Luddites Who Love Robots

...And We're Back!

2011-08-15T21:32:00.001+08:00

I thought I was done but I'm back again, funny how things work out...

I came home to Sydney almost two years ago thinking it was going to be forever, that I would finally settle down, get a job, start a family and become an active, productive, tax paying member of Australian society again. Fate however would have other thoughts. It has been one long winded way of getting myself a job offer from NYC, a move that would potentially mean leaving Australia's shores for a long, long time.

It's taken a while to get organised, but last Friday my E3 visa to the US was approved; I'm officially allowed to enter the States to live and work there. Indefinitely. This means I have exactly 4 weeks from today before I get on a plane to fly back to Taiwan for a 2 week stopover with my family before I begin my new life in the land of freedom fries, Barak Obama and the blues.

Time to restart the countdown.

Goodbye

2010-12-07T22:10:00.003+08:00

The window opened a little and I saw a sliver of expression of the interior. It was dark, though the light touched lightly upon a corner of a padded chair, highlighting the gentle fall of dust above it, an indication of the still and warmly hypnotic air inside. There's no one there any more, the house is empty. Soon a cool breeze will blow and rattle the curtains, beating the dust into a flurry of a dust storm until they settle, and disappear to their secret life.

Tuned

2010-11-23T22:39:00.007+08:00

1:44am

Listening to a compilation called 'Music to Kill Yourself To'. An inventive title from someone least likely to kill themselves, I congratulate them for their attempt at darkly humour. I actually listen to these melodic renditions of the human consciousness with growing speckles of hope and affirmation. Music has never played a significant role in my past life, in my youth nor hours of turmoil. I don't understand the lifeline it has been to numerous others; there has been no musically defining moment that I can recall. The kind of music I've grown to associate myself with, because social norm demands an allegiance, has been the kind of careless frivolity. Shallow and trivial, my musical tastes lack depth of emotion and intellect of tortured artists that speak the truth of the individual and hence, the collective. I am not ashamed. I choose to be unrepresented by the fretted.

But 'Music to Kill Yourself To' isn't exclusive to the world of angst. It too speaks gracefully of beauty, of self awareness and dare I say, love? As the listener I hold objectivity towards the material presented but I cannot deny my natural state to interpret with subjectivity. With this qualification, I say this is a compilation that champions hope and light. I want to free fall into the depths, to see with my own eyes, touch with my own hands and connect with my own heart, the soul, of the man who compiled 'Music to Kill Yourself To'.

Adventure's End

2010-02-10T21:02:00.006+08:00

I'm no longer in Taiwan. I am in Sydney. I have moved back to Sydney for good.

Between the last post and this one, quite a lot has happened. Time for a recap as my memory as already become fuzzy. I don't want to forget some important times so let's do it as per usual, countdown style, from end of employment to my return to Sydney.

Week 6, Dec 13 - 19
Taipei
First week of unemployment and hence, freedom. Began research for 2-week trip to Vietnam, departing the following week. Also began packing up apartment, as will only have one week left after coming back from Vietnam before lease is up. It's turning out to be a bigger job than I had imagined.
Stress level: moderate

Week 5, Dec 20 - 27
Taipei/Hanoi/Sapa/Halong Bay
Packed for Vietnam right up to the last minute. Departed for Hanoi on Tuesday Dec 22. On the flight decided the best way to see Hanoi is through a local, so made friends with the Vietnamese guy sitting next to me. 26 year old Wun Hong has been in Taiwan for 3 years, working and sending money back to his family in Vietnam. It's his first time back visiting and I predicted that he'd cry when he sees them at the airport. He agreed. His family doesn't live in Hanoi but rather the outskirts but we nevertheless swapped numbers and planned to meet up whilst I'm there. Friend objective achieved.

Experience culture shock upon arrival in Hanoi. The Old Quarter where hostel and most tourist attractions reside is a maze of look-alike streets, crammed to the rafters with motorbike traffic. Sights and smells out of this world. Feeling overwhelmed as even something you'd think as simple as crossing the street is an immensely difficult activity - that's how crazy the traffic was. But at the same time can understand how intoxicating the entire mix can be, that is, the exoticism of Asian culture here. Thankfully meet like-minded travellers at the hostel which is in part why travel is so attractive and rewarding.

Two common trips outside of Hanoi is to trek Sapa in the mountains towards the north and take an overnight boat cruise in Halong Bay towards the east. I had pre-planned so that I would spend Christmas in Sapa. It was a great idea as Christmas was utterly non-existent there and I felt a world away. The best way to escape and de-tox from my previous existence in Taipei.

I recommend Sapa but not Halong Bay. Perhaps it was the weather, perhaps it was the company. I'm not sure, but it just wasn't my cup of tea. Furthermore I come to conclusion that any visitor to Vietnam, Asian or not, will be ripped off at some point or another. It's just a matter of how much. So, simply know this and you will have a better experience of Vietnam.

Again, whilst in Sapa and Halong, met some great traveller friends.
Stress level: high

Week 4, Dec 28 - Jan 03
Hanoi/Ho Chi Minh City/Taipei
As per my plan, flew to Ho Chi Minh City on Dec 30 to spend NYE there and catching up with a friend who was flying in from Bangkok, someone I hadn't seen for 6 years. But first thing I did in Ho Chi Minh? Get myself pampered with a half-day spa package to feel relaxed and beautiful for NYE. It was the perfect start to 2010.

Also made local friend number 2 in my taxi driver from the airport to the hotel. Tho is 22 years old, originally from Hanoi but has worked in Ho Chi Minh for 2 years. Each month he only gets 2 days off work and as a young man it's difficult as he wants to have a girlfriend and enjoy himself as anyone his age should. But he's wanting to save enough money to go to cooking school, which he will be able to next year. Good luck Tho, you're almost there.

Say fond farewell to Vietnam and my friend from Bangkok as we part ways at the airport on Jan 03.
Stress level: moderate

Week 3, Jan 04 - Jan 10
Taipei
Nothing to do except plan packing strategy and tying up boring loose ends ie. utilities, banks, phones. Catch up with ex-colleagues for lunch to farewell CG supervisor RK. A great guy who's going back to the US.
Stress level: low

Week 2, Jan 11 - Jan 17
Taipei/Taichung/Ali Shan
Last week at the Taipei apartment. It was sad to see it go. At the end of the week Mum and Dad comes to pick me up and we go back to Taichung. A little sad but mini trip to Ali Shan that weekend cheered me up immensely. Went with 1 ex-colleague from Standard and 2 ex-colleagues from Digimax. A very happy and fun trip where we got out of bed at 5am to climb a mountain to see the sun rise. Beautiful. Also walked through an amazing cedar tree forest, with trees up to 1000 years old. Just lovely.
Stress level: low

Week 1, Jan 18 - Jan 24
Taichung/Tainan/Kaohsiong/Taipei
Last few days in Taiwan. Mum and Dad takes me on a little holiday to Tainan and Kaohsiong. Most importantly for me though, it was a chance to see my granddad one last time before I leave. My 91 year old granddad. I love him to bits and berate myself for never having enough time to visit him. There is something I want to do for him and I really hope I manage this in time. Fingers crossed.

I never knew Tainan to be the historical hot spot that it is. A great town to visit. We stayed at the newest hotel in town and it was damn swank. Kaohsiong was host to the 2009 World Games so a visit to the main stadium was necessary. Many other sites were also worthy destinations. All in all, it was the best way to spend time with my parents and to see a bit more of Taiwan, to fall in love with both all over again.

Dec 23 was the last Saturday I would spend in Taiwan, so took a coach up to Taipei to catch up with my friends for the very last time for dinner and drinks. At the end of the night, M takes out marker and gets us to sign his T shirt. R's suggested that M also draw caricatures of us all to commemorate the night. He's an amazingly talented artist.
Stess level: moderate

Week 0, Jan 26
Taipei/Sydney
Packed to the very last minute. Again. We leave the house at 4:30am to get to the airport around 5:30am, for my 6:30am flight. As I wheeled my luggage into the airport I see a familiar face. It's M. I am shocked and in disbelief. Then R appears, followed by T and E. 4 of my favourite boys have come to give me a surprise send-off! To be there that early on a Tuesday morning showed me how great these guys were. Love them all to bits.

