the roads are getting nearer

Friday, April 22, 2005

` Friday, April 22, 2005

I'm so glad to be home. A couple of years ago you might not have heard me raving about the merits of this country. I'd be happily packing my Samsonite and raring to explore every new destination, with absolutely no regard for family or friends (or my rapidly shrinking appetite).

I've been in jobs that required frequent overseas travelling for the past two years, the most intensive being 2004 where I was literally living out of my suitcase 70% of the time. Of course, the perks of travel (4/5* hotels, paid meals and transport, weekend trips) initially outweighed the dreaded airport waiting times, jetlag and long working hours. I've been to locations so remote that I started defining civilisation as the number of times a Starbucks or McDonald's outlet was spotted in a city.

In the case of Bangalore, there were no Starbucks nor McDonald's. Although there were worthy replacements in the form of local coffee chains churning out competent coffee, I craved the familiarity of the green logo and banana walnut muffin (absolutely divine when eaten warm). Perhaps it is true that American culture has infiltrated our little island to the extent that we seek some semblance of it when on foreign ground. It is always comforting to know that the taste of Coca-Cola remains relatively consistent regardless of country. I lost count of the number of times I had politely rejected lassi for the fizzy drink. So much for culture immersion.

Maybe I am getting older mentally, in the sense that I have subconsiously chosen not to move out of my comfort zone in situations which require me to. The opportunity to see the world was a privileged one, but it was also surreal because people in ordinary life don't jet around the world, staying for 2-3 weeks in nice hotels and get reimbursed for daily expenses. However, ask any seasoned business traveller and I'm pretty sure many of them will tell you it's not normal to be more used to sleeping on a fully-reclined chair (the airlines insist on calling them beds for some reason) in an aeroplane (or sometimes economy chairs that don't recline) than their own beds at home. Or to go back to an empty hotel room late at night only to find satellite television as the sole companion. Include significant others and friends having to bear with one's prolonged absence from daily life and you'd probably see what I mean. Travelling for leisure is another matter, but business travel for extended periods is not as fun or glamorous as it is made out to be.

I was on a 'red-eye' flight back from Bangalore yesterday and for once I had difficulty trying to catch some shut-eye on the plane. The relief that came with landing at the airport was immeasurable. It was a lovely morning ride back home, and the expressway and surrounding greenery never looked better. Like they say, you never know what you're missing out on until you've missed it.

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Monday, April 18, 2005

` Monday, April 18, 2005

I'm currently taking a quick break from work in the office by blogging. It's been awhile since the last entry, but I suppose the only highlight of last week was that I landed in the glorious Karnataka state (ie. Bangalore in a more flashy expression) last Monday late night, thanks to SQ's erratic flight hours into this Indian city.

In case you think I'm here on a holiday, I'm not. Although I wished I was as the lovely resort town of Goa is just an hour's flight away. I remember the last time in Goa was spent at the surreal resort of the Park Hyatt. I had managed to convince all and sundry of my ex-colleagues that it was THE place to go in India, having heard copious amounts of ranting from friends. On a lovely Friday early afternoon, all of us took a Jet Airways flight (the trip was actually very pleasant) there, only to find the area around the airport to be rather unglamorous (ie. primitive grassland and rather shanty-looking houses). Nothing would prepare us for the wondrous sight of the Park Hyatt Goa, a mere 20-minute bumpy ride from the airport. We were greeted by hotel staff clad in neo-trendy uniforms, who led us to the lobby surrounded by a man-made lake, to complete our registration.

Words cannot describe how beautiful the resort is. The raving didn't stop when we realised that the hotel had its own exclusive share of the Cavelossim beach. The entire area was fashioned like a Mediterranean enclave, with pink buildings that housed suites and rooms all encircled by lakes, bridges and greenery. The highlight was the expansive emerald swimming pool, with waterfalls and connecting bridges. We spent at least 60% of our time in the 2 short days there basking in the pool, swimming and soaking in the neighbouring jacuzzi. The beach had its fair share of sun-seekers but the only drawback was that one could end up with black patches of oil while swimming in the ocean.

Don't get me started on the sumptuous Goan fare that was offered at the hotel. It was unforgettable, particularly for semi-carnivores like myself, as the cuisine was very meat-based and the accompanying gravy was always strong in flavour and spices. Given that I have yet to take dinner at this time of the day (plus the fact that 80% of my meals here have been vegetarian-based), I don't think I can pursue this food-o-logue any further.

