Rebirth

December 11, 2009. It was an ending unlike other endings, with a series of unexpected events. There was so much happiness and general candidness. Dinner at Dozo with the PM team and endearingly the MIS boys. The early bomb of the night though, little P whom I thought was the baby of the MIS team was soon to be an accidental daddy and hence, married. Congratulations were in order. Before long, I was ushered to drinks and dancing at Ziga Zaga. Completely unbeknownst to us were the surprising presence of her majesty H and J at the door - they had dropped R off from their dinner. H and J were the last people any of us had expected to see. The fact that I had a minute's audience with H after lunch was already a minute too long. Poor W, caught alone at the entrance as they awaited my arrival. Some necessary chit chat eventually ended and we were finally dismissed. Inside, the group gathered strength and everyone seemed to be having a roaring good time. Some where in the middle we said goodbye to V and walked her out. As she left on the back of her boyfriend's motorbike a group entered the hotel. There were some camera flashes, some fans with pens and CD covers and bodyguards - three members of Guns N' Roses had arrived. T with drunken fervour asked for autographs. I soberly asked for hugs. With fairy dust dappled on us we headed back to the club. The night continued in great form. Drinks arrived on the house. Dancing dancing dancing. We were exuberant and having fun. Absolute darlings. Eventually the group diminished till there was only four, plus me. Lights were turned on. T was in no condition to go home less we were prepared to pay some massive cleaning fee to the cab driver so we decided to crash at the hotel instead. Drinks and cards till we couldn't keep awake any longer. It was finally dark and quiet and a few hours later, it was time to check out. We pretended lunch was a hang-over cure but it wasn't. Cab ride home at 2pm. I am at the front of my apartment building, ruined make-up, in last night's party clothes, holding a gigantic bunch of roses (a gift from the team). The finale* of a "lifetime" in Taiwan. The countdown begins again.

Outcry

I wish I had the strength for an outcry. The past couple of months have depleted me. I have nothing left. December 11th. Mark that momentous day in your calendar. My last day at work.

A Sea Change

Been lying very very low these days as I've found myself facing an abyss. An abyss that I'm not sure how to get out of and hence, is reducing me to consider slinking away like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Baby Boy Dax

Dax arrived on Monday 26th October to become my brother and sister in law's very first child and also my first nephew. He is gorgeous and an absolute darling. Biased? Completely and utterly! How could anyone not love that chubby little face?


Second day home from the hospital.


One happy grandmother.

Eyes Wide Shut

It's the first time in months that I've got a free moment at work where there's nothing pressing to do. Just waiting around till 6pm to do a stereoscopic review. It's really nice. I may even get to go home at a reasonable hour. Sure there's still some documentation to do but that can wait.

Phew... (taking a breather)

It's an amazing feeling to let your brain go blank for a bit. It's a bit like going to sleep with your eyes open.

zzzzzz........................

Sad Existence

It's getting ridiculous. The inhumane hours, the grueling schedule, the lack of resources and the combined, crushing weight of everything is about to smash me to pieces. I've had enough! I don't know how to describe the excruciating frustration and fatigue that accumulates from days and months of working to the point of insanity. There has be to a better way. And there is, but right now I'm sitting in a deep, dark trough. The air is thin. It's hard to breath. It's an empty place and feels a like thick mud. I've dipped so slowly into it I've not realised I've sunk right in to my neck. And as I try to draw a breath to scream my torso is squeezed so tight I can only gasp short breaths. The tiny pinhole speck of light above seems to be closing. I want to put my head down and cry. What is the point of this sad existence?

It's quite incredible that two days of working after a great birthday long weekend could turn me back to being a morbid depressive.

Better re-read this funny email to cheer myself up:

Sent: Tuesday, September 08, 2009 11:12 AM
Subject: FW: I LOVE MY JOB.............................

Next time you have a bad day at work think of this guy:

Rob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana. He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs. Below is an E-mail he sent to his sister. She then sent it to radio station 103.2 FM in Ft,. Wayne, Indiana , who was sponsoring a worst job experience contest. Needless to say, she won.

Hi Sue,

Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother.