Saying goodbye to Mum and Dad was hard too. Dad is his usual cool self to keep emotions under check, but Mum as mums do got a bit teary and so did I.

I leave Taiwan with a heavy heart, arriving in Sydney feeling almost like a new immigrant. It's Jan 26, Australia Day. I've finally come home.
Stress level: high

Rebirth

2009-12-13T15:27:00.006+08:00

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

2009-11-26T01:18:00.002+08:00

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

2009-11-03T00:30:00.002+08:00

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

2009-11-01T01:33:00.003+08:00

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

2009-09-15T17:15:00.003+08:00

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

2009-09-08T22:09:00.013+08:00

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

2009-08-17T00:39:00.004+08:00

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

2009-06-15T02:57:00.004+08:00

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)

2009-06-14T13:11:00.006+08:00

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

2009-06-06T03:11:00.002+08:00

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

2009-05-24T20:40:00.001+08:00

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

2009-04-15T23:48:00.001+08:00

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

2009-04-15T23:44:00.001+08:00

Let's see if this works better...

2009-04-15T23:42:00.001+08:00

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

Fundamentals

2009-04-15T00:41:00.004+08:00

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

2009-02-11T22:27:00.003+08:00

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.

Chapter Two

2008-12-20T11:45:00.004+08:00

She puts the phone down. She never had any intention of calling him in the first place. Perhaps it's her age, something more primal, more hormonal that caused her to have a momentary weakness. Some need to partner up and nest. There would be no point calling and feigning nicety. She didn't want false pretenses where he mistakes politeness for interest. And to have to tell someone you're not interested would only just create unnecessary inconvenience for both parties. There was no desire to tempt friendship either, not when she was about to leave in a few short months for good. What kind of friendship would develop anyway? She certainly didn't want him to think she would oblige to a "mutually beneficial" friendship. She had had plenty of those in her youth, but now she had moved onto other goals in life. It is now time for emotional fulfillment.

A man who doesn't call a woman back is called a bastard. Are the issues at the forefront of a woman's consideration when she doesn't call a man back also rests so prominently in a man's mind when he does the same? I'd be very intrigued and pleasantly surprised if they were. But let's face it girls, men are bastards.

Piecing It Together

2008-12-06T23:54:00.004+08:00

Any of my friends will tell you I have a useless memory. And it doesn't strike me how bad until I am jolted by a sudden return of a snippet of the past which brings on an involuntary Cheshire smile or a swell of uncontrolled embarrassment or even a flash of pure anger. Then the feeling disappears and I marvel at how strong that tiny piece of memory was, and feeling completely at a loss as to why I had misplaced that memory in the first place. It's like being half a person. I am never fully aware of myself and every day I feel like I am still premature, or delayed in my personal growth, when perhaps these feelings may be unfounded if I could just refer back to any minute detail of my past and find answers to my doubt.

Watched the end of A Streetcar Named Desire today, where Vivien Leigh's Blanche DuBois is having a conversation with Marlon Brando who plays Stanley. She talks about beauty fading, but that she has intelligence and culture and depth to offer, and being rich in that sense. Though she does lose her mind by the end of the film I do like this bit of self-confidence and don't feel it's at all part of the dementia she suffers towards her self-image. It was almost a glimmer of hope that she understands the reality of her situation but still holds a small flicker of hope for a better future...that is, until Stanley brutally demolishes her with his words.

Someone once did that to me, brutal to me with words. I was with him for a year and every day knew it was shit and literally counting down the days till I left. But the strangest, most unexplainable thing in that non-relationship relationship was that I'd wanted it to work so much that I kept defending him to myself. I still cannot explain to myself to this day why I felt like this about a man I didn't even want in the first place. Then I left. And I was a normal human being again. The hollows in my memory bank are serving me well.

Corner

2008-12-02T13:19:00.005+08:00

Darkness. Music. Strobe lights. Smoke. He shows interest. You show interest. You grind together on the dance floor. Go home together. He asks for your number, then he never calls. You call him a bastard. Every girl has been there before.

Now reverse that role.

A girl takes a boy home on Saturday night. She had been out with a group of friends and had no particular intention except to enjoy a rare night out. As girls do, they giggle and talk about boys. Banded together they play that universal game of Spot, spotting for those they deemed good looking. He was one she had noticed early on, being a tall, muscular black man wading in a pool of Taiwanese people. A few glasses of liquid courage later, she approaches a white guy at the bar for a chat. The reception was cool, so she leaves him alone. Her friend, a married lady, helps by marching them both directly to the black man and asks if He is single. He is. He hits the ground running by asking them both to dance. A smooth move indeed on his part. Girls do believe in safety in numbers, though our girl has somewhat grown out of that need. A benefit of age she likes to think. Very quickly they take to each other. It is familiar territory for them both, that dancing is a kind of foreplay.

But did she really want what was presented to her or did she simply take what was being offered? He was an excellent lover, and sweet too. In the morning He asked for her number. She asks for his instead. In polite parlance it would have been gracious to call or text that day to say she had a great time. To play the game would have been to apply the Three Day Rule. To be a bastard was to do nothing at all. She effected option three.

Why did she choose to be a bastard? Why, if she herself had been through the disappointment of not receiving an expected phone call, would now do the same to another? There were many considerations. She wasn't interested in a fling. She was interested in a meaningful relationship. She wasn't interested in making a new friend. She was interested in learning through a lifetime of friendship. There was no time either; she plans to leave the country within six months. Though handsome and considerate, he also seemed young. There wasn't a trace of arrogance or bitterness. Just smooth lines of grace and positivity, of an unfettered life, of self-created adventures and explorations. It wouldn't have worked, she keeps telling herself. There is no point, her resolve weakening. She picks up the phone. She puts it down. She picks up the phone. And considers.

Sydney

2008-11-27T17:13:00.009+08:00

Sydney is home. Its clear blue skies an allure that will never fade, the familiarity will never wane. Despite its constant face lifts. Sydney is my Sydney.

I went home two weeks ago to play bridesmaid to Clare's bride. Ravi, Clare's husband-to-be, has been known to me for almost the same amount of time as Clare. Amazingly, our friendships were forged on the dance floor. Hours and hours in night clubs in Sydney, weekends whiled away with music, sweat and laughter. So when one is called to duty, one accepts. With honor. And a little smirk too, at having always known I was right. But of course every thing associated with Clare and Ravi involves a small degree of personal risk. As much as they like to make fools of each other, they also like to make fools of you and two days before the wedding I am told to make a speech at the reception.

It was no demand but it was wrung with guilt: "You don't have to make a speech, we'll just ask them to take you off the list of speakers. It's just that you have so many stories to tell of the times we've shared." That last sentence sent a chill down my back. The Luddite has never been known to have a good memory and though I know I have true and treasured friendships I am already foggy of all of their details (I hasten to assure this does not desaturate the love I have for all my Near and Dears, and even the Far Aways).

In the end duty again prevails and I am still pen to paper at 4am the morning of the wedding, still trying to reconstruct some misty time, a darken place and muffled ringing in my ear to see Clare and Ravi again on the dance floor of our youths...

The day of the wedding arrives and the house is abound with nervous ladies, faces half-done, hair over-done and in all states of dress. Then photographers came and we hasten to shoot. Then it was time to scoot.

