the roads are getting nearer

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

` Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Okay. So I was absolutely unfortunate to have experienced the harsh UK winter back in February this year. Enough to whinge incessantly about it to all and sundry back home (and also somewhere earlier in the blog). This time in summer, the weather has somewhat redeemed my impression of the city with possibly the most unpredictable weather outside of Melbourne.

I touched down at Heathrow last Sunday afternoon, stuffing my haversack with a thick sweater, in anticipation of the worst of the wind and rain, as predicted by web forecasts. To my surprise, I was greeted by warm sunshine on the Heathrow Express chugging into the city. This continued on to Monday, but it was a little strange to see the sky still brightly lit at 8.30pm in the evening! The sun extended its stay till 10pm yesterday and I was told that it rose at 3am this morning. Imagine the confusion of waking up in the middle of the night (due to jet lag) thinking I had overslept. I can understand why the locals must be making full use of the summertime to enjoy the clear skies. It also dawned on me as to why the weather can be such an intriguing and frequently-mentioned topic in one's conversation here.

However, it's still too early to say whether the weather conditions will remain cheery for the next 2 days of my trip. The weatherman has warned of thunderstorms and rains to dominate the rest of the week, which translates into strong winds and chilly weather. At the end of the day, I'd still prefer the humidity and sunshine in Singapore. How I miss home all over again.

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Friday, June 24, 2005

` Friday, June 24, 2005

This was the main conclusion I drew towards the end of watching the movie Mr and Mrs Smith. I honestly don't see the point in reviewing the show, because I was alternating between that and "how can ANYBODY be born so effortlessly beautiful?!?!?!". Had the 2 leads been dominated by any less illuminating actors, the show would have been an absolute B-grade potential bomb.

Some other lessons I've learnt from the 2+ hour cinema session on Monday:

- Hook up with an engineer looking remotely like Brad Pitt and you'll be a guaranteed tai-tai driving a sleek Merc and live in a luxurious house with a hotel-style bathroom.
- Engage your significant other in a massive fistfight and gunplay as a means of foreplay to spice up your lacklustre love life. What the heck, destroy the entire house for a night of intense passion.
- Your mum's oven may contain the secret as to why at times, she has your dad at her beck and call.
- When you're with the love of your life fighting 10,000 bad guys, you're suddenly bulletproof from head-to-toe despite 100,000 guns fired. And every single shot you take with your seemingly limitless revolver eliminates your enemy effortlessly.
- Good-looking people go for marriage counselling. Because they're bored with one another's looks?
- Good-looking people have to try very hard to act funny. It's so hard it's not funny to watch.

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` Friday, June 24, 2005

I've always had an innate curiosity and somewhat bizarre respect for people who choose to parade themselves on national television for the most mundane of things. Take the extremely tall lady on a past episode of Monday's Top Fun, who could have been a Guinness Book of Records alumnus not for her larger-than-life profile, but for the sheer amount of hair on her legs. I almost gagged on my dinner when she appeared on TV. It didn't help that the somewhat voyeuristic cameraman held lingering shots of her hirstute "twin towers", and that the lady was decked out in nothing more than a mini-dress. Pardon me for the same-sex bashing, but if one did have plans to present themselves for public viewership, a fair amount of grooming should be observed before turning into a potential gogglebox eye-sore.

Of course, we are all guilty of acting the part of the ugly critic when we see ordinary people struggling to prove themselves in the limelight. Strangely enough, beauty pageants and talent quests still thrive and abound in our cynical TV world. As much as we secretly admire their bravado and wished the same courage would manifest in ourselves at times, it is still rather painful to watch people who seemed destined to work their faces behind the cameras. It is even more nerve-wrecking to see them in denial of their incapabilities. Sometimes, you wonder if such behaviour is attributable to misguided optimism, or simply sheer ignorance of reality.

Everyone is entitled to their own opinions, but imagine if someone told you flat in your face, in a singing competition on national television, that you were too thin or too fat for the aethestically focused entertainment industry. Imagine yourself as a fresh-faced teen straight out of school looking for a big break, only to be crushed by the harsh words of a supposedly qualified judge, commenting not on one's vocal prowess, but on the physical inadequacies you wished no one would point out. I felt alot of injustice for the poor girl, who admittedly had some baby fat to shed. But the look on her face was that of a shrinking violet, when told that she should "try to lose more weight than the other contestants". I wished someone would have asked that judge if he'd seen a mirror recently. Sometimes you wonder why they put people like him on the judging panel, when constructive criticism doesn't seem to be his forte.

I believe that everyone has a hidden (some overly exposed) exhibitionistic desire to be seen or heard by others. It is possibly the mentality that things can always been done better their own way. I'm sure the judge secretly thought that given the chance, he'd look better or sing better than any of the contestants on the show. It might have been the case granny years ago, had he not been in the twillight years of his current non-existent career.

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Monday, June 20, 2005

` Monday, June 20, 2005

ZzzzZZZzzzzZZZZZzzzzzZZZZZzzzzz....

Yeah. Wishful thinking. Is it just me or does the clock tick by extra slowly today? Gawd. Save me.

