A Portable Life

Booty Call

2009-06-15T22:07:00.009+08:00

After a two-year long hiatus, BooTay makes her debut reappearance! This can only mean one thing - the BooTay's gonna get some wet n wild action...

First stop, Tanah Merah.

After finding our way through some lalang (tall, wild grasses) and shrubbery, we reach an expansive shore, lit by the light (not the beam but the light) of the silvery moon and vessels at sea, docked in the distance. We can even see the CBD skyline from here... quite hard not to miss that wheel-in-the-sky (that doesn't always keep on turning).

I haven't been out to the shore at low tide for about 2 years and haven't been blogging about such trips for just as long, so I'm a bit out of touch lah. The pictures are also a bit overexposed because it's the first time I'm using this particular camera for pre-dawn photography, and I have yet to figure out if there's a way to adjust the intensity of the flash.

So here we go...

Ghost Crab

Anemone

Filefish

The BIGGEST slug I've ever seen!

The prettiest slug on shore

Sea grapes

Purple climber crab

Lazy onch hitching a ride on a nerite

I am Prawn, master of disguise! Earghhh!! Darn my Willy Wonka eyes!!

I am Gong-gong, the real master of disguise! Muahaha--- arrghhh! Darn my foot-mouth syndrome!

Now here's the real deal... How many fish can you spot in this picture?

Life Lessons from Spidey

2009-05-25T23:53:00.002+08:00

Spider-Man 2 is my favourite of the three Spidey movies, and I managed to catch it for the umpteenth time on TV today. My favourite part of the movie would be the almost silent post-climax moment when train passengers lift and carry Spidey to safety after he passes out. I found it humbling - that superheroes are still, just people; that even heroes bleed, and angels fall.

I wonder if people really take note of the subtle acts of kindness or strategically 'placed' lines of inspiration in movies. You know, those moments that some of us find corny or cliche. Sometimes, corny & cliche is a must if we really want to get the message across. Movies are meant to entertain - some boys want lots of action [*wink*], some girls want romance, and crazy-about-movies-people like me just want a wicked dose of everything, from power effects to cinematography, great storyline to good acting, and then some (like the perfect seat and excellent sound system in a cinema, and of course, the best popcorn!).

So why is corny or cliche good? Well, we always remember corny moments! Like the silliest things we did in school, or the cheesiest pick-up lines you've heard. And cliche just means it's no longer original, or it's been said and done too many times. Now, there's a reason why some things are repeatedly said and done - your Mom nagging you about eating right or your doctor telling you to quit smoking. There's a message, a lesson to learn, and it's usually a darn good one.

Like Uncle Ben's "with great power comes great responsibility", or Spider-Man telling a vengeful Harry Osborn, "There are bigger things happening here than me and you". Finally, Aunt May says it best:

"I believe there's a hero in all of us, that keeps us honest, gives us strength, makes us noble. And finally gets us to die with pride. Even though sometimes we have to be steady and give up the thing we want most, even our dreams."

So remember, sometimes even the smallest act of kindness makes the biggest difference in someone's day or someone's life. Brighten a day or a life with a smile. And for the more heroic few, I say, Go get 'em, tiger!

Mush room for improvement

2009-05-23T19:21:00.015+08:00

So now, I'm out of a job again!

Ada...takde...ada...takde...

Mike's company did not get back to me by Friday evening, and I had to call Future Company before 5.30pm on Friday if I wanted to 'quit'. How do you 'quit' a job that you haven't even started? Maybe some call it chicken-ing out.

Future Company actually called me back on Thursday evening to say I could start this Monday after all, cos they managed to 'acquire' a work station for me.

But Ben advised me to just risk it and 'quit', even before getting a written offer and confirmation from Mike's company. I suppose just the whole issue about getting me a computer or not---not getting the software I require---pushing my start date back and forth---didn't seem professional. And if decision-making was already so kelam-kabut from an outsider's point of view now, imagine how much more teruk it might be once on the inside. The Dark Side beckons not.

As usual, scaredy me waited... till the time was right? Till I plucked up enough courage? Till I had enough caffeine in my bloodstream to carry out a conversation that might very likely explode into a bitter dispute.

I digress... and meet Shorbs in town for coffee. I ask her if she thinks I've changed a lot since getting married, or from the time she knew me back when we worked at The Club. A friend recently said that she feels I'm not the same bubbly person she knew before I was married. But I think, if I have changed, "bubbly" wouldn't be on the change list. I was thinking more of the confident, loud, outgoing, bold bits, which are no longer adjectives used to describe me.

Back in the day...... yup...

I used to be the daring and garang one in art school. Always on top of her game, always beating the boys, and always, always able to talk her way out of or into anything!

Now I'm the opposite.

It's not even marriage that has changed me. Shorbs says we're just more mellow as we get older. That may be true. But for me, I think it started right after art school. I told my parents I didn't wanna continue my studies overseas to get a degree. I didn't tell them that it was because I didn't want them to 'waste' money on me, but to save it for when my younger brother needed the money when it was time for him to pursue a degree or whatever.

And so it's been like that for me ever since. Always taking a back seat. I really don't know why! It started with letting others have the better opportunity or the bigger piece of the pie or even the final word. Then, to try to be the 'perfect' or obedient girlfriend or employee, I'd shut up when 'required', let The Man be Da Man, play dumb, play neutral, play stupid, so that The Man or The Boss could feel like he/she was Da Man or Da Boss. And eventually, it just made me weak, to a point where others could easily push me around.

So now I'm just mush. Mush around 'big' people. Mush around oppressive people. Even mush to the point of crying when faced with confrontational situations. I've gone soft! I guess those who see me as being weak might be the same people who'll use this 'weakness' to their advantage. But I still believe there's some good left in the world, and hopefully the nicer people out there don't see me so much as a weakling, but someone who's just gentle and kind.

I wonder if I'll ever find balance - to be gentle yet strong, kind yet stern, selfless yet able to stand up for myself. Because I know I'm not right now. And this is why I delay calling Future Company. Cos I hate being the 'nasty one' or the 'wrong one', and by always trying so hard to be the 'nice one', I let others walk over me or 'scare' me into doing something I'm not comfortable with. I'm the grin, bear it, later go home and cry type.

So finally, I call Future Company (FC).

B: Hi... blah blah niceties... blah blah I've been given another offer that I feel is more suitable for me right now, so I won't be joining Future Company on Monday after all.

FC: What! No but you signed the letter already.

B: I know, I'm really sorry to let you know only now -

FC: No there's a clause in the letter. I think. There's a clause - a penalty you have to pay or something. Let me check, I think there's something in the contract. I'll check and get back to you.

B: Ya of course. If there's a penalty or if I'm required to come in for a week, just let me know.
[I'm unusually cool about this only because I scanned through the contract thoroughly the night before, because I know of such a clause. Some companies require you to pay them a week's salary if you do not show up on the first day of work without a valid reason. But it wasn't in the Letter of Appointment that I signed with Future Company, so I can be cool.]

FC: But what - why - What position is this? Is it because of better pay? Why - uhm -

B: Well it's a Marcomm position that I feel is more suitable for me right now -

FC: No, let me just check the contract. I'll get back to you later.

Whoa. My hands are trembling after I hang up the phone. This is how weak I am lah. I get all gabra-zebra when dealing with angry situations or speaking to people of so-called authority or just those type of people who naturally command respect or fear. Fear is the path to The Dark Side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suff-fuh-riiiiiing....

Future Company calls me back a couple of hours later. FC is very curt throughout the conversation. Perhaps exasperated too, and I feel bad, and I hate to feel bad and rotten. But luckily Shorbs is there to remind me that I shouldn't. Cos this is the HR person whom I'm speaking to, and even if HR is gonna kena from Management because of my LMC, it's nothing personal. So I shouldn't get personal, and I shouldn't feel bad.

FC: [curt and upset] Ok, I checked. There used to be a clause about a penalty in the contract about this, but I don't know why we took it out. So you're not bound - But I just want to know why! Is it because of higher pay? I mean - You said it's a Marcomm position? Why didn't you say anything about this to us during the interview, that you want to do Marcomm.

B: [gabra-zebra-tremble-tremble] I did actually. During the interview you asked me, and also on the application form, you asked where I see myself or how I'd like to see myself grow within the company. And I said, I'd like to do designing but have always been leaning towards Marcomm, and I want to grow into a supervisory Marcomm position. I said it and it's also on the form I filled up.

FC: [very curt and upset] Ok fine. So this other offer, this position is what you want? Is it because of higher pay?

B: Overall yes. I get to design, but at the same time, I get to gain more experience in Marketing. I actually interviewed with them two months ago. But they decided not to expand at that time. So I thought it was 'case closed'. And I really was very interested and excited about joining Future Company. But then they, have decided to expand their company right now. And yes, the overall package they're offering is more suitable for me right now, and more suitable in terms of future growth.

FC: How much more?

B: Uhm... I'd say, 20% more.

FC: But I already got you your workstation you know!

B: Yes I know! I'm really sorry. I know you took the trouble and did all the paperwork and got the hardware all ready and everything, and I'm sorry.
[tremble-tremble... Lucky Shorbs is sitting in front of me right now or I might actually start to cry]

FC: [still upset but trying to be the bigger person here] Well, if this is what you want I can only wish you good luck. Thank you.
[Thank you?]

B: Yes, thank you.

Hands and even elbows looking like they belong to a poor soul with Parkinsons. I think I even have a face twitch right now. But phew! I'm out of a job, but I feel so relieved!

Later that night, Mike's Boss calls me about their job offer, discusses the job scope and what they "envision" for me.

So I have a job again. One that's much more challenging, but that I'm genuinely excited to start. One that I'm absolutely lacking in experience in, but they're willing to guide because I'm willing to learn. One that doesn't state in black & white that I have to work a MINIMUM of 10 hours a day, even though it's expected that there will be late nights, multiple projects and datelines all happening at the same time, and plenty targets to meet. But I'm excited. And "excited" is good.

The Force is Strong with The Portuguese

2009-05-23T00:24:00.015+08:00

In the beginning, there was Adam.

I've been back in Singapore for about two months now, but only started actively searching and applying for jobs after Ben returned to Dubai last month. While he was here in March, his friend (let's call him Mike for semi-confidential purposes) mentioned that his company was hiring, and he set up an appointment for me to meet his Boss. So we met, but they were looking for the more 'hardcore sales' type, which she and I both agreed wasn't me at all. She did however allow me to submit a marketing proposal for a mock project, to see if they might be able to find a fit for me within their Marketing department.

So for the next three nights, I pored over marketing-related books borrowed from the library and photocopied articles about market trends and other scary sounding terms that I've always overheard while passing the business-yuppie types congregating around a copy of the day's Financial Times or Asian Wall Street Journal. Terms like ROIs, KPIs, SWOT analyses, commodities, gains and such, that send shivers down any Arts-type person's spine. I surfed the Net like I've never surfed before, getting only a total of 4 hours of sleep in that stretch of 2 days and 3 nights.

By the 3rd night, I had only a sad excuse for a proposal, but reached a point where my brain could no longer function. No budget, no timeline... but close to 20 pages of research. I was embarrassed and really felt that my best effort came up short, looking like a silly high school project. But since Mike took the trouble to get me the interview, and since his Boss was kind enough to spend an hour chatting with me, I submitted my marketing 'research' minus proper proposal, and left it as that. I didn't even dare write Hope to hear from you soon cos it would seem too thick-skinned lah.

However, two weeks later, one of the managers there called me in for a "casual chat". She said the Boss wanted her to get to know me better, and if they could fit me into her department, or tailor a position according to my abilities and what I would be "willing" to do. So again, chat chat chat. They weren't actually looking to hire in their department, but apparently my juvenile efforts were recognised and highly appreciated, and these non-design agency sorts aren't so used to us creative creatures of the night, so receiving an email from me at 4.45am kinda made a big impression.

They didn't mind that I had no experience or skills in Marketing cos all this could be picked up along the way, and all that mattered was having the right attitude. I thought this was kinda cool? Cos it means an employer wants me for just me? Anyway, they didn't really have a position for me. So that was that.

The End...... ?

So Ben went back to Dubai, I applied for a few more jobs, ranging from Marketing to Graphic Designing to Teaching. I got a Graphic Design job within 2 weeks, and am due to commence work with my Future Company this Monday.

When I first told Ben about this company, he immediately advised me not to take the job, because of the work-you-till-you-pengsan-and-vomit-blood stereotype associated with these type of family-run *particular-race* companies. But I seemed to get a good vibe from this place, and the two interviews I attended here went well. They seemed genuinely impressed with my portfolio and work experience, which related very well to the various projects that the company is managing.

Some friends gushed about the low pay and long working hours - 9-to-7! Yes, SEVEN! Others gushed about how lucky I was to get a job so soon when times are supposed to be "so bad" right now. And all gushed and huffed and puffed at how I didn't put up a fight for a better package.

Even my Mom advised me not to sign anything with them last Monday as planned, cos my Tua Ee happened to be flipping through The Almanac and noticed that Monday was a "VERY BAD DAY" for me and a very bad day in general for people to sign important contracts, etc. But I told her that I couldn't just postpone my appointment at the last minute, and that if this was a lousy company, it wouldn't make a difference if I signed on a 'good' or 'bad' day, cos they'd still be lousy anyhow. So my Mom resorted to lighting some super-power holy candles during her daily prayers and intercessions.

I didn't mind the salary that they offered actually. It's actually 'up-to-standard' for such a position, but low for my 10 years of experience lah. I was only concerned about the benefits, or lack of it actually, and I'd have to travel quite a bit to get to the office. But there are 15,000 jobless souls in Singapore, so I musn't be choosy lah right.

So, I accepted their offer, and signed my letter of appointment on "Bad Monday". And sure enough, right after I signed, I got a Han-Solo-Luke-Leia-kinda "I gotta BAAAAD feeling about this" afterthought. Looks like The Force isn't too strong with me these days - getting wrong vibes or unable to sense The Dark Side in stealth mode.

During the interview, the managers said they'd be getting me a work station and asked what my basic requirements were for graphic software. Simple: Photoshop. Illustrator. InDesign. Dreamweaver. Now that I've signed at least 10 hours a day to The Dark Side, they say Photoshop is no problem, we're looking into the other two, and getting Dreamweaver is not possible right now. Part of the Letter of Appointment also states that I would have to work additional retail or restaurant/bar hours as and when necessary.

So I went home that day feeling that I'd just been 'screwed over in advance'. Like I just signed a Permission-To-Kena-Screwed slip. I told Ben that this was the first time I started looking for other jobs right after signing a contract and even before commencing work! But I think Ben got a bit impatient with me.

I think he thinks I'm only having second thoughts cos I'm lazy and too used to being a bum and housewife, and that I really need this job to kick-start my 'work mode' again. So the whole week, I've just been trying REAL hard to psyche myself with positive thoughts about this company and this new job, even though I feel so rotten inside. It's money in the Bank, Berns. It's money in CPF, Berns. You've been a bum for way too long, Berns. Ben thinks you're spoilt n lazy, Berns. You might actually really love this, Berns. The office is not THAT far, Berns. Use The Force, Berns... You can do it!

So on Thursday, I try a 'practice run' to my Future Workplace. Woke up at 6.45am, caught the 7.40am express bus to town, transferred to another bus that brought me to the building next to Future Workplace by 8.40am. And it was set. This would be my Future Morning Route to work.

I continue my journey to Tiong Bahru, as I have plans to meet my Mum-in-law here for breakfast since she lives nearby. As I cross the road from the bus stop, I see what appears to be a vision of someone familiar coming down the steps of Tiong Bahru Plaza. His Jesus-hair billowing in the morning breeze as rays of the sun reflect off the plastic bag of bungkus-ed breakfast in hand. No! It can't be! No way!

It is Adam. Not first man Adam, but Adam I know from Church in PJ. There's always this awkwardness between us cos there may have been 'something' there before... but like way, way back lah. Back when he looked tamer, without a mane of curly, shoulder-length locks. Back when I actually thought Lars Ulrich was kinda attractive and Body Glove t-shirts were the thing. Now this fella is always popping up all over the place. Whenever I make a trip back to PJ, sometimes just once or twice a year for a few days, I always seem to bump into him lah. Strawberi cafe ada. Bangsar ada. Raju's ada. Now Tiong Bahru also ada!

He's just as surprised to see me. I knew he moved to Singapore just a few weeks back cos Nat told me last week. But there are so many PJ people from school or church who have been here in Singapore but I've never bumped into them all these years.

So we make the usual awkward small talk, exchange numbers, and we part with me feeling that this was such a WEIRD coincidence. I also envy how he gets to wear a t-shirt, jeans and sneakers to work, but maybe once you're a hotshot (or 'kickass' as Jamie puts it) copywriter or Creative Director you can wear anything you want lah, even wear your hair like Shakira.

So I meet Mum-in-law for breakfast. I tell her I'm starting work in 3 days' time and we chat about other stuff. Now, when I thought my encounter with Adam was weird, little did I know that it was just the start of what would be the weirdest day ever.

The following takes place between 10.30am and 11.00am on the Weirdest Day Ever. Events occur in real time...toot...tit...toot...tit......

10.30am: My handphone rings but I'm too slow and miss the call. The number seems familiar, and I check if it's Future Company, but it isn't. Then I realise it's a line from Mike's office. So I call him.

B: Hey 'Mike', did u just call me from your office?

M: Uhh no...

B: I just got a missed called from your office. Do u know anything about it?

M: Uhh no... Just call them back lah. Did u take the job at that *particular-race* company?

B: Ya, I signed already! I start on Monday.

M: What?!!

B: Nevermind, I can just give 7 days' notice...

10.34am: I call the number but there's no answer so I leave a message. I tell Mum-in-law that if Mike's Boss offers me a job, I'm in a dilemma cos I wouldn't know how to turn down Future Company. I don't wanna be the type who just doesn't show up on the first day of work. At the same time, I'm the sort of person who doesn't know how to negotiate for a better offer, yet alone reject people, so I have no idea how I'm gonna grow skin thick enough to call Future Company and say "Podah-lah. Wa mai zho liao!" [Tamil translation: Get lost lah. Hokkien translation: I don't wanna do already.]

Just then, my phone rings again!

10.38am: It's not a number from Mike's workplace, but again, the number looks familiar. It's HR from Future Company!

HR: (Wants to know if my graphic software is on a laptop, that I could use in the office for work, cos they don't have a workstation and computer for me. Apparently, they're waiting for some fella to podah in 5-6 weeks' time, and then I can use his station that only has Photoshop...Ooooh)

B: No, all my graphic software is on my desktop.

HR: (Asks if they could push my start date back 4 or 5 weeks since I'll have nothing to work on if I start on Monday)

B: Ya sure, that's fine. Just let me know by tomorrow, once you have a new start date confirmed.

I turn to my Mum-in-law in disbelief to tell her who just called and what it's about. Then my phone rings again.

10.45am: It's Mike.

M: [whispers] So how?

B: I called but there's no answer so I left a message. The *particular-race* company JUST called me. They said they wanna push my start date back about 4 weeks!

M: Whaa... I told u... These *particular-race* companies ah... Anyhow ask u to start then ask u to wait 4 weeks!

B: Anyway, whose extension ends with --?

M: (Checks and confirms it's "X" from HR) [whispers] She's at the board now... Oh! She's walking back to her desk! Call again, call her now!

10.50am: I call "X". She offers me a position with their company. I accept. She says she'll let the Boss know, and the Boss will call me to officially offer me the job.

11.00am: So now I have a job that is halfway out the door even before I'm due to start, and at the same time, one foot in another. Exodus before The Beginning? Or literally, I'm in between jobs.

I'm still wondering if perhaps waking up at 6.45 that morning left me in a part-zombie state, and I sleepwalked-sleep-took the bus to town and it was all a dream... Encounters with a Miranda, a Nonis and a Galistan... Fishy Portuguese connection, really extreme coincidence, or divine intervention?

...Hmmm... curious...... most curious.

Bittersweet Crunch

2009-03-10T03:43:00.023+08:00

This half of BnB is returning to Singapore, while her better half remains in Dubai. Don't worry, the cookie hasn't crumbled! This lazy cookie just needs to get a job lah. So I'm leaving Dubai tomorrow and moving back to Singapore, indefinitely. I'd like to say I'm leaving for good, but I guess it's safer to never say never. After all, we didn't intend to live here for more than 2 years, and it'll already be 3 years this June.

The decision was quite sudden as we had already booked our flight tickets back to Singapore for our annual holiday. So I had to change mine to a one-way ticket and pack like mad to ship back all my barang-barang. Thanks to the kindness of a few amazing friends here and back home, I managed to survive a few near-meltdowns.

As I said, I would love to announce that I'm leaving and never coming back because I'm really quite happy to be leaving this place, but if I do REALLY say it, I may jinx it and end up crawling back to this city. I guess I'm just excited about going home, and the prospect of kick-starting a "normal" life again. What I mean is, working again and not having to deal with dimwits all the time. Of course, I'm also really sad cos Ben and I will be apart, indefinitely, till we decide The Next Move.

There will be a few things about Dubai I'll miss (just a FEW). Although we say food here sucks, I think it's just regular food (like from foodcourts) that are gross. And to compensate for the lack of good regular food, we sometimes opt for "better" food at restaurants or more expensive stuff from supermarkets. So I'll miss things like steaks and desserts from slightly-higher-end chains, and the availability of terribly unhealthy sweets and snacks from all over the world. We can get some of these back home, but we never splurge on things like this in Singapore simply cos there's such a big supply of good and cheap food and snacks there.

Then there's the whole tax-free thingie - not having to worry about GST, income tax, etc etc. Plus free accommodation with free utilities too. And of course ALL the free time I have here!

I suppose that's about it. That's all Dubai has to offer someone like me.

Now the stuff that I WONT miss! Haha... here goes...

Zero customer service or after-sales service, or just plain useless dumbasses who get paid to do NOTHING!

The misuse of the phrase "Insya-Allah" and overuse of the word "maybe".

Lousy public transport. Horrible traffic. Reckless driving. Plus idiots in their 4-wheel-drives who park on pavements and sidewalks or drive off-road to cut queues. It's only fun when they get stuck in mud or a flooded area when it rains! Haha... padan muka!

People who cut queues ALL the time. Like simply standing in front of you, then looking away, looking to the sky, or whatever, pretending that they were there all the time! **** YOU ALL!!

Governmental organizations or large corporations who come up with all sorts of Save-The-Environment crap and then approve/allow or be part of activities such as capturing sharks and other animals FROM THE WILD (like, oh, just off the Gulf Coast boleh lah), and trapping them in tanks, for display like one large, live TV screen...

Sandstorms, dust, haze, construction=destruction=polution...

And just the plain scary, gross, stupid, or stuff of nightmares...

Choked-to-death fish?

Supposed to be Miso Soup... But seaweed, fungi, froth? Pond scum I say...

The sotong macam people tangkap from Underwater World. Enough Sotong Bakar to feed your entire family, and then some. Alternatively, you can make Calamari Necklaces...

The size of chicken wings here. I like to call ém "mynah" wings...

Emirates - Keep Discovering? Yeah, I "discovered" THIS in a can of tuna flakes. About tooth-size...

"Wine"and bacardi-breezer-wannabes. Non-alcoholic of course...

Food styling at a highly-acclaimed restaurant...

And of course, who can forget the "festive"decor at this 5-star hotel one Christmas... God Rest Ye Santa...

Scary-a** camel...

Scary-a** chicken that makes weetle children cry...

And the Plain Stupid...

I suppose, all the stupid and annoying stuff is what we'll laugh about, looking back many years from now. Will I miss it? No. So it's goodbye for now, without regret. Everything that has a beginning, has an end...

UAE ID Pre-Registration Form Software

2008-11-22T21:01:00.006+08:00

OK, here are screen shots of the UAE Id Pre-Registration Application, for those who aren't sure what needs to be filled, cos there are a few bits here n there that are quite mind-boggling. Click each picture to view larger image.

1: Personal Data, Nationality & Passport Data, Characteristics

Note: First Name & Middle Name are compulsory fields. For those with Chinese names like me, what I did was fill in my first name as per normal, then my Chinese name in the "Middle Name" field, and my surname in the "Family Name" field. Hope it works. If you have a typical Chinese name, eg. Tan Ah Beng, I guess just put "Tan" as your first name, and "Ah Beng" as your middle name.

2: Birth Data, Residency Data

Note: Residency Permit File Number is the 7-digits printed on the UAE Visa page in your passport. It's in a string of numbers, eg. 123/4567/XXXXXXX. Don't fill in the whole string of numbers with the slashes. Just the last 7 digits.

3: Addresses

Note: Better know the exact location... Cos they're trying to organize it according to "sectors", so Burj Al Arab, JBH & Madinat are located in Umm Suqeim 3. I had to select this for myself cos I don't know the proper sector for The Gardens.

4: Delivery Address

Note: By "Collector", they mean "Recipient". So if you want the ID Card sent to someone's workplace once it's ready, you have to fill in the Recipient's name & number. Again, I can't be sure if they'll really deliver it to my home, which is different from the Main Address that I filled in the earlier page, cos I don't have a P.O. Box for my home. So I put Ben as my recipient, and hopefully they'll deliver the card to him at the hotel.

