Maintenant, j'habite à Londres et je travaille dans une banque. C'est mon deuxieme an dans mon emploi.

Je suis une fille petite mais je suis actif et énergique. J'aime voyager. Je voudrais voyager autour le monde. J'aime lire, écrire, et danser aussi. Je voudrais parler français bien et voyager en France. C'est ma résolution pour ce an."

I am soooo dreading the oral test.

domestic demoniac

Came back early(ish) again today. While I was waiting for my bowl of instant noodles to stop spinning round and round with a loud "Ding" from the microwave, I suddenly decided that I would tackle the problem of my frozen over freezer.

The second storage drawer of my freezer had been frozen over for ages, so much so that the struggle to open it have cause two ugly, violent cracks to appear in the drawer. My parents had tried valiantly to defrost our stubborn fridge during the month I was here, but despite switching the refridgerator off for the entire day (they switched it back on at night so the food wouldn't go bad) the drawer remained persistently frozen.

On a whim, I decided to take a look at it.

The next thing I knew, I was on my elbows and knees, bent forward, neck twisted, peering up at the frozen-over drawer bottom, with a large kitchen scissors in hand, chipping, knocking, and banging away at the ice. Scooped out the ice chips that showered down, dumped them into the sink, then continued at it: chip chip chip knock knock bang with blind mulish persistence.

I think if my housemates hadn't come back for dinner, I would have stuck at it until I defrosted the bugger, just because you know, I didn't like the idea of it taunting me with its persistent frozen-ness, and I decided it had to go.

My housemates laughed at the ferocity with which I was hammering (scissoring?) the ice, and said it must be because I had unspent energy, not being used to coming home this early. They may have a point. Which leads me to wonder.. what would I be like if I weren't in this job, or if *gasp* I were to become stay-at-home housewife in future? Would I transmogrify from my sloppy self into a domestic maniac, militantly patrolling the cleanliness of my domain? Hmmm... food for thought.

On other note, I found a guy who has the same birthday as I do! I stumbled across his website sometime last year and thought he was kinda cute, but then things got busy and I stopped reading. And just yesterday I thought of the site again and visited and discovered the same birthday fact, which is a completely random coincidence, but just thought it was noteworthy (in a random factoid #3486 way)

On another random note, my keyboard is all moody and pissy. Sometimes the special symbol keys don't work, and I am left pressing down the "Shift" key and hammering violently on number "9" just to get open a parenthesis. *sigh* the drama of my life

does he, does he not

There's this boy at work, my lunch buddy in fact, who's slowly driving me crazy. Does he or does he not? If there were a field of daisies handy, I'd pick them clean.

I guess I've always fancied him, but always repressed it, mainly because he was in The Firm. And there have been times when I thought there might have been a flash of fancy from his end too. But it was always a matter of timing.

But recently.. more hope. But it's all a jumble of mixed signals from his end. Might-have-been starts. Then stops. That question and all T could see were his eyes shining, his gaze straight and unwavering.. was it a question? Or that comment with his sidelong (meaningful??) glance. That tenderness in his voice, a sense of vulnerability in the cab, eluding my questions... was that for me or someone else? His piercing questions—was he trying to force an admission from me? But then why a name, was it a name to throw off my scent, or because truly it was her?

Assuming that it was her, and I bow down to her. Why then my "loving arms"— but say we put that down to alcohol ignore the comment over lunch, but why the question "Are you impressed.." with that gentle, slightly tender tone?

He's confusing the hell out of me.