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Thursday, June 16, 2005

` Thursday, June 16, 2005

My paternal grandmother passed on yesterday, or rather, the news came from my aunt who was at the hospital around 12.30am early Thursday morning. I just had coffee with 2 friends earlier that night, telling them about my grandmother being critically ill with pneumonia and other ailments, evidently suffering from the ravages of the disease due to a poor immune system after being placed in the hospital. She had been battling for her life for the past 4 days, and the doctor was evidently pragmatic about her condition when relaying the news to the family. It was going to be one of these days, her cryptic reply was.

She was 81, and had lost a significant amount of weight eversince the last time I saw her, that being eons ago. Due to some irreconcilable family differences, my parents chose the painful decision not to stay in contact with her, although my brother and sister-in-law paid yearly visits out of respect and duty. She was subsequently placed in elderly care in her twillight years, and my aunts and cousins visited her often. However, her mental condition had started to deteriorate with age, to the extent that she was unable to recognise many familiar faces, and I believe that it must have been a tremendously trying time for the care-givers and family around her.

Talking about it with my friends made me realise that perhaps I am someone actually capable of turning myself into a person devoid of emotions when necessary. To me, it is crystal clear why some things happen the way they do, although I accept that no human was born with the intention of hurting or not feeling for another, except when they condition themselves to do so. In this instance, there is no stirring in me to trigger any form of feeling as a result of what happened. It does disturb me to a certain extent, but I do feel for the rest of the family, who have all become strangers gathered together in a long time, possibly because there was a responsibility to do so.

Anyway, what's happened cannot be undone, and I should take the advice to let bygones be bygones, and try to envisage what my grandmother had gone through in her life to be able to empathise with her. After all, she was my grandmother.

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Friday, June 10, 2005

` Friday, June 10, 2005

Had a couple of Hoegaarden Whites at the Alley Bar in Emerald Hill yesterday with some ex-colleagues. I've always heard of this expat-friendly pub area, but this was my first visit and it is actually a very pleasant place to chill out. It was good to meet up with the people I had travelled extensively with a year ago, as the jokes still flowed and everyone seemed pretty chirpy, despite a tough assignment they were all involved in recently. You could say that I missed their company badly, but the decision to leave was made because the extensive business travel was tiring me out both physically and mentally. I chose a travel job because I didn't really know what else to do with my life, except to see the world and satisfy my insatiable wanderlust. While I am grateful for the opportunity to do so, I needed to know if this was the way I saw my career in 5 years' time. Apparently, it wasn't, and so it was time to go. But it appears that my current work involves almost the same amount of time out of Singapore, which I am extremely unhappy about, to be honest.

This morning, I had immense difficulty trying to open my eyes to face the cruel reality of another day at work. I don't know if I should attribute this to having a bit too much to drink the night before (it's been awhile since I gave up on my partying ways and that was 1.5 years ago!), or that I simply hated the idea of going to work. Some say that if you wake up every morning raring to go to the office, it's usually a good sign that you're in the right job. If you wake up dreading every moment of the office hours, perhaps one needs to evaluate the root cause of the negative feeling. Or should one simply "shape up or ship out"?

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Wednesday, June 08, 2005

` Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Just to re-cap on another incident that happened in the weekend at the wondrously browsable Kinokuniya bookstore at Liang Court, where I go to stock up on my monthly supply of foreign magazines like the irrepressible Glamour, Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire UK. I prefer the English versions to the American ones due to the broader spectrum of interests covered, rather than the ubiquitous guides on how to make the "o" become a bigger "O" (or 2 editions later it'd be how to achieve the ultimate "OOO") that seem to plague the US pages. But a more interesting read translates into a more expensive purchase, particularly in the case of the English mags, so I'm trying very hard to pry myself away from the women's interest section these days, hopefully to save myself from unnecessary monthly wallet damage. Anyway, I digress.

I chanced upon this dubiously-titled fiction "Doing It" by Melvin Burgess when browsing through the "top fiction" seller shelves. The cover itself was eye-catching enough to move one into picking the book up out of sheer curiosity for its contents (eros as earlier mentioned in the last blog, or its sub-category of lust, does sell!). It chronicles a rite-of-passage of some teenage boys deep into their pubescent years trying to outdo each other in the bedstakes. Feeling extremely juvenile and not wanting to read another fantasy chicklit or books inducing "deep thoughts", I decided to pay for it at the counter.

The service person at the cashier was a motherly forty-something lady who had me taken aback by her sudden outburst of enthusiasm at my purchase (hidden beneath stacks of magazines, a clear folder and a purple pen). We managed to have a conversation that transpired like this:

Cashier: Young adult fiction.
Me: Huh? Sorry?
Cashier: This book belongs to the young adult fiction category.
Me(slightly bemused): Oh, I found it at the best seller section.
Cashier (lifts book up and scrutinises the cover): We placed it in the young adults section but had complaints that it was too..... (grimaces)
Me (getting rude stares for the growing queue): Adult? Okay, thanks.
Cashier (assuming I didn't hear what she said earlier and points to book): Young adult section, this one. Means not suitable for young adults. Hahaha! By the way, if you buy Straits Times I can cut out the 20% discount coupon and reduce the price for you. Pay 80cts, discount $2+. Okay?
Me (trying hard to understand the humour and chain of thought): Uh. Oh. Kay. Thanks.