The procession from house to car to National Maritime Museum all led to a marriage ceremony on the decks of the HMAS Vampire. Neither of them or any of their relatives belong to the Navy. Clare and Ravi simply know how to do things with flare, but apparently I too, without intention. It was when we began our walk down the aisle toward the expectant and smiling guests. I followed Ravi's parents. They were able to avoid a small metal protrusion on the deck floor, what looked like a small hoop that ropes could be thread through, though I was oblivious to the fact concentrating as hard as I was to effect elegance and grace. I tripped on the thing and cantered at double time like a show jumping pony. To regain my composure and dignity I turned with class and yelled back to the bride "You betta watch this thing 'ere!". The rest of the evening proceeds unhindered.

When Clare and Ravi left for their one week honeymoon, they also left me the use of their car, a luxury convenience I've missed having (let's just say I wouldn't be The Luddite if I could afford it). A car means freedom, music and wind in your hair. It means the right to gripe at other people's driving and marvel at one's own parking. I was able to visit friends and relatives, run errands and the simple enjoyment at having control over my own transportation destiny.

I became reacquainted with the streets of Sydney, feeling an old familiarity rising. Every turn of the wheel led to a once frequented street and I marveled at the speed of change in the city. There is no doubt Sydney is a champion beauty, but it remains so even at such a dynamic rate. There is an appreciation of the harbour that is motivating the government's plans to move loading docks and cargo ships further south to Botany Bay. There is a general love of the good life in its people and a healthy sense of well being just to bask in its sun.

My trip home was purposeful, but even more significantly, my trip home gave me more than I realised I'd needed: a rejuvenated spirit and a greater love for my city, Sydney.

Rock Star

2008-11-19T14:18:00.003+08:00

The vice president of the country is visiting our company right now. He's in the screening room viewing some of our works and all staff had to don company t-shirts (yay team... that was sarcasm in case anyone missed it) to welcome him when he entered the foyer. Our boss lady was drooling.

Lots of national security men are standing around our office space. I feel sorry for these guys, especially ones posted at areas of lesser security risk. It's a lot of standing around, being bored but not allowed to show it. But it makes me feel uncomfortable as well. I'm obviously not doing work but updating my blog and the guy standing behind me is well aware of this fact.

I wonder if I should offer him some Kangaroo jerky I brought back from Sydney last week.

But they do look a lot better than the guys that were guarding prime minister who visited earlier this summer. Those guys wore what I assumed to be regulation issued short sleeve business shirts designed to make anyone look like they are wearing a moo-moo. With a collar. So they looked like scrawny guys in over-sized shirts. The prevalence of glasses wearing among the men also took away from the hard body guard image.

I guess the vice president is about to leave, there are lots of cheering and clapping in the foyer. Though mostly led by one person. And Elvis has left the building.

I Got It!

2008-10-16T01:07:00.003+08:00

Was at The Wall tonight. Finally! Yo La Tengo ("I got it" in espanola) created a night of eclecticism, writhing in softly tingling tones, bursting to massive guitar rifts, percussion upon percussion to individual piano keys. The venue was great, small but perfectly suited to the seductiveness of the sound emanating from the stage, drawing circles in the air then rocking the dust out of it.

The Wall
台北市羅斯福路四段200號B1
近捷運公館站1號出口
Tel: 02-2930-0162
B1, No. 200, Roosevelt Road, Taipei City
Near Exit 1, Gongguang MRT

He Looked Like Colin Firth

2008-10-14T23:55:00.005+08:00

Having been a little miserable lately what with work clamping down on us like a bloody vice, I thought back to happier times and laughed out loud today at the thought of having slept with a guy many years ago purely because he looked like Colin Firth. Colin Firth, or Mr Darcy of acclaimed BBC fame, that tall dark smouldering man any woman with brains would give up her intellect for. It was one of those nights out that had become regular, with some really close friends, out for a good night at a small club in Kings Cross that was partly owned by a friend's friend or some other equally close non-acquaintance. Drinks and dancing, but predominately E-laced euphoria sustained by the energy of speed, that was always a favourite mix of mine. We'd laugh all night, crowded into the small rooms of the converted terrace house, where you could go onto the first floor balcony to take a cool sip from your drink and cool breeze through the leaves before you overheat and dehydrate. Always remember to hydrate yourself in that situation. It's so easy to forget. But we didn't and we were happy, and danced and danced and danced. And when I looked across the room in my happy state, I saw happy reflected. If not more. We danced together and chatted about this and that. Nothing was amiss, just a feeling of invincibility and utter understanding. Towards the end of the night friends began to dwindle away. We bade our farewells, and left together, back to his place. The sky was beginning to lighten and I remember looking at him in the growing light and thinking, my god, he really looks like Mr Darcy. He really, really looks like Mr Darcy. There was no hiding my delight. Then he says, my girlfriend is away at her parents this week so we'll be alright.

What?, I said. Didn't I tell you?, he said. In our state who remembers who said what when, but I know that he didn't say anything before hand. I calculated. He approached me. He spoke to me first. He suggested we come here. I was single. I didn't want anything except the moment. The beautiful moment. Nothing could be sweeter. I am still euphoric, and I was with Mr Darcy. Driving home, I made my usual call to a close friend to tell my secret. He was a perfect gentleman! He was exquisite! We were connected in our minds and souls. I even remember telling her, almost pontificating as I insisted that ecstasy played no part in my judgement of his agreeable manner and I was on top of the world and everything had its perfect ending. Everything was sublime. And it was. And I laugh that I have this strange, far away, dream-like memory.

The Impossible Dream

2008-09-26T13:56:00.009+08:00

There is melancholy in the air. I am listening to Radiohead, and it feels like it should be raining outside, drops forming on the window pane, gathering, trickling down in haphazard streaks, colliding then molding to the sill beyond my vision where it all collects, held for moment by its own tension before breaking free and diving into the wet, musky soil of the garden below.

But it is not raining. In fact, it is a gorgeously bright sun-filled day, brighter and clearer than any other day I've seen in the city of Taipei. The diamond brilliance of the day is also burning the air that we breath and for once, there is no humidity clinging to our bodies. But the effusive sadness still lingers, heavy.

Inside the gleaming concrete building there have been a constant stream of politics being played, prejudices thrown against closed doors, misunderstanding on professional and cultural levels that though subtle are nevertheless available to anyone willing to see the truth behind the thin veneer. I write these accusations with guilt, but can it be false if a close friend has decided to leave rather than further injure herself in this house of polite impudence?

So, I am sad. And like her, I am tired of seeing the faults. Our castle of sand will stand in the late afternoon sun, still surrounded by playful children and families that watch on with pride at their joys. When the source of day dips below the horizon, the crowds depart, the moon will rise and entice the foamy tides to shore. Where then will our sand castle be?

I'm now listening to Masters at Work's Pienso en Ti (Thinking of You). If nothing else, the experience will be learned and let modified. The breathless air forgotten, the piercing light of that single bulb shaded, and we hold onto all that was good.

The Three Act Play

2008-09-10T01:33:00.004+08:00

It was the Saturday after my birthday so I grabbed my best girl and we went drinking! It was always my intention to divide my birthday drinks into three though I almost thought the final act wasn't to take place. It had been a very stressful week and was additionally asked to do overtime for 6 hours on that Saturday. It was all very unpleasant. But thank god Kristen and I felt equally in need of letting our hair down after a very strange day in the office. All you need sometimes is just one good girlfriend who knows what's been going on and who's as ready to flush out work bullshit with alcohol as I was, if not more.

We went to a little basement bar where we'd been once before with a bunch of friends. We weren't sure what the vibe would be like. Luckily it was just what we were looking for. A quiet bar that night, but with a live band. The two waitresses that worked there remembered us from last time and gave us a couple free shots. One was their own making, which was an espresso flavoured vodka shot dropped into a glass of Guiness. They said something about it being a wake up call.

After the band finished for the night we chatted to them. The singer/guitarist was Taiwanese Aboriginal, the bass player and drummer were two Japanese guys who'd met in the US. They were a blues band. What an odd mix. But they were great.

My first of my three part 30th birthday celebrations in HK were just as I had expected. By the third part I had left it all to chance and accepted whatever befell me. Like I keep saying to myself and people around me, Taiwan has been a really strange experience and continues to do surprise me. A taste of what's to come in life in my 30s? Let's have it then.