Last week I had a bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad after all.

Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job. As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office. It's a wet suit. This time of year the water is quite cool. So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature. It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is taped to the air hose. Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints.

What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wet suit.. This floods my whole suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi. Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch. So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse... With in a few seconds my butt started to burn. I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened.

The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit. Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick to it. However, the crack of my butt was not as fortunate. When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my butt.

I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator.... His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically.

Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression.

When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet. As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber.. The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut.

So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your butt. Now repeat to yourself, "I love my job, I love my job, I love my job."

......

I FARKING LOVE MY JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A Trip to the Hairdressers

I am so busy that I work overtime late into the night. I work so hard that I am even in on Saturdays and Sundays. I have spiralled into a life of monotony, and the only social outlet I have is when I take a smoke break with a colleague during the day.

About three months ago I went to a new hair stylist for the first time, under the recommendation of a colleague's wife. It was one of those trendy places that I'd normally not go to for I am too busy to care about looks these days. I was a bit nervous when I saw the establishment, all austere in black and white, its sleek waif-like staff in their stylish charcoal greys and hair of asymmetric coolness, standing around with not much too do except appraise each customer as they walk in, then according to their wealth vs hip scale treat you with as little respect as they can spare. I think I wore an granny smith green cardigan that day (oh but I thankfully wore BLACK jeans that day, phew).

They gave me a form to fill out.

I think they give forms out to the plebs while the celebs breeze straight up to the mezzanine level for that VIP treatment. High above the plebs.

For the life of me I couldn't help but feel a sense of hopelessness as I filled that form out. Why was I bothering to get a haircut in a place like this? Was I hoping a new hair do would hide all my other physical faults? Perhaps if they gave me a Rapunzel do. Then I could use all that hair to wrap myself up like it were a hijab. So I get a trendy haircut, it wasn't going to hide that fact that I'm a fashion disaster. I sat there and sweated away my self confidence to the point of fretting over getting the answers wrong on that stupid form. Which asked for my name, contact number and address. An imbicile in disguise, that's what I am and they'll soon they'll all discover it. Somehow the last reserves of my liquidfying mind tells me to play it cool... Bah I say to your forms! I shan't fill it in, I defy your authority!

So there.

I hand back their piece of paper with childish scrawls in Chinese, a language I can barely speak let alone script nicely. Was there a slight disapproving look as they take a glance at my form? Ha! Probably beyond their faux dyed hair folicles why anyone didn't want to comply to their standards of conformity. I was then lead to the mezzanine level.

The hair washing was nice I must admit. It was a well executed routine with a very good neck and head massage included. I've been to lesser hairdressers and hate it when they get water in your ear or press too hard on your scalp or just can't get the water temperature right the second time they turn the water on when they ask at the beginning what your preference is. This was a good treatment.

I am lead back to my perch on the mezzanine level. They offer me tea and coffee and lay a thick slab of CURRENT magazines on the bench for me to read. I pick one up and non chalantly flip through the pages of couture and dead eyed models in their canary yellow mowharks, indigo eyes and glamourous lifestyles. I stop at the serious articles on the meaning of post modernism architecture and why terrorism is on the rise. I am studious and worldly and unaffected by material luxury such as this haircut I'm getting. Though I am a little annoyed that I've had to pretend to read these articles whilst waiting for my stylist to show. Time is money people!

He arrives and in my head I forgive his tardiness. There's nothing to say really about what caught my eye. There was nothing overt, and nothing hinted. There was just something about him I found attractive. A casual sense of dress, a quiet spoken voice, an attempt at being funny that didn't really pull off. Perhaps within all the artificiality and pretense of coolness was a man who was simply himself, cool. Upon realising this fact I turn into ice maiden. Two can play that game right? At the end of the session he tells me my new short do probably won't last for more than 2 months and that I'll need to get a refresher sooner. That was three months ago and I finally went back for that refresher today.