5: Language, Occupation Data

Note: Mandarin is not in the list. Only "Chinese" or "Malay", for us Malaysians/Singaporeans.

6: Qualification Information

Note: Your School/Institution/University name can't be too long. It doesn't state maximum characters allowed, and I didn't bother to count, but just keep it short.

After you click Save & Print, you'll be allowed to select where you want to save the form as a PDF file. Then you can print it from a laser printer, or send the PDF to a friend to print.

Good luck!

Eida ai-dee

2008-11-21T09:22:00.003+08:00

Here's a quick update about the UAE ID Card 'situation'. It's such a mess and there've been so many complaints about the whole registration process that they've come up with a few desperate measures.

EIDA's website still crashes or hangs when anyone tries to access the page for the online application form. And I think I may have wasted my Dhs.40 for the darn "special" envelope that I purchased from Empost. Cos I really don't know when they might mail me the "proper" form. Insya-Allah... next week? Next month? Next year?

Now, several organisations have chipped in, and provide a link for people to download a "special" software. I've tried it and it's quite a good idea actually. You simply download the zipped file, extract, install the application named "pre-registration". Click here to download the file.

Open the "pre-registration" program, fill in your details, and click Save & Print. What the software does is gather all your info, and save it as a PDF file on the "proper" bar-coded form. This works well, cos at least, if you don't have a laser printer, you can send this PDF file to someone who does, who can then print it out for you on a LASER printer as instructed.

Note that this only eases the PRE-registration process. Now you have to go down to your nearest EIDA office and queue, queue, queue. Most people who've survived this drama spent about 4-5 hours at EIDA, waiting, queuing, waiting some more... Some wait almost 6 hours, only to be told that they've exceeded their "quota" for the day and to come back another day... to queue and wait all over again. You've have to be like that torchlight in the old Eveready battery ad - dan lagi, dan lagi, dan lagi...

Some wait outside the office from as early as 4am, just to get in line. But if you know Dubai, then you also know that "waiting in line" means rushing to a counter like lemmings to the cliff's edge. Yup, NO LINE. No order. No system. Everyone just rushes and crowds the counter, pushing, shoving and shouting to get the "one guy"'s attention.

Actually, they have a system. It just doesn't work.

I've been reading all sorts of horror stories from 'survivors' and am really dreading my Date with Eida. But I think I might just forget about waiting for Empost and just use this "software", print the bar-coded form, and get to an EIDA office asap. Cos who knows when Empost will mail the "proper" form to me, or maybe they might send me an SMS weeks later to say that they found an error on my form after "scrutinizing" it for one month. Makes me think of a certain racist joke about a fella staring at a bottle of Tang Orange cos it said "Full Concentrate".

Oh, and the 31st Dec deadline? Now they say that the Dhs.1,000 fine wont be imposed on professional expats who don't meet the deadline, and get this, they also won't freeze your bank accounts as previously threathened! And professional expats can still register for the card after the 31st Dec deadline. But they also say, this does not mean that the deadline has been extended. Once again, WHUUUUDD?

Ok, let me see. The deadline of 31st December still stays, but you can still register after the deadline. So, what's the deadline for? I think they're just trying to weird us out. Like that kid in The Matrix who bends the spoon but says it's not the spoon that bends but you. There is no spoon.

Here's a funny thing about the pre-registration software-form-thingie though. In the name field, First Name and Middle Name is compulsory, whereas Family Name is optional. And get this, there's also a field for Famous Name. Seriously, seriously! Oooh... so many choices! I've narrowed it down to The One&Only, or Bernie The Brave. Now I'm gonna spend the rest of the day scrutinizing these two Famous names, and the tribal council will meet tonight to vote out the weaker of the two.

Has all kindness gone?

2008-11-20T12:42:00.000+08:00

The World I Know ~ Collective Soul
Has our conscience shown?
Has the sweet breeze blown?
Has all the kindness gone?
Hope still lingers on
Are we listening
To hymns of offering?
Have we eyes to see
That love is gathering?
So I walk up on high
And I step to the edge
To see my world below
And I laugh at myself
While the tears roll down
'Cause it's the world I know
Oh it's the world I know

Drama in Karama - Part One

2008-11-17T19:18:00.007+08:00

The “authorities” in the UAE have implemented a new identification system for all UAE citizens and residents – a national ID Card, with built-in “smart” features that will eventually replace the need to carry multiple cards like driving licences, passports, employee cards, etc.

This “project” actually started a few years back, carried out on civil servants and professionals in the government sector as initial lab rats. Then some time earlier this year, I read an article somewhere that all UAE nationals were given a deadline in mid-2008 to register and have their ID Cards made, and that after this, the same exercise would be carried out for all residents including expats in the country.

I remember mentioning this to Ben, and he said we needn’t worry cos his company’s HR dept would surely alert or advise him about it if our turn came. However, they didn’t, and about a week ago, a colleague of Ben’s received an email from his brother working in a different company. This other company, along with most other companies in the UAE, have been busy registering their staff for the ID Cards, or at least advising them how to go about registering for the card on their own.

Things hardly ever get done here in Dubai and the UAE. It either takes forever, or you just give up trying to get people to GET-IT-DONE. We don’t mind getting things done ourselves, but not everything can be a DIY affair.

I self-medicate so that I don’t have to see a doctor. I look for fix-it tips for almost anything from the Internet so that I can reduce the need for technicians or what-nots. Thanks to Kemahiran Hidup lessons and armed with handyman tools, I can get most of the basic electrical, plumbing and other "handyman" stuff done around the apartment without calling the guys from Maintenance. Anyway, whenever you call someone to get a lightbulb changed in Dubai, at least 3 guys arrive (the most I've seen is 5). One to the hold ladder, one to climb up the ladder, one to retrieve the new light bulb from its packaging, one to flick the switch on or off, and sometimes one guy to oversee the whole thing.

Anyway, I can’t “do” banking without the bank itself right? I can’t book a flight ticket without an airline. If some other party is needed to get something done, be it a technician, sales rep, customer service officer, government official or whatever, you just kena WAIT LONG LONG.

So Ben’s company still seems to be going with the usual lackadaisical flow of things, while the rest of Dubai is in gabra-zebra mode. The unusual burst of activity and sense of urgency was caused by the announcement that all residents/expats have to register for their UAE ID Cards by 31 December 2008. Ben called me from work last week, telling me to read the email that his colleague forwarded to him, and to GET-IT-DONE.

There was a link to the website of the “authority” on this matter, the Emirates Identity Authority (EIDA). I read that the December deadline was for all “professional expats” in the private sector, holding a University degree, residing in the UAE. So I call Ben and say, “I’m a housewife, not a PROFESSIONAL EXPAT”.

Ben says, “Just GET-IT-DONE anyway. Or call the Singapore or Malaysia Consulate and ask them”. I tell him that the Consulates here don’t bother about anything but Deeparaya parties or outdoor activities, and they never bothered to email and advise us on this matter, so what would THEY know.

So fine. When Ben’s adamant about getting things done, I can’t say otherwise. So yesterday, I took the early morning Jumeirah staff shuttle bus to the Central Post Office in Karama. How did I manage to catch a bus at 8.30am? I didn’t sleep and stayed up from the day before of course.

Why the Post Office? Well, you could print out the registration form from EIDA’s website, EXCEPT THAT THE LINK IS NOT WORKING and hangs/crashes. And anyway, they insist that the form has to be printed from a LASER printer only so that a barcode can be printed clearly on it. If you visit an EIDA office (only 2 or 3 in Dubai) to get the form, you still have to go to a Typing Office and pay 40 Dirhams to get it typed for you the way they want it.

So Empost (Emirates Post) sells a "special" envelope with a PRE-registration form for 40 Dirhams. You just need to fill it, return it to Empost with a copy of your passport & residence visa, and they will “scrutinize” the form for any errors.

But get this, they’ll call or SMS you if there are any errors. That means, you’d have to go back and GET-IT-DONE all over again? Why can’t they just bloody “scrutinize” the darn thing when you submit it? Anyway, if everything goes well, Empost will get the PROPER form barcoded for you and mail it back to your PO Box along with an appointment date with EIDA. When? How long? I dunno.

At the Central Post Office, like all counters in government offices in Dubai or Malaysia, there are about 20 counters but just TWO open. Only ONE counter caters to people who want to buy the Pre-Registration Form/Envelopes, and there’s a haphazard queue of about 25 people waiting here (Notice how people have to queue around and between the rows of chairs). I stand in line, and less than a minute later, there are already another 10 people queuing up behind me.

The idiotic thing about this whole affair is that I don’t even know if I need to register for this. All I want is to ask them first, if JOBLESS HOUSEWIVES are considered “PROFESSIONAL EXPATS WORKING IN THE PRIVATE SECTOR”. Cos you never know eh, some say to-may-to, some say to-mah-to.

Suddenly this wise-ass male clerk stands at the next counter, saying “LADIES ONLY. HERE. Ladies’ queue.” So the few ladies in the queue move to this NEW row. I’m happy cos I’ve jumped from #26 in the queue to #2 in this Ladies’ Queue.

There’s this Caucasian lady who doesn’t want to give up her #5 spot at the original queue, but the clerk insists “Ladies HERE!” so she reluctantly moves over. Ladies’ Queues/Counters are usually served by ladies lah. But then, the dumb-ass lady clerk pushes her trolley of forms to the next, next counter, and calls out “Minimum 25, 50, 100 form only”.

They really are so BLOODY LAZY here. The lady clerk was supposed to serve the Ladies’ Queue, but instead decided she’d rather sell the forms in batches of 25, because they already came grouped in batches of 25 and she didn’t want to waste that little bit of energy removing the paper band around a batch of 25 envelopes, neither did she want to use her brain to calculate how much to charge if someone wanted 3 forms or 12 forms.

Selling 25 at a go was easy. Just collect 1,000 Dirhams and give the customer the whole pack of 25 envelopes. NO NEED TO COUNT! NO NEED TO LIFT AN EXTRA FINGER! NO NEED TO USE BRAIN!!

There are of course office clerks or HR people who are here to buy a bulk of forms, so about 10 men migrate from the original queue to this other new one. Meanwhile, the male wise-ass clerk still stands at the “ladies’ counter”, but he makes sure he stands about 2-feet away from it to prove that he isn’t manning it. I have to shout out my query about “housewives” to him. He doesn’t have any idea what I’m saying, and instructs me to move over to the next, next counter, to ask the dumb-ass lady clerk.

I ask her if I need to register cos I’m a housewife and I don’t work. She looks at me blankly and says, “How many form you want? Here only minimum 25 form.”

Okay, so maybe some say to-may-to and some say baba-ganoush. Like, WHUUUUUDD?

I think, what the heck, I’ll just register anyway. “I want ONE form”.

Again she says, “Here minimum 25 form. 1,000 Dirham”. I retreat back to the so-called Ladies’ Queue. But wise-ass male clerk isn’t serving anyone. Suddenly they all realize they don’t want a Ladies’ Queue, and ask all of us to go back to the original queue, which has now doubled in length.

The Caucasian lady who must have been queuing since they opened at 8am is fuming now. She starts yelling at the clerks in English AND Arabic. They point out that if you want 25, 50 or 100 forms, you queue at the counter with dumb-ass female clerk. If not, you re-queue at the original queue. This angers her even more and she shouts, “Wahid! Wahid! One by ONE! Not 25!!”

Somewhere in my head a Cerekarama-like voice-over plays:
Drama minggu ini! Detik-detik penuh semangat, penuh aksi! Sungguh dramatik!

The rest of us ladies are reluctant to re-queue too and still stay at this 'limbo' counter, caught between the original counter and the “minimum-25” counter. A few of us decide to try and 'make 25' by pooling how many forms we want. Two ladies wanted 8 forms, another two wanted 4, and then there was me, ONE HOUSEWIFE who’s supposedly considered a PROFESSIONAL WORKING EXPAT in Land-of-the-Lazy. So we get our batch of 25 and divide it accordingly. Yay.

Now time to fill up the form and join ANOTHER queue, to return the form, get a postal slip and wait for the PROPER form to arrive in the mail with a date to visit the EIDA office that promises more queues, more idiots, more drama. Oh, joy. And so now I wait, for Part 2.

Daysleeper

2008-10-24T14:33:00.000+08:00

It's annoying how people take me for a "lady of leisure" or "taitai" just because I'm house-bound. I don't have a job, but it doesn't mean I don't work. Household chores take up a big chunk of the day, and I admit quite a lot of time is also spent on unimportant things, like Facebook and emails.

I tell people I surf the Net and am on the computer a lot, but again, this doesn't mean I'm a web bum. I spend hours surfing job sites for Ben, foodie sites for the two of us, online articles about favourite topics... And of course, hours and hours in Photoshop. If I have photos to retouch, this means non-stop " 'shop'ing " for hours till my eyes see double, my 'mouse' hand stiffens and my back finally gives way.

Unfortunately, I'm also ridiculously anal about the little things that don't really matter. Like making sure the thousands of songs or videos in my external hard disks are properly named, categorised and sorted. Stuff like that. This can take hours and days too.

I'm the screen, the blinding light
I'm the screen, I work at night

It's understandable how many people might think I'm lazy, or that I lead an easy life when they find out that I usually wake up at noon, or later, or sometimes even at around 4 or 5pm. What they don't understand is that I sleep as late as I wake. In a week, I'll sleep at around 2-4am on 2 nights, and for 4 nights, I would go to bed some time between 5.00 - 8.00 AM, and usually, there'd be one night when I'd stay up till morning, and slug it out the whole day without rest.

I really don't think you can say it's unhealthy. That "early to bed, early to rise" notion is old-skool rubbish lah. I've never been a 'morning person', and get as much done in a 'day' as anyone else even if I start my day at three in the afternoon. When I was in school, I studied better at night. When I was in art school, I did all my art work only after midnight.

Fluorescent flat caffeine lights

Perhaps it's the stillness of the night that is soothing. No phone calls. No usual daytime disturbances, interruptions or distractions. It's just you, facing what lies in front of you, knowing that while the rest of the world slept, you were creating something that they would wake up to.

I'll squeeze into heaven and valentine
My bed is pulling me
Gravity

And after your work is done, you can sleep soundly while the world wakes up to too much noise, too much information, too many crowded streets, too many restless people.

So please, don't call me a lady of leisure, don't call me a taitai, don't call me a bum, and most of all, don't call me in the morning if you can help it.

In between jobs

2008-10-08T08:25:00.005+08:00

After I left Singapore Airlines and before leaving some of my other jobs, I attended several interviews for positions at quite a number of places. Most of the time, these were for Graphic Design or Marcomm posts, but I also applied for Customer Service positions and a few other generic jobs.

I usually ‘feel my way around’ at the start of an interview first to decide right away if I’m interested or not. Usually, it’s the initial ‘connection’ with the interviewer. Is he/she gonna be the person I’m working under? Does he/she seem pleasant enough? Is he/she faking it?

The longer the interviewer puts up a front, the longer I do too. If he/she seems genuine from the start, then so am I, and we see if we can connect. If I don’t like what I ‘feel’ from the start, then I usually just switch off and let the interviewer carry on as I decide what I’d like to have for lunch or wonder what’s on TV later.

Some interviewers act all bossy and strict, as if to come across as being professional and to test if an interviewee can handle the pressure. I think it’s stupid, cos if that’s really the plan, then that means he/she isn’t a boss, but just wants to BE the boss of you. That means he/she usually just bullies employees into getting things done.

I always believe that people should work for someone out of respect, not fear. Why be a leader commanding an army of men who fear you, when you can be a leader who commands people who RESPECT you. Bullies are just pricks with no balls.

Then there are the worthless half-wits who probably saw “Flight Attendant” on my resume and thought they’d call me in for an interview just for the heck of it. They don’t bother looking at portfolios or asking about graphic software proficiency. NOOOO… They just want some eye candy, hope that I’ll turn up in a skin tight kebaya with a slit that runs right up my thigh and maybe even luck out with a lap dance after some coffee and tea. #%*!@ morons! And they always, ALWAYS ask the same thing. “Waaaah, so you were a stewardess ha? Must be very glamorous ah. Why you quit?”

There was this guy who said I didn’t LOOK like a designer. There was this other guy who said my work wasn’t any good. There was this dude who said that all staff were ‘advised’ to spend every Friday night getting wasted together at a club as part of their office ‘teambuilding’ effort. And then there was The Butch.

Yeah, the scary butch whose desk was a chaotic clutter of papers, files and stacks of gold 555 cigarette boxes. She sat with her legs so wide apart as if she had more between them than any man, mammoth or bull had. I guess what’s worse than a bully with no balls is a butch bully with too much.

Before I joined the wine company, I actually worked at this one place in Singapore for just two days. It was a Customer Service position in a small outdoor-advertising company, located in the ‘ulu-ktulu’ Kaki Bukit industrial area. I insisted that I did not want to be a designer in their Graphics department, and the director was quite happy to hire me as Customer Service cum personal assistant. The pay was good, and throughout the interview, she discussed how I could “glow” with the company.

The only problem was the company was tiny. The office staff were made up of ONE admin/office manager, ONE accounts person, and me. There was another director, a few sales people and a small team of graphics people I never met since I got out of there while the ice was still intact.

The office manager was a married, but very effeminate middle-aged man. He was ol’skool. I mean, the typical chinaman-stingy-as-hell ol’ skool sort. My first day at work, he passed me a form, on which I had to sign a confirmation that I had received ONE blue ballpen, ONE pencil (no sharpener), ONE half-used eraser, ONE stapler, ONE row of staples, and get this, ONE paperclip. I had just come from “The Club”, where Jacky the supplies guy allowed us as many pens as our hearts’ desired and paperclips came by the box. But here, I had only ONE clip... One clip to bind them all... My precious...

The first half of the day was spent in ‘shock treatment’ orientation, with the stingy sissy showing me around the tiny office. Only He held a ‘special pass’ for the photocopier machine, and there was just ONE computer in the office, which also had ‘exclusive’ internet access, to which only He held the password.

If I needed to photocopy something, he’d have to approve it first and then reluctantly tap his ‘special pass’ at the copier. If I wanted to print something from the internet, he’d take a look at it, and say that we shouldn’t waste ink and paper. So I’d have to copy EVERYTHING down on an old piece of recycled office stationery with my ONE blue ballpoint pen.

The next segment of Shock Therapy was Filing 101. This old man probably never stepped into a Popular Bookstore before. It wasn’t as if the company was those “Go Green” sort. Plastic L-shaped folders and file dividers were unheard of here. Instead, I was instructed to cut up leftover scraps of glossy art paper and card stock from rejected colour proofs, to form makeshift L-shaped folders and file dividers, joined flimsily with sticky tape (I had to ‘borrow’ the cutting tools and sticky tape from the manager of course).

The final part of Shock Therapy was Literal Shock Treatment. This happened each time I went to the toilet. Switch on the toilet light – ELECTRIC SHOCK. Switch off the light – ELECTRIC SHOCK again. I could actually see sparks fly out of the light switch as the live current ran from my poor forefinger right to the nerves around my funny bone. I think it even tickled my armpits a little.

The office was also quiet, VERY quiet. No radio. No chit chat. No mad typing on keyboards or mouse clicks since there was just that ONE very special computer in the office. So I sat there at my empty desk, with my newly made paper files and MY PRECIOUS pen and paperclip, hoping I didn’t have to pee again, and praying I wouldn’t let out a sneeze, squeak or fart that would break the already awkward silence.

That night at home, I kept telling myself, “You need this job. You need the money. You need this job…”

So the next morning, I actually went back for more. I really can’t remember how I got through this second day. I think the director gave me an assignment, and I had to look up companies in the directory, make cold calls, make follow-up calls, and contact event companies for quotes for a joint-pitch for this really big job that I knew this place couldn’t handle.

I also went to the back of the office to grab more scraps of art card, and lo and behold! The ‘HUGEST’ grandfather cockroach ever! Shock therapy complete. I called in sick the next day, gave some bullshit story the day after, and never showed up again.

It really sucks to be in the ‘in between jobs’ stage. You’re either desperate to leave your current job, or desperate to get a job cos you already left your previous job because it reached a point where you said, Enough is enough! But being and feeling desperate sucks. Being piss broke sucks even more. Being desperate, piss broke, AND in debt sucks the worst. To make matters worse, you go for interviews where people try to bully you or tell you you’re not good enough. You get so desperate you actually take on jobs that you know in your gut isn’t right for you. Trust me, I know.

It’s not really a proud “been there, done that” moment. But it’s an experience that you will go through, a hardship that you WILL overcome, so that you can give others who are in the same boat Hope, because you survived.

There may not be fairytale endings, but clouds do have silver linings. Bet your bottom dollar, the sun DOES come up tomorrow. And believe it or not, miracles do happen. So hang in there, cos it might just be a day away.

Where everybody knows your name

2008-10-07T22:46:00.009+08:00

Since I’m not working, I have all the time in the world to do nothing much, except look back and laugh at myself or others. As I’ve already started on the subject of work, I’ll write a post each for places I’ve worked at in the past.

After my one year at “The Club”, I worked at a wine and spirits company in Singapore. Like the job before, my title at the company was always vague. Sometimes referred to as the Graphic Designer, sometimes Marcomm Assistant or Executive.

My job was simple enough. In-house designing for the company brand, such as logo re-design, magazine & press ads, website design, signage and displays, packaging, and mainly point-of-sale design collateral for the company’s customers, like tent cards, wine menus & posters for restaurants, pubs, hotels, etc.

It was at this company that I learnt to leave work on time. Not because I was finally good at time management, but because almost everyone left on time. It was a small company of about 24 staff back then, and the office was located in a building in the Tampines industrial zone.

A hired bus shuttled employees at this ‘ulu’ building to and from Tampines bus interchange in the mornings and evenings, so every evening, at exactly 6pm, everyone would hurry down to catch the bus at 6.15. If u missed this bus, you’d have to walk quite a distance through this dark and quiet industrial area to the nearest public bus stop.

You can’t help but want to leave with everyone else because by 5.55pm, the ladies would start packing their little handbags, shutting down their computers, tidying up their desks and counting down the seconds. Some would even make calls to each other to find out if the other party was all set to go. Like, “Oy So-and-So, u ready oredi? Ok see u”, or “Ay So-and-So, five-fifty-five oredi… balik loh”.

They HAD to get home on time each day to watch the latest episode of the current Chinese drama series on TV. (And of course the next morning there would be the usual discussion of the drama that took place on TV screens across Singapore, over breakfast).

So most evenings, I actually left work at six-pee-am on the dot. This was cool, although it was a bit of a culture shock cos I was so used to reaching home when it was already dark, so some evenings I’d simply jalan-jalan around Tampines Mall or someplace for a few hours till it felt more ‘normal’ to go home.

Because I finally had free evenings, I decided to take my Higher Diploma in Mass Comm as a part-time course, attending classes about 3 times a week after work. This was the start of introduction into the typical Singapore work-culture – working full-time and constantly studying part-time to attain something ‘higher’ – a diploma, a cert, a degree, or whatever we presumed we needed to give us “added value”. But taking this Mass Comm course was a good thing, even if not to “add value”, I was reading and writing again, something I’d hardly done since I left school.

It was crazy though. Reading stacks and stacks of books, writing stacks and stacks of papers within almost-impossible timelines. After living in Singapore for almost 5 years, I finally stepped into a library… and I was hooked. I had a premium membership which allowed me to borrow 8 books at a time. Most were for reference from the extensive list of books we were advised to read. And later, after I graduated, I’d still borrow loads of other books – design & photography stuff, food & cooking, nature & the environment, early childhood education & natural history. I guess I behaved at a library like how some behave at an all-you-can-eat buffet, grabbing as much as I could carry even if I knew I couldn’t consume it all.

Anyway, back to work. Of course there were nights when I did have to work till 10/11pm. Khim and Janet worked till really late very often too. It was quite scary if you were the only one left, because all the lights in the building and other offices would be out and you'd literally have to feel your way along the pitch black corridor towards the lift. I seriously can't imagine what I'd have done if I suddenly felt or heard something other than the usual empty space ahead of me one of those nights.

My messy workspace

In the office, most of us sat within earshot of each other, except for the Accounts department and the directors' rooms. Khim and I worked directly under Flora, the Sales & Marketing Manager, and we got along really well. It was impossible for me to not get along with Ida, cos we had the same shared love for non-stop snacking and idle chit-chat.

More of my messy workspace. This was also where anyone could leave snacks n goodies, so my workspace was also where everyone (even The Boss) came to binge.

Karen was a lot tamer than the rest of us, but there were times when she would really flare up if The Boss or the sales people pissed her off. She and Sabrina (the Accounts girl for our ‘sister’ or ‘mother’ company) lived in Pasir Ris too, and there was a time when they actually convinced me to join them at the Community Centre for Aerobics class.

Larry is the sweetest and most patient guy we know, and he never, EVER loses his cool. He sat to my left, and in front of Ida, and I still have no idea how he could tahan the two of us chatting non-stop from 9 to 6.

James, The Boss's uncle (and brother to one of the richest men in Singapore) sat behind me. He's a really humble and friendly guy, and never really bothered anyone about work much. It was all about his wine cabinets for him, so as long as you helped him design pamphlets and ads, or fax this and that, he was happy. He would ta-pau really really good food for us all the time, like the best ‘chye-tau-kuei’ (raddish cake) in Singapore, the best curry puffs in Singapore, the best pies in Singapore… it always had to be from the best stalls/shops.