L: What we saw when we left the bar. R: A reflection of the singer on glass.

Top left: Kristen and I. Top right: Japanese drummer and bass player from the band.
Bottom left: In the cab. Bottom right: At the lights.

Onwards and Upwards

2008-09-05T12:39:00.004+08:00

It was a nail-biter to the end. The clock was counting down. Our meeting was delayed further and further into the twilight day. Half hour went by. Another half hour. And another. And we're still waiting. The room was then freed, but we experience technical difficulties. Ten more minutes. Then another ten. Anxiety intensifies. Only 50 minutes before the band goes on stage, and I am still at work preparing for a screening that will last exactly 49 minutes and 42 seconds.

The lights dimmed in the HD projection room. I gave up hopes of going out and seeing a band on the night of my actual 30th birthday, sitting there alone in that meat locker between the editor and the director. Afterwards we hashed out ideas for a tighter storyline which was very productive, but I couldn't help feel a little deflated.

It was just after 9pm. The night was still young. Off to the brewery we go!

Going to the brewery after work for a quick bite and beer with 5 co-workers in tow couldn't have been simpler or more effective. Too much food was ordered. But I couldn't resist all the dishes popular with Taiwanese people, being a Taiwanese person myself. 3-Cup Chicken, Drunken Prawns, fried tofu, octapus salad, duck blood and rice cakes. Just a few of the gourmet dishes we had.

Impromptu was the name of the game. I had expected to be drinking a beer listening to a UK band on tour in Taipei and picking up, but instead I was in a warehouse in a brewery having a great time, eating and drinking. Little did I know then, but someone at the table had bought a can of silly string for the occasion, and I was to be set upon by pink mucus on the way out. I loved it! The surprise attack was complete. I chased down the main perpetrator like we were a couple of school kids. Finally I panted my threats of keeling over.

So that ends the evening, or so I thought. Just to finish my weird and wonderful day, my cab driver who looked about 47, asked twice for my number during the ride home. So artfully he asked between in takes and chews on his beetle nut that I was fishing for the door handle before the cab came to a complete stop. And consequently, I left a pair of earrings I had received as a birthday present in the passenger seat.

I try not to be glum. I missed out on the band, but made it to the brewery. I got silly-stringed for the first time in my life. I got a lovely pair of earrings. Some dude asked for my number.

I look forward to Saturday night, when I'll be having my third and final round of birthday drinks to mark 3 decades in this Adventure.

The Never Ending Journey

2008-09-02T01:26:00.016+08:00

Landed on Saturday at 1030am. The comfort and ease of catching the Airport Express into HK station was a great start to the trip. As the MTR traversed towards my destination, the clear blue sky and pillows of white clouds released me for the weekend. From HK station it was only a short ride to Yosy's place, but that cab ride continued to heighten my delight. Hong Kong is tall and modern, yet its narrow streets and hills make it a city of its own making and character.

Arriving at Yosy's new apartment building was like arriving at a boutique hotel. As I walked through its front door a man walked past. He was casually yet smartly dressed, wearing sunglasses and talking on his mobile phone. And gorgeous. I was liking Hong Kong so very much, and it was only the first hour.

Yosy and Ted lives on the 35th floor. The views from their apartment was amazing. Their apartment was equally impressive containing all mod-cons. Though not a huge place, it still boasted a kitchen that even Martha Stewart would be proud of. Which means I was positively drooling (they had a normal oven, a steam oven, dishwasher, 4 gas burners AND a built in grill).

I was reunited with Yos and Corrinne, two dear friends I had made in London. This was the first time we'd all been together in two years. Corrinne had moved back to Melbourne for a stint, then relented to her travel bug and Yos's current location at that time and the two lived and worked in Singapore. After Yos met Ted, the two married and moved to Hong Kong about a month ago. It was a perfect arrangement to spend my birthday in Hong Kong and have both Yosy and Corrinne to celebrate with me.

Lunch on Saturday was at a small, local claypot joint. Corrinne impressed us all with her fluent Cantonese and even ordered me a milk tea and coffee combo drink. Let's just say it was interesting. After lunch we made important visits, to Zara and H&M. Two clothing stores that are close to many women's hearts and quite obnoxiously not available in Taiwan. We like to pay our respects and homage to them.

A quick cool dessert of mango ice cream, fresh fruits and birds nest jelly refreshed us and we headed back to Yos's to ready ourselves for the main event: dinner at Aqua and drinks in Lan Kwai Fong.

I had chosen to dine at Aqua not because of its food, but purely for its location which boasted one of the finest views of Hong Kong. It was a short ferry ride from Hong Kong to Kowloon. From our private glassed room on the corner of the 29th floor restaurant overlooking the harbour, Hong Kong Island was lit up in candied-coloured lights. Its festive mood matched mine and I couldn't be happier with the setting and company. I had two additional friends join us for dinner, Kelvin who I'd first met in Toronto and Felix, a friend of Kelvin's I'd first met in Taipei last year who'd moved to China earlier this year. Three ex-colleagues would have been present also, if we hadn't miscommunicated and they hadn't changed their flights to arrive the week before! The girls were missed, both by myself and the boys I think.

Despite missing their presence, I had the good fortune of typhoons from two weeks ago delaying my friends' travels in Asia. Ant, an ex-colleague from London and his friend Louise are currently on a backpacking trip and circumstances aka natural disasters allowed us to all be in Hong Kong at the same time. Ant and Lou joined us for drinks afterwards in Lan Kwai Fong, possibly one of the rowdiest drinking arenas I'd ever been. It reminded me of Temple Bar in Dublin. Small narrow streets with pub after pub after bar after pub. And plenty of white folk which enforced that idea.

We first went into the Russian ice bar for a shot of vodka each, then it was followed by jellied shots from Australian bar. Later in the evening, as we stood on the street, a man approached us with a box and offered us its contents. We peered in and saw giant novelty syringes. Curious. The syringes were filled with a burnt yellow/orange colouration. Definitely curious. The man then enthusiastically explained they jellied shots and that these were on the house. We laughed thankfully and all grabbed a syringe each. Beside us were a group of people attending a pyjama party. In their pyjamas. Further down the street were girls dousing each other with beer. And the last memory of the crowd of the night was seeing famous a Hong Kong radio DJ wearing a black T shirt and black leather skirt and boots (he is a man), walking with three women linked to his arms. He only has two arms.

Corrinne and I walked back to Yosy's place at the end of the night. It wasn't a far walk, but our heels were giving us great grief. Ending the night in a comfortable bed on the 35th floor of central Hong Kong took the grief away in a jiffy.

Sunday lunch was a late affair. But we'd kept to our plans of eating the famous roast goose at Yung Kee, famous for, well, its roast goose. It's roast goose cooked in the same way as Peking Duck, though the meat tasted far more tender, the flavours were rich without being overly powering, and the plum sauce to dip into was superb. I also ate salted pork and preserved egg congee which is a Hong Kong staple and it was just as tasty as I'd expected it to.

After lunch we strolled around Hong Kong a little bit more and embarked on the travelators that go on forever. This is the world's longest outdoor escalator, officially known as the Central-Mid-Levels Escalators. Mid-Levels is an area that boasts higher rent for its elevation and views, and we passed an open inspection of a residential building on our way up. The queues for this viewing was large to say the least, it was as if it were a queue for tickets to a concert or night club. It reminds you of how little land/housing there is in Hong Kong and that they are actively filling in the harbour to make more land. Eventually, one of our cab drivers told us, Hong Kong and Kowloon will be connected by landfill roads. Not bridges and ferries.

We stopped for an egg-tart break once we had enough of the escalators and jealousy of the rich in Hong Kong that lived in this area. It was time to head back. At Yosy's, we relived our night and days in Hong Kong over champagne the boys had bought for me the night before. The girls also presented me with a pair of beautiful earrings from Bali as a birthday present. Corrinne and I then said goodbye to Ted and Yos and their newly wedded bliss and we made our way back to the airport from whence we came.