The waif staff were there still, but somehow less scary today. Just young. The imposing black, white and charcoal intereior seemed dull too. There was no form to fill in today, just straight to a seat on the first floor near the front door. The tea was consistent and so was the massage. He showed up moments later and remembered me from our previous cut. I still find him attractive, but I do not turn into an ice maiden. The cut was great, spunky like me. I decide to go back for my next refresher within two months.

Freakishly Awake

It is 3am Sunday night, or Monday morning depending on how technically correct you want to be. I am not looking forward to going to work in the morning. I am so tired of the sh*t that's going on. I feel like quitting even though I know I won't. I set myself a task and that is to stay on till the end of the project and that is what I'll do. But it still doesn't change the fact that I dread the idea of going back in a few hours. This is bad. This is what happens when you work too many hours and working weekends and suddenly one weekend you decide you have to take off and you get too much time to think why it's better to have a job that doesn't require you to be there seven days a week and you begin to resent it even though you didn't resent it before and was actually keeping a cheery disposition because well, you could. At 3am my mind is racing. Past events keep repeating that are of no consequence on today, or any other day in the future for that matter. I wonder if it's a reaction to the coffee I had at 7pm. No, it must something more. And no, it's not to do with what happened on Friday night. I know it isn't, because these things are not beyond my EQ. But I did freak out a little at the time, because I was completely drained from the stress I was under at work and it was the last thing I'd wanted to deal with and I had no idea it was coming. Seriously, even after 5 minutes into the conversation I had no idea what the other person was trying to say. I was blind-sighted. Exhausted and blind. But it clicked when he said he and his girlfriend are on a trial separation. Dear god. Once I heard that I knew what the rest of the speech was without hearing it. It's happening again. Why me? Why do I give people this wonderful sense of trust that they feel they can talk to me about anything and everything, and that I am this caring, thoughtful person that gives a sh*t? I hate that I do care. Because I'm drained right now. And the only person I can think about right now is me. I know that's selfish, I know that's not nice but I've been alone for years now, I'm used to thinking about me, and the last "relationship" I had was utterly soul-destroying because I cared and he didn't. Why doesn't someone rescue me for a change? He actually said he would, bless his cotton socks. Yes, bless them all! But still does me no good. He wasn't riding a white horse and he had no armour. I'm cursed to be a romantic forever. Every girl wants a fairytale, even though every modern girl knows it's practically impossible. And in practice, almost impossible. I am the poor sucker for the "just might be a tiny bit possible" part. Reality check please. Strange as I am completely and utterly rational. Freaky and awake. But I don't think it's the reason why I'm being insomniac tonight. It's work that I don't want to face tomorrow. Trying to delay its existence, for I know once I fall asleep, the next thing that happens is I open my eyes and the truth will be upon me. Sigh. Admitting denial is for the poor man who can't afford to not face the truth. Being in it is for the rich man who can. If you know what I mean. One happy thing about the weekend has been the rain. The lovely rain beating down a happy, strong rhythm. It was like a veil that cut me off from my troubles. I was hidden and untouchable. But the rains are clearing now and I hear the chirps of the early birds. Sirens that alarm me to the approaching day, marching marching marching towards me, ready to sieze me and haul me off to the firey incinerators. Curse the day!

No Smoking (but only if you don't want to)

When the ban on smoking in public indoor areas became effective on January 11, 2009 in Taiwan, little notice was made of it. People at work continued to smoke in the fire stairs for at least three weeks. Every pub or bar I've been to since the ban still allows its patrons to smoke. Once early in the ban I'd forgotten and asked the barman for an ashtray. The barman apologetically reminded me that smoking indoors is now illegal while handing me a cup filled with a small amount of water as an improvised ashtray. Other patrons were less mindful, ashing directly into the candle holders. I've never heard of a non-smoking patron complain at any one of these establishments.

It is now 5 months after the ban and indoor smoking has not yet diminished. It's been disregarded by the smoking community and entertainment establishments without much consequence. I am not advocating for a reversal on the law, but I do believe in enforcing the law. Especially when this law was established to protect the health of the community.

What could be even more disturbing is whether this kind of disregard for the rules is indication of greater disrespect for the law. If, adherence to the simplest of rules is ignored, where then does the it end? I don't want sound hysterical, but there are some things that should be monitored and a society taught to be responsible.