James used to ‘cover’ for me a lot too. You know how, the people who live closest to the office are always the latest to get to work? Khim lives in Jurong and Ida lives in Commonwealth but they’re at work by 9 each morning. I live in Pasir Ris and the office is about 20-mins away by bus, but I was always late. Sometimes 9.15, sometimes 9.30… sometimes even close to 10! The Boss would come in at around 9.45, and some mornings he’d be unusually early, or I’d be exceptionally late.

This was the usual ‘Bernie’s-Late-For-Work-Again Cover Up' :

I’d SMS Khim to let her know
She’d switch my computer on and inform the rest that ‘operation cover-up’ was in action
The boss would walk-in, pass my desk, notice me missing and look at Ida or James for an explanation
Ida would point in the direction of the toilet and say “Stomach ache” or James would point upwards to signal I was on the roof (I would usually go to the roof for a ‘breather’ or to work with spray-mount for posters or spray-lacquering cards)
I’d finally arrive at the office and leave my bag with the building’s receptionist, then cool-ly walk into the office as if I’d been there since 9, knock on the boss’ door and say, “You were looking for me?”

This was the super cool thing about working in a small company where everyone was like one happy family, and everyone shared the same dislike for authority, or “The Boss”… even the boss’s uncle!

Khim and I

Ivy, Nick, Trovan and Joel were in Sales. Ivy was loud, brash, quite vulgar, but the best in her field. Nick was a lot more reserved. Trovan and Joel were the younger guys, and Joel was the messed up shortstuff with the scary girlfriend I mentioned in an earlier post. Ida would refer to him as 'cicak kering' (skinny/dried lizard) cos he'd slink into work each morning, sneak up to my desk, and try out his 'Line of the Day' on me.

I remember one time, he approached my desk with a copy of the New Paper and said, "Miss Chi-i-i-n... We should go for this together?" It was a small advert in the papers, calling for contestants for Mr & Ms Chinatown!!

With Ivy, Karen, Ida, Larry and Khim

We were allowed to have the radio playing during work, and Ida would sing or hum along to songs most of the time, even if she didn't know the lyrics or the tune. "Under Pressure" was Khim's song, since she was always stressed out especially when The Boss wanted this or that changed for the millionth time. James would always make fun of names of callers or company names, like "LL" or "LJ".

If we ever had to take the crowded MRT heading West from Tampines after work, we were always assured an entire row of seats with the expert gestures of Ida, our official 'MRT Seat Blocker'. She'd target an empty row as the train slows to a halt, brisk-walk in, take the seat in the centre of the row, spread her arms out like a mother hen, then call out to us, "Ah, come, come!". No one else would dare take these seats, and embarrassed but giggling like schoolgirls, we'd sit and chat all the way to City Hall and beyond.

2006 Reunion with Karen, Khim and Ida

Now the oddest thing about me working in a wine company is that I don’t drink. I used to get really bad allergies if I drank the slightest bit of alcohol. Less than half a glass of beer or wine and a rash would appear on my arms within an hour, spread all over my body, and stay for a day. Long Island Tea or Tequila shots would hit me within 20 minutes and the rash would stay for about 2 days. And nothing helped – anti-histamines, jabs, calamine lotion, scratching till my skin was red and bare…

So you could say I missed out on all the ‘fun’ when we had wine dinners, wine tasting sessions, wine training for staff, and the occasional special lunch when managers or directors brought us out to celebrate someone’s birthday, farewell, promotion, Chinese New Year or just cause.

Everyone's birthday was an excuse to have cake and lunch treats.

I must especially mention Derek, one of the directors. He's what I'd call the hardcore wine guy, with a personal cellar full of dusty old bottles plastered with labels like Lafite, Petrus and the likes. He brought us out for 'power lunches' at nice restaurants - lunches that would stretch past 2 hours, pissing of our boss. 'The Boss' couldn't do much cos he was the young MD, whereas Derek was old-skool.

There was only one place to have lunch nearby - a sort of 'kopitiam' catering to the offices and factories within this industrial area. So quite often we had to rely on Larry to bring us to other coffee shops or food courts in Tampines cos he was the only one among us 'regulars' who had a car. Flora and the sales people brought us out for lunch quite often too, if they were around.

A group of people from very different backgrounds, all brought together by a similar interest, investment or just plain love for good food and fine wines, we were a small and happy family, for some time. Then, as usual, Change came along, this time by its other dreaded name, Restructuring.

People weren’t happy, and bit by bit the cookie crumbled. Ida and Karen left. I left. Khim & Flora left. Someone from Accounts ‘disappeared’. A few from Sales decided to sell something else. And as usual, just a handful stayed and survived, even till now. Though scattered all over the place now, we still try to meet up once a year, like a family at Chinese New Year reunion dinners.

2008 Reunion with Larry, Khim, Sabrina, Karen, Ida and Janet

I guess, one cool thing about job-hopping is that you (usually) make happy families along the way. The places you work may just be stepping stones, but sometimes, you form a bond with the people you meet on this never-ending road trip, and they will always be as much a member of your extended family as any uncle, aunt, ‘tai lo’ or ‘mui-mui’.

Should I stay or should I go?

2008-10-02T19:11:00.008+08:00

I was kinda bored the other day and decided to visit the website of a social/recreational club I worked at 6/7 years ago. I like to do this sometimes. Y’know, see how previous employers are doing without me. See if they’re still using any of my designs or photos, or to note how crappy their current design/photos are and convince myself I’m better off without them!

What I saw on this club’s website puzzled me a little. Some of the staff who were there when I was there, are still here after all these years. And they were there years before I was there too. The odd thing is, this is a rather small place, with hardly any room for growth. If you were a manager here 8 years ago, you’d still be in the same position after all these years. And so they still are – department manager, assistant to the same manager, executive in the same department, with the same day-to-day job, seeing almost the same members doing the same activities, day after day.

I remember when I first joined this establishment, I took over the design and publications job from the PR & Publications Executive, Veron, who was leaving. She warned me that I’d have to work closely with one of the club members, who had generously agreed to offer his two cents' worth as Editor for the club’s monthly magazine. He was said to be a mean and nasty fellow, hard to work with, strong-minded, hard to please, and what not. I was advised to always order him a beer during our meetings, to keep him in good spirits. Let’s call him Mr X.

A few days into this job, I had my first one-to-one meeting with Mr X one night. It was almost impossible to maintain working hours of 9-to-6 (or the alternative 11-to-8 shift) at this place. My Mom used to say she thought this place was “illegal” and "very suspect" cos I’d come home at 11pm on most nights, and way past midnight on other nights, and even work on Saturdays and some Sundays.

So anyway, I ordered a beer for Mr X as so strongly advised, and he decided he’d like to have some satay and tahu goreng with his beer. This shocked everyone the next day, cos they said he never eats.

We didn’t discuss the magazine much, and I guess he was just trying to be nice since it was our first meeting. He was really excited when he found out I was from Malaysia, and the rest of our meeting revolved around stories of his adventures living and working in Malaysia many years ago.

After a few more one-to-one meetings and other PR and Publications meetings with the other member-advisors, I discovered that he could get rather bratty and annoying at times lah. I can’t remember if he ever made me cry. Must ask Shorbs this...

Yes, this is where I met Shorbani. She was 1 month (or 3 months?) into her job here as PR Executive when I joined, and we hit it off almost right from the start. ‘Almost’ because I used to be alienated from the rest of the PR team, with a little cubicle sandwiched between Alice, the GM’s secretary, and an empty cubicle which was used in the afternoons by Mr Yeo, a very friendly and likeable old man who worked sort of part-time, running errands for the office and doing little jobs like pasting stamps on envelopes.

He used to ta-pau lots of snacks n goodies for all the girls in the office too. I even remember one time when a cellphone company was giving out free helium-filled handphone-shaped balloons at City Hall MRT and he went around collecting them for anyone who wanted one.

Working in a tiny cubicle can drive one a little insane.

Our first PR Manager was Anna-Marie, and we got along really well during my interview for this job. Unfortunately she didn’t inform me that she was leaving, and left a few days after I joined the team. That left the PR department with just Shorbani, myself, and another PR Exec Esther, who was the most ‘senior’ in this tiny ‘department’.

Attending the Annual Staff Party the very first week I arrived;
Anna-Marie n Esther on the right.

Esther was an ok girl. She got along well with most of the members, knew how to work her way around them (that’s what PR is right?), and very popular with a few gross guys from the Sports department.

She wore A LOT of make-up. I wonder how she found the time each morning to paste those nasty little sticker-tape-thingies that gives a typical Chinese girl instant double-eyelids, and plaster on layers of electric-blue mascara. I remember she came in to work one day wearing the biggest sunglasses I had ever seen, and left them on the entire day, cos she whined about how she didn’t have time to do her make-up that day! But anyway, she really was a nice girl, and gave me lots of tips and pointers along the way.

I think it must be from my days at this place that I learnt what a big difference a short skirt and some make-up makes. I don’t mean it goes “a long way” as in doing kinky, slutty stuff. I just mean, guys can be such suckers!

Connie & Corinna are still working here, and I sometimes bump into Zul in Bedok.

They never promoted Esther to PR Manager, and only after a while, hired a new PR Manager (let’s call her Ms X). Esther left soon after, joining her buddy Veron. So I got to take over Esther’s desk in the “PR Room”, sitting right behind Shorbs.

We chatted A LOT. We chatted non-stop. We chatted so much Ms X would come out of her office (the door to her office was just two-feet from Shorbs’ desk) and say something sarcastic like, “Wah, you guys really talk a lot huh”. She never bothered to realize that even with the non-stop chatter, Shorbs would always be constantly typing and I would (most of the time) be clicking the mouse all the way to rodent-heaven.

With Esther gone, I had to take over the Tombola activities. Tombola (Bingo) nights were held on the first Wednesday of each month if I remember correctly. The “tombola guy” was this fella Jeya, who was always almost impossible to contact, and sometimes he’d forget and not turn up, and we’d have to conduct the session on our own. “Kucing berlari, 2-3 cat, run run run, twenty-three” --- “Lucky number eight” --- “Upside down, 6 and 9, sixty-nine”......

The only fun part about organizing Tombola was shopping for prizes and door gifts. With a very limited budget, Shorbs and I would go to Marina Square and shop for cheapo door gifts from the 1.99 store and spend a considerable waste of office time wrapping all the gifts.

Shorbs blames me for getting her addicted to coffee. Actually, many people I’ve spent a relevant amount of time with blame me for making them coffee addicts. I’d offer to make her a cup of coffee each time I made one, and soon, she was so hooked on coffee that sometimes she had to ask me to make her some coffee even when I wasn’t having any. I was like her personal 'drug-pusher'.

There’s something about instant Nescafe, sugar and loads of Coffeemate in those styrofoam cups that’s just special! It never tastes/feels the same even if I make it at home in a mug.

Shorbs and I were also partners-in-crime. Sometimes when I got my usual killer cramps, I’d pop some painkillers and curl up on the carpeted floor under my desk till the pain subsided, and she’d keep guard and make sure I didn’t get caught. As Forrest Gump would say, we was like peas and carrots.

Staff trip to Bintan.
Here we look like Siamese twins joined by one skinny arm.

We were really bad at time management, and this saw us working till midnight very often, and bringing work home too. The trouble was that we’d work till around 10pm, and be too lazy to take the train home by then. So we’d stay on till midnight or 1am to take the free staff transport home.

I remember Hamid, one of the duty managers who’d been working at the club for donkey years. Everyone loved Hamid, including the club members. Some nights he’d drop in and say in his deep pak-cik tone, “Girls… aren’t you going home?”

Soon, Raena joined the PR team, and was made to sit at a tiny cubicle just outside the PR Room. Unfortunately for her, this cubicle was also right at the front of the whole Club management office, almost right in front of the door. So she’d get people coming in, thinking she was the receptionist or office girl, asking her for directions, or to sign and accept deliveries.

Like Esther, Raena was soon a target for the lecherous and desperate guys from the Sports department (except for Mr Pau-yau-yee - he’s a sweet guy). Luckily, unlike Esther, she never wore short tight skirts or enough make-up to sink the Titanic (or a certain President’s jade boat), and the guys soon realized she wasn’t one to mess with.

The people in the Sports dept were really nice except for one very obnoxious fella. Let's call him Mr Mess-with-the-best-Die-like-the-rest, cos that's what he printed on all his files. He had a red tan and looked like a baked lobster in the smallest skin-tight shirts and even tighter pants. It was really an eyesore... too much butt on display if you ask me. He was a terrible flirt, and married!

We were glad to find out later that he finally did himself in. Apparently he had been sending lewd SMS-es to one of the girls, and she played along till she had enough 'data' to send to the cops. She charged him for sexual harassment, and he was sacked.

The Sports people probably avoided me like the plague though, cos I was always bugging them for photos and articles for the magazine, cos they never met deadlines. Merey, Kumar, Udaya and Andrew were really sweet people. There was Mr B who was nice, but also married and flirting with another girl. And then there was Mr P who was always interested in any new PR girl who came along. He was generally quite nice, but also pretty messed up. Poor fella. I hope he's alright wherever he is now.

By now, we also developed an addiction for Root Beer, and kept our stash of it in the teeny-tiny fridge at the back. We had to stock up on our own soft drinks cos the F&B guys were no longer allowed to give us free Coke. We’d still lepak at the Beer Garden some nights, drinking our own ice-cold root beer and complaining about Ms X, Mr X or other members or colleagues who got on our nerves.

Mr X and wife are actually nice folks; maybe just a little difficult to work with at times. There were other members who were genuinely nice too - Gilbert, Pauline, Gwen, Yvonne, Lawrence, Pandian... The gentlemen from Toastmasters seemed friendly too but I never had to work with them, so only Shorbs and Raena would know. And of course there were a few scary ones, like Mr & Mrs M from Bridge, and some of the dirty old men who usually drank themselves silly at B Lounge most nights.

The 3 of us at the Beer Garden with Shannon, the 'baby' of the team

Simon, the F&B manager at that time, was a gatal guy who used to work at Hooters. I remember I asked him once if one really needed big honkers to work at Hooters, cos I thought the pay there was so good. He told me to stick to my current job.

The F&B asst manager Ramesh was a really sweet guy who used to always give us free drinks before the new rule was implemented. And then there was Ayu, the F&B assistant who’s really loud and speaks REALLY fast. She was one crazy woman. She was quite a tomboy, and then she got married and would wear a tudung sometimes. Some of the other Malay colleagues were really bitchy and very critical of her, but she didn’t give a shit.

It used to be a real headache translating the Chef’s version of English into real English for the menus, which were updated every week. There were also two restaurants, a Japanese and a Chinese, which were let out to external parties. The manager at the Japanese restaurant, Ricky (also a bit gatal), used to give us good discounts if we dined there. The chawan mushi n fried udon here was yummy!

Andy, the manager at the Chinese restaurant, was a tall, good-looking (in a Tony Leung sort-of-way) guy from Hong Kong. Both these restaurants had standing contracts for advertisement space in the Club magazine, and Andy always wanted the most colourful, jang, ang-king-kong type of ad designed for him. Lots of red and other bright colours, lots of over-the-top effects, while still featuring almost every dimsum offering from the menu. There was a super special soup on the menu (the bowl covered with a puff pastry) that he let us try once, and it was exquisite!

We were allowed to makan at the staff canteen for free, and meals were usually cooked by the trainee or junior cooks. I remember one of the chefs named Freddie, a very friendly fella, but can’t remember who the other chef was. Usually there’d be rice and some dishes (like Chinese chup-fun style) and there would also be soup and dessert most days. Sometimes there’d be ‘specials’, like really good fish beehoon soup or pulut hitam.

Even though the free food was quite good, we ate out regularly too. We ate at Café Cartel a lot. If we walked to Marina Square to have lunch at Han’s, it would usually be with Karen, one of the HR girls. Karen & Lydia from HR were really sweet, and so were the girls from Accounts/Finance, whose cubicles were usually plastered with posters of Takeshi Kaneshiro and the boys from F4. Jacky was the stationery supplies guy and he was really nice too.

Being part of the PR dept meant that I was sometimes involved in the events and activities planned by the rest of the team, as well as some of the sporting events. Usually just to take photos, sometimes help with decorations or registration, or just to kaypoh about. Every month, the Dancesport Comm would have a themed dance night for the ballroom dancers and other members to dance the night away, all decked out according to the theme.

It was a real joke that no matter what theme, time, place, or music, the line-dancers (looked upon as not REAL dancers by the ballroom dudes) would find a space to do 'their thing'. I guess Wild Wild West night was their favourite, cos at least for once, they didn't look like sore thumbs in their cowboy hats and boots.

The 3 of us with Ms X on the left.

Christmas-time at the club was also a special time. The Maintenance guys pull out all the stops and decorate the club with enough lights to scare away the club at the other end of the field. A HUGE Christmas tree would go right in the middle of the lobby, and there'd be lots of Christmas parties to plan for the Kids' Club, the dance dudes and of course the Women's Wing, who every year without fail, would bring in the choir from the Eurasian Association.

Christmas Eve however was a nightmare. I wasn't allowed to apply for annual leave for Christmas so my family wasn't expecting me home. But I hoped to catch the last flight back to KL to surprise them. Everyone had left by noon as it was a half day holiday, but Ms X made be stay back till I finished some crap.

When I finally left the Club (at night!), it was impossible to get a cab. What with it being Christmas Eve, and standing right in the heart of the cab-unfriendly City Hall zone, plus, it was raining heavily! I remember I actually started crying as it dawned upon me that I might actually miss Christmas altogether. The sweet people at Front Desk were calling every cab company in the book, and Duty Managers were running up and down the street in the rain to get hold of a taxi for me. I finally managed to take the train to somewhere East-bound and made the flight.

My brother Andrew was really secretive about picking me up from the airport so my parents thought he was gonna pick up "a girl". We surprised them in Church halfway through Midnight Mass, and my parents were so happy cos it was the first time in more than 5 years that my whole family had been together cos we were all scattered across the globe since we were 20.

This Christmas was also the last time I saw my grandmother alive. I remember exactly, my dad saying, "You coming home this Christmas has made it the best Christmas for Mummy and I". And to think I could have missed all this because of work and Ms X. I will always remember her for this. For making me work, cry and lose hope on Christmas Eve.

Anyway, Raena, Shorbs and I were like the mad-trio from PR. We ganged up against Ms X cos she really was quite annoying. She wasn’t a bad person, just a bad manager. We used to make fun of the way she started every sentence with “Basically…”, and started every sentence to defend herself with “The thing is…”

I think she hated the fact that her office was like everyone's walk-in store and she couldn't feel like a big boss in a private office. Everything was stored in Ms X's office - files, files, files, a cabinet full of photos from every single event from as far back as photos existed (and the Club has been around since 1883, so that's a shitload of pics), vouchers, tickets, invites, cards, stickers, props, gifts, giftwrap, ribbons, balloons... It was like a mamak shop!

Anna-Marie didn't mind sharing this 'store-room' with us. And before Ms X, the place was practically ours. So when Ms X came on-board, she'd get so annoyed each time we walked in and out of her room, opening cupboards and cabinets, grabbing this and that.

She tried to do a major spring-clean by removing all the files from the cupboards and dumping them on us. We had hardly any space at our little desks, and Shorbs had a tiny rickety shelf that was falling apart. In the end most of the files were intentionally left haphazardly on the floor just to piss her off, cos now she had lots of empty space and 3 really mad girls to deal with.

She knew we disliked her, so this made things within our department awkward, unfriendly and just really fake. Shannon who was part of our ‘gang’ started siding Ms X more, so it really was always just us, the gila threesome, chincheongroy.

Raena's last night at the Club.

Then Raena left, and a month later, I left, and two weeks later, Shorbs left. Our days at the big brown block on The Padang were over. Now it’s finally safe enough to look back, remembering mainly the happy times, and wondering why there are still those who’ve stayed on for more than a decade.

I have actually always wished I could be like that. To find a simple job, be contented with a liveable and steady income, and just stay put forever. It’s not like I have big goals cos I always shy away from big positions and don’t mind staying at an Exec level forever. Art Director sounds too full of headaches and politics for me. Manager too. I wish I could just stay put in a happy workplace and not job-hop as much as I do. I’ve been working full-time since I was 19 and I’ve had 6 different employers from 1997-2006.

One of my former employers told me when I resigned, that the problem with people like me is I always expect more. Like say he gives me two dollars and I’m happy with it at first, but after a while, I want $2.50. Is it wrong to want more? Why can’t “people like me” be satisfied with 2 bucks? Or perhaps it’s because “people like me” get bored?

I really don’t think money is the deciding factor. I think I’ve always left a company because it stopped being a happy place. It didn’t become an unhappy place because of money. It stopped being happy because of CHANGE. Change in management, change in people, added politics, added drama, more work, same pay. So it’s not about having the same pay, but more work with added drama? Maybe.

It’s like you belong to a family, and home is a happy place. Then suddenly the head of the family is replaced with some new bugger. Or an annoying uncle or bitchy aunt is added to the happy home. Even worse when outsiders are added into the picture. The chickens are restless and they fly the coop.

It’s also not that I can’t accept change. After all, things change, people go their separate ways, life goes on, and so should you. We can’t just stay the same when all around us have changed or moved on, right?

Ok, so some people can. But “people like us” can’t.

I don’t think there’s a right or wrong, or if you’re better or worse if you stay or go. After all, I envy those who stay. Those who stay, the “people like them”, stick together in the comfort and familiarity of the same place, braving all the changes and drama that comes their way. “People like us”, leave and go our separate ways, but no matter where life takes us, we’re always “one” even when apart.

I guess it’s all about GROWTH. It doesn’t have to mean getting a bigger position or higher pay, but just taking that next step. Stepping out of the safe zone to find a happier place, or to build a new happy place. The crude way of putting it is, at the end of the day, it’s “people like us” who have the balls to take that next step, wherever it may lead us.

We leave the once-happy place behind, take the happy people with us, and once in a while look back without regret, and have the last laugh.

A Fishy Tale

2008-10-02T04:54:00.002+08:00

Talking about “many fish in the sea”, I remember that this was exactly what my Mom told me when I had my first ever “break-up”. She exclaimed as I sobbed through all the tears and snot, “There are so many fish in the sea! Why cry over this fella. And he’s so short! It’s not the end of the world! You can find a tall and handsome guy.” Hmpf… tall and handsome? That’s a whole other long story.

So this whole drama came about when I was 16. First boyfriend. First so-called (blinding) love. Of course, I kept this relationship a secret from my parents cos at 16 a girl is supposed to be studying hard for her O-Levels, not worrying about whether he loves me or loves me not.

It started out like all grossly-sweet puppy love romances lah. All the corny love letters and shit. But he really was quite a useless fella, then (I’m sure, or I hope he’s ok now). I even did all his homework for him, even Geography, which was a subject I wasn’t even taking that year. I’d scrape whatever savings I had to buy him stuff he liked, and he’d say things like, “Yang, next time you buy me a shirt, make sure the sleeves are longer.” Next time? Hah!

By the way, ‘Yang (short for Sayang) is the endearing term used to call each other in Malaysia, even if you’re not Malay. And in those days, fashion was ‘gangsta-rap’-inspired, so it was all about stuff like big n baggy t-shirts with huge pictures of dead rappers or Malcolm-X printed in the front, big n baggy berms, and chunky Caterpillar or Timberland boots.

After a few months, we saw less and less of each other, and I finally realized it was all crap when I ran away from home. I’m not proud to say it cos it was a horrible and harrowing experience for my parents. It all started because of a big misunderstanding with my Mom and I won’t go into details even though I still remember everything vividly.

I remember packing as much as I could into a gym bag, and even asked my grandfather for my bank savings passbook. Then I told my older brother that I was running away, and he cool-ly replied, “Orh” and went back to daydreaming. My younger brother however has always been like the protective bodyguard stand-up-for-what-is-right type. And so he stood in front of the door to stop me from going, and I said something really nasty to him and left through the back door.

I went to The Park – the small playground behind Nat’s house. After a while, I realized that Nat would be the first person my parents would hunt down once they discovered I was gone. So I took a cab (!!) to somewhere near my boyfriend’s house, bought a Fillet-o-Fish from a nearby Macs, and sat at another playground as night fell.

After a while, I noticed a cockroach scurrying towards the bench I was sitting on. Crap! And then, another ka-chuak. Crap crap!! And then another, and soon there were like half a dozen cockroaches approaching, probably sensing that there might be some leftover scraps of fish burger on me. Freaking big grandfather cockroaches that have the ability to fly and land on your neck, crawl into your clothes or get stuck in your hair! Aarrrrgh!!!

So I left, and called the useless boyfriend from a nearby payphone. I told him the whole story, and that I was at a public phone nearby. Instead of comforting me or coming out to meet me, he said, “Just go to Janet’s house. She’ll let you stay there”.

So I called Janet, a schoolmate of mine, went to her house and stayed the night. The next evening, I called home and spoke to my older brother, who tried his best to tell me in secret code that it was safe to come home (cos obviously my parents were right next to him, expecting and praying that I’d call). So he picked me up from Janet’s place, and after that it was just a big emotional drama at home. But it was from this experience that I was able to open up and talk to my Mom about the break-up later.