To top it off, all the girls signed up for an unique spa session where you had 2 female masseuses (or 2 male masseuses if you were male and up for it!) pour hot oil all over you and massage you in synchronised movements. I wouldn't personally call it a 'massage', because as 'liberal' as I've been when it came to spa sessions, this took the prize for stretching the limit of your sense of touch by another individual. In other words, I'd call it "sensory violation" and will leave it to your vivid imagination on the actual method of strokes used. However, it was a really memorable experience for all of us as we figured that would probably be the last time we'd try a synchronised massage at a really affordable price in a 5-star hotel (an hour's session cost a mere S$80!). Our male colleague heaved a huge sigh of relief cancelling the appointment he made when we coyly described the experience as almost X-rated, but with 2 male masseurs, had he taken up the challenge.

Brings back so many memories of December 2003 when I recall this happy weekend break, so much so that I will be more than ecstatic to return to Goa to re-live the entire experience.

Anyway, it's log-off time (my colleagues have finally decided it was time to get out of this chilly office and I can stop looking busy!). Another day's passed, but it's only Tuesday tomorrow! What a bugger.

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Wednesday, April 06, 2005

` Wednesday, April 06, 2005

When I was younger, I had a morbid fear of thunderstorms. Actually, I was more afraid of the lightning that preceded thunder. A slight flash would send me crawling under the blanket with my eyes and ears covered. Nothing would get me out of the comfort (and increasing heat) of the temporary 'shelter' I had created, until the storm blew over. It has gotten better over the years. But until today, I still squirm when I see lightning. The best way to get over this silly fear? Watch Vin Diesel movies. Or any type of wham-bam action flicks where massive amounts of light and explosions are commonplace. It was only then that I coined an apparent correlation between thunderstorms and man-movies. Yes, very abstract.

Anyway, this topic came to my mind because for the past week or so, we've been experiencing heavy rains in Singapore. After a couple of years travelling around, I've come to this conclusion that nothing beats the weather here. Although when it rains, it literally pours. When it rains in London, it feels as though you can still walk in the rain and do your grocery shopping. When it rains in Singapore, you better find somewhere to take shelter unless you're in need of a shower. (Did I forget to add that when it rains in Shanghai, you can forget even trying to find a taxi?)

Of course, because of the humid conditions, it actually feels more frustrating when the rain falls and the sun shines at the same time. What I find amusing is that when foreigners come to our little island, they're either basking happily in the al fresco area of cafes, or complaining about the incessant heat. Whereas if you ask the locals (in particular working adults and occasionally students from well-funded autonomous schools), they'd probably tell you that 80% of their time is spent in 'temperature-controlled' (possibly a more politically correct phrase for air-conditioned) environments anyway, so why get so 'hot and bothered'?

My angmoh boss tells me he absolutely adores the weather here. To the extent that he goes for long runs come rain or shine and not gripe about getting soaked. He actually finds the rains very refreshing! The fact that he can run 365 days a year in exactly the same sporting gear with no drastic weather changes is a boon to him, and he's more than happy to make do with a 50-50 unpredictability. I learnt how to appreciate the weather when I went to London in the midst of winter in February. Brrrrrr. The thought of the 2 weeks there brings chill to my current 'temperature-controlled' condition. The thought of piling on 3-4 layers of clothes and taking all of it off on a daily basis is way too much of a chore for me. Plus, imagine tripling the amount of laundry (although being a parasite adult, I have nothing to do with this activity until I eventually move out). I know of people (yours truly included) who don't bother to wash their outermost coat on a regular basis. Which probably stinks the fastest given that it is subject to all forms of harsh environmental conditions. As much as I agree that the vibrancy of western cities like London or New York cannot be matched by the lackadaisical feel of Singapore, I'd give up being a 'true cosmopolitan' just to be a heartlander at this stage of my life.

Oh, the rain has stopped slightly. It's almost time for me to head home, sans umbrella, by taking the shuttle bus to the train station in the western heartland, for a 40-minute ride and walk back to northeastern suburbia. Back home to start on my 4-hour vegetation in front of one of man's finest creations. Hey, the nick sputneek wasn't coined for no reason.

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Monday, April 04, 2005

` Monday, April 04, 2005

Sigh. Weekends flash by so quickly these days. It seemed just like yesterday that I was happily playing badminton and singing my heart out at Party World, only to find out that I had to wake up this morning and drag myself out of bed. To get to work. Anyone's seen the movie Groundhog day? It's eerily unsettling as I can absolutely relate to Bill Murray's character.