The boy is either:
i) very very good (in which case I salute him)
ii) manipulative/cruel (in which case I'll kill him)
iii) insecure (honey, but so am I. and he Knows the way I am... programmed instinctively to put guys off—he called me the most disastrous person he'd seen in 4, 5 years, so as it is, he's doing Great by this girl's standards)
iv) undecided (fair enough)
v) oblivious (and just naturally like that you know... cryptic. unaware)


And yet he did not return my missed call. And I don't know if he is back at work (is he, is he not? And I refuse to contact him). Ooooh... I feel like sticking pins into his eyes or tearing up his photo or doing some voodoo shit. Except that I'm fond of the boy and if I had a choice, I'd really like us to be friends.. buds.. you know, who'd hang outside of work. Just platonic is fine. Like when it's 11.30pm at night and I'm feeling depressed and aimless and want to go for a drink, he should at least return the missed call (I don't leave messages).

Anyway... I'll leave it to fate and destiny. But I Am endlessly curious. It's an itch I can't help scratching. That's the thing that's driving me up the wall, not knowing for certain. And if the annoying boy continues to not return missed calls, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. Hey, that's what friends are for.

To-do list

It's been off to a slow start at work (thank God for that!) and i've had time to Think about putting my life in order: taking up activities again (french lessons to start.. have been revising my old textbook).. getting a proper domain and host and stuff (not that i have loads of traffic.. just that it would be interesting to try it out again.. managing a proper website)... finally transferring money from my current account to a savings account so i can collect some interest (just realised today that i have a surprising amount of money in my bank account, which was a nice surprise)... actually file the shedloads of paperwork i have (bank statements, credit card bills, tax returns)... finally submit the documents to open that ISA account.. clearing up my room a bit more to make room for a boy (a hypothetical boy at this point). you know... productive stuff. adult stuff. would be nice indeed.

okay... so hopefully work stays slow for a little while longer to let me actually go about doing all the things i've been Thinking of doing. problem is, i desperately lack self control (hence my decision not to gamble). the past couple of days that i've left early (6.00pm, 7.45pm), instead of doing all the useful productive things i intend to do, i've veged out in front of my PC over dinner (salted egg & century egg with congee, and heated up frozen fried rice packed for me by my mom, anyone?) watching "Boogie Nights" and "Mona Lisa Smile" (and "Y tu mama tambien" on Sunday before work)).

Oooh... but i love it. the sinful slothfulness of it all. cinematic (well... dvd-ic) entertainment followed by a few minutes of conjugation (back at "etre" and "avoir" again) and then a quick flick of the American edition of Cosmopolitan (surprisingly thin, and thin on sex content) in bed. *slurps* can you envision a more perfect life than mine?

Looking back

Another year has ended. 365 days, 8760 hours, and 525600 minutes have passed. More wrinkles, without more wisdom (indeed less! — I've had all four wisdom teeth extracted). What have I lived, learnt, loved, lost in 2005?

First off, a peek at my lofty BoY (Beginning-of-Year) goals and where I stand:
1) grow my nails: tick!
— purely by coincidence, at the end of 2005/beginning of 2006, my nails happen to be long. Ish. Well... most of them anyway. Score one to the e* team!

2) run the NYC marathon: cross. :(
— it was a looooong shot anyway. it was ambitious when i put it down (hey... a girl has gotta think BIG right?), but then my supposed would-have-been buddy in insanity upped and left the country... well then.. *shrugs* what could i do?

3) become more girly: tick.
— it's subjective of course, but see quick note #3.

4) date: tick!
— on a technicality. yes i know, i cheated.

* * *

Ten Nine high/low lights of 2005:

First ski experience

First time in a strip club, first lap dance—have always wanted to enter a strip club, and in 2005 I went not once, but twice! the second time with male strippers no less.