Anyway, I soon heard from our mutual friends that the useless boyfriend was doing the nasty-nasty with some girl from one of ‘em Ah-Lian schools. He denied it of course, and we broke up over the phone. And then stupidity, as it often does, got the better of me, and I thought, Maybe I was wrong to believe our friends and not him, the so-called love of my life?

So I went to his house to grovel n beg, and he shooed me away saying I betrayed him for not believing him, yada yada yada. I remember I just sat there bawling like an idiot outside his house, and his sister came out to “pau-toh” him, telling me that the Ah Lian skank was in their house at that moment, and that she had stayed the night!

Even though I did feel like it was the end of the world for a while, at least I had our mutual friends, and even his sister on my side. I remember I got his sis to take back the bloody expensive pair of ‘Cats’ I bought for him, and I sold it off to one of his friends! Muahaha!!

So even if there are many fish in the sea, it takes quite a while, and sometimes quite a lot of heartbreak to learn that it’s not the quantity that counts but the quality. So remember, never fill an empty space with just any ol’ fish. And never run away from the ones who love you most.

Why I'll never keep fish again

2008-10-01T19:00:00.007+08:00

When I lived in Singapore, I would sometimes buy little fish to keep in a little tank, just to add a little bit of life to a quiet and lonely flat.

I was never an avid 'fish-keeper' and never got into that whole 'louhan' or 'Nemo' craze. But I liked weird fishes, especially puffer fish, and that breed of goldfish that look like overstuffed fishballs floating dreamily in the water.

However, I now have this weird idea in my head that fish are scary little creatures that possess a kind of 'energy', or in this case I think ANTI-energy.

Some years ago, I came home from work one night and found that one of my puffer fish had died. A few minutes later, I got a call from home (family home in Malaysia), that my grandmother had passed away. Her passing affected me very badly. I actually suffered insomnia for 2 months, and it was the only time in my life I could drink Bailey's by the MUG, and still not fall asleep.

I still miss my grandmother terribly, and it still bugs me that I had not seen her for more than a year, and was going to see her in Malacca during Chinese New Year the next week, but she died just before. Her death made me do/think lots of stupid things. Like the feeling of regret that I was "old" and unmarried, never had a good enough boyfriend to introduce to her.

So I actually agreed to go out with this one guy at work, who had been asking me out for ages. I told you I did stupid things. It was just dinner with this dude, but next thing I know, his GIRLFRIEND calls me later that night to ask why I went out with him. Like, whoa... you can have your jerk-off back, there are plenty of other jerks in the sea. The worst part was when I asked this loser why he asked me out when he had a girlfriend, why all the sweet talk and flirty SMS-es. He turned against me, saying I got the wrong message and we're just friends.

There are many fish in the sea. One just died.

Then a couple of years after this whole drama, I was living in a different apartment, and had different fish (I can't remember what type). One morning before work, I woke up to find that two fish had kicked the bucket. Later that night, my cat leapt 11-storeys down from the apartment window, broke some bones, suffered internal injuries, and died a few hours later in a pet hospital, while I was out at a meeting.

So again, I only arrived when it was too late to say goodbye. Too late to apologize. Too late for one last hug and to say "I love you".

No insomnia this time around. Just pain. Just a heartache that never goes away, even till now. Sometimes when Ben's at work, the apartment feels empty, and for a second it gets lonely; I think of my cat, and feel the void that was left behind. But I'll never fill an empty space with a fish again.

It's Over!

2008-09-27T02:55:00.005+08:00

Water running from the COLD tap is hot, but not scald-yourself-pink-and-silly-scorching hot. So it's official. Summer's finally over in Dubai!

When The Smog Is Going Down

2008-09-19T13:38:00.004+08:00

Aiya... haze, haze, haze. Haze in KL, haze in Singapore, and most of all, haze in Dubai almost everyday throughout the whole bloody year.

On most days it's just blah and grey. But sometimes, it gets so bad that the dense dust particles in the air block out most of the light from the sun, leaving the whole world looking yellow.

THE WHOLE WORLD ISN'T SUPPOSED TO LOOK LIKE IT'S GOT JAUNDICE!!

Give me back my blue skies and clean air, please...

Pussycat, pussycat, where have you been?

2008-09-16T06:36:00.015+08:00

London, baby!
Home of Harry Potter and Queen! Not the Queen, (though yes, the Queen too…) but I mean, rock-your-socks-off-Freddy-Mercury-Queen...

Day One – London
We arrive in London really early in the morning, so we aren’t able to check-into our room till later in the day. Our first stop is Millennium Gloucester Hotel, to drop off a bag for my brother. Now that he’s on the A380 fleet, he probably flies to Sydney and London more often than anyone else I know. He was supposed to arrive in London the same day as us, but unfortunately his roster was changed, and he had a flight just before, and just after us.

So I leave him a bag of stuff to bring home for me, and he leaves me a bag of goodies with our ‘hotel’ reception, filled with stuff from home like ‘beh teh so’ (heong pneah), mooncakes, instant chrysanthemum tea, etc. I also asked him to pack in 2 cans of ‘Jia Jia liang teh’ for Ben, but he thought he was being kind enough to bring us 5 cans!

We have to drink all of them as quickly as possible cos it’s the start of our trip and already the weight of our haversacks are killing us.

Luckily our ‘hotel’ allows us to stow our bags at the reception before check-in time. So, although tired from a restless and uncomfortable 7-hour flight over, we head out to visit Buckingham Palace. The State Rooms are open for public viewing each summer, when the Queen is holidaying in Scotland. So we can’t really say we’ve been to London to visit the Queen.

We're amazed by the beauty and grandeur of the palace interiors. Absolutely breathtaking! Photography isn’t allowed in the palace, so, sorry, no pictures of the exquisite details of the famous paintings, porcelain and decor. For the first time ever and only this summer, a special tour is also held called ‘A State Banquet’. This features the setting of a state banquet in the ballroom when heads of state visit and dine with the Queen. Not very interesting though.

We weren’t expecting the weather to be too cold, but it is cold, and windy, and we’re shivering our underpants off as we walk through parts of the lovely gardens at the end of the tour.

It’s not yet noon and we’re starving. Our booking for lunch at Le Caprice is only at 2.30pm, so we walk about looking for a light snack. On the way, we pass this grand-looking but very odd ‘church’.

It says, "Cleanse the leper. Heal the sick. Raise the dead."

We decided on lunch at Le Caprice, a very popular restaurant in London, because it was recommended by an acquaintance of Ben’s.

Tired and hungry, I suggest we try to get an earlier seating as I read that they sometimes take in walk-in guests who can enjoy their meal at the bar. So we walk to the restaurant which is situated just behind The Ritz, and are greeted by the friendly managers who are already expecting Ben, the chef from the Burj Al Arab.

Immediately, they give us a place at the bar even though we’re two hours early, and welcome us with two complimentary glasses of champagne. Not a good idea to drink champagne when you’re this tired and hungry though. Really not a good idea.

Ben orders one of the daily specials for his starter, a fillet of mullet, which is filled with bones, lots of bones! He keeps asking me for tissues to spit blobs of half-chewed fish and bones into. Very disappointing. Luckily, he suggests that I order the Tortellini with sweetcorn & girolles since I like mushrooms, and I love it! So does he. It is really, really good. The flavour, the texture, just bloody good.

Then Ben notices that one of the guys seated next to us has ordered Eggs Benedict which looks really appetizing, and looks around to realise that almost every table has ordered it too. So he orders one, and it more than makes up for his first starter. The egg poached to perfection, the muffin toasted to a lightly crisp piece of heaven. Just DELISH!!

While seated at the bar, we are hugely entertained by watching a bartender with hands more skilled than David Beckham’s feet. He works so fast, we keep having to make double takes. Like first he’s brewing a cappuccino, then taking down a new order while clearing soiled cups and glasses and preparing a pot of tea and next thing we know, there’s already cocoa sprinkled on that darn cup of coffee. I almost suspect he has a wand hidden somewhere while he secretly utters magical incantations. Expecto cappuccino!

He prepares little pots of fresh peppermint tea so often that I decide to try some after our meal too. It’s refreshing and especially soothing since I have a bad headache from a very bad combination of lousy flight + lack of sleep + sightseeing overkill + champagne on an empty stomach.

After lunch, we make a super-quick stop at Oxford Street so Ben can see what the fuss is all about at this famous shopping area. Like an upsized, open-air Mega Mall, with huge-ass versions of H&M, Topshop and the biggest Apple Store ever!

Finally, we head back to our ‘hotel’. Inverted-coma-ed because we’ve never experienced a hotel stay like this before. Grandly named the ROYAL Norfolk Hotel, I chose it because of its very strategic location and the pictures of the room looked ok on the internet. I was also very happy that the manager allowed Andrew to leave a bag at the reception for us for 3 days.

So, as I was saying, I selected this place because it’s so close to Paddington station, which is where we’ll depart the next day for Maidenhead. It’s so close, you can even ‘experience’ the train every ten minutes. The railway tracks are just below, as pictured here. I don’t even have to zoom in on it, this is the exact view from our room on the 3rd floor.

The en-suite bathroom is so small, you get blue-blacked elbows just trying to brush your teeth. But at least, the room is clean, the bed is comfy, and no ghostly encounters or worst, cockroaches! We manage an uneasy afternoon nap with the persistent drone of construction works going on downstairs plus the frequent rattle and clatter of passing trains.

And of course, I no longer need to tell you all about our dinner at Ramsay’s that night. Except that we think we may be the only ‘regular Joes’ who’ve taken the tube and walked 15 minutes to one of the best restaurants in the world.

Complimentary breakfast the next morning is made up of soggy toast, very salty bacon, eggs and the smallest but toughest wieners in the world. ;p But it’s hearty and enough to fuel us on our onward journey.

Day Two – Maidenhead
After breakfast and checking out, we visit Harrod’s to look for the cheese that Ben enjoyed so much the night before. We’re not allowed to walk around Harrod’s carrying our two haversacks and large bag of goodies (plus a very heavy copy of Gordon Ramsay’s latest book, 3-star Chef). So we have to check it in at their Left Luggage Room, reluctantly parting with £9 - 3 pounds for each bag!

Harrod’s is so huge, it’s a good thing we only have time to browse the Food Halls cos we’re already lost on the first floor and can’t even find an exit. Like the Takashimaya basement multiplied by six, it’s food, food, food everywhere. Looks nice in pictures, but not that intriguing lah. And they don’t carry the elusive Plaisir au Chablis. Too bad.

We take the First Great Western to Maidenhead, and check into Ray Corner Guesthouse. The owners of the guesthouse, Sue & Graham, are very friendly. They’re very excited to hear that Ben’s a chef, and tell us about what they know about The Fat Duck, peppered with a bit of local gossip here and there.

The room is clean and very well maintained. Again, we have a window overlooking the main road outside. Most small hotels and guesthouses here do not have air-conditioning because it’s cold most of the time, and even their summers aren’t that warm. So we have to leave the windows open for some form of ventilation, which means being disturbed by the sound of passing cars, buses, people, dogs…

Before this trip, I read a lot about the Thames Path that stretches 180 miles along the River Thames, passing interesting places like Windsor, and small towns like Maidenhead and Bray. The guesthouse is within walking distance from this path, and I had planned to walk to the nearby village of Cookham to admire the ‘countryside’ and scenes of farms, cottages, etc.

This afternoon, I suggest we walk to Boulter’s Lock, and maybe visit Ray Mill Island there, which I read is a lovely nature spot with wild ducks and guinea pigs. Again, I guess I’ve been fooled by pictures on the net, cos nothing seems remotely ‘countryside’ about the views along this part of the Thames. Perhaps it may be so closer to Cookham, but we don’t have the energy to find out. We stop at a small café for coffee and Fish n Chips.

Again, I’ve already described dinner at The Fat Duck, plus lunch at The Waterside Inn the next day.

Day Three – Bray
After lunch at The Waterside Inn, I decide it’s not worth the money to take a cab back to Maidenhead, and then take a cab back here again for dinner, and then a cab back again. There also isn’t enough time to travel to and do a bit of sightseeing in Windsor, which is about 15 minutes away by taxi. So we make the very unwise choice of staying in Bray till it’s time for dinner at The Hinds Head at 7pm.

Bray is a one-street village. No kampung-style cottages lah, but their High Street (usually the main street in any town), pictured above, stretches for just about 250 metres. There are nice homes and cottages just beyond this street, and we go looking for the church that looks like a part of a castle from a distance.

St Michael’s church was built in 1293. Like most super-old village churches, its grounds are dotted with really old gravestones of loved ones past. We try to sneak a peek inside, but come to a locked door, from which I manage peer into its interior.

Apparently this church has a number of ancient sculptures, including a Sheela na Gig. [A Sheela-what?!! Read about this very interesting artefact here]

The Jesus Hospital is an almshouse, founded in 1609 by William Goddard (whose full-sized effigy stands over the entrance) to house 34 of the aged poor of Bray and 6 of the ‘Worshipful Company of Fishmongers’ to which he belonged. [Ref: Wikipedia]

We search for Heston Blumenthal’s lab/kitchen, like two clueless souls on a ‘Da Vinci Code’ trail. After walking up and down the High Street till the people at TFD think we’re stalkers, we’re so bored and finally sit on a bench at an open field nearby, waiting for time to pass.

The next day, Sue tells us that HB’s kitchen/lab is actually at the carpark just across from his restaurant because the locals won’t allow him to extend the kitchen at his restaurant!

We suspect Bray may also be home to some hobbits.

Bored and as dull as beer-without-hops, we go to The Hinds Head an-hour-and-a-half before our dinner booking, and Ben enjoys a nice pint of Fosters in the pub. We hope to see HB popping in for a pint so that Ben can pick his brain, but remember that the waitress told us the night before that he’s travelling for some new stint.

Dinner is worth the wait! Ben describes it in his blog post here.
To view all the photos taken in Maidenhead and Bray, click this.

Day Four – Maidenhead-London-Dubai
Our last day here. When checking out, Sue and Graham chat with us for a while. It’s funny how Sue fondly says “Heston’s just a pussycat”. She was comparing him to Ramsay of course, telling us about how there was a chef who used to work at Ramsay’s, who then came to work at TFD, and he’s the only chef who’s ever quit The Fat Duck, probably cos he’s just too used to being screamed at at his former kitchen.

There’s a bus stop conveniently located at the doorstep of the guest house, from which we take a bus to Heathrow. We go to the airport first so that I can do the online check-in and we also leave our bags at Left Luggage, this time for £6.50 per piece! Our flight is only later in the evening, so we have the whole afternoon to walk about London.

We head straight for Portobello Road Market because there’s a special bookstore here called Books For Cooks. It’s a Saturday, and the area is crowded with hundreds of stalls, selling everything, from souvenirs to army paraphernalia, fresh fruit & veggies to vintage toys.

Unfortunately, we didn’t know that the bookstore closes in August. I'm more disappointed than Ben is, probably cos I felt this was the objective of visiting the market in the first place, whereas he was enjoying the atmosphere of this bustling place.

Dejected, we take the train from Notting Hill Gate to High Street Kensington, hoping that the WH Smith store here might carry a wide range of food-related books. They don't, but we pop by the park at Kensington Palace just so Ben can have a look-see. We pass Stick n Bowl restaurant, and I tell Ben about remembering how some SQ crew just can’t let a day pass without eating Chinese food, no matter where in the world they are, no matter how lousy the food is.

We hope to get some really good fish n chips before leaving London. With the flu getting the better of me by this day, it seems luck really isn’t on our side today, until we find an Italian restaurant that has a Fish n Chips Special displayed outside.

Seated next to an old lady, we place our orders for F&C. The old lady turns to me, points at Ben’s t-shirt, and says, “I believe I have that same exact t-shirt”. (Ben thinks that people must like my round funny-face cos strangers always approach me.) I tell her that it just might be the same cos it's from Topshop. We chat a bit more, and I ask her where we can get really good F&C here. She says we’re at the right place, and I suspect she’s just being a nice, old lady.

She’s right though! The fish n chips here is great. Really light n crisp batter, tender fish. As she gets up to leave, the little old lady bids us goodbye, wishes us a safe journey and says, “God bless you”. So sweet.

View all the photos taken in London here.

When we’re at the airport waiting for our flight back to Dubai, I get a bag-full of meds for my flu from Boots, and finally get my hands on a copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

Overall, our holiday was superb! We were blessed with good weather – cold the first two days, warm and muggy the next two, but at least no rain! The full effects of the flu only hit me the last day, so at least I could taste all the amazing food we had.

Apart from a closed bookstore and ‘overly-strategic’ rooms, everything went great and as planned. With the magical dining experiences and enchanted places we visited, I can gladly say, mischief managed! :o)

Old Skool Glam

2008-09-13T11:22:00.004+08:00

Through the Rain, by Cinderella
I know it's hard
In a world gone bad
To find the truth
To understand
And I know it's hard
To turn the page
To walk the line
To have the faith

I know it's hard
In a world so cold
To feel the love
I know it's hard
And I know it's true
That in the end
We all find our way
And that's life my friend

But sometimes when it's light
And you can't see
Sometimes when this world
Just seems to be so cold
Sometimes when you're lost at sea
Drowning in your pain
Sometimes the sun shines through the rain

He Says, She Says

2008-09-12T21:16:00.031+08:00

Benjamin and I made a trip to London recently; a holiday unlike any other, dedicated to food, glorious food! Ben has already posted his blog about our 3-day dining extravaganza on his website. For his version, click here. And for all the photos, click here.

This is my side of the story – a somewhat mak nenek, unprofessional version of the binge fest that took place.

Let’s get the facts right first. I’ll accept that the holiday was a birthday ‘gift’ for me, although it didn’t start out so… but I’ll just leave it as that. The focus of the trip was to makan at The Fat Duck, but I’m not the sort who knows her kappa from her carrageenan. So the whole dining portion of the holiday is what I’ll call Ben’s “search for (dining) perfection”.

Getting a table at The Fat Duck was the tricky part. Bookings are not accepted earlier than 2 months before a reservation date, and the phone lines are busy the minute the clock strikes 9 every morning in Britain.

On a day exactly 2 months before our preferred date, I made more than a dozen calls to TFD – one call every 10-15 mins till I finally got through about 3 hours later. At the same time, I had to have the British Airways online ticket booking webpage at the ready, so I could have a few dates to play around with. At least 5 of the dates I asked for were already fully booked by the time I got through to the restaurant. But I finally got a date for dinner that was ok, and we were good to go!

Imagine that – booking dinner at a restaurant almost 3,500 miles away even before booking our flight there. Growing up in Petaling Jaya, the furthest my family and I have travelled just for good food was probably the 50-min drive to Klang for bakuteh or a little further for seafood. So anyway, with our table at TFD set, I could finally book our flight, accommodation, and plan the itinerary. Now this is where that one fat duck multiplied into one grossly obese animal! Sebab nila se-itik…

There's a Malay saying that goes, "Sebab nila setitik, rosak susu sebelanga"
which is like the English "One bad apple spoils the bunch"

Like, since we’re gonna be in Bray, we might as well have lunch at another 3-Michelin-starred restaurant, The Waterside Inn. And since we’ll be in London first, let’s pick just one really good restaurant too. So we decided on Gordon Ramsay’s at Royal Hospital Road.

Our first 3-star dining experience was at the latter. And it was bloody amazing! After dining here, I don’t think I’d ever need to “search for perfection” anywhere else. Perhaps I’m just a ‘sua koo’, like a beggar who can’t choose. But nah… this is it! Absolute perfection!

I usually dread the idea of dining at a fine and expensive establishment. Firstly, kena pakai cantik-cantik, and then, kena act all proper and posh-nosh. Then be surrounded by uppity diners and served by snotty wait staff with put-on accents and plastic smiles. Ugh!

But NO, not here! I’m not saying the service staff here were like all lepak and bo chap lah. They were extremely professional, carried themselves very well, were confident, eloquent and just oozed charm like a diabetic with a nose bleed. They didn’t allow this confidence to seem anything like arrogance, or to be exaggeratedly charming that it made you feel awkward. As Ben puts it, they were genuine. I did not spot even one tiny ‘jeling’ (cynical/derogative glance) from anyone.

We only managed to get this dinner booked for 10.15pm. When we arrived, we weren’t treated as though we were late, or as if we were the losers who couldn’t get an earlier booking. Instead, we were welcomed with such warmth and grace, with the maitre d’ leading us into the dining room like VIPs, saying “Ahh, yes, we ‘ave a special table ‘ere just for you”. I’m sure he says this to all diners who come through the door lah, but for me, it was like, Dude, you had me at hello…

The amuse bouche, especially the cornet, was so darn good, it was like, Dude, seriously?!! You had me at hello again!

Each course a foreplay to the next, it just got better and better. A soothing, sensual build up to the main course, which was ‘blow-your-effing-brains-out’ out of this world! To make things even more enjoyable, there Ben was, making little mmmms and ohhhhs and ahhhhs as he almost licked his plate clean of the main course, plus the dreamy, half-stoned look on his face during the cheese course.

We were so full by the time the dessert came, but the Tarte Tatin was so freaking awesome that we just couldn’t help but stuff our faces till we got cross-eyed. I told Ben that if I drool in my sleep from now on, it’ll be because I was dreaming of that remaining portion of the tart that I couldn’t finish.

And yes, Jean-Claude the maitre d’ presented me with this little ball of mango sorbet with a candle in it, and very softly sang (like it was our little secret), ‘appy birthday to you… ‘appy birthday to ze lady who’s birthday eez next week… ‘appy birthday to you…

I truly have never had a dining experience this perfect. From now on, every fine dining establishment I visit will be compared to this one. I admit I’m not some globe-trotting foodie or gourmand, but I dare say it will take many more years and many more meals to beat, or even come close to this. Sweet, savoury, sensual dreams, are made of this.

It was with this feeling that I’d never eat the same again, that The Fat Duck and Waterside Inn had to welcome me and try to live up to that ultimate makan experience.

So here’s the no holds barred version of what I really thought of dinner at TFD as compared to how much Ben enjoyed it. I don’t know if I try to give excuses just cos I try to be nice. But by the next night when it was time to have dinner at Heston’s, I wasn’t feeling too good from lack of sleep (the sleepless flight over plus too much activity crammed into the first day and not enough rest throughout). Ben had a luxurious nap before dinner, whereas I, being as usually anal about planning and preparing, went through checklists and itineraries, did some packing/unpacking and spent some time chatting with the owner of the guest house while doing some ironing.

I won’t go into the details of the meal itself, as Ben has already done that. Some new tastes/sensations here and there of course, and overall, the food was really good. Perhaps I could say out of this world only because of how you look at it – snails on bright green porridge, ice cream that tastes like bacon n eggs… weird, but good.

However, I’d just like to pick at the “Sound of the Sea” and why I didn’t enjoy it at all. Heston Blumenthal’s cuisine is about involving all the senses – sight, smell, taste, sound, touch… and emotion, or memory. I suppose most people would really feel like they could almost be by the sea when ‘experiencing’ this course, recalling fond memories of happy days at the beach.

I love the sea, the beach, reef flats and the likes. But maybe I’ve seen, smelled, tasted, touched, heard and felt too much. Perhaps the “Sound of the Sea” jogged something in my brain, flashing an image/memory bank of worms, slugs, back-breaking pre-dawn Wildfilms trips, trudging through knee-deep mud, getting sand in all sorts of ‘cavities’ including all over my camera… And believe it or not, I love it! But the “Sound of the Sea” just didn’t work for me. Dunno why. I guess it proves that everything tastes different to everybody.

Now the gloves come off. I was terribly disappointed with the service. When we entered, we heard one staff tell the other who was showing us into the dining room, “just any table”. It felt as though we were tucked away into the corner of the dining room. It was actually a nice n cosy spot, and because it was by the window, we had a lot of natural lighting that proved useful for taking photos (non-flash photography is allowed at most of these restaurants).

In fact, when were in Bray the next afternoon, we noticed that another Asian couple were sitting at the same table. Maybe they just push all the Chinese dudes to this corner cos they know we'd be flipping out our cameras and snapping away at everything. And I mean, everything.

Anyway, only when I had almost reached the table, someone else came up to ask if I wanted my coat taken. He then took it from me as though my coat was a piece of snot-filled tissue to match his snotty attitude. You had me at hel-… No, you didn’t.

I suppose with all the smoke and mirrors that comes with this sort of menu, the service staff may start to sound quite robotic, repeating the same ‘script’ and jokes over and over and over again, at every table, every afternoon and every night.

To make things worse, two tables away, there sat the most annoying boy in all of England. At that age of adolescence when he sounded like a diseased duck being strangled each time he spoke, plus with a puffed-up know-it-all attitude, he annoyed Ben to bits! He kept giving the plot away!

Like when they were served the orange & beetroot jelly, even before his parents or sister could pick up their spoons, he bellowed out loud, "THE ORANGE ONE IS THE BEETROOT AND THE RED ONE IS THE ORANGE! I've read about this before."

Now, orange we glad we arrived early and are at least two courses safely ahead of Mister Smarty Pants.

There was only one wait staff whom I wish attended to our table more often. He was funny and seemed genuinely friendly. He probably would have made all the difference to how I felt about dinner.