At the airport I said goodbye to Corrinne who was returning to Singapore. I was to return to Taipei. It was a perfect weekend but I was sad to be leaving behind friends. Yet again.

Hong Kong. The world's Chinatown.

Aqua
29th Floor, One Peking Road, Tsim Sha Tsui
Kowloon
Hong Kong

Why In God's Name Would Anyone Jump Off A Bridge?

2008-08-13T21:29:00.005+08:00

Please spot the (a) insanity and (b) stupidity in the following exchange:
Person A: "Hey, I've got a great idea. Let's jump off a bridge."
Person B: "That sounds like fun. I'm in."

Sitting here, looking back, analyzing with the benefit of hindsight, I am astounded and confounded that anyone intelligent (meaning me) would think bungy jumping a "fun" activity. It is an act against nature. It is an act defiant of logic. It is a crude mean of entertainment and with utter clarity I scorn at its imbecility. I don't think I shall ever understand why I was so eager to participate, so happy to throw myself off the side of a bridge and have enjoyed the event so much.

But the brevity of the jump does make you ponder whether it was worth it at all. Within minutes I was back on top of the bridge, all endorphins and adrenalin evaporated. Yes I flung myself off a bridge. But I'm back now aren't I? Nothing to show for the seconds of exhilaration I'd experienced except a certificate stating so. Only by reviewing the videos and the photos later, did I begin to appreciate more of what had happened. Thankfully these replays fed my recall and helped crystallize the many stages my emotions went through in mere seconds.

Interestingly, I received this article in my inbox just two days after my jump, from a friend who had no idea I had bungy-ed over the weekend. It purports a list of "Must Dos" before one turns 30. This article, in my opinion, is written in the foulest, patronising, band-aid waving fashion, by some young barely-20-just-graduated-from-university- this-is-my-first-real-i-am-clueless-yet-i-tell-those -about-to-turn-30-something-about-how-to-live-life-even-though-i-haven't-lived-my-own-yet kid!

Let's see what it says. The idea of obtaining a fake ID (#30) doesn't appeal to me very much. Attempting to convince someone that you are younger than you are is just really,really sad. It was fun to do when you were under age, not the other way round. How about #25, showing up at a gay bar when you're not actually gay? Oooooh that's scandalous! I'd hate to think any gay people were hanging out in non-gay-designated areas.

I like #6. It's my favourite. It instructs you to "move out of home and live in a share house", like it is something you do off-hand, for fun, without a thought any sense of responsibility on either side. Akin to your best mate challenging you to jump off a bridge. And you do.

Correct answers: (a) Person A, (b) Person B

I Jump Off A Bridge

2008-08-12T20:06:00.006+08:00

Watch me jump off a bridge.

Life As a Minion

2008-08-01T19:35:00.003+08:00

Just read a friend's blog entry about a her recent work load. As a project manager for an electronics company, she would start her day in the office at 8am, be in and out of meetings through out the day, then go out and entertain overseas clients who are in town. Working over 12 hrs a day, this girl is worn out by the time she gets home. Each day's emails await her reply and only until they are answered does she turn in for the night. She writes that she's feeling the effects of stress, bad eating habits and little sleep.

I feel for her. She is describing my life to a certain extent. At my work, we are experiencing a hailstorm of stress, with a pressure front that has been building exponentially across the last two weeks. I clocked in a 60 hrs working week last week. Plus a full Saturday. Plus Monday just passed, which was officially declared Typhoon Day by the government as a warning to citizens to stay home away from work and school.

Currently I am sitting at my desk on a Friday night. Most of the office is empty except for a couple of suckers. I am waiting. Waiting for the bosses to come out of their mind-bending meetings so that we can forge ahead with their supervision. We will probably start work at 8pm tonight.

We are minions to our mortal gods.

Down the Rabbit Hole

2008-06-23T00:24:00.018+08:00

My usual Saturday routine was in full swing. I slept in. I parked the TV on an AFL game and left it in the background. I ate a late lunch and I surfed a lot, of the internet kind. Then the phone rang and it was M suggesting a dinner and a movie. M's cool. I don't socialise with him very often but it's always a pleasure to chat to an intelligent human being, and sensing something is on his mind, I accept the invitation knowing I have the task of cheering a friend up.

M takes me to Lawry's which is for him comfort food. Inside, the bar has wood-panelling, high ceiling, and a suit of armour stands in front of an ornately framed, floor to ceiling mirror. The dining room was lit by chandeliers. We are shown to a comfortable booth by waiter in gold thread waistcoat who spoke polite, textbook English. Lawry's have been "Celebrating special occasions since 1938".

The salad was prepared on a silver cart that was wheeled to our table. Once all the main salad pieces were placed into a large stainless steel bowl sitting in a larger bowl filled with ice, the waiter spun the steel bowl then poured the dressing from high above his head. Salad was tossed and served with a chilled fork. Showmanship from a by-gone era. For dinner I had a rack of lamb which almost melted like butter, and M had chosen Surf and Turf. We rounded off our meals with coffee and port.

When dinner was over we retire to the bar. M lights up his signature cigar. In the faint haze of smoke and slowly sipped scotch we chat about life, people and of course, love. No matter who we are or where we are in the world, love is the one thing we are all hurt by.

Time came for us to leave the restaurant for the good people at Lawry's had kept the bar open only for us. We let them and the old world go and left in search of a night cap.

Only a few steps later we find The Queens. Posters at the door indicate this is a place that regularly host live rock bands. A girl in a tight demin skirt, tank top and heels stands near the door chatting loudly on her mobile. No doubt we'd get a drink here. There is only a handful of customers so we get seats and drinks promptly. The band is taking a break so the DJ is at the helm. The floor-lit dance floor is empty but the music plays as if it was full. The mirror ball and swirling spotlights shine like the inside of a school dance hall. When the band returns to the stage they play without hesitation. They have three back up singers who are also dancers. Or more accurately, dancers who also hold mikes and think they are singers. It's mostly R&B, hip hop and pop. Songs that pump up a party of students. Surprisingly the band's energy level is not been deterred by thin crowd. M and I watched the slender, almost pre-pubescent dancers gyrate, whipping their long black hair back and forth and push their flat abdomens out at us, mocking us. The lead singer even jumps onto the bar top telling us to wave our hands in the air, or something closely mimicking that effect. I was impressed. These guys were working hard for their pay checks.

When time came for the band and back up singers/dancers to take another break, DJ takes over and plays the same kind of hip hop tunes and dance floor fillers. Though at no point do any of the 20 people in the audience take preference of the dancer floor over their seats. After a quick break where we all make for the bathroom, the band mixes it up in a strange playlist of Beyonce, Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake followed by Bananarama and Tom Jones.

The girls put on a show. A stripper pole is installed atop the bar and each girl takes her turn with the pole. Minus the stripping. It was hard to take your eyes off. I found one girl to be more of a dancer than stripper, as she had more athletic moves than the other two who simply shook their bodies around the pole. And of course I am qualified to state this as I am both a veteran of dancing and stripping and judgement-laying. I am intrigued by this kind of display in this supposed respectable live band venue. I can't deny the presence of the live band, nor the style of music they played, yet this club is dangerously tipping the scale of acceptable sleaze for a rock joint.

During the next band break, the first lone male dancer of the night begins his routine on the floor. I breathe a small sigh of relief as the issue of Balanced Scales in the 21st Century deserved urgent addressing. He was no doubt well-built, with a washboard for a stomach but he didn't do very much for me personally. It was the attire. Baggy jeans with a black leather waistcoat (?), bare chest and a black arm band. He jumped around for a minute impressing least of all me then suddenly throws his waistcoat by the wayside and suddenly again his jeans were off too! Whipped in a flash the velcro seams of his stripper jeans flew apart and he was down to a pair of god-awful black leather briefs with an arrangement of silver chain links on it that nestled in the middle looking like a giant silver-backed spider was gobbling up his package.