Night Thoughts

Nights are mysterious. So are night creatures. We need light to flourish but night creatures flourish against nature's intent. Wondrous night creatures.

Lover's Quarrel

Being single and living alone has its benefits. It means a clean house that no one can mess up. The fridge is never full of someone else’s half eaten and forgotten take away. There’s never a queue to do the washing machine (I once shared a house with 12 people, so I know!), and for that matter, the bathroom. I have the luxury of walking around the house in as much or as…well, you get picture. It also means I can spend over 12 hrs a day at the office, knowing I have nothing to go home to. No pets, no plants except the hardier ones, no loved one. I am thankful that I have great people to work with. But similar to any relationship, when anyone stresses out far too much it affects everyone. They’re pissed off, so you’re pissed off. You get short with one another an get on each other’s nerves. But what’s worse is that you can’t scream and yell at them then slam the door as you walk out. That satisfying act of violence. All you can do is sit and brood, and wait for the tide to turn.

Reaction

Ooooooooooooh I'm impressed!  The ability to potentially email your posts from your work email, and not be caught blogging from the website itself.  What a marvellous invention.

I like.

How bout a subject line

Let's see if this works better...

I'm trying out the new fandangle function of emailing my blog posts.  Let's see it in action.

Fundamentals

The alarms sounds at 7:55am. I turn it off, knowing a second will ring in 10 mins. My eyes fly open when that happens, disturbed by its frequency having already fallen back to sleep. I switch that off and fall back to sleep but this time, only semi-consciously. The alarm calls for the third and final time and I am awake. The light is faint in my room and I can tell it's grey outside. Another grey and cool morning. My bed is warm and comforting, and I toy with the idea of playing hooky. It's the most deviant and exciting thing I will consider doing for the rest of the day as a force stronger than me pulls me out of bed. I sigh at the burden of having a sense of responsibility. I decide to take my time getting ready, believing it's time I've earned for working till 11pm the night before and probably will again tonight as I've done often enough these days.

Home is a small apartment. The upper floor is the "budoir", consisting of a double bed, wardrobe, shelves, portable charlie horse*, dressing table, night stand and a reading lamp. I go downstairs to the tiny living room/dining room/games room/study with kitchenette, taking care on the narrow steps. Only about two weeks ago I took a tumble, on route to the bathroom in the middle of a dark night, in a drunken daze, bringing down my forearm directly onto the blunt edge of a step. It resulted in an over-turned pot plant, spilt soil and a cricket ball sized bruise, deliciously swollen black and purple. I was brave and did not cry, just gritted the pain that shot through my arm and into the pit of my stomach.

Getting ready in the mornings is a bore. It's simply routine. I think I am literally do it in my sleep. Wash and dress and I'm out of the door of my 6th floor apartment. My lift is an all mirrored affair. Useful reminder that the dark circles under my eyes will not go away. Out onto the street I walk briskly. Down to the main intersection where my bus stop is. There are two breakfast vendors that are unfailingly stationed at the two ends of the block. One is a middle-aged lady selling noodles and "oil rice" from a push cart, the other further down is a husband and wife team serving fresh shallot pancakes and soy milk from the back of their small truck. Whilst I am tempted most days, I am usually more deficient in caffeine and breeze past both options to catch the next bus that booms down. My day in the real world begins.

Shark Attack in Sydney

Just saw on the news that there was a shark attack in Sydney Harbour. There's even a link to an excel spreadsheet of shark attacks in this article. The guy didn't die, but he was rushed to hospital with a hand nearly severed and chucks taken from his leg and backside. Poor guy.

But this incident also highlights an interesting fact. The fact that the waters of Sydney Harbour are getting cleaner. Cleaner water means more fish, and more fish means more attraction for the sharks to come in for a good feed. When was the last time you heard good news about the environment?

So come on tourists! Come to the clear clear waters of Sydney and enjoy nature at its best. Right in the heart of Australia's most dazzling city.

Awww. I miss Sydney. It's the sunshine. Get a little sun on you and you just feel gay! Ahem. No pun intended.