Unfortunately, the young lady who served most of our courses was really fake. Although she didn’t have her head up her a** like the guy who took my coat, her smile was really plastic and she had this sort of haughty and critical glint in her eyes. She couldn't really hide that look of impatience each time we tried to take a picture of something.

By the end of the meal (about 4 hours later), I rushed Ben to leave. I was tired, and just wanted to shake off that feeling of being unwanted and unwelcome. You had me at… No, you never got me. Or perhaps I just didn’t get it.

I feel kinda bad cos I know Ben was trying to linger and just sit there, soaking in the whole experience and the very fact that he had just dined at THE Fat Duck.

The next day, we had lunch at The Waterside Inn. By this afternoon, I was already suffering from the early effects of the flu, having a slight sore throat, runny nose and just that overall annoying droopy-eyes feeling. The restaurant here is sort of open air, looking out onto the terrace and the River Thames. It was a refreshing change to the usual dimly lit dining room that makes everything around you look sepia or jaundiced.

The service staff were more reserved (bordering on being aloof and detached actually), but at least not arrogant. Overall, the food was enjoyable but somewhat evanescent. Nothing really stood out except for the fact that ingredients were really fresh, but that was the same at the other restaurants too. Oooh, the desserts were yummy though!

I guess, like how the meal at Ramsay’s built itself up to such an apex, it would have been so much better if we reversed the order of where we dined first and last. ‘Cos now, everything post-Gordon Ramsay seems like one anti-climax after another. He'll always be 'the one that got away' (till I find another).

Rambu Tan and Botak Chin

2008-06-18T10:01:00.015+08:00

In the 70s, Malaysia had its very own "guwazhai", a notorious gangster named Botak Chin. Some considered him the Robin Hood of Malaysia, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, but most describe him as a cold-blooded killer who took the law into his own hands.

My old Sejarah Malaysia textbooks told his story using words like penjenayah ganas dan kejam (vicious and evil criminal) and kongsi gelap (secret society).

When he was 15, he joined the kongsi gelap Gang 360 (or 306?), and later formed a gang of his own. After years of the usual "guwazhai" robberies, inter-gang rivalries and killings, arms-dealing and other kegiatan haram (illegal activities), Botak Chin was caught in 1976, and sentenced to death by hanging in 1981.

He's like Malaysia's original gangstah, and quite a household name lah. Since my surname is Chin, my two brothers have been called Botak Chin whenever they sported a crew cut when they were boys. My older brother takes on the Botak Chin tag quite seriously now with his bald pate.

So it's not surprising that the other Chin of the three siblings has also decided to go botak.

I've always liked my hair ultra short. It's either that or really straight and super long (rocker style!) which is not achievable for someone as impatient as me. Although I made up my mind to get my hair cut really, really short, I felt Ben might not be able to handle the sudden change, so I opted for a short but not too short style first.

I went to a hair salon at the nearby mall one afternoon. While sitting at the waiting area, I noticed that the salon also offered other 'beauty' services like waxing, and made a note to set an appointment for a bikini wax later. (A "Brazilian" here is just called a "full bikini").

A "shampoo girl" led me into the salon and washed my hair with REALLY hot water. She then placed a tiny hand towel on my head as water dripped down all over my face and neck while I stood in a corner waiting for a rather angry Lebanese stylist to receive me.

She was really clumsy and unprofessional, and kept dropping stuff - the hairbrush, the comb, the hairdryer, the hairbrush again, the hairclip, the hairclip, the bloody hairclip...

After she cut my hair, she asked, "Blow dry, or just blow?" Here, "blow dry" costs you an extra 20-30 Dirhams, and "just blow" is free of charge. During the "just blow" she held the hairbrush in one hand, the hairdryer in the other. Sometimes she had to free one hand to use the hairclip, so she'd clasp the hairdryer between her legs at her crotch! Seriously! Seriously... Like this:

Here's how my hair looked after she performed a "just blow":

Imagine how BIG my hair could be if I actually asked for a "blow dry"!

I'm definitely not going back to this salon for a haircut again, and of course, a bikini wax here would be absolute coochie suicide!

I had to bear with my 0biang-retro hairdo for four days till I went to a better hair salon to get it sheared. The stylist here is a Middle Eastern guy, probably Lebanese, and he asked about Ben, "That guy is your husband?" He knows you're getting your hair cut THIS SHORT?" I guess he was quite taken aback cos the Arab ladies here really love their tresses and big flying saucer fringes, and of course the men really love their ladies with flowing tresses (not so much the flying saucers).

Khalas! Although Ben now calls me "rambutan", I'm really happy and pleased with my new haircut. It's spunky-gangsta-chic!

Eating our way through May

2008-05-31T01:01:00.008+08:00

It's been a month of nothing but makan, makan, makan... As we celebrated our 2nd Anniversary in early May, Ben n I planned to splurge on a nice (iow, expensive) dinner and decided to dine at a place that serves "ultra modern" cuisine here in Dubai.

I suppose it won't be proper to be too critical about the food and I won't even mention the name of the restaurant or the dishes as it was sort of recommended by an acquaintance (and I guess there's some sort of unwritten rule between chefs not to criticise each other... much). I'll just show u pics of some of the courses we had and highlight a couple of things.

For instance, the restaurant manager who served us. He's a really friendly chap even though he speaks with a rather odd angmoh accent (for an Asian dude). He had quite a lot of talking to do too since almost every course came with detailed instructions. --- "First, pop the sphere... mix it... go for it" --- "You have to put the whole thing in... alright, cheers... go for it!" --- "Combine the flavours... Combine the textures... Go for it..."

We were mis-informed beforehand that dinner was the 9-course tasting menu cos the Chef served us a special, new 18-course menu. Yup, EIGHTEEN. There were so many courses that we didn't even know which was the main course, or if there was a main course at all since everything came in minute tasting portions.

One dish featured skate and I just learned that skate is the very atas name for stingray lah. And this piece of pari was TINY. Seriously! It was 2cm x 1cm x 0.75cm.

There were a couple of courses that stood out from the rest, but halfway through the meal, I felt pretty jelak and the only thing I could think of and wish for was an indecently huge slab of MEAT. A yummy, juicy, meaty steak.

I guess I'm really not the sort of person you can bring to a fine dining establishment. This has been proven a couple of times already. Once, when we had lunch at Les Amis and one of the rubber soles of my cheapo mary-janes came off in the restaurant. And a few days later, we celebrated Valentine's Day at Saint Julien n I felt very sick halfway through dinner from just half a glass of champagne.

So back to this dinner. One of the four different desserts we were served was this blackforest globe-thingie. Like the other globe-thingie (the red one pictured earlier), we were advised to "give it a light tap with the back of your spoon" to break it. And like its red predecessor, it needed A LOT MORE than just a tap.

So I tapped it... harder... and harder... no luck. I exclaimed to Ben, "Sounds like tennis ball!" Ben, who was trying another dessert, started choking and got into a laughing fit that took quite a while to pass. We were both giggling so much we had cramps, and tears in our eyes.

Overall, it was an enjoyable experience and even though we were stuffed by the end of the meal, I still craved a good steak. Since our anniversary falls on two consecutive days (officially registered at ROM on the 8th and properly married in Church on the 9th), we justified to ourselves that it would be fine to have our anniversary dinner two nights in a row.

So the next night, we had MEAT! Yeah... go for it!

We invited Seri (Ben's colleague) to join us for a hearty meal at La Parilla, the Argentinian restaurant in Jumeirah Beach Hotel. They're best known for their larger-than-life chunks of Angus beef - 500 gram portions to be precise. The restaurant manager is an extremely cheerful and very animated (and loud) lady named Margarita. She's really super, and it was really amusing each time she spoke, laughed or smiled. She practically grins from ear-to-ear with a beam that would probably outshine Eddie Murphy's!

I liked when she described the beef like it was the best thing in the world, like, "Ooh... ahh... Where I come from, we only eat BIG meat! Just roast the WHOLE COW... Oh... I LOVE MY MEAT!!"

So I decided to "go for it" and ordered the 500g tenderloin. Not wanting to feel left out, Ben ordered a 500g ribeye. That's ONE KILO of beef between the 2 of us! It definitely satisfied my craving!

Seri, who by now has made up her mind that we're absolute gluttons, ordered the more timid duck breast. Halfway through our steaks, I suddenly craved for an icy cold Coke and when I got it, I practically did a "slurp-and-ahh" thing cos it cleansed my palate way better than any wine or water could. Then I passed my glass to Ben and he did a "slurp-ahh" too and it felt so good that he passed the glass to Seri, insisting she had some too. So she had a sip, and even obliged us with a really cute n polite "ahh"! She probably didn't want to be the odd one out, what with us two going "WAH, SHIOK!" and all.

Besides unhealthy stuff like soft drinks and junk food, Ben n I also love the caramel popcorn and nachos with cheese that are sold at cinemas here. They're very, very generous with the cheese - a rich, golden yellow, creamy cheddar. Sometimes we see a long queue for the freshly made crepes, so recently, we decided to try the turkey ham, mushroom n cheese crepe, and now we're hooked!

We love it so much that sometimes we go to the cinema just to "ta pau" it. The popcorn + snacks counter is beyond the cinema entrance (past security), so it's not normal for people to enter just to buy food. But sometimes we get permission to pop in just to takeaway the caramel popcorn and have our own movie marathon at home.

One time when I bought some popcorn and a crepe for takeaway, the Arab couple queuing behind me were baffled. The lady said to her guy in utter bewilderment (and a very pekat angmoh accent), "Why's she taking it AWAY???" Ben n I are still wondering if it's really that weird to take-out popcorn from a cinema or if there are other people out there who do it too. Anyone?

In mid May, we had Friday Brunch at Spectrum On One, in The Fairmont. Friday Brunch here is like your Sunday Champagne Brunch back in Singapore. Ya, even with champagne and all. It was a bad start for our first Friday brunching experience in Dubai cos first of all, they messed up our booking and did not have a table for us. We waited at least 15 minutes till they managed to clear a small table for us. Brunch costs AED450/person (about S$200) that includes free flow of champagne, organic wine and cocktails whether you want it or not.

The restaurant was packed. Unfortunately, we found out soon enough that the attraction here was definitely the free flow of booze, not the all-you-can-eat below-par food.

Sashimi was fresh enough, but like everything else at the Japanese section, nothing worth writing home about. I wanted some miso soup but it was displayed in a very shallow dish, not a deep bowl or pot. It was utterly idiotic to expect anyone to get any soup using the soup ladle. It would be like trying to scoop soup with a spoon served on a flat plate. Totally dumbass.

BL: Yorkshire Pudding. BR: Seaweed no longer seems that edible now that I've seen how it thrives on our precious but mucky shores in Singapore.

The seafood section served fresh oysters and cooked prawns, crayfish and Alaskan crab. There were also a few disgusting trays of cold, cooked seafood soaking in a pool of diluted ice. A waitress insisted on standing right in front of the oysters to promote alcoholic shooters that were so deeply coloured they looked like little shots of poison. She just stood there, practically denying me access to the oysters as she tried to push me some poison. I told her I wanted oysters, and she gave me TWO. Bloody hell.

The Chinese/Thai section shouldn't even deserve a mention here, but I shall since I had a small bite each from 3 very disgusting dimsum parcels - prawn, chicken, and vege. The vege one wasn't even real veggie. They filled the blinking thing with chives! We didn't try anything from the Indian section, and Ben had some roast beef with Yorkshire pudding from the Western side.

It is said that the brunch here boasts the best and widest array of desserts, and they also have a Cheese Room, much to Ben's delight. However, towards the end of brunch, we were terribly disappointed. The desserts were probably on display from 10 that morning, so pastries were soggy and the colder desserts were 'sweating'. We only enjoyed the tiramisu and creme caramel.

We started our meal at around 1.30pm and by 3pm, the crowd had dwindled, leaving behind only the alcoholics who were by now pretty pissed, and getting rowdier by the minute. The once enticing spread of cheeses had also vanished with the more sober guests, much to Ben's dismay. Most of the cheese boards were only left with the rind of what might have been a nice end to a terrible meal.

Brunch ends at 4pm but they stopped replenishing any of the food at around 2.30pm. Around this time, chefs could be seen gathering in little clicques far from the counters, chatting and ignoring most guests. Ben noticed how they would attend only to lady guests. Yes, there's a rather crude Hokkien term to use here that contains the letters C---H---.

TL: The Giant Broccoli was decoration. TR: a very foul n soggy coconut macaroon.

Anyway, the next day we met Mabel and Chee Lin for lunch. Dashidai, a dimsum restaurant here had just opened a new branch in Jumeirah Beach Residence, about 10 minutes drive from where we live. Mabel n Chee Lin have raved about Dashidai before, and luckily, the food here is quite good. Actually, just comparable to mid-range dimsum in Malaysia or Singapore, but very good for Dubai standards.

We tried the highly recommended Claypot Braised Beef and (chicken) Char Siew Pau which Ben thoroughly enjoyed. Unfortunately, I had a bowl of chicken with century egg porridge that was terribly bland, almost bordering on tasteless. The next weekend, we went back for more charsiew pau!

Last week Ben told me he had about a week of lieu days that he had to clear from work and asked me to plan a short getaway. He specified "not anywhere in the Middle East" cos then it wouldn't feel like getting-away. With the Pound n Euro sky high, it was difficult to plan a trip to Europe without breaking the bank. I finally decided on Ireland but later we discussed and figured it wouldn't be much of a holiday either cos we'd have to cram so much within 4-5 days.

Then... I suggested something else to Ben... His face lit up immediately n just from his expression u could tell there were a million thoughts n feelings rushing n buzzing about in his mind at that very instant. He was so excited about it that he even cut his finger real bad while daydreaming at work the next day. And he says we should go in September to celebrate my birthday... That's my husband's sneaky way of taking the guilt of himself cos the whole idea of it already seems so lavish.

So the magic words? All I did was suggest, "How bout we travel to London n stay in Bray for just a few days, just to dine at The Fat Duck, and then fly back?" Heck, why not... Go For It!

So it seems we're not only eating our way through May, but are eating our way to Bray. :p

French Fries

2008-03-25T18:45:00.003+08:00

Since Ben is more inclined towards traditional French cuisine and knows its history – stuff like why Opera cake is called Opera, etc, I asked him why French fries are called French fries. Like you have Penang Hokkien Mee which is prawn mee, and then Singapore Hokkien Mee which is something completely different. So why don’t we have Spanish fries and American fries? What’s so special about French fries when they don’t even come from France and are probably made from US potatoes?

Ben can’t sleep for days when I ask him these weird questions. And he actually goes and gets answers for me if he doesn’t have it at his fingertips.

Like once, I asked him if British royalty have a surname. Like y’know, Queen Elizabeth, Prince William… It can’t just say “Prince Charles” in his passport right… Does he even have or need a passport? So Ben actually asked one of the English boys, and he told him “It’s Windsor”.

Really? Seriously? So it’s Elizabeth Windsor? William Windsor? Hmmm…

Now since we’re on the subject of French stuff, did you know that before I met Ben, my friends were oddly eager to introduce me to French-speaking guys? I have no idea why! First there was Shan, who asked me to meet her for dinner. Then just before she picks me up, she says, “Wear something nice” which when translated means, “I’m introducing you to a guy against your will so don’t come in your jeans, rock t-shirt, without make up and with your hair looking like crap”.

So on the way to dinner she says, “Wah… He can speak French!” So what? He could be speaking Mandarin to me and I still wouldn’t understand a word. So this dude turns out to be a really nice and very Singaporean-ised angmoh, but he was like 12 years older and the only thing that seemed truly French about him other than his name was his Zidane-ish hairline.

Then after that, Shorbs and Raena tried to pull an “oh-you-must-meet-this-guy-thing” on me. This time, it was a Chinese fellow who speaks French, has a good job, is really nice and single (oxymoron?)… It’s a good thing their little plot fell thru ‘cos the only things French I like are French onion soup and French toast, and the only French-speaking guy who’ll ever get my attention is Johnny Depp. Ooolala…

Then I worked at GC, and the boss there said, “Ooooh… my Chefs are cute and they speak French you know” Enough already! These two “cute” French-speaking chefs she was referring to were Ben and David, who can’t really speak French lah – just a bit of cursing n swearing they learnt from Chef Julien.

They probably just said something like “Le mis en place escargot café au lait dauphinoise crème brulee thierry henri champs elysees…” to 'bedek' the ladies lah.

I remember when I had to do some food shots, and Ben was describing the starters that were on display. Pointing to the ratte potato with a ‘pekat’ French accent, “This is a rrrraahh potato, best potato in the world”. He only found out later that all he had to do was speak 'Yoda-ish' to impress this girl.

So the answer to why French fries are named so? Thomas Jefferson introduced fries to the colonies in the late 1700s, and the term French fries simply evolved from Jefferson’s description, “potatoes, fried in the French manner”. However, there’s no evidence that fries originated from France, with other countries like Belgium and Spain also claiming its origin.

The Greatest Love of All

2008-03-23T02:49:00.003+08:00

Happy Easter to All!

The toys come out to play

2008-01-17T23:30:00.005+08:00

Back when I often stayed up from night till morning, then slept during the day, I went to the mall thinking I'd "start" my day early one morning. However, I was a little TOO early, and none of the shops were open yet, although the mall was already lit. It was really weird, walking around the empty mall, its large halls echoing the sound of my footsteps and the occasional cleaners passing by.

I passed store after store, some shut and in complete darkness, others with its window displays brightly lit. Looking at all the mannequins made me think of Amelia Jane and golliwogs or whatchamaycallems. You know, those Enid Blyton stories of the toys coming out to play at night, or if you never grew up reading Blyton, then, like how the displays came to life in Night At The Museum.

In a weird way, it may make sense if they did come to life, after all the trouble it took to deck them in the latest fashion apparel and what not, and with such a huge mall to run around in.

The "girls" could finally meet the "boys", especially 'em tall, dark and handsome'uns from Hugo Boss or Debenhams. The kid mannequins could play with anything in the toystore, and sit on the funrides for free. And the "flying man" could finally really fly, instead of being suspended from the ceiling all day :o)

The Long and Winding Road

2008-01-17T22:32:00.004+08:00

This is one spot in Dubai that I actually like and MAY miss when we decide to finally leave this place.

It's a street near our apartment that leads to Ibn Battuta Mall, and is a longer route compared to walking along the main road, as it snakes through the Gardens villas. But in the evenings, just before dusk (and only during the winter months), walking along this street makes me feel like I'm back home. Something about how green it is, with trees and shrubs lining the entire stretch, and even patches of green moss on the areas of earth not covered by turf. Imagine that, moss in a desert city.

At twilight, just as the streetlights are lit, it's cool and windy, and walking along this stretch just takes you to another place. Seriously. You no longer feel like you're in Dubai, and forget that the rest of the city is mostly grey, brown and dusty, its streets full of traffic, its skyline dotted with large construction cranes and concrete structures. So I'm enjoying my weekly walks to the mall while I can, cos once the cool months are over, walking ANYWHERE in Dubai only takes you to the nearest airconditioned environment to escape the heat and humidity.

The Parable of the Big Flood and Two Loaves

2008-01-17T18:33:00.008+08:00

It rained on Sunday, drizzled on Monday, and on Tuesday, it rained all day from morning till night. That's really not much rainfall if compared to the cats n dogs we get back home, but by Dubai standards, 24 hours of light rain equals flooding throughout the emirate.

People in Sharjah probably had to swim to Dubai, and many roads in Dubai were accessible only by big vehicles like 'em Hummers that the locals love to drive. Ben said he saw a Ferrari stranded near our home, left to "soak" by the roadside. Imagine the earful he gets when this dude explains to his wife why he came home, sans-Ferrari. "Lah illah ha illallah... How many times have I told you, Limo on weekdays, Ferrari, Lamborghini and Maserati on weekends, but take the H3 out on rainy days, habibi".

The weather has finally caught up with the rest of the northern hemisphere, with temperatures dipping to as low as 1 degree Celcius in places like Al Ain. I'm now thinking of nice yellow Phua Chu Kang boots to keep my feet dry, and gloves to save my fingers from icy petrification.

Along with the cold, comes colds - the dreaded winter sniffles. Luckily, unlike the usual flu, most of us just have a runny/blocked nose and slight cough, minus the fever and phlegm by the bucketloads. The best remedy is, as always, lots of liquids, and keeping warm. I've been cooking soups and stews a lot. Nothing like a warm and hearty stew or soup for dinner during winter. I even managed to find "kiamchye" (sour mustard) here, so we had the usual post-Christmas turkey bones with kiamchye soup recently.

All we did last Christmas and New Year was eat... Actually, all we do most of the time, any time of the year is eat! We baked a lot in November and December - cheesecakes, lemon pies, sugee cake, cupcakes, cookies...

And Ben says Christmas isn't complete without a lorry-load of chocolates, so we stocked up on chocolate biscuits, caramel-filled chocolates, fudge-like chocolates, mint chocolates, praline- nougat- semisweet- assorted chocolates... even chocolates shaped like Santa Claus... You get my drift.

This last Christmas however, we had something really special, brought all the way from Singapore - two loaves of Gardenia bread!

Our friend Jac had her parents over just before Christmas, so she asked Ben if he wanted anything from Singapore. "Gardenia! Gardenia!" Ben's been craving for Gardenia sandwich bread since he heard that Chee Lin and Mabel brought TEN loaves over when they moved to Dubai, cos the bread here is terribly dry... It's so dry, you could wipe your nose with it when suffering from winter sniffles.

In fact, local bread is so dry, they should line the streets with it to solve the flood problems. "Yulla, yulla, throw the roti out the window, habibi... Khalas!"

HSBC SUCKS!!!

2007-12-01T23:36:00.005+08:00

HSBC in Dubai is the #$%*!+^!! worst bank in the world. It is ****ED UP. Ya, I'll say it again just to stress my point - HSBC UAE is ****ED UP. All banks here are ****ed up. This whole place is one big **** up. I know my timing sucks cos I just happen to be pissed off with this country on the eve of its national day, but TOO BAD!! YOU SUCK!!!

Parklane Pai-kia

2007-11-28T23:38:00.003+08:00

The older we get, the more our memories fade. First we forget little details, then moments, and eventually even huge chunks of time. When I was around 21, I started some sort of journal, something I call my “I Remember… Book” in which I listed little bits of memories from as far back as I could remember. Every now and then if I remembered something, I’d add it to the list. Most of them were memories of the antics of my brothers and I as kids, like how we’d fling my Mom’s rotan (a thin but wicked strip of bamboo that she caned us with if we misbehaved) up onto the roof of our house. Quite often you’d hear my Mom yelling, “Si gin-na! Where did you hide the cane this time?!!”

Anyway, this post isn’t about my childhood memories, as I already have most of them jotted down in that journal somewhere in Singapore. Instead, here’s something from Ben’s ‘archives’. I may not get all the facts right since this is a second-hand account, so if anyone finds something wrong or really offensive, please do let me know.

Sometimes Ben recalls something from his past, not so much from early childhood but mainly memories from his ‘strayed’ adolescence, and happily goes on a long rant about it. Give him a couple more years and I’m quite sure he’ll forget more and more of these snippets of the past that he already vaguely remembers now.

Recently he told me about how he and his friends would go to Parklane every Saturday when they were teenagers… to just lepak or act cool or make a nuisance of themselves, I suppose. A whole group of about 20 of them would ride the double-deckered number 14 SBS bus from the East side of Singapore to the city and back. They would usually take up the entire top deck and… lepak, act cool, or make a nuisance of themselves lah. Back then, most of the buses weren’t air-conditioned yet, and this served these boys well since they could have the windows open, act cool, and make a nuisance of themselves some more.

The bus route would also take them past a particular house in Katong which always seemed to be having a ‘party’ on weekends. So they’d shout, “Oi, party bo chio!” (loosely translated to “got party, never invite”) It was only much later (in life) that they discovered this was a Sai Baba house of worship.

While waiting at bus stops, they also had this “sabo-routine” where all of them would stand in a line in front of the bus stop. As a bus came by, if one of them was standing where the bus door opened, he would be forced to dance in front of the bus. As fate would have it, the bus door would open in front of Cyril almost every time.

Around this same stage in their clueless teenage years, Ben and friends also picked up a Hokkien phrase from Desmond’s Mom. Apparently, she would sometimes be heard saying “Kam kio!”, which literally translates as “suck brinjal” in Hokkien. I guess we’ll have to check with Desmond if it was to be taken literally, or if it was just a figure of speech, like “holy shit” or like how my Mom and aunts always use the meaningless term, “ua-ko” (bowl-cake). But trust Ben, Desmond and guys to make use of this ‘colourful’ new-found term to their delight.

Sometimes, they’d hail taxis for no reason at all. The taxi would stop and then they’d say they didn’t want to take it. Or they’d mention absurd locations like “Uncle, Johor?” But the favourite joke on taxi drivers would be, “Uncle, ai kam kio?” (“uncle, wanna suck brinjal?”) The taxi driver would then say, “Ang Mo Kio?” and they’d say no and ask again, “Ai kam kio?”