Part of his performance included placing a chair in the middle of the dance floor, having one of the girl dancers in the chair and doing a polite little stripper dance in front of her. He then gets her up on her feet, partners with her in a wiggle before the finale of picking her up, she lying back in his arms, her arms and legs stretched out and he spinning with her in that horizontal position a number of times. It was pretty impressive considering entry to this show/club was free. We had no idea.

Once he and the audience of 20 got their breaths back, sweaty stripper man moves towards the closest girl in the audience. She turns out to be twice his size and completely reaction-less to his outstretched hand. Her companion, a middle aged man in a surfer shirt and happily sozzled since M and I walked in, spiritedly encouraged her. She stands, and is lead like a limp rag to the disco floor, arms half up in a very surrenderous posture.

He begins performing new stripper moves of the night. As she stands either in a drunken daze or wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole, he crouches to her feet and pretends to run his hands from her legs up to sides of her torso, ending up pressing rather close to the entire length of her body. A few more up and down motion he gets her in the seat that's still on the floor. Instead of lying back and having fun with the moment she sits slightly rigid. He stands astride her and grabs her hands in his and guides them to his back, butt, legs and back again.

M and I are laughing our arses off. But in a brief moment of guilt and reflection, I turn to M and say, "I wonder if it had been me, would I have been brave enough to do it?" M shrugs and I turn back to the show, only to see stripper man climb over sofas and offer his hand to me in the dark, where I'd been sitting with M. Up close, I notice stripper man is just a smidgen shorter than me. Do I accept?

Thanks

2008-06-17T02:52:00.003+08:00

This is a very personal entry today, not written for any consideration of mass consumption, just simply a need to articulate certain truths I've felt for a very long time. Hope you don't choke on the corn.

Here it is, I offer you today's blog entry:

It's not thanksgiving, not that I celebrate the silly thing anyway, but I just suddenly came to a realisation that I really have to and WANT to give thanks to every single person that's made a contribution to my life, a life made absolutely wonderful because of their inclusion in it, because they've been the happiness and joy I've experienced, they were the lessons that I've learnt, they've made me strong, made me smile, made me angry and just simply made me the person that I am today.

Everyone should do this! Just look back at life and count your blessings. If you are reading this, it means you have access to a computer, the internet, the means and facilities are there at your disposal, that you are not society's forgotten people, that you can reach out and touch someone and have somebody to touch you back, that you have life and that my friend is reason enough to live it and be thankful.

To my longest and dearest friend Mel, who I've known the presence of for 19 years, but known really as a friend for only 15 years (cause we weren't friends before Year 10), though we may be thoroughly different people I love and appreciate you till eternity. Your beauty both inner and out, is just like the endless opal skies at summer's dusk; warm yet unassuming, your colours muted but absolutely mesmorising. And everlasting. Thank you for your friendship.

To my wonderful brother, whom I often regard as my third parent, it is your unwavering care and solemn nurture that I constantly look to and depend upon. You are a true gentleman and a big brother to be proud of. Thank you for your love.

To all of my past relationships, I thank you all for the role you've played at every stage of my life so far. I cringe, I cry, I stir at the moments you've given me. Everything has been bitter sweet yet I wouldn't change a thing because every moment has given me a new page in every chapter. Thank you for the exercise in emotions!

To every person I've met on my travels, those that were also in motion, thank you for making me feel like I belonged. Ours is a community that knows no boundaries, physical, geological, emotional, financial, sociological and any other "cals" you can think of. It is people like you that makes the world great, to carry good and decent stories and share them with your fellow man. Thank you for your intrepid spirits!

To every person I've met on my travels, those that were on home turf, I thank you for your generosity, your kindness, your openess and your benign nature. To receive me into your homes and your hearts, shows your genuine love for others. Could a stranger ask for more? Thank you.

To all my friends, both long and short term acquaintances, I can look at you and see moments in my life where you've made your mark. Those marks are marks of honour in my book of great deeds. You've shaped my existence, by either being there for me or by you needing me. It is the greatest gift of friendship I believe, the gift of trust and each of you have yet to fail me. Instead you grow more and more important to me everyday. Thank you for your soulful being, your intellect and your laughter.

There are only two people in this world that I want give my greatest thanks to. (it's not Mr and Mrs Claus). They are the embodiment of love in my universe. For in every action, every thought and every word, they give themselves to me selflessly and without expectations (well maybe some but nothing too ridiculous). As I grow older it becomes clearer and clearer to me how hard a life a parent's must be. The sacrifices you make, the ridicules you receive. It is a life long task that unquestionably take its toll, by its endless tearing of self-esteem and constant battle with common sense. For almost 40 years this couple has been a stalwart for their children, maintained a good relationship with one another, remained forever strong as people and been a guiding light that I still find hard to do without at times. They are the best people I know, the best parents one could ever have and I am honoured and grateful for them, and most definitely proud of them. I love them above all else. To my mum and dad, both heroes in my eyes, I thank you only as a daughter knows how. I thank you, I thank you, I thank you.

Some Snippets

2008-06-15T00:21:00.013+08:00

A selection of photos from the last two weeks - dinner at Taiwan Beer Brewery 346 Warehouse Restaurant, Naomi's hotpot birthday, dancing at Primo, drinks at 2046. Addresses below.

Some highlights included meeting up with James, a backpacker I'd met two years ago in Sarajevo who'd recently arrived in town to learn Chinese; my best friend Mel visiting; Naomi falling asleep at 2046 after too many drinks, but still managed to smile for a picture; Sharon's sexy outfit that converted from dinner wear to clubbing wear by the removal of pants; the eggs.

VENUES
Taiwan Beer Brewery 346 Warehouse Restaurant
No. 85, Sec. 2, Bade Road, Tapei
(Cnr Bade Road & Jienguo South Road)

台北市八德路二段85號(八德路&建國南路交叉口)
Tel: (02) 2509-8346

Primo
2F, No. 297, Sec. 5, Zhongxiao East Road, Taipei
台北市忠孝東路五段297號2樓
Tel: (02) 2760-5885

2046
No. 24, Lane 205, Sec. 4, Zhongxiao East Road, Taipei
台北市忠孝東路四段205巷24
Tel: (02) 2711-5589

Expanding Horizons

2008-06-09T20:35:00.006+08:00

Even though travelling is a great way of expanding your horizons, I dare say it's also how much you are capable of opening yourself to the limitless horizons. I mean, a person who takes the 3 day package tour of Western Europe isn't going to get very much out of that experience. How much off the beaten track do we have to go to have an worthwhile experience?

When I did my 5 week backpacking trip, I thought I had an incredible experience. I walked away feeling like I've witnessed the better part of human nature, that humanity does have a chance to survive the violence, cruelty and ignorance usually shown on that square little box in the living room at home with a window on it. That's a great lesson to learn and generally faith is restored in the good of the world, because we are generally far more affiliated with cynicism. But 5 weeks is only 5 weeks. There was so much more I could've done with those 5 weeks. I know I didn't live each day of those 5 weeks like it was my last. Which by the way, may I ask, is really good advice to give someone? Cause if you truly lived each day like it was your last, wouldn't you end up living irresponsibly and thereby possibly cutting short of your actual existence, or face consequences that exist because there was still always the existence of another day to reap the consequences?

I digress. I suppose to truly expand your horizons, you must not only allow yourself to be open to it but also actively seek it. And that's an important ingredient, to not be lazy and sit around the house like I do on weekends, when in fact I should be going out there finding stuff out. Wikipedia is great for the armchair horizon-expander. But nothing will be of greater reward than doing it yourself. How is it that we often get carried under by that current called apathy? What is it that sparks the self into action? Why is a day on the couch watching reruns more enjoyable than say, hiking?

Anybody with any clue or suggestion most welcomed to respond.