Five announced transactions at work—darling Steve very kindly wished me an "unimaginably hot hunk", and being young and hungry at the time, grateful though I was, I immediately turned back to God and bartered 5 announced transactions by the end of the calendar year for a delay of the unimaginably hot hunk by one year. Terrible, I know. Sorry Steve... would've loved a hot hunk! But wanted deals more. My bad. I actually lingered lovingly over the idea of the unimaginably hot hunk and thought: okay... how many deals would I need in order to trade in the hot hunk? (by only one year.. I still want him) I was thinking of a number that would be ambitious (and therefore worthy of working hard enough to miss the promised hunk), but not completely unattainable. And I settled on five, which I thought was improbable, but not entirely unrealistic (hey.. otherwise I want the hunk right?). And as the year progressed, it seemed like neither the transaction target, nor the hot hunk was likely to materialise. But hey... then all a sudden, there you go. My fifth transaction was announced in November/early Dec, just in the nick of time. Whoo-hoo! Thank you! My faith is restored. And I am expecting my lovely UHH to appear on my doorstep, gift-wrapped and in shiny ribbon within the next 364 days. ;) (No... I don't think I'll trade him in this year)

Been to Vietnam—one of the things that was a painful point for me, during the time The Ex-Boy (MTB) and i were together, was that a bunch of his friends had been to his beautiful country that he loved, and I wasn't able to. It hurt me a lot then, through no fault of his. And yeah... I know I have issues... only I could feel pain over the fact that I couldn't see the place he loved, grew up in, his parents, his country, its hills valleys and skies. But I was young, and very deeply in love. I had resolved that I had to go. That dammit, I will see his country. It was a promise I made to myself. And I needed to do it for closure. True, I didn't end up visiting Hanoi, his city... though I was crazy enough to want to request for an extra week of holiday while I was in Vietnam, take a flight to Hanoi and abandon my friend for a couple of days on her own (she DOES NOT LIKE TRAVELLING ALONE. and yes, that needed to be capitalised) I recovered my senses in time, just. But I'd visited the Tien Mu Pagoda, a Cao Dai temple, met some truly lovely Vietnamese people (though a few were disappointing), and I understood him more, saw where he came from. I felt a twinge of regret at Fate and Destiny that I could not visit earlier, and maybe things would have been different, I would have seen him in context. But I found the peace I was looking for.

July 7th—London bombings

The completion of first year of work (July 2005), first bonus—so many of my friends couldn't imagine me working. Hell, neither could I. The crazy, irrespressible free-spirit, ill-disciplined, impatient, irresponsible girl, hunkering down at a regular, regular-paying, proper job? Well... not strictly true... most people couldn't imagine me in a regular 9-5 corporate job. That much is true. This is Definitely no where near a 9-5 job. Not even close. But still.. I can't believe I have completed a year. Actually nearly a year and a half by end 2005. That itself, to me, is cause for celebration.

Having more fun with my team—it's strange how my team's culture has changed. From a fairly aloof, strictly professional and cool atmosphere, to a truly amiable collegiate culture with strong camaderie where we occasionally go out—sometimes planned and organised, sometimes spontaneously. I mean, our VPs went CLUBBING with us! how many other teams can say that? it's great to witness the slow evolution to where we are now, where it's warm and fuzzy. until the work goes crazy (again).

Going a whole calendar year without kissing—it wouldn't really be a big deal. Except that a couple of months ago, when a now-ex colleague asked me how long it had been since I'd had a boyfriend ("3.5, 4 years?"), he'd balked at my answer, but calmed down when I answered that yes, I had kissed boys since then. Then he asked: when was the last time you kissed a boy. And when I told him "10 months", he almost fell out of his chair: "TEN MONTHS? Do you even remember how to?!" I laughed. But just the other day I suddenly realised that I hadn't kissed anyone in one whole year (not counting my affectionate cheek kisses for the lovely boys in my team), and that strangely enough, this was the first time since my one relationship that a whole calendar had gone by without me kissing one single boy (or girl for that matter, in case you were wondering)

First time I'd planned and organised a trip entirely by myself—a week in Spain with the 'rents. I'd been before, so it wasn't too bad. But still, it was my first, and I had to lead the thing as well... instead of tagging along for the ride like I usually do. I was relieved that the trip went pretty well without major hitches and quite proud of myself, although obviously it's hardly rocket science. It's actually pretty stressful if you're i) bringing other people, ii) especially when they're your parents