So for our next trip back to Singapore, we have a short list of things to do:

1. visit ‘that’ house in Katong

2. ask Desmond’s Mom the real meaning of ‘kam kio’

3. get Cyril to grace us with a dance

A bitter pill

2007-11-28T22:39:00.002+08:00

I caught the flu bug two weeks back and did not visit a clinic or see a doctor for medication. I usually self-medicate, and only see the doctor when I need an MC, need to stock up on painkillers, or am really sick and have no idea what I’m suffering from.

Another reason why I especially don’t like to visit a doctor when I’m suffering from the flu/fever is cos I don’t take antibiotics. I have a phobia of swallowing pills, and till now, still crush my pills to a powdered pulp to mix with a bit of water and then swallow in liquid form… no matter how bitter or gross it is.

So if I tell a doctor this, he gives me the same look that my Dad does, like it’s really such a crime to have a phobia. I really think it’s kinda unfair to be judged and treated like a kid just cos I take my meds like a two-year old. Some people are afraid of heights, needles, blood, rats, the supernatural, or whatever.

So I think I’m pretty gungho if compared to quite a lot of people, since nothing much scares me… except big cockroaches, pills..... and dirty old men.

Quite often the doctor just prescribes me pills anyway, even when I say I can’t swallow them. Like my Dad again, the doctor will say, “You shouldn’t have any problem swallowing it, it’s not that big… or it’s just a capsule”. In fact I can’t remember the last time a doctor has agreed to give me meds in liquid form like the gross pink or yellow goo that they force on kids.

So sometimes I don’t even bother telling the doctor that I can’t swallow pills. I just see him to get an MC and then throw away whatever meds he gives me. That’s why I never take antibiotics, cos I would definitely never finish a course.

We recently had dinner with Ben’s supplier Rohit and his wife Geetha. They’ve been living in Dubai for 16 years and told us that doctors and clinics here suck big time. So it turns out the lack of knowledge and efficiency isn’t just restricted to banks and governmental institutions. It really applies to everything in Dubai. Big and small companies, local and multinational, across all the various fields/industries.

Geetha had the flu two months back which developed into pneumonia and she just recovered about a week ago! It seems the doctors here are really, really useless. They never give you the proper medication that’s meant to cure you immediately. Instead, they’ll give you “Cocktail A” which you take for 7 – 10 days, then prescribe you with “Cocktail B” when you find that you’re not getting any better, and after almost a month of all sorts of drugs, they decide happy hour’s finally over and present you with “Cocktail C”.

And the few doctors who are supposed to be good are booked so far ahead that if you were sick today, he’d be able to see you two weeks later. So I can’t imagine why people would say he/she was a good doctor if they only visited them after making an appointment weeks before, meaning patients are either well by the time they see these “good” doctors, or close to dying, or plain psychic.

Since I’m not working now, I treated my flu with lots of rest, liquids, vitamin C, honey, lemon, Panadol Cold & Flu, and Lemsip Max. I guess doing it this way takes longer than if I ‘nuked’ it with real drugs from a doctor. The flu took about 10 days to pass from different stages of fever, body ache, headache, blocked nose, plus lots and lots of green stuff…

I stopped taking cough syrup after ten days cos apparently that’s the maximum amount of days you can take cough mixture continually, and if it’s not cured by then, it means the cough has already developed into an infection or whatever.

However, the cough that develops during the course of the flu for me always lingers on for much longer, sometimes up to two months, and I usually just wait for it to pass without any medication. This post-flu cough of mine usually ‘sounds’ really bad, like a whooping cough, where I’d have a really deep cough that sounds like an old car with a loud and rusty engine followed by wheezing and shortness of breath. This time around though, it doesn’t sound so bad but it ‘feels’ quite bad.

Since yesterday, my chest has been hurting a lot. First it hurt when I coughed, then by the end of the day, it just hurt, like I had a huge internal blue-black. It's never hurt this way before and Ben's kinda worried and wants me to see a doctor about it, but I'm still hoping it'll heal itself in due course.

Anyway, I just learned that they’ve just gone and banned 4 different flu meds and a few other cough meds, including Panadol Cold & Flu. Like how Decolgen was banned a few years back, apparently these recent additions to the list of banned drugs cause some pretty serious side effects, like heart failure or some scary shit like that.

This kinda stuff gets you thinking…. These are approved drugs - tried, tested, approved, and sold over the counter for years. Every year, hundreds of different drugs are taken off the shelf cos some ‘genius’ discovers that it has potentially dangerous side effects.

So how the hell do drugs get approved only to be later “discovered” unsafe? Well, most drugs are already known to be potentially harmful, and its side effects are usually stated in the fine print on that small piece of paper that come with meds that we don’t bother to read.

And you know how we have some friends or relatives who always bombard us with forwarded emails about the dangers of this and that? Like, oh, don’t microwave such and such a thing cos it will release some sorta toxin that will cause cancer, or don’t consume such and such a thing cos it contains such and such an ingredient that’s the same stuff that’s used to clean industrial machinery. Half the time these emails warn of cancer-causing materials/ingredients. Then there are the emails that highlight the qualities of certain products/ingredients and how it combats cancer or any disease/ailment known to man.

Well, I guess now I know that perhaps there’s some truth to some of these emails and as much as I’m sometimes annoyed by the bombardment of forwarded emails, I also have to remember that it’s usually sent by thoughtful relatives and friends who may seem like hypochondriacs at times but I guess the bottomline is that, they worry, and they care.

I’m not gonna turn into a hypochondriac, but I recently read an online article from The Ecologist about Lemsip Max Cold & Flu Capsules that really got my attention since I’m an over-the-counter-drug-junkie when it comes to the flu. The Ecologist has a regular “Behind The Label” article that features the potentially harmful contents found in all sorts of products. This recent article highlighted over-the-counter flu meds, especially since it’s Winter and the flu bug is going around.

According to this article, most over-the-counter remedies “have been found – through objective, scientific studies – to be useless”.

“Crucially, people who regularly purchase cold and flu remedies are usually ill when they make their purchases, and this phenomenon, known as the ‘distress factor’, is a real boon to manufacturers. Sick people don’t think, they simply want relief – immediately.”

“So, in spite of the fact that nothing you can buy will cure your cold, a huge number of us have succumbed to the hit-it-hard-and-hit-it fast remedies such as the Lemsip ‘Max’ range, which predominate on the pharmacist’s shelves and promise that you can happily continue to work long hours and enjoy a full social life, even if your body is telling you to slow down.”

The article takes Lemsip Max as an example, and lists its ingredients with descriptions and side effects. You can find the full article here.

Medical and scientific studies have shown that the best cure for the flu is rest, warmth and lots of liquids. But with our busy lifestyles, we seldom have the luxury of taking more than a day or two off work to cure a cold. So we rely on over-the-counter remedies that only offer temporary relief.

The scary thing here is not that these drugs don’t actually cure you, but that in the long run, it may be harmful to your health. Perhaps that’s why my cough is so bad. Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) believes that if a cough is suppressed or not treated correctly, it will remain in your body and may eventually develop into something worse.

"According to TCM understanding, many conditions can have their origin in an untreated cough: asthma, diabetes, and even cancer." [Ref: article about Cough and TCM]

So now, I’m desperately waiting for an alternative cough remedy to arrive from Malaysia. My Mom has mailed me a packet of tong sum (Codonopsis root) to be cooked based on a recipe of tong sum, ginger and lean beef, stewed for half a day as a herbal broth to cure bronchitis. Let’s hope this works, cos I’d really rather not see a doctor (especially since they don’t have that “power” black cough syrup here cos most drugs here are alcohol-free).

Tai-Kor-Tai-Tor

2007-10-26T23:40:00.003+08:00

My husband was recently promoted at work, and although he's carrying out all the duties and responsibilities of his new position, the promotion will officially take effect only in December. As head of a new restaurant, he had to oversee countless photography sessions for the press/media the past few weeks, as the company's PR department is busy publicising the restaurant's opening. These were mainly food shots, or photos of models pretending to dine at the venue. The PR department also arranged for a photographer to take a professional shot of Ben in the event that his photo is required for any press releases or articles.

Of course we all know, big title = big jobscope + big responsibilities + big headache. So Ben no longer works on a shift basis but for as many hours as needed, going in to work as early as 7am and leaving as late as past midnight. Most days he works from 8am - 11pm.

What to do... now Tai Lo already. And to prove this, he's Tai-Kor-Tai-Tor with FOUR handphones! One's his own, one is for the restaurant, and the other two are 'em walkie-talkie-type of com-phones. All hail Mighty Ben-yah-meen... Lord of the Ring-Ring.

The Ultimate Lepak Experience

2007-10-26T21:52:00.003+08:00

Hi, our names are Benjamin and Bernadette, and we're couch potatoes.

Ben works about 14-16 hours a day, with just 4-6 days off in a month. So when he gets home at night or on his days off, it's extremely important that he feels as relaxed as possible to unwind and take his mind off work. Lucky for him, he met a lazy bum like me, so we're like two peas in a pod... two "ubi berisi" on a sofa.

There are women from China who sneak about the apartment blocks selling DVDs. And then there's Shams. No-Holds-Barred-Bo-Kia-Si Shams, who lugs around two huge bags of pirated DVDs openly. Shams is the man, man. He sells DVDs with 16-in-1 movies for just AED20. 16-in-1!! Super-power-terrama!!

For my birthday, Ben bought me a spanking new iPod since I drowned my Nano in the washing machine. This new baby holds 30gigs and plays videos too. That much disk space meant lots and lots of downloads.... So I went crazy and downloaded almost every single song I've known since the 70s... Plus movies, entire seasons of sitcoms....

One series that Ben n I are hooked on is Grey's Anatomy. He enjoys it so much that he wanted "scrubs" of his own too. So when I was in Singapore in June, I bought some cheap cotton from Spotlight and sewed us both a set of our very own "scrubs". It's especially comfy for lounging around in when we're semi-comatose on the sofa.

But the couch was too small for two big potatoes like us. Not that we're too fat to fit on the couch, but we wanted The Ultimate Lepak Lounge. We considered moving the TV into the bedroom, or the bed into the living room but the logistics weren't right for that almost-brilliant plan.

So Ben made his birthday wish... "I want a sofa bed! We'll go to IKEA on my birthday to get it".

We couldn't find a set that we liked cos sofa beds are either really bulky, or really "leceh" cos u have to take it apart and put it back all the time. We asked the salesperson if we could have two chaise lounge sets joined as one... like an extended two-seater sofa, or a bed with armrests. Trust the imbecile to say "yes yes of course no problem" and then screw up.

The chaise lounge sets were delivered a week later, but it didn't come with armrests and couldn't be joined together. So it's like we bought two deck-chairs or mini-beds. Apparently the armrests have to be ordered separately, or only come with the couch! Anyway, we still love it cos it's damn comfy, man.

"Budaya lepak" has arrived and evolved. Malaysia boleh? Dubai lagi boleh!

Can we be friends?

2007-09-06T23:54:00.002+08:00

For my short stay in Singapore, I managed to squeeze in a few trips to the library. Man... I miss Singapore libraries n access to so many good books! I miss being able to lug home a huge stack of books that I'd never be able to get my hands on if I had to actually buy them!

One evening when I was at the library in Bedok, I was looking for a particular book about Natural History in the Youth section of the library when a young boy approached me. He looked about 14, and asked me for the time. Not realising that he actually had a handphone with him, I gave him the time, and continued browsing. He didn't leave, and stood there next to me, touching himself nervously. I don't mean "touching" himself like you know where, but his hands were nervously wiping his brow, neck, chest... Y'know...

So then he says to me, You boleh cakap Melayu? and I was like, Ya. Pleased, he continues, You dari Indonesia? and I say, No, Singapore. So he says, Saya juga orang Singapore. From the way his eyes dart about as he twitches nervously, I can tell he's a bit "off" up there lah. But get this. As I inch my way away from him, he approaches slowly and asks, "Can we be friends?"

It was SO WEIRD! Most people mistake me for a teacher 'cos apparently I look like one, what with my striking nerdus maximus looks n mak nenek character. I knew this boy was a bit mental, but I was so embarrassed I just replied, SAYA SUDAH KAHWIN LAH! SUDAH TUA! And then he was lagi embarrassed n backed off immediately, saying Sorry ya, Sorry ya as he disappeared behind the bookshelves, tail n goodness knows what between his legs.

Sometimes it's amusing when I get carded for certain reasons n it's a compliment that some people still think I look 17. But to be asked by a 14-year old boy if I wanted to be his friend? That's some scary shit man!

But if I was still 14... Is that how kids make friends these days? Is that how WE made friends back in those days? Well, my Mom used to think I went to the library as a teen to look at boys! I studied in an all-girls school by the way. But NO! I wasn't that despo. (And anyway, I had Sunday School to keep me entertained!) Some girls would wait all year for "inter-school" events just to check out the boys (or girls) from neighbouring schools. I remember if your classroom faced the school field, your teacher would have a rough time getting the girls to pay attention when there were 20 LaSalle prefects running around in their PE shorts.

Making friends, back then, and now, hasn't changed that much I guess. Back then, in primary school, we'd get friends to "sign" our autograph books. We'd write poems n phrases in these books, like "Trees are silver---Leaves are gold---Remember me---When you are old" or some corny shit like that. Now you've got these "autograph books" online, with friends leaving you messages n wishes in your Guestbook, or sending you virtual gifts n such.

Some of us wonder how real or genuine friendships are in the virtual world, like on Friendster, Facebook, Multiply, and other online "social networking" (i.o.w. dating) sites.

I lost touch with many of my friends from school, and have recently reunited with many of them online. But I got to asking, why we lost touch in the first place if we really were friends. Some of them are girls I've known since I was seven! Classmates from Standard 1 right up to Std 6, we practically grew up together, playing games like Ibu Ayam & Helang, and that darn rubberband skipping game that I never could master. We celebrated birthdays, report card days, Hari Sukan...

We went off to the same secondary school, but were divided into different classes, made new friends. These new friends soon went off to different classes too, as we were later divided into Arts and Science streams. So we made more new friends, somewhat leaving the old ones behind. I guess it was a quiet understanding, like, you go your way, I go my way... but yea, I'll remember you when I'm old.

And of course back then, we didn't have emails and online albums n kawan-ster stuff. If I was still in Malaysia, perhaps I may not have even bothered looking up old friends online. We take for granted what's right in front of us, and search for love, friendship and some form of gratification in a world made up of bits, bytes n pixels. Perhaps with careers, studies, spouses, kids, and what nots to juggle, there simply isn't enough time and space for every single friend you've made since kindergarten. Everything and everyone is just whizzing by at the speed of light. So we're only able to appreciate how "roses are red and violets are blue" when we're seated calmly in front of a computer.

I guess the hard truth is, things in the real world have become so superficial that virtual reality becomes What's Real to most of us. So whether it's online, at the library, on the MRT, at the mamak... I guess we can make friends anywhere. It's not really the "where", "when" or "how" that matters, but "Why".

Tour of Non-Duty

2007-09-01T23:59:00.008+08:00

Planned to write something about my trip home after returning to Dubai but procrastinated till now. Well, better late than never. Before leaving for Singapore/PJ in June, I wrote a post about my "Dubai blues". Well, I made my month-long trip back, recovered, and am back in Dubai, good as new.

The first significant thing I did when back in Singapore was my trip out to the intertidal zone in Changi with Wildfilms, the second day I was home. Great way to start off my getaway. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't "getting away" from my husband. Just Dubai itself - its intolerable service standards, etc etc... the list just grows n grows.

Lots of new sights greeted me in Singapore, like the horrid "Wheel" that's almost done, the new Ikea, Giant and Courts in Tampines, Sheng Siong in Bedok, and VivoCity.

I spent about 10 days in PJ and 20 days in Singapore. My time in PJ was quality time with family and buddies. I think I've had enough Nescafe Ais to last me the rest of the year, as I was out at the mamak with Nat on most nights, sometimes joined by Sher Hui and Wye Li. Also managed to spend an afternoon in Bangsar with Jamie.

Sometimes I feel like a celebrity back home as my many "Ah Ee"s take turns to "chope" me for lunch appointments and such. It felt really nice, and of course, anything to do with makan is great!

Back in Singapore, I joined Wildfilms on a few more trips during low tide to the shore and a few islands. These were really splendid too - being close to nature again, and my conversations with like-minded individuals like Ria and Chay Hoon.

Earlier Wildfilms footage were shot on tape, so there are a few hundred tapes that need to be digitised, and a lepak "tai-tai" like me always comes in handy for nitty-gritty jobs like these. So I lugged back "Ziggy" (our pet name for one of the small handicams), 500gigs of hard disk, and four boxes of tapes to be converted into digital format. This should keep me happily busy till 2008 too!

I've discovered though, that there's a big difference between tai-tai and housewife. A tai-tai has a maid. I am a housewife.

Another eventful "must do" in Singapore was attending Jo and Leong's wedding dinner. I was pretty zonked out that day as I had spent the early morning out on Pulau Hantu, but the wedding dinner was a really refreshing change to the dreary grey of Dubai life.

Typical Chinese/Singaporean style - lots of red and cheery colours, as pictured here. When I'm really tired, my hands get really shaky, so I didn't take any pictures but have compiled a few here, taken by Mei Ling and the wedding photographer.

I was seated with Louis, Rabind and Wayne, and some intimidating-looking guys I've never met before. Felt pretty lost especially since I was half-awake and attending this as "Ben's wife". Introductions to people were like this, Hey, you know Ben? --- Fatty Ben? or Ben the Chef? --- Yea, this is his wife, Mrs Fatty Ben.

I must say, even though this was like, what... only the second time I've met Leong, and one might ask who I am to comment, I think he looked really, really happy. I hardly got to see or speak to Jo 'cos typical in all Chinese wedding dinners, the bride always kena change baju like a Hong Kong superstar at a concert. It was a beautiful wedding, and I'm sure, the happiest day of their lives.

One thing I sure didn't miss when back in Singapore... no, two things:
1. Being made to feel fat just cos I wasn't like all 'em skinny-ass skanks around.
2. Being told that I speak "very good English for a Malaysian".

I mean, what's up with people presuming that Malaysians can't speak English. If you sat in a foodcourt in Singapore, no, not even food court... If you were seated in a nice restaurant in Singapore, you'd notice that all the chatter around you is in Mandarin. Many Singaporeans think they speak "good" English just 'cos they begin each sentence with words like "Basically..." and try to sound eloquent by saying things like "forget a-bow-rit" and "am I right or am I right?"

First of all, there's no such thing as "good English". Learn to speak proper English, get your grammar, Ps n Qs right, before you go 'round questioning another's language proficiency based on nationality.

It's bloody annoying and such an insult when people ask, You're Malaysian? Are you sure? You speak such good English, I thought you're Singaporean. You studied in Singapore or overseas is it?

I'm Malaysian, I studied in Malaysia, I don't hold a degree, and I speak proper English. Lots of Malaysians do. Wake up....

Ok, back to happy stuff. What felt really good about my trip home was the amount of "me-time" I had. Ya, I know I don't work in Dubai so I have full access to "me-time" here too. But when I was in Singapore and PJ, I was a housewife on holiday!

No need to cook! No need to jaga the big baby! No need to worry about groceries. Hungry? Just walk out to the nearby kopitiam and be spoilt for choice. I didn't even have to make my own coffee. Just 80 cents gets me a nice cup of kopi pua sio. So shiok!

I met up with friends, mother-in-law, father-in-law. Mizan works at the i-Shop in Cineleisure, so he was one of the first few people I met and he even gave me a discount on the adapter for my Powerbook. I had a late lunch and coffee with Razmi just before he went off for National Service, and konlomee with Raena and Shorbs! Dinner with Ben's friends, as well as with my ex-colleagues from Crystal Wines.

I also met up with Peng a few times for kopi or makan. I told him I planned to ta-pau half a roast duck to bring back to Dubai for Ben, and he went ahead and bought it for me. Peng also introduced me to the latest drink fad, those awful cans of "Anything" or "Whatever"! And I finally met Brownie, his chow chow puppy!

All in all, it was a marvelous trip, and it was even nicer knowing that the end of the trip would signal my return home to Ben, so leaving didn't feel so bad. The housewife, refreshed and rejuvenated, is back on duty.

The red n white pack

2007-08-27T00:02:00.006+08:00

Dubai n Singapore aren’t all that different, or perhaps very different, being that each have “qualities” unique to them. Ben n I have come up with a collection of images n things that we find “Uniquely Dubai”. I shan’t list them down here but just highlight a couple.

On my flight from SIN to DXB in July, the lack of video-on-demand got me flipping thru the in-flight magazine n duty free catalogue. When I was on the Duty Free allowances page, two countries stood out from the rest in the cigarettes category. Singapore is the only country that does not allow duty free cigarettes, with NIL boldly stated and a note mentioning a hefty fine plus probably other scary words like PROHIBITED.

While other countries allow 200-400 sticks, the UAE, as one-of-a-kind as Singapore, allows 10,000 sticks. Yes, TEN THOUSAND! No typical UAE typo error here. The odd thing is, following in Singapore’s footsteps, Dubai is trying to be a “smoke-free” city by 2008.

Apart from the ability for each passenger to bring in 50 cartons of Marlboro, Dubai displayed a different show of red n white recently. The 2nd NDC @ UAE was held last Friday at the Movenpick Hotel - the Singapore National Day Celebration in the UAE, organised by a dedicated group of Singaporeans, with support from the Consulate-General of the Republic of Singapore, IE Singapore, STB n many other sponsors.

Ok, time for a bit of flashback and intro to people.

I was informed of this event last month by Mabel n Chi Lin, whom I was introduced to by my friend Merey from Singapore. I met Merey when I was working at SRC some years ago n she was the Sports Manager there. We didn’t know each other that well n I think she tried to avoid me at most times ‘cos each time I bumped into her, I’d be reminding her of deadlines n chasing her for articles n photos for the Club’s newsletter. We lost touch after she left SRC n met again a few years later when I joined BWV. A few of us in the Reefwalk group organised a trip to Kota Tinggi, including Merey, her husband Eng Wan n son Reef.

Eng Wan was working in Doha last year, so on one of her visits to Doha, Merey stopped by for a short stay in Dubai with her friends Mabel n Chi Lin. Chi Lin, who works for IE Singapore, was posted to Dubai this year n Mabel joined him here in June. So that’s how I know Mabel n Chi Lin, and came to know about the NDC.

Ben n I invited Andrew n Arman along but unfortunately, they couldn’t make it since it was being held on a Friday, busy day for people in the F&B line. Andrew’s our chef friend from Singapore whom Ben n I knew from our days at Gourmet Cellar. He’s the Japanese chef at a Japengo outlet here.

Arman’s the Chef at a Noodle House outlet here. I met him when he first arrived in Dubai last December, back when we were living in Ewan Residences in ulu-land. We took the same shuttle bus to the nearby shops and he asked me for directions and found out that I was Malaysian/Singaporean n I discovered that Andrew was his smoking kaki since both their restaurants are located in the Madinat Jumeirah.

Ben invited Jac along, a HR Management Trainee at the Burj Al Arab. She’s the only other Singaporean working there.

Ben was excited about this event especially since I told him they’d be showing snippets from the National Day Parade. I remember how homesick he was last year, his first National Day away from home. So when I was back in Singapore in June/July, I searched the whole country for the Singapore flag to bring back to Dubai. EconMinimart, NTUC, Giant, Carrefour, souvenir shops, Community Centres… (flashback again).

Whether it's in town or the suburbs, none of the shops are selling the flag. The only red n white I see is the latest lian-trend - mini white shorts n ugly red patent PVC stilletos or wedges. It's my last day in Singapore, and still no flag.

I start calling all the Community Centres in the East side, and finally one in Tampines says, Yes, we have the flag! Two dollars only. So I rush over, and when I ask the lady at the counter about the flag, she says, There, this one! and points at a mini-flag that drivers clip to their car’s radio aerial.

No, aunty, I want the big flag, the one to hang on balcony one. Aiya, that one don’t have yet. Still early, RC haven’t sent to us. A second aunty joins in the conversation n I explain that I live in Dubai n will be leaving Singapore in a few hours n my patriotic husband gets homesick during National Day, etc.

Both aunties look so sympathetic n start calling the various RCs, CCs, GRCs, and what nots for me. Sorry, girl. Don’t have leh. You try NTUC or not? Ya, also don’t have. Ayo… sorry lah.

Dejected, I leave the CC and walk about, stopping at any household n convenience store I pass. I walk till I reach “Afghanistan” and stop at a household supplies shop there. Aunty, got Singapore flag or not? The big one for balcony. You wait ah, I check.

She goes to the back of her shop that sells everything, from melamine kitchenware to fishing nets, PVC pipes to gas stoves. Aunty is gone for a really long time, and finally, she emerges from the chaos of hanging pots, pans n bubble-wrap with the Singapore flag! Ah, girl, si-kor-pwa.

So this $4.50 piece of red and white polyester follows me all the way back to the UAE, and on 8th August, is hung proudly in our hall. I didn’t dare hang it on the balcony ‘cos people here can be quite ignorant n mistake it for a communist banner.

So back to the National Day celebration here. Tickets were sold at only 42 Dirhams (Singaporeans will know why 42), which was really, really cheap ‘cos a KFC meal for two here already costs at least 45 Dirhams. The dresscode for this event was smart-casual but I was told quite a lot of people would come dressed to the nines, gowns, gloves n all.