Winners and Losers

2008-05-17T13:51:00.004+08:00

I was out last night to catch up with a guy I had met at a bar in recent weeks. We had a very quick chat the first time we'd met, then about a week ago we had another quick conversation by phone where we arranged to possibly be at the same bar around the same time.

So last night ensued. It was odd as it was a rather unconvincing arrangement to have made. He was there with his friends and I joined them for a moment to say hi to him. They appeared rather affected. We chatted a minute before his phone rang and while he spoke I was devising my excuses to step back to my friends. Honestly I did not have an opportunity to speak to him properly, but there are certain things you learn about a person by the company they keep.

There was something amiss, and I hate to miss anything.

Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With String

2008-05-14T22:45:00.004+08:00

I miss being in a relationship. I miss all the good things a relationship offers. Is there any replacement on Earth that can take away the desire for a relationship? It's all good and well to have male (or female if that's your inclination) attention, or company, or "friends", but at the end of the day isn't a deeper, intellectual and emotional connection with another person the goal of all flirtations?

Don't get me wrong, I think flirting is a great sport. Keeps the mind active, the wits sharp. But there comes a time, when you want to bring home the bacon, and not just have it for breakfast either, but all the time. Bacon is great. I miss toasted bacon sandwiches on white with brown sauce. Get one for breakkie from a greasy spoon if you feel a bit wobbly after a night of drinking and you'd instantly feel like a million dollars. Ha, good times in London.

But the point I believe I have powerfully demonstrated above. Who doesn't love a bacon analogy?

Aftermath

2008-05-11T20:59:00.007+08:00

Nursing a horrific hangover. Feeling like I'm out at sea. The stench of stale alcohol and cigarettes linger in the apartment. Why do all good nights have to end this way?

It was indeed a fun night. An impromptu night as it was Ben's colleague's leaving party and Ben only texted me about it in the afternoon. I wasn't entirely up for a night out with a bunch of people I'd never met before, to say farewell to a guy I didn't know, and even Ben himself is a new recruit at his office so overall it was going to to be a very green experience. What tipped the scale was a colleague of mine calling to ask if I could suggest a place for us to all go out to. It was too easy. And only an hour before meeting up, another colleague called to chat and soon I had four people coming. Another two colleagues were already on their way to a salsa night but once that wrapped up they made their way to join our ever growing gathering.

The location was Sappho, a lounge bar with an emphasis on live music. A small, low key venue in the basement level, Sappho was a comfortable place to be. Our group sat together on cushioned lounges, a low table in the middle to keep drinks within easy reach. Our group dynamic is fantastic. I don't think I've seen a newly formed group of friends that seem to connect as quickly as us and with every person in the group just as contributive as the next.

As Brian the lead guitar/singer/soon-to-be-departee rocked the room our happy family was ransacking the bar. Rounds and rounds were consumed. We outlasted Ben's colleagues who all departed by my guess around midnight. We converted the event into our own affair and found the energy and rhythm to sway, jump, twirl, swing and dance to the music.

Eventually our own group began to dwindle and what was left were treated to a free shot of vodka by a barmaid named Bambi. We jumped into a cab and with each passenger we dropped off I felt increasingly happy. Not because I was finally ridding them of the night, but because each one seemed to be going home happy and that made me happy...

Until I woke up with a horrific hangover. I'm sure it wasn't the vodka shot. I'd been on vodka all night, now that I am old and wise and know not to mix my drinks. Vodka has always been good to me so why the heck... oh... I now remember in the middle of the festivities being treated to a free shot of tequila by a barmaid named Mini. That was it. Tequila and I are sworn enemies for eternity and I'd vowed never to let it touch my lips again. It bided its time and found a moment of weakness in me, too complacent as it were and I downed the vile brown liquid.

A barmaid named Bambi and another named Mini? The irony, as we are making an animated film with a director who's worked at Disney for a number of years. It's also somewhat traumatising for me to know that I was served hard liquor by two cartoon characters.

The screwed up faces of Tina Chen... We got there eventually.

A Woman of Action

2008-04-23T16:38:00.005+08:00

I am planning a 30th birthday celebration that will involve planes, another country and one night.

It should satiate a little my need to travel. To add to the mix a meal at a classy (read expensive) restaurant in a fancy hotel, a partner or two in crime (or three or four if I've been a good girl) and a pulsating time doing the foxtrot at a dancehall (perhaps the contemporary version of would be better, but I wouldn't complain if indeed the foxtrot was back in vogue by then) then I should be a pretty happy camper for having lived on this planet for 30 years.

Any excuse to hop on a plane really.

And if I should die on the way (pardon my morbid thought, I promise the thought will end well, oh pardon the pun) it shall be with a smile for I know I was on my way to having a wonderful time.

Now isn't that just nice and dandy and full of sunshine and lollipop?

Home Is Where the Heart Is

2008-04-16T21:56:00.005+08:00

I had the strangest thought today. I'd suddenly felt I'd wanted to go home to Oz and blend back into the crowd again. Blend back into Oz? But don't I "blend" better here? Here in Taiwan I look just like everyone else. Asian, black eyes, black hair - Taiwanese. Yet I feel more comfortable in Oz. I feel like I belong in Oz, that I am just like everyone else there even though I obviously don't look like your typical sandy-haired, sun-kissed white Australian. How funny that what we feel inside has no reflection on the outside.

There is a term for people who look Asian on the outside but feel white on the inside: a Banana. But I am not a Banana. I was raised in Australia and naturally grew up with certain Australian outlooks and beliefs, but I am also acutely aware of my cultural background and what is entailed in that identity. Here in Taiwan, I do not feel as if I am a foreigner, confounded by the Asian way of life. Yet concurrently and possibly by default of being marinated for longer in the Australian multicultural stew, I am Australian and that is where I belong ultimately.

God is a DJ

2008-04-14T20:33:00.016+08:00

One man brought love back into my life for a few brief hours on Sunday night. He left at 4 in the morning. He's name was... Tiesto.

(cue female vocal, cut to thumping bass then let the lazer show begin)

Tiesto is the world's number #1 DJ and there is no disputing that fact. Queuing up in the line on Sunday night with thousands of other anticipating fans was nerve-wrecking for me. I would've pre-bought tickets if I wasn't so lazy to buy them online. It was a sold-out show and who knew how many tickets they were holding at the venue for last minute bandwagon-jumpers-on. In the queue with roughly 1000 punters, I was thoroughly surprised that within 30 mins I had three tickets in my hot, shaking, little hands. Perhaps that's Asian efficiency for you.

Returning later in the night with my two work buds, I was buzzing with adrenalin. The crowds were filing into the warehouse space, in a part of town not known for anything fun or even lively. The Nangang area traditionally had many cemetaries I've heard, so that was probably why there are many temples and other semi-spiritual alters I see all around, tucked between old residential buildings, appearing haphazardly, repeatedly. Spooky to walk around the empty streets at night to say the least, eeriely incandescent in red and gold (colours of good luck) and incense filled.

L: Warehouse, with light projection on wall. M: Classic DJ pose. R: We love Tiesto.

As we filed up the stairs into the thumping warehouse like disciples being called to prayer, my heart was pounding. We pushed through the crowd to get closer and closer to the front where the DJ stood on his raised platform like a priest at his pulpit and... ok, we've all heard the religious analogy before... but I cannot put it to you how much this experience lifted and warmed me. I felt love in that warehouse that night. From him, to me. And from me, to the world.

It was pure, pure, joy. And I was NOT intoxicated in ANY way.

L: The 8000 people crowd. R: Tiesto waves goodbye after his awesome set.

How's that aye? I've impressed at myself that I was able last till 4am without a lick of spirits or a whiff of anything else. Aha! I am still young aren't I?

The Anticipation

The Finale

The Next Generation

2008-04-08T23:47:00.003+08:00

The question of children has popped into my mind recently. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it earlier. I know friends and relatives my age or a little older who have had kids. I know of their traumas of raising little ones, and the great joy they seem to give the parents and other related family members. I have also been made aware in a general sense, of the difficulties a woman faces when she gives birth in her 30s.

