UAE ID Pre-Registration Form Software

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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' :

1. I’d SMS Khim to let her know
2. She’d switch my computer on and inform the rest that ‘operation cover-up’ was in action
3. The boss would walk-in, pass my desk, notice me missing and look at Ida or James for an explanation
4. 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)
5. 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?

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

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

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.