I haven't read the book yet. It's supposedly had rave reviews despite its Adrian Mole-like inclinations. I haven't even unwrapped it from the plastic covering eversince the time I bought it. I wonder if it lives up to the expectations of the saucy cover. Maybe I'd do a book review when I finish reading it. That'll probably take ages. Don't bet on it.

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Tuesday, June 07, 2005

` Tuesday, June 07, 2005

I was too overwhelmed by the Force 2 weekends ago not to have mentioned the other movie that I had mindlessly caught on an early Saturday morning in Hong Kong. The film left such a big question mark in my mind after it ended that I was trying to figure out why they bothered showing it in the first place. I've blogged this after chancing upon a commentary about this movie in the New Paper today, which I totally endorsed word-for-word.

Eros is a trilogy of mini-movies directed by 3 critically acclaimed (read: arty-f*rty) directors from different corners of the world: Asia, America and Europe. Being an on-again, off-again movie buff, I've always been rather enthusiastic in catching movies that were either non-blockbuster types or from various continents of the world. The fusion of different cultures' perspective on eros seemed like an interesting concept at first glance. Wong Kar Wai's The Hand started off pretty promising, with nuances of unrequited love and tragi-comedy typical of his previous work, about a tailor who gets a hand in helping to master his craft. Literally.
Steven Soderbergh's tale of a troubled salesman seeking therapy for his unfathomable dreams with a voyeuristic shrink ends rather abruptly, leaving one to wonder where the eros theme was addressed in the midst of the confusion. Don't get me started on the last piece by some Italian director whose name is as mind-boggling as the story he weaves. It seemed like a pointless attempt to get some dark-haired actresses to shed their clothes (or exposing bits while having lunch in a see-through top) 80% of the time and spout pseudo-poetic love rantings for a very unattractive actor.

Ultimately, this is just an opinion of whether one should spend their money on a movie just for a theme that is meant to trigger viewer interest out of sheer curiosity. It is currently showing in Singapore and I'm pretty sure many more will echo the same sentiment. That it wouldn't do justice to the 9 dollars and time spent in the cinema.

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` Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Some interesting events that have happened for the past week or so that have either 1. baffled me or 2. made me either lose or restore faith in human nature. Whichever way you'd look at it.

- My boss is having a baby/leaving for a new job/having a honeymoon in Bali/getting married. All these announced in a matter of 1.5 weeks. And in that actual order of events.

- Saw the filming of my current favourite Chinese TV matchmaking show "Love Bytes" at the Heeren on Saturday. Kym Ng and Quan Yifeng were trying to poach attractive young women to vie for the affections of a most-likely young (and possibly short) guy. All these observations made from the comfort of a cuppa at Spinelli's, and in the company of 2 other equally cynical (but secretly intrigued) mid-twentysomethings. Too bad we couldn't stay for the actual filming of the show.

- Lost money at mahjong for the nth time. And suffering from the aftermath of announcing to the entire world (pre-mahjong sessions) that my pro-gambling family operates a quasi-mahjong den at home. This form of social bonding doesn't seem healthy for the pockets in the long-term. Have to consider other forms of self-gratification e.g. shopping. At least you get to keep what you pay for.

- As much as I'd like to lay claim to being a heartlander and not having to bother too much with my manners, this takes the cake for zero tolerance.
Imagine a grown man, thirtysomething, with wife and daughter in tow, seated in a cozy and suitably upmarket Spinelli's outlet situated in the heart of the business district. The daughter is quietly working on her homework and the wife flipping aimlessly through IS magazine. Of all the pleasurable things to do in life on a weekend family outing, he chose to whip out a nailclipper and cut his toenails. In full view and consideration of the people around him sipping their lattes or having tea with dessert. With strangers shooting occasionally murderous glances (including yours truly who tried practising the fatal toothpick stare but to no avail), he seemed perfectly oblivious and contented clipping away at both feet and hands, leaving morsels of unmentionables all over the floor. Somehow, it didn't strike him that this very personal activity should preferably have been done in the privacy of one's home. Perhaps his wife isn't used to cleaning up after him. Pity the poor barista who thought his job couldn't get any worse than clearing up the mess of mugs and cutlery off the tables. Pity the daughter who's bound to pick up such chronically bad habits from the father in her formative years.

- Woke up early Sunday morning (rare occurences celebrated like when the cow jumped over the moon) to attempt an hour's cycling at the East Coast Park, only to find the weather getting as unpredictable as us women, tempting us with bright sunshine one minute and dark gloomy clouds the other. Surrendered to a hearty McDonald's breakfast with excellent McCafe mocha and good conversation. So much for attempting to exercise. Good thing about waking up early in the weekends is the ability to stretch the leisure hours and praying it never ends on a Monday morning where the blues set in.

It's Tuesday, and I can't wait for the next weekend to kick in. Even though sometimes you see the best or worst of human nature in a split second. But who am I to judge? I'm only human.

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