The ballroom n foyer is already bustling with guests when we arrive at 6.15pm – very early by Singapore standards since the time stated was 6pm, meaning most people would arrive at around 7.30 - 8.00, especially if it was a Singaporean wedding dinner.

Ben, Jac n I stand by the side, feeling awkwardly out of place. Jac comments that everyone here is “so old” and this looks like a function that her dad would attend. So like typical Singaporeans, we stand there commenting on what people are wearing, saying, doing, and I’m pretty sure some of them were doing the same too.

We probably stick out like sore thumbs as a man named Adrian approaches us to break the ice. He informs us that they are expecting at least 500 pax this evening. We can tell he’s with the organising committee from the huge orchid pinned on his lapel.

Only an exclusive few in the crowd don the national flower, including a lady who looks like she could be a descendant of Miss Joaquim herself, in her shiny lilac kebaya.

With Asia Pacific Breweries being one of the sponsors, uncles feel right at home with the free-flow of Tiger beer. Only thing missing is ice cubes, the Tiger aunty or ah huay, and live screening of a match.

Soon, guests are ushered into the ballroom to await the arrival of the Consular-General, Mr Dileep Nair. Adrian, also emcee for the night, leads us in a few cheers. Yup, the crowd is asked to shout “Hallo, Singapore!” and “Happy Birthday, Singapore”. One uncle seems to have had one Tiger too many as he bellows, “Hallo, Sing-GABURRRP-pore!”

Just when I feel my goosebumps are gonna burst out from my skin, we are invited to sing Happy Birthday to Singapore as a huge cake resembling the flag is wheeled out. We also recite the Singapore pledge and sing the national anthem. I’m tempted to shout “Malaysia Boleh!!” at the end of the Majulah Singapura, just to see if I’d get thrown out :p

Finally, it’s time to eat! We’re hoping to get good ol’ Singapore food, but the only thing resembling dishes from home are the names of some of the dishes – rendang, gado-gado, goreng pisang, Hainanese chicken rice, assam fish… But all cannot make it lah. Ben and Jac join the extremely long queue of suckers for the chicken rice, only to find that it’s plain white rice with chicken that looks like it’s been boiled.

I meet Mabel n Chi Lin, and we’re introduced to a few of their friends. We also meet Eng Wan, who moved to Dubai just last month, and chat with him for a while.

The highlight for the night, for Ben, is the 2007 NDP screening. Unfortunately, they only screen the first 15 minutes as the screens are used to display winning lucky draw numbers the rest of the night. Jac hopes to win the Creative mp3 player while Ben n I eye the LCD flatscreen TV.

Unfortunately, we leave only with small goodie bags. One has a Tiger beermug, and the other bag doesn’t but has a soft-toy of a red crab, the Singapore Chilli Crab. And the other “goodies” are brochures, an SIA paperbag n cheapo-made-in-China keychain n calculator.

Of course, it’s typically Singaporean to complain that this n that cannot make it lah, blah blah. As much as we poke fun at events like these or the people who attend them, I always say I’m almost-Singaporean because of how much I’ve assimilated into the culture n lifestyle there. I remember how I got all teary-eyed when I watched my first NDP on TV. The crowd, a sea of red n white, waving their little red n white flags about, and singing proudly in unison as the big red n white flies past overhead.

I know some people say the NDP is the biggest PR event in Singapore, propaganda at its finest. I say, who cares, it works. The sense of unity, pride and passion, expressed through the reaction of the spectators is brilliant. And I still get a little teary-eyed now when I watch the NDP flypast n fireworks each year.

So yesterday Ben n I had to settle for watching the 2007 NDP webcast on a tiny 480x360 pixel window online. Although lacking authentic Singapore food and the full screening of the NDP, the NDC @ UAE event was still enjoyable. Ben n I got to see the macam-macam of the Singaporean community in Dubai - a couple of bengs and lians here n there, typical aunties and uncles, SPG also got!

And of course, those who believe their sense of fashion isn’t just restricted to Orchard Road.

Happy Belated National Day to all Singaporeans, and Happy Merdeka to the rest!

While My Guitar Gently Sweeps

2007-08-22T23:28:00.003+08:00

I remember as kids, my brothers and I would pretend to be all sorts of people or legends. Armed with some raffia string as rope, and his schoolbag as haversack, Jeremy would take on the role of brave adventurer, dragging us younger ones around the garden on exploratory trails and making feeble attempts at climbing the rambutan tree. Another time, he decided to be a deejay and assigned Andrew and I as back-up chorus while he came up with corny intros and jingles to songs – all recorded on a cassette like an actual demo tape. And of course, which kid never dreamt of being a rock superstar?

All you needed was props or just a wild imagination. We had three choices:
1. air guitar
2. badminton or tennis racket
3. broom
Mine was usually the latter since it’s more likely you’d find me daydreaming while doing household chores, and I was never really the sporty type. Lidi brooms served best cos you could actually strum ‘em lidi sticks.

I’m turning thirty soon, very soon, yet I feel I never really left my crazy, clueless adolescent days behind. Either that or I’m suffering from a very early onset of the mid-age crisis. I wanna be a rock-guitar-legend! The next Ratu Rock. Malaysia’s answer to Avril Lavigne.

I pathetically whined to Ben about how, growing up, I was forced to take piano lessons just cos I was a girl, when it was glaringly evident that I had such bad sense of coordination that I couldn’t even get my fingers to play Chopsticks. My parents should have realised that I wasn’t your typical princess in a pink tutu.

Instead of ballet lessons, I took Taekwondo. Instead of masak-masak, I had to engage in combat and guerrilla tactics with my brothers and the Shori boys, armed with mighty ping pong bats. After eight whole years of torturous piano lessons (not just for me but the teachers), I was still only in Grade 4! My dad finally said these exact words, Getting you to play even one song on the piano is like FLOGGING A DEAD HORSE.

Years went by and my brothers went for guitar lessons. I couldn't cos I had wasted eight good years on an instrument I could never conquer. So now I just play the radio.

I remember how I used to sit in my brothers’ room and listen and watch in envy as Jeremy showed off his guitar skills. He even taught me to strum a few chords, the basic chords for Every Rose Has Its Thorn. But that’s as far as my “guitar-rocker-dreams” went. Then Andrew got an electric guitar. Man! Lagi jealous.

The worst part is, I hardly ever see him pick it up. So it just sits there in the room, all glossy and black and white, next to the amp that collects just as much dust. He’s got guitar tabs of some of the best rock songs all over the place, but I’ve never once heard him really goreng the guitar. Sometimes I’d annoy him and go, Hey Drew, play the intro to Stairway to Heaven lah. . . Just once lah. . . But he wouldn’t budge. Sigh.

Some of the sexiest things I’ve ever heard are from a guitar (No, the guitar doesn’t speak to me… I’m not that corny). I’m not talking about so-called romantic guitar scores like Extreme’s More Than Words or something similar from Firehouse.

I mean REAL sexy. All the strumming, picking, bending, sliding, muting, inversions, distortion… The power goreng bits from Metallica’s One and Fade to Black. U2’s Without or Without You and Mysterious Ways. The intros to The Freshmen, One Last Breath, The Reason. . . Songs like Creep, Glycerine, Come As You Are. . . Lots of stuff from Deep Purple. . .

So as some of you dream of being rich or successful or thin or popular, you’ll find me lost in the clouds playing some of the best guitar riffs ever heard.

On air guitar or broom, of course.

Like A Fine Wine

2007-07-23T23:45:00.005+08:00

My husband Ben loves durian. The last time we were back in Singapore, we ate durian till we felt like puking. I hesitate at first, then, I finally break the news to him.

YOUR UNCLE HAS A DURIAN ESTATE?!! OH, MAN! When can we go? When can we go?

On my recent trip back to PJ, my family made a trip to Port Dickson (PD), Seremban for a "family durian fest". My Mom's sister Gina (I call her "Dee Ee", meaning 2nd Aunt), is married to Uncle Johnny who owns a durian estate in PD. So one Saturday morning, my mom, brothers, sister-in-law, aunts, uncles, cousins and I squeeze into 3 cars, making the 1.5 hour trip to durian paradise.

Before heading to the estate, we visit Dee Ee's home in Pasir Panjang, a quaint little one-street town. There, we have chicken rice at a nearby coffee shop. Uncle Johnny takes care of everything, from Uncle KB's requests for 3 whole chickens for lunch, plus tau yu bak (braised pig's trotter) and two tables specially "reserved" in this small town kopitiam, just for us urbanites.

It's been a long time since I've had REAL homemade barley, like the type I used to get in Malacca. It reminds me of the old Ujong Pasir house where I spent most of my Chinese New Years and birthdays as a kid, cycling around the Portugese settlement, and the cold, refreshing homemade barley from our favourite kon lo mee shop. Of course, those came in plastic cups unlike this whopper here.

Barley, ungge lekke nalade

After lunch, the REAL feast begins!

I'm still trying to get used to the heat and humidity, so durian on a full stomach at high noon is a bit too much for me. Instead, I allow my mind to wander off as everyone eats to their hearts' fill (it's gotta be the heart 'cos how in the world could one's stomach take in anymore after THREE kampung chickens and tau yu bak).

My family makes sure they keep my cousin Paul busy, as he pries open durian after durian. Seriously, I lose count of how many durians he opens. Growing up half his life on the estate, Paul is a pro! Swift and unwavering, and I'm not just referring to the thirteen hungry hands reaching out for fruit.

Now to savour durian perfectly ripe and fresh from the estate takes some skill too. As one hand reaches out for the fruit, you've gotta keep your eyes set on the prize, choosing the juiciest and most golden yellow piece. The other hand has to remain in constant motion, chasing away flies that are trying hard to get a piece of the pie.

Then you've gotta keep a mental picture of where the bin is to throw the seed, keeping your eyes glued to the open fruit, while pretending to chase off a fly hovering over the fruit when in fact you're already "chope"-ing your next piece.

In between all this, sometimes you may find a few free seconds to lick your fingers and wipe the sweat off your brow, while engaging in conversation with others around you --- "Wah, shiok ah" --- "Ayo, so many flies!" --- "Ay Paul! This one man-in-the-net or the other one?"

Man in the net? That's your crème de la crème of the estate. The fruit that is so good that nets are placed all around the base of a particular tree, about 3 feet off the ground, to catch a falling fruit, leaving it... flawless.

Like a fine wine, Uncle Johnny describes the durian varieties and the perfect fruit - its strong bouquet, elegant mouthfeel, lingering aftertaste... And the estate, like any good vineyard, with its terroirs and susceptibility to bad weather or just plain bad luck. Like en primeur wines, some trees are even "booked" by durian purveyors or gourmands based on "vintage" predictions.

Besides helping out around the estate, Paul has occupied himself with harvesting "escargot". He leads us to the cement tanks that used to house "tin kai" - frogs bred for human consumption, like for frog leg porridge. But the frogs are gone, and in its place, hundreds of snails!

He points out the different tanks used for different stages in the snails' growth - those for juvenile snails, those just for breeding, and snails that are almost ready for the pot! Paul sells these escargot to vendors at the market or food vendors who use seafood for zhe cha (stir fry) dishes such as lala (mussels), siham (cockles), sotong kangkung (cuttlefish with morning glory) and ikan bakar (barbecued stingray).

Escargot eggs

Afterwards, we are given a walk-a-round to check out the "special" tv satellite dishes installed. One's "only" 3metres in diameter, and the 5metre one receives channels from Thailand, Taiwan and China!

Now if my Uncle KB can request for 3 whole chickens just for lunch, you can be assured that we didn't leave the estate empty handed either...

Chicken rice, tau yu bak, durians-to-go... Looks like Ben married into the right family : )

Frogs, Phlegm n Dimsum

2007-07-22T03:40:00.005+08:00

We're having dimsum for breakfast after a trip to Frog Island. November has a bad cough. Bernie too. Walter says, "You're partners in phlegm".

"That's Andy's favourite", Ria comments as November takes the last piece of siewmai.

"It's alright. Phlegm sounds good actually", Andy retorts.

--- But scum is cooler --- How about bumble bee? --- Nah, too cutesy --- Killer bee? --- Death by bee --- Death by anemone, that's how I'd like to go --- Death by tripod while drowning --- How about The Cockroach Fund? --- Scum is good --- I think we've ordered too much --- It's gotta be repulsive, like fart --- Anymore, aunty? --- Try this crispy one, it's really good --- Too oily --- Like a wart or pimple? --- No, Pus! --- Mmm... this tastes REALLY good.

Frogs, phlegm and dimsum? Sounds like a rather gross combination, but this is what you'll get at a typical gathering of Wildfilms crew and other volunteers from Beachfleas, The Naked Hermit Crabs, ReefWalk and others. This blog is for the benefit of new friends, and really old friends whom I've only recently been reunited with through Multiply or Facebook and the likes. It provides a little intro and glimpse into a part of my life that some of you aren't aware of. Like why I'm always talking about wild things, seaweed and slugs.

A few years ago, I was your regular (almost) Singaporean 20-something. Lost in the rat-race, I never really toyed with the idea of climbing the corporate ladder and would have gladly accepted an offer to just work without bothering about politics and kissing ass. So the best way to stay out of the high-flyer radar was to be the regular (almost) Singaporean 20-something Zombie.

Drag myself out of bed each day, hail a cab to work on most days since dragging myself out of bed usually took too long. Get in to work about 15 minutes late, sit in front of the computer counting down the minutes till it was time to go home. So between 9.15am - 6.15pm, other than actual work and too many trips to the pantry for coffee, I'd wonder what I'd do when I got home that night... Hmm, CSI? Smallville? And what my weekend plans would be... Hmm, any new movies? No money? Ok maybe just sleep through the weekend.

I also found lots of time to surf the Net while at work. Looking for new ideas to pass the time, new hobbies. I thought, damn, there's nothing to do in Singapore except shopping and watching movies, or study part-time for a diploma or degree or whatever was needed in this dog-eat-dog world to get you a "better" job, a "better" life. I tried the latter. It almost killed me. So one day, I think I Googled something like "singapore things to do nature" and somehow, I eventually found myself glued to a website that I visit on a regular basis now - Wild Singapore.

And so begins the start of my (mis)adventures with "wild things" in Singapore - wild people, wild places, wild life... Not a "better" life. But a life fulfilled.

So who or what is Wildfilms?
"...a small group of volunteers who were moved by the beauty of Singapore's shores. We decided to document these on film as time is rapidly running out for many of our shores. In early 2004, a few of us decided to scrape together our meagre funds to buy professional quality broadcast equipment and try to come up with a 12-part documentary on our shores." "We hope to capture not only the fascinating and unique aspects of our shores, but also the special group of people who work for our shores. These include volunteers who raise awareness of our shores, professionals who strive to gain a better understanding of our shores and ordinary people who simply do what they can."

Why Wild?
"Because you have to be crazy and wild about our shores to commit to the project. Super low tides usually happen before sunrise... This means we start our day at 2am and finish at sunrise. Most of the volunteers on the team have full-time day-time jobs and other commitments. This means exhausting schedules every two weeks. But so far, it has been a wild ride and we are having a great time!"

Many of us go through life feeling that we're missing something. Some think, life would be better if I had a girlfriend/boyfriend, if I was married, if I was thinner, if I had a better job, if I was richer, if I'd just lose 10 pounds I'd be perfect. We try to fill this cavity with a person, then expect this person to fulfill this requirement. So you get two less lonely people in the world, unsatisfied. We try to fit something else in - stuff. Buy new toys, new shoes, new hobbies. But all these little pieces just don't fit. Broke and in debt, with a few failed relationships to boot, I finally realised I was looking for all the wrong things, in all the wrong places.

Your 20-something years is a period of self-discovery. You're stuck between trying to be an adult, actually being an adult, and still being treated like a kid. Perhaps in your 20-somethings, you should be working on getting a good job, steady relationship, money in the bank. But this is not Whole. Some turn to God, or a higher being. Faith and religion is all good. But then it actually also teaches us that money is the root of all evil, it does not condone greed and lust and envy. So how do you balance faith, religion, the pursuit of "happiness" while keeping your feet firmly on the ground?

If you watched the Matrix, you may recall how all things go back to The Source. What is The Source? Nirvana? God? Well, perhaps. But the "ashes to ashes, dust to dust, everything that has a beginning, has an end" part deals with a different journey in our lives. In between, I believe the Source (other than faith in God or a higher entity) is Nature.

In Nature, you find balance. Ecosystems are a fine example of that. X hosts Y, Z eats Y, Z dies and goes back to the Source, giving new life to X, or something like that. The circle of life in Nature includes us. But like X, Y and Z, we add weight to the circle. It's up to us if we want to bring balance to Nature, or eat Z to extinction, build a casino over X, and later realise that Y is a deadly disease, Z is the cure, and X is now a tourist resort.

To say we don't know what we've got till it's gone is too obvious. We don't know what we're missing till we've found it. So instead of ignoring all the signs, and searching in all the wrong places, we should "discover nature". Pick it up, not as a hobby, but a responsibility. We feel we are superior beings, a highly developed race. We're not animals, or creatures without the power to think, feel, act. We are THE force in nature. Like Anakin, destined to bring balance to The Force, do we turn to the Dark Side, screw things up, leaving future generations to clean up our mess and suffer the consequences?

If only all we took from nature was inspiration. Vivaldi composing The Four Seasons. Matisse's paper cut-outs of Polynesie la Mer. Bridges shaped like DNA structures. But we get carried away, and forget Nature's most important element - balance.

How much is too much? If I just lost 10 pounds I'd be perfect? No, if you're lucky, you'd be dead. But it's more likely you'd suffer from gastric ulcers and low blood pressure. How much is too much? Just one more major project, just two more extra hours at work, just three more birthdays I've missed......

Balance, my friends. You can have your almost perfect job, and almost perfect home, or not so perfect life. You can be the regular (almost) Singaporean/Malaysian/or whatever 20-, 30-, 40-something. You can choose to make God a big part of your life, or spend more or less time at work, more or less time with family and friends. Whatever gets you going man. As long as you bring balance to your life.

The point is not to live a perfect life, but a life fulfilled. So if you reach a stalemate and have no idea what's the next move, turn to The Source. Be inspired not by material things or societal needs, but the most inspirational of all. Be it a smelly green bug or even the rain beating against your window.

I found my balance in Nature, but it doesn't mean I'm some sort of nature freak or "activist". We all can play a part in giving back to Nature. Whether big or small, a little help always goes a long way. You don't have to be a volunteer, you don't have to be a rocket scientist. I can't dive and can't really swim, but I love marine life. So I volunteer with groups that visit intertidal areas during low tide. I admit I feel I don't make that much of a difference... I can't work the big videocams or fancy gadgets, but I have two arms and two legs, and a pair of working eyes. So I help to carry barang-barang, help to spot interesting creatures for others to document. If you browse through the lists of volunteer groups just in Singapore and Malaysia alone (even small little ones like the Cat Welfare Society), you'll find there's something for everyone.

If we all are to return to the Source someday, better to give what you can now, so you have less baggage with you on your final journey, don't you think?

Wet n Wild Full Moon Parties

2007-07-21T01:32:00.003+08:00

I can almost smell the salt from the sea as a gentle breeze softly ushers the waves up to shore. It is still dark all around except for the moonlight and a few beams of light scattered around the shoreline.

Usually on a night like this, the beach would be dark and quiet unless you bothered to pay attention to the sound of snapping shrimps popping as they ward off predators. And if you listened really, really closely, perhaps you could hear the soft squish as a predatory moon snail grazes along a spongy bed of sea lettuce, or the tip-tapping of little claws as small crabs scurry from one rock to another. But not tonight. It's a full moon night, and the beach is alive!

I can almost picture my friends there (perhaps at BB Bar?), having the time of their lives, not bothered about how wet and dirty things get as the night wears on.

A girl calls out, "Orgy!" and everyone, guys and girls, all run towards her. I can almost feel the excitement, the adrenaline rush at each "full moon" event. I was there with them during the last full moon, but here I am now, back in Dubai, only able to savour the memories from last month, and feel a tinge of envy as I read others' blogs about the mischief they're up to now.

Now that I've settled back to life in Dubai, it's about time I posted pictures and stories of the "full moon parties" I attended while back in Singapore last month. Full moon, night, beach, guys, girls, some underaged... How could all this equate to good, clean fun? How can a marriage of these elements be not just legal, but good for Singapore?

I know some of you are hoping to see wild images of babes wearing nothing on them but foam but this is a different kind of wet n wild, a very different kind of full moon party. Not loud music but a rhythmic thumping in our heads from lack of rest. No alcohol, just lots of coffee and 100Plus to fuel our sleep-deprived bodies. So sometimes we'd be covered in mud, or touch another's 'booty' but it wasn't something we would consider kinky. Sometimes we had to produce our ICs at spotchecks, but we didn't have to worry about age limits either.

The only thing we had to worry about was Mother. Mother Nature that is. We mention Mother wearily if we look up and notice a reddish sky, threatening rain. Our "outings" to a beach or deserted island depended on the moon, the tides and not really the weather since we'd head out rain or shine unless Mother flashed streaks of lightning our way - her way of saying, "You're grounded. Now go to bed!"

Spring tides occur fortnightly, during the full moon or new moon, when the sea experiences the highest high tide and lowest low tide of the month. From May to July, we experience what some of us call the "superlows" (nothing to do with jeans that show off one's buttcrack to the utter disgust of others). This is when the tide sometimes goes down to a minus zero level. And this is when the volunteers from Wildfilms, Beachfleas and other intertidal-related groups have the wildest nights that sometimes stretch on till sunrise!

I'm part of the Wildfilms crew, although I haven't had much action for the past two years. So my trip home in June/July was planned 'swee-swee' to ensure that I'd be in Singapore during two 'superlow' periods and back in KL in between.

First trip out with Wildfilms and a few Beachfleas was to the stretch of beach at Changi Ferry Terminal. I always enjoy my intertidal explorations on Changi 'cos the shore here has so much to offer. You initially just see a flat shore, covered with muck and algae, but this is the perfect place to spot all sorts of creatures hiding or grazing amongst the large mats of seaweed and seagrass.

Clockwise from top left: Sea cucumber's mouth or anus (we're never sure!); Jellyfish; Sea pencil; Swimming anemone.

I know when I first posted pictures from this trip entitled 'Wild Changi', some visitors to my site hoped to see lewd images of certain individuals 'working' a certain carpark... Sorry, apart from my corny sex-related puns, this is very much PG-rated. The sexiest creatures at Changi this night are the Geographic sea hares.

Geographic sea hare (Syphonota geographica)

So cute and chubby! For some weird reason, most of us at Wildfilms share the same goo-goo-ga-ga fondness for slugs. I especially like how sea hares and nudibranchs are slow. Not like 'em little fishes and shrimps that tease and play hard to get 'cos they're usually too fast for me to catch on camera.

It is very sad though that Changi is a favourite spot for poachers, who scour the shore for anemone and other "exotic" marine life. They're "exotic" only because they are endangered, you greedy and ignorant fools!

Clockwise from top left: Juvenile flathead or dragonet?; Filefish; A slender prawn with peacock tail; Moon crab (Matuta lunaris).

Two mornings later, we're at it again. This time, just four of us from Wildfilms on a restricted trip to the Cyrene Reef (Terumbu Pandan). The boatman waits for daybreak to find the reef, so by the time we arrive, we only have an hour of low tide left to explore and document this reef flat. Chay Hoon reminds us that if we leave any later, we'd have to swim back to the boat carrying all the equipment. This always makes me kancheong as eerie images of me drowning while lugging something huge and bulky like the giant tripod come to mind.

Volunteers for seagrass transects on Cyrene would probably have to visit a chiropractor afterwards 'cos Cyrene is seagrass paradise. If dugongs and seahorses were Bollywood stars, Cyrene would be THE location for the compulsory song and dance routine.

A graceful leaf slug (Elysia sp.)

The Cyrene Reef is absolutely beautiful. Very much like the intertidal zone on Pulau Semakau, the reef flat is made up of a long stretch of sand and seagrass meadows, and coral rubble.

Unfortunately, we find out from a boatman on a later trip that Cyrene will be a gonner by 2015. Yup, another tragic victim of development as it is slated for what I call the "slammer" - a tank store will be built on it to cater to the petrochemical plants that were built on other fringing islands and reefs nearby.

I picture it very literally as a crane, lifting a cold, grey and obscenely large piece of metal, dropping it right smack on top of a beautiful reef or island, destroying all life on it while sending bits of flowing debris and sedimentation back to mainland. Slam! Very drama... but goodbye paradise, goodbye Bollywood dreams.

An elegant peacock anemone

So we appreciate it while it lasts. Document it on film, video, digital ink, as I, like other like-minded souls am doing here.

A cowfish!

Brown is beautiful...

In this pic above: What looks like a gross pile of poo is the cast of an acorn worm, and pictured next to it, the acorn worm's butt. Kinky! An acorn worm eats and shits all day, literally. One end gulps sand and the worm filters whatever nutrients or minerals it needs from here, passing out the rest through its other end!

Pictured bottom left is a pair sea stars doin' the 'nasty nasty', and on the right, a 'mutant' sea star tries to recreate the X-Men logo. Sea stars usually have arms in multiples of five - 5, 10, 15, 20... If it loses an arm, it can regenerate a new one. I've even seen a sea star with just one arm, still very much alive!