8AM: Stomp on the alarm clock. Curse and swear in a language I absolutely don't understand(goes along the gibbery lines of #&^*^%#(*&)(!#$+). Go back to sleep pretending that my mum's incessant screaming is just a really bad dream.

8.05AM: Dad almost knocks the room door down with his heavy pounding and a voice that would make a good alarm clock. Drag my feet to the bathroom. Slump onto the toilet bowl and attempt to catch a 10-second nap (I've perfected the art of sleeping while sitting up).
Stare at the mirror and getting a rude, rude shock at how cruel Mother Nature has been ravaging my 27th year alive. Brush teeth and wash face.

8.15AM: Turn on YES933FM to listen to 2 chirpy radio hosts and their endless banter. Sometimes it makes me feel guilty to complain, when these people always sound brimming with enthusiasm, even though they have to wake up in the wee hours of the morning to cheer the listeners up on a daily basis. Perhaps this contributes to the evergrowing popularity of these morning shows. I even know that at 8.20AM sharp, people can dial up to answer 5 questions and stand a chance to win vouchers from some electronics store. Yes, it is that predictable.

8.40AM: Went through my 20-plus minute beauty regime which, come rain or shine, remains faithfully consistent (toner-moisturiser-eyecream-foundation-powder-concealer-eyebrows-blusher-more concealer). Rummage the clothes rack only to realise that my mum has not read my mind and ironed the brown cotton-spandex blend Warehouse V-neck top that I've been dying to wear for the past 2 weeks (it went MIA after disappearing into the laundry basket). Search frantically for said top in piles and piles of clothes (you can see why my mum is highly traumatised by my shopping habits), only to realise that the search was futile and I am running out of time. Settle on something that can be ironed in a jiffy. 2 spritzes of Glamour EDP later, grab my bag-of-the day, locate my EasyLink card and office pass.

8.55AM: Head towards the dining hall, expecting to see a cup of Milo prepared by parents who are having brekkie in the kitchen. Dad questions late charges on neverending credit card bills (no, he's more concerned about the bank cheating my money than my poor spending habits) and attempts to rave about the virtues and neccessities of having breakfast before going to work. As usual, it falls on deaf (and defensive) ears. Typical cranky retort: "But I'm not hungry! I'll feel like puking!" just to get them to give up on this daily ruckus.

8.57AM: Get ready to head to the office (which shoes go with this outfit?). Ok, this I can't whine about since I get driven to work every morning by either of my parents. In case you think I'm one of those pampered, overaged, parasite-type adults who refuse to leave the comforts of their parents' care, yes, I am a living, breathing but unwilling example of what I have just described. Reasons are obvious. Firstly, for practicality reasons (why pay additional rental and have no laundry assistance?) and secondly, my parents are more than happy to have their grown-up (but unmarried) children living with them. However, I do give them a paltry sum of money on a monthly basis to take care of my living needs, including the cost of driving me to the office. My dad had kindly budgeted for this arrangement, after my first unsuccessfully painful attempt to get to the office by foot, train and bus which took an entire hour (ie. half an hour less sleep is almost too much to bear). 9AM is also the time when the ERP rates are at its lowest.

9.20AM: Reach the office and feel the lowest of low. Another day of having absolutely zilch to do. Except blogging (at this current moment) and checking emails. I really hope this doesn't go on forever. Passing time from 9am to 6pm is a chore these days. You won't believe how bad it is until you've personally experienced what I'm currently going through. Ah well, that's another blogging opportunity itself which will probably manifest in time to come.

Anyway, that is my typical morning in a nutshell. And the process repeats itself five days a week. So I do identify with Groundhog Day, which happens to be one of my all-time favourite movies. And I suppose most working people would go through this routine every day without realising how monotonous life has become. Which has given me ample time to go through an intensive thought process of what I really should be doing with my life. A quarter of 2005 has passed and I have so many things I'd like to do but am held back by certain insecurities and practicalities. How would I describe my current state of mind? I'm not too sure myself, to be honest.

To end on a more positive note, knowing earlier that there's probably more to life than just the daily battles with my alarm clock is a good thing. However, knowing how to go about getting more out of life is another question altogether. Oh, did I mention what a lovely rainy day it is to lie in bed and do absolutely nothing? Sigh.

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Friday, April 01, 2005

` Friday, April 01, 2005

As the saying goes.."(knowing) less is more".

From a self-declared fool to all other happily oblivious fools in the world. :)

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