On a trip to the Sisters Islands, we found this very rare sea star, a Basket Star, pictured above. The reef that is exposed during low tide on Sisters Islands is amazing! Corals of all shapes, sizes, colours, textures... and equally colourful and interesting creatures to match.

Clockwise from top left: Anemone coral; Soft coral; Hard coral; Branching coral

Clockwise from top left: Red egg crab; Swimming crab; "Brown Blob"; Nudibranch (Discodoris boholensis)

You absolutely must check out the video of the "brown blob". In the red corner, we have the red egg crab, a highly poisonous crab.

Poisonous or venomous, what's the diff? Poisonous means, you eat, you probably die. Venomous means, you touch, or you kena bitten or stung, you die die sure suffer in pain.

Clockwise from top left: A blue dawn on Sisters; Mushroom coral; Filefish; Red seaweed.

The next morning, we head out to Pulau Hantu (Ghost Island) for another 'back-breaking' stint. More coral varieties, and more slugs!

Clockwise from top left: Nudibranch (Glossodoris atromarginata); Soft coral; Leathery soft coral (Sacrophyton sp.); Sunflower mushroom coral (Heliofungia actiniaria).

My final trip out with Wildfilms this year was to Pulau Sekudu (Frog Island). The shore was teeming with life, from the tiniest of crabs to seaweeds of all sorts. The carpet anemones came in green and violet, while white and gold peacock anemones danced in the morning light.

Clockwise from top left: Sea grapes (Caulerpa racemosa, a kind of seaweed - some varieties are edible); Red seaweed (Halymenia sp.); Avrainvillea seaweed; Brown or red seaweed (Champia lumbricalis?)

Then there were the 'weirdos' - those things that make you go "Ooh... uhh... ugh... wuddat?"

Clockwise from top left: Egg capsules of the Spiral melongena snail; Rose-red coloured sea sponge; Tunicate or ascidian; Beaded anemone with little tentacles retracted.

All 'virgins' to Pulau Sekudu can't leave without taking a compulsory picture of "the frog rock" (some joker added the eyes and smiley of course).

As the early sun grows with the tide, I savour the moment once more, taking in everything - the green and earth beneath my feet, the cool waters in the lagoon and the warmth of day. The sky is washed in shades of pink, purple and blue as the sun rises over our little island home. I could not have asked for a more beautiful morning to last me till my next visit back to Singapore.

Dubai Blues

2007-06-04T07:15:00.002+08:00

I've got the blues.............

Ben keeps telling people, I feel bad for my wife... put her career on hold while I slog it out here, stuck alone at home, bored n lonely, sent out at least a hundred job applications, people offering her peanuts...

Then I keep reminding him that I'm the one having it easy since I just laze around all day. Stay up all night using the computer, then sleep till mid noon. I hardly even have to get out of my jammies or "house clothes" except for once a week when I go out to get groceries.

But a few days ago, I started feeling down n distant, not knowing why. And then suddenly, I cracked! I just got so fed up about the whole "drama" concerning my Powerbook adapter. Each time I call the shops, they say the same thing, "We've ordered it in, it will be here next week". And they say this every %^$&^@{ week! It's just so bloody frustrating and I wonder how people can be so obnoxious as to promise customers the same thing week after week but not deliver. Ben found out from a colleague that he's been waiting for the same adapter for his iBook since last year. He gave up calling the shops after 3 months, so now his laptop is just sitting around doing nothing, like most of the people here.

So, it finally got to me. The fact that all I do is wait. Waiting for Dubai to deliver. Waiting for promised phonecalls that never come. Waiting for a good job offer that seems unheard of for Asians here. Waiting for Ben to get home from work each day. Waiting for good news. Waiting for ANY news since the whole world seems to be moving except in Dubai. Waiting for actual "life" to begin, if not in this dreadful place, then anywhere else but here.

But everything is at a standstill for me. I feel as if the whole world moved on and left me behind. Life itself moved on, but I could not. All that's left behind is a shadow of who I am. Like Peter Pan, I desperately need some stitching.

So as ironic as it sounds, this "lady of leisure" is taking a break and retreating to Singapore and PJ for a month next week. Gotta regain my true colours once more 'cos blue just doesn't look good on me.

No Sugar For You Today

2007-06-01T16:11:00.004+08:00

Sigh... Aerosmith played for one night only in Dubai last night. I didn't get to go 'cos my husband was working till midnight and I'm not "allowed" to go alone. I wouldn't go alone either even if I were allowed 'cos it would have been so weird. It's not like singing in the shower or laughing by yourself while watching a comedy alone at home. It's a rock concert! How to "rock" alone... Damn sedih man. And on top of that, people might presume that I'm from China, and some "single" women from China here are prostitutes, or just plain skanks, so I'd rather not risk being approached, or worse, getting hauled in by the police. Yep, the cops grab any Asian TomDick'n'Harry off the streets and lock them up for questioning. It's like "tangkap" first, ask questions later.

I don't need to read any articles or reviews post-concert 'cos I'm pretty damn sure the concert was freaking awesome. I really would have liked to go for the concert, very much. Really really... Really really. Instead, I had to settle for a night in listening to Aerosmith on iTunes. Lagi sedih. Now to ease my suffering, I'm gonna merajuk and take it out on my husband for no reason at all! Heh heh....

First, I'll delete all his Jay Chou songs from his iPod. But I can't replace them with Aerosmith 'cos he likes them too. So his Jay Chou playlist is now gonna suddenly start spouting a weird-ass mix of Def Leppard, Beethoven and Sheila Majid!

Oooh... and maybe I'll change the ringtones on his handphone to cheesy MIDI Aerosmith tunes! Finally, I'll hide his paintball gun, and when he looks for it, all he'll find is a note saying "Bernie's Got A Gun..."

Muah-ha-ha-HA!! MUAH-HA-HA-HAH!!!

Deliver Us From Dubai

2007-05-30T16:42:00.002+08:00

Dubai is an evil place, I say. Eeevil! Eeeev-vil!! Not only has it turned me into a chubby, couch-surfer-potato, but I seem to have become a real bumbling idiot since coming to Dubai. First I killed my iPod. And just last week, I almost murdered my baby, Bob...

Bob is my Powerbook G4. Actually, I call all the Macs I've had before "Bob" for some unknown reason. So anyway, back to current Bob, who almost died in my clumsy hands... urm, feet actually. Being the typical short Asian, and wearing pyjamas that were bought from "angmoh-land", I tripped on my super-long pyjama pants, which then led me to trip over the power cord of my Powerbook, which then led to Bob FALLING!

Luckily, the power cord cushioned the fall a little, so Bob is unharmed and in good health, but in a temporary coma till I get a new power adaptor 'cos the needle part of it is a gonner.

So I headed out to the Mac Store at Ibn Battuta Mall, the ONLY Mac Store in the WHOLE of Dubai. As expected, based on Dubai standards, they were out of stock. Guy at the Mac shop says, there'll be new stock coming in on Thursday, so maybe the power adaptor will be here by Thursday.

I ask, maybe? What do you mean maybe?

--- Oh, we receive stock every Thursday, and this adaptor has been out of stock for more than two weeks already, so maybe it will arrive with this week's stock.
--- You mean you don't know what stock you're expecting?
--- No.
--- Are there other Mac stores in Dubai?
--- No.

--- Could you please call me on Thursday to let me know if the power adaptor is in?
--- Yes.

And of course, as expected, based on Dubai standards, he didn't call.

So I called the shop on Thursday and was informed that the adaptor did not arrive with the new stock. So how can I order it in? The guy quickly washes his hands of this "problem" by giving me the numbers of two Apple resellers in Dubai. These two did not have the Powerbook power adaptor either. One said new stock would be arriving next week, and another said maybe in two weeks.

I wasn't very upset about all this 'cos I already expected not to get a positive reply from any of these dumbasses. I mean, even Customer Service managers here can promise to call you back in 15 minutes or the next day, and then you don't hear from him or her ever again. This is the incompetent service standards that we're forced to bear with here, so I really wasn't expecting much. People here have no sense of urgency and no initiative whatsoever. The answer for everything is "Insya Allah" (God-willing). Like, Oh, I'm just gonna chat on the phone while speeding and running red lights. Insya-Allah, I won't get caught. Or, Hmm... 38 people have asked for the Powerbook Adaptor but it's out of stock and I'm just an employee. Insya-Allah someone from HQ will order it in with the coming new stock.

So if I actually ask the guy at the store, Is the adaptor arriving with this week's stock?, it's very normal to get a reply like, Insya-Allah, it will. Must be amazing to have so much faith huh. Apple Middle East does not have an online store, so if I was impatient, I could order it from Singapore n fork out a shitload of money to have it shipped over to this region. So I've decided to have a little "faith" and wait. Ben refuses to assimilate into the lepak-bo-chap culture here, so he was pissed.

So what did he do? He got a new baby! Here she is, a HP Pavillion dv6000 series.

I don't know if he actually has a name for her, but he definitely has a name for this other uber babe he drooled over at the computer shop. He wanted to get the latest iMac G5! Dubai has changed Ben too. From technological luddite, he's transformed overnight into this Mac-crazy, web-savvy techie! So Ben's like, for just a little more we could get this baby!

The one that got away...

Unfortunately I had to peel Ben away from the line-up of iMacs and he had to settle for the HP. Poor thing... His eyes still light up each time he goes on and on about how "sexy" this babe is.

After more than two weeks, waiting for a bloody Powerbook power adaptor to find its way to Dubai is like waiting for a miracle to happen. There are three shops that confirm that they've ordered it in, saying, call again on Monday, so when I do, they say, It didn't arrive this week, call again next Tuesday, and so I wait some more...... Ben and I are still waiting for Dubai to deliver. Or at least we pray, deliver us from Dubai.

Serendipity, Destiny n Soulmates

2007-05-29T16:03:00.005+08:00

Ben had not seen the movie Serendipity before, so I borrowed the DVD for him last week. After watching it, he says it's a really nice movie but I think it's just 'cos Kate Beckinsale's in it. Anyway, I'd like to share my two cents' worth about destiny, and how it shouldn't be confused with serendipity.

I'm sure we all have believed in fate, destiny, that kinda stuff, in a hopeless-romantic-kinda-way, at a certain point in our lives. I mean, the fact that every step you take leads you somewhere is pretty idiotically obvious. But where it leads you or where you end up is what makes you believe it's serendipity, destiny, or just plain bad luck.

Like say, your neighbours decide to karaoke at 6 in the morning one day, so you wake up earlier than usual and decide to take the bus to work instead of a cab or the MRT, and on the bus, you meet X, who is, say, a long lost friend. So after this encounter, you keep in touch with X, and later get to know Z through X. Now Z turns out to be this really great girl or guy and you fall in love. So then you say, it's serendipity! We were destined to be together! If my damn neighbours didn't feel the need to kill every Celine Dion song in their karaoke directory that fateful morning, I may never have met Z!

But let's say, Z turns out to be pond scum, spends all your money, tells you you're a fat loser, and cheats on you. Destiny? Uh, I don't think so. You wouldn't even dare say something like, Oh, I was destined to meet Z anyway 'cos my experience with him/her taught me a lesson or two. No! At that point, you're heart-broken and ask yourself, why me?!! Your friends try to comfort you, saying all things happen for a reason, and you think that's the worst piece of crap you've ever heard.

Or let's say, you have all the qualifications necessary but just can't clinch that dream job 'cos that potential employer feels you're just not "white" enough, or you're too young or too old, or they just wanna hire anyone else but you. So you think, that's not destiny, it's just plain bull-crap. Or you have a fight with your boss and quit your job. Then you're left jobless and broke for many months. Now, you wouldn't call that fate 'cos it was you who decided to resign, right?

So then, some of us believe that we decide our own fate. It's in our hands. Or is it, really?

If you actually sketch out a chart of all the people you know... Draw the connections, y'know, like a Friendster or Multiply kinda structure or a family tree, but chronologically. People connected/related to you from as far back as you can remember till now. Not enough space, use mahjong paper or something lah.

Looking at this huge chart, think of every eventful moment in your life and note it down, chronologically too. Like, if that event did not take place, you wouldn't be where you are or who you are right now. If the event links to someone who's on the chart, draw the connection. If the event was of your own doing, circle it in red. If it was an act beyond your control, circle it green.

Now you may realise, that the red circles - what you may not consider "fate" - is connected by or connected to some people or "green" events on your chart. So what the heck does all this waste of time, marker ink and mahjong paper tell you? We can't really decide our fate. We have the power to make important decisions, the will to make significant changes, but it all still leads to someone or something, and that someone or something also had a path of its own, till his/her/its path met yours.

We are all destined to be somewhere, sometime, at some point or phase in our lives. We confuse "destiny" with "serendipity", reserving this term only for romantic stuff, but the good, and the bad, happen whether we like it or not. We may avoid disaster at one point, but encounter it at another. We sometimes come across a fork in the road, and years later, think about the "what ifs" if only we had chosen a different path. Whether you're in the shit right now, or in a very happy place, it's always good to remember that it's destiny that brought you to this very point.

So you made a big mistake which caused you to lose a lot of money, or lose a friend, or a "soulmate", or even a life. Believing in destiny doesn't mean you're not responsible for your mistakes, 'cos you definitely are. You COULD have done things differently. You COULD have said things differently. You COULD have thought twice before taking the plunge. But you DIDN'T. That's destiny.

Now that we're on this subject, here's what I think about "soulmates" too. Some of us don't believe in the "phenomenon" of finding one's soulmate. That soulmates don't exist. So the non-romantic version is that people just settle for someone who has the most "checks" on one's Mr or Ms Right list, and couples just live semi-happily ever after. Or you do meet someone who fits the bill, you're blissfully happy together, but you still don't believe in that fate-destiny-soulmate- all-the-pieces-fit kinda stuff.

Then there are the "soulmate-believers" who desperately search for The One. Now the trouble with this belief is that once you're in your 30s (or 28 for women) and still very, very single and alone, you begin to panic. You dread every Chinese New Year or big family gathering and weddings. You know... Nosey relatives or unknowingly insensitive friends turning to you and going, "So........" You know what question comes next. I remember when I attended my Montessori practical training and the lecturer asked me in front of the whole class, "You're 28, not married, and no boyfriend? Ayo! Poor thing! How come?" And everyone in class gasped and looked at me with pity.

So then you think, shit... Where the hell is my soulmate? Knight in shining armour too busy building a career while studying part-time to attain a bloody degree or Masters just to keep up with the brat-race? Damsels no longer in distress, knights waiting for their knights... What happened to the classic fairytale romance? So you either give up completely, thinking there's no such thing as a soulmate. Or you realise, "Sheila who gave me herpes or Darren who insisted that polygamy rocks was my soulmate and I let him/her slip away! I met my soulmate, The One for me, and I screwed up and now I'll have to settle for second best or just grow old alone."

It's pretty scary to believe in this kinda shit 'cos it messes with you big time. Then, there's the version of destiny-soulmate-romance that I'm most comfortable with. Firstly, we have to define "soulmate". A soulmate, not to be confused with a kindred spirit, refers to someone of the opposite sex, unless you are bisexual or homosexual of course (yes, gays can find gay soulmates too - It's a fair world out there for some). But like a kindred spirit, he/she relates to you in such a way that no one else can. You both share the same level of understanding, tolerance, passion... the list goes on. Everything fits, everything falls into place. It's like you were meant to be together, like two peas in a pod, almost like twins separated at birth except that that sounds a little too incestuous.

So I believe there are people out there who turn out to be one's soulmate. But a soulmate does not necessarily have to be The One you live happily ever after with. You could go through life never meeting one, or you could actually find more than one soulmate. Yes, more than One, so no such thing as The One and only. A soulmate does not have to end up becoming your spouse, or being "the one that got away". You could meet one when you're 20, another when you're 30, another when you're 50...

In the end, it's all about meeting the right one, at the right time. If you look back at past relationships you've had (just the good ones, and if you have a few to look back upon), you may realise that this person was so right for you but it just didn't work out. That doesn't mean that all hope is lost. It just means that you met a right one, but at the wrong time. Perhaps he/she was not ready, or vice versa. Or you get to know someone and the both of you get along so well, like soulmates, but he/she is already taken, or vice versa.

I guess that's why hopeless romantics like me believe that marriage isn't just a Sacrament or official solemnisation. It's not about finding The One and falling head over heels. It's all about destiny. Every step you took, and every step he took, every person you met, and every person he met, every significant moment and decision in each of your lives that spun that messy web all over your mahjong paper till, at that very precise and perfect moment, your paths crossed.

This is Sparta?

2007-05-27T11:00:00.000+08:00

Weapons of Mass Destruction

2007-05-19T05:27:00.001+08:00

Benjamin, pronounced ben-yah-meen in Arabic, has picked up a penchant for guns and weapons ever since coming to the United Arab Emirates, causing fear and terror among colleagues, and even creating our once peaceful household into a Special Weapons And Tactics training zone. His two years of training in the army has proven useful, as he is able to apply a bit of what he was trained to do in combat here. Skills like target accuracy and war strategy, as well as a no fear, no holds barred type of aggression.

Some of his victims are wiped out mercilessly ever since he acquired this powerful and deadly weapon from Malaysia.

Purchased from his mother-in-law’s favourite household supplies shop in PJ Old Town. 'Em mozzies and flies stand no chance against the mighty Benyahmeen, the one-man "SWAT" force, if they dare venture into our humble abode.

Here he is, decked out in full gear, with a gun he purchased recently, through a counterpart’s contact.

It’s a Piranha R6 E-Force - .68 caliber full-auto paintball marker, equipped with threaded aluminium barrel (aerospace grade), raised sight rail, velocity adjust and electro mechanical multi-mode trigger frame. Powered by CO2 or N2, it delivers 12+ shots per second!

Ben picked up the Paintballing hobby recently with a bunch of colleagues. He actually only went once on 1st May, and a whole group of 60 colleagues have another session planned on 31st May. Bad news for me, since Aerosmith is performing in Dubai for one night only on that day. Good news for the mozzies and flies since there'll be at least one day of ceasefire.

Seeing Stars

2007-05-13T09:30:00.003+08:00

The 8th and 9th of May is our wedding anniversary. 8th and 9th, 'cos Benjamin and I were officially married at the Registrar of Marriages in Singapore on 8th May 2006, and then married in Assumption Church, PJ the following day.

Ben won a free night's stay at the Burj Al Arab from a lucky draw held at a senior chefs' party last year, so we celebrated our first anniversary a few days ago at the Hotel.

Inside view of the hotel floors from mezzanine, night, and day.

Burj Al Arab boasts that it's the only SEVEN-star all-suite hotel in the world, but the 6th and 7th stars are self-appropriated. So Ben and I thought, 7-star? Let's put their name to the test...

Check-in time is 3pm, and we are greeted at the entrance by Hanna, a personal guest services executive, whom we know.

The "white" part of the Hotel (the "billowing sail" part). Pictured on the right is the view of the lobby and mezzanine from above.

While waiting for Hanna to process our check-in, I look around the lobby, flanked on each side by floor-to-ceiling marine aquariums. There are two divers in the "tanks", feeding the fish. Ben says they are not contracted divers, but regular staff of the Hotel.

The walls on each floor is painted a different colour tone to create that rainbow-gradient effect.

Hanna escorts us to our suite on the 9th floor, and introduces us to the concierge. Every floor has a personal concierge, who is at the guests' beck and call 24 hours a day. Apart from the usual housekeeping personnel, there are also personal butlers should you wish to have things "done" for you.

The view of each floor from above, and the concierge desk on each floor.

We are upgraded from a "normal" suite to a panoramic suite, which is supposed to be about two and a half times the size of a "normal" one. Panoramic suites are located at the "corners" of the Hotel, two per level.

We have mentioned before that all suites are made up of two floors, and so the first thing that greets us as we enter the suite is the grand staircase from the first floor, up to the bedroom.

Ben n I spend the next few minutes taking pictures all over the suite. I skip and sashay from one end of the suite to the other, as Ben performs cartwheels and stunts.

The view to our left is Jumeirah Beach Hotel, and Madinat Jumeirah to the right. On the other side of the suite, the whole length of the Palm Jumeirah is visible on the horizon.

We are given fresh fruits (served on a silver platter, literally), dates, Arabic sweet and savoury tidbits, orange juice and a complimentary bottle of red wine.

Ben and I also enjoy the last piece of our wedding cake, saved from last year, frozen and brought over all the way from PJ. (From the lovely cake from Aunty Rita, not the ghastly, gaudy blue one).

A remote control works the TV, as well as the curtains. If someone rings the doorbell, a camera connected to the TV shows you who's at the door. Movie and Playstation DVDs are available from the concierge should a guest wish to have some "clean" in-suite fun.

Another TV is located on the second level, facing the infamous bed with the large mirror above it. This one's not the kinky revolving one though... That bed is only available in the Royal Suite.

The pillows are SUPER soft! I mean, really, seriously, super-duper soft. You feel as though you're lying on cotton candy as your head softly settles into a pillow of clouds...

The bathroom on the second floor is probably the most extravagant of all. One look at it and you go, Whoa...

All the toiletries are super-sized, free to use as you wish or to take home. We're talking full-sized bottles of Hermès perfumes, lotions, shampoos, shower gels, plus bath salts and bath effervescents... Even the men's razor isn't one of those cheapo disposable ones that one would have to pay for at a hotel in Taiwan. It's a Gillette Mach-whatever one!

So, many hotels have jacuzzi-equipped bathrooms... But here, we also have "power in the shower"! An additional 3 jets for the ultimate shower experience!

Ben and I head down to the beach before sunset. A buggy takes us to Majlis al Bahar, the cafe/bar by the beach. We walk towards Jumeirah Beach Hotel, and then back the other way towards Mina a'Salam (at Madinat Jumeirah).

We order some snacks and drinks which cost AED220.

Our dinner reservation at Al Mahara is at 10pm, and we are escorted to the waiting area for the "submarine" ride to the restaurant. After sitting in the "submarine" for about 10 minutes, we are informed to take the elevator instead 'cos the sub is out of order. We're told this happens quite often and just last week, a few guests were trapped in the sub when it broke down halfway.

The "submarine" seats about 8 people. It's supposed to be a "simulated submarine ride" but is actually just a tram of some sort.

We are seated next to the giant aquarium, and the restaurant seats about 70-80 guests.

Our table is the only one in the restaurant with two wine buckets, as we are served rosé champagne the minute we're seated, and have a bottle of Riesling too. I probably had only half a glass of each.

Darrell, the Chef de Cuisine, comes up to our table a few times to present a particular dish or just to chat, as the menu is specialised for us. Ben turns pale and looks at me wearily as Darrell describes one of the dishes... "Shark's fin broth, shark's fin springroll..."

The caviar dish is superb! And the amount of Beluga caviar we're served (30gms each) can pay for 2 return tickets back to Singapore!

Throughout dinner, Ben insists that the huge humphead wrasse is terrorising him, as it swims past slowly and stares at him with its big, bulging eyes.

The soup course, lobster bisque with cognac, kinda gets us hammered. The ratio of cognac to bisque is like 3:1. I still finish half of it 'cos you know how I love soup, but Ben is a gonner after a few spoonfuls. So that spoils the rest of our dinner 'cos our heads are pounding and we can no longer enjoy any more wine or champagne.

The palate cleanser before the main course is also laced with hard liquor, so after a few sips, Ben n I are both cross-eyed and seeing stars.

It really is a pity that we're both so full and mabuk by the time the main course is served 'cos it's really yummy. Turbot and foie gras... a REALLY huge piece of FG. I have to say though, I can't be a fine dining gourmand leh... I don't really like foie gras! I find it kinda yucky and "jelak". But paired with the turbot and sauce, it's really good. If only I could have "ta-pau"ed my leftovers, 'cos I must have wasted at least 80gms of super expensive FG there.

Ben brings me to the kitchen to meet a few of the guys and see where he works. After dinner, we're presented with a lovely chocolate mousse gateau, which we have to "ta-pau" as we're too full to even look at it. Boris, the manager, sits with us for a while after most of the guests have left, enjoying a glass of wine while talking about fine wines, terroirs, etc.

Not your ordinary carpark

After leaving the restaurant, we walk around the Hotel to take photos.

We get back to the suite at about 2am. The turndown service presents us with red roses, heart-shaped chocolates and a pair of souvenir face towels on the bed.

Ben K.O.s right after a shower. I find out that the super-soft pillows aren't that super after all 'cos Ben's drunken snores seem to vibrate through the clouds of Egyptian cotton and add to the pounding in my head. I manage to get just about an hour of sleep, and Ben n I are both up by about 6.00am, feeling really lousy.

We have our complimentary breakfast alfresco at Bab al Yam, and take more photos of the hotel.

Lobby and tiered-fountain

Check-out time is at 12noon, but we're both so sleepy and hungover that we leave the Hotel at about 10.30am.

Mezzanine level

Apart from the excess alcohol that killed our night and morning after, we still had a marvelous time, and were truly blown away by the Hotel.

Complimentary cake and bouquet of roses

Pampered with flowers, and goodies, and gifts, amidst luxurious and extravagant interiors... treated like royalty... Ben says it's gonna be hard to top this anniversary. And we both agree, they deserve their 6th and 7th stars.

More pics at Flickr or Multiply.