I am approaching 30, in less than 5 months. Yet this is the first time I’ve really considered the problem. Is it a problem? To answer this question, one should really consider the source and ask, do I want children? I’ve never been the kind of little girl to talk about how many babies I would have when I grow up. It was never something I thought about, let alone aspired to. What is the purpose of having children anyway? Little power trips of being able to create someone in thine image? Surely in this day and age, children are somewhat redundant.

Let me explain. Traditionally children often died in early childhood due to disease, famine and other horribles we’ve eliminated today. So in order to ensure someone was around to look after the farm and look after you in your old age, you bear children, and many of them. The idea of having children also ensured your name would live on. There is a great human propensity to continue our genealogy, part of our genetic makeup, the Darwinism of it all. Through the thousands of years of revolution this desire or need for offspring has become embedded into our culture. It is not a necessity to have children these days, yet it is still not the norm for those in meaningful relationships to not consider the idea of having children. It is still expected by society that as a result of the union of two people, children will be presented sooner or later.

But what do children offer today’s couples? There is greater talk of the Me Generation that suggests the people today of child-bearing ages are less concerned with providing for the family but more with providing for themselves. And that means satisfying all of their own needs in life first, hence marrying later, and hence having children later, if at all.

I have yet to decide what my future will be with regards to children. The medical profession will advise me that I am approaching the latter stages of my prime child-bearing years. While I am unfit mentally and financially right now to consider having children, I guess I must for my body’s sake. And though I may not want children right now, I may want them a few year’s down the track, for what ever reason I decide is fitting. And if this is so, I need to think hard about the risks and sacrifices I may take, both then and now.

I am part of the Me Generation. I want to achieve things in life without the burden of raising responsible youths, citizens of the future. I am still yet to know the role I play I this society and without that, how can I possibly consider bringing another into my orderless world? Furthermore, the argument that there are countless unclaimed children in this world makes it feasible to not bear children of your own. Celebrities have almost made this fashionable in recent years, and while I am not saying because celebrities adopt you should too, adoption is being given new profile and extra bonus stamp of legitimacy by these “role models”. In the ultimate expression of the Me Generation, these celebrities for what ever reason chose to adopt, must have also considered the advantage of not taking 9 months+ out of their careers, of not worrying about the changes to their bodies pregnancy causes, of not worrying about the extra hard work of returning their bodies to pre-pregnancy perfection.

Is this the reason why turning 30 is such a terrible pitfall for women? That it signifies the end of the most youthful time of our lives, that we must face harsh realities even though we aren’t ready for them yet? Talking and thinking about children realistically puts us into a context that we’re not used to and frightened of, particularly if you are a single girl with a so-so career. Something to think about.

This is a very unpolished piece. I lost my momentum midway and kept restarting it. But I've kept this minimumly edited, partly as a request (you know who YOU are) and partly because it's been sitting for too long in the draft pile that I'm sick of it. Maybe you can offer advice on how to improve it.

Just Imagine This For A Minute

2008-04-07T01:10:00.011+08:00

Oh, just wishing I was travelling. T'is all. I had originally planned to do another big trip in about 5 years' time, when I've saved some money and got the career going. Urgh, but I want to go now. So maybe the comprimise would be to do a trip after Taiwan, just before I go back to Oz, around this time next year... Hmmm... Could work!

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Surealism No 3

2008-03-30T23:53:00.005+08:00

I find myself in the gloam, peering to the fading light. Despondency and decrepidation strikes the soul, still bruised and tender at last renewal. Spring has come but the air has chilled. Summer sun bakes a lonely shell. Hidden games will lay ahead, and falter all unseeing participants. The will is strong only when the soul is strong. Where does the soul feed? My words serve a purpose. They purge my sickness so I can breathe. To carry on these waves of disparity between day and night. Suspended between keys.

Surrealism No 2

2008-03-26T22:17:00.007+08:00

I'm helping a new colleague from LA move into his new apartment. On the day, the landlord was still moving out with her young daughter and elderly mother. As conversation ensues and chatter flows, I find myself translating between my colleague who speaks not a word of Mandarin and the elderly mother who has a rapid-fire tongue and an obvious love of talking the way some older people tend to do.

She is fiendishly unstoppable, increasingly looking and speaking directly to my colleague in Mandarin rendering me useless. Occassionally I throw a few English words over her shoulder at him and he smiles and nods in understandingly at her. He mumbles a reply in English when there is a gap which I translate into Mandarin. She beams and is encouraged. Her conversation escalates. The flow of Mandarin ramp up and even Taiwanese is brought forth. But perhaps a little hassled at my inability to either keep up or talk over her, she throws in a couple of English words for good measure.

Without missing a beat I turn and begin translating English into Mandarin. I wear the translator's hat very well. Then I realise I am speaking Mandarin to a dumbfounded white man who's been in Taiwan for less than a week.

One word. Beleagured.

Surrealism

2008-03-24T22:31:00.004+08:00

Sitting at home alone with my laptop. Home that's newly moved into. Single occupancy. It's a whole new world. The newly installed internet connection and digital tv are god-sends... Internet connection to keep me in touch with the outside world but even more astonishingly I can watch live AFL coverage and ABC News on the Australian Network channel. It's like I'm back home. Honest. Then I go to work and I'm looking out for a bus with a Chinese name on it instead of a number, and I grab breakfast of soy milk and congee from a breakfast stand near work... During the entire day I am speaking rapidly in Mandarin to my Taiwanese colleagues, but then I turn around and am repeating everything again to our North American colleagues in English. When I converse with them, I return to Toronto... I go home, watch a Taiwanese news broadcast and it's irritatingly obvious I'm not anywhere in North America but staunchly Taiwan... switch over and suddenly I'm back in Australia again, or the UK, if I turn to BBC...

Finally We Meet, Mr Tiesto

2008-03-14T12:00:00.008+08:00

Tiesto is coming to town! Tiesto is coming to town!

Here is an opportunity to throw away pretenses of aging, don the true spirit of youth and re-enter the dance arena for a night of music and euphoria.

Tiesto is on his world tour and will be in Taipei on Sunday April 13th, tacked on after his gigs in Korea on Friday 11th and Japan on Saturday 12th.

I'm a little worried the man will be worn out from his hectic schedule. Will he be able to bring it to the table on Sunday? I am making the effort for his arrival. Despite my recent disaster at Carnegie's, the pull of Tiesto is greater than leaving the lax muscles in my rapidly out of shape body lax. I've been wanting to see him live for many years, and the cruelest part is that he's played several New Year's EveS in Sydney at the best parties when I was still living there yet it was never to be. Until now. On a Sunday night on some small island's city, and not even in the city centre but some venue off on the city fringe, on the rather dull side of town (incidentally 10 mins from my place and 5 mins from my work). Will he be motivated to give it his all?

A Revelation

2008-03-11T11:11:00.002+08:00

I am older than most of my colleagues. I am fairly sure of that. I'm not 100% sure, but I am fairly confident. Those who are older than me I could probably count on one hand. Maybe two. But I wouldn't need my feet.

I actually had a girl, all of age 25, tell me she's worried she's starting her career late.

We can't all be child geniuses.

Everyone Should Do It At Least Once In Their Lives

2008-03-09T21:58:00.023+08:00

I've been told I haven't blogged with any pictures for a while. Apologies.

To rectify such hideous oversight, I hereby enclose forthwith... PICTURES! A short yet conscise photo-essay of a recent outing to 台灣電力公司第二核能達電廠, Taiwan Power Company's Nuclear Facilities No.2's Visitor Centre. We were on the way to some other tourist destination on the North Coast, but seeing everyone else had the same idea and choked up the roads, we decided to abandon it halfway and pulled into this place. It was on the way home and it was free.

Here I am posing with a giant, round, spinning thingy that sat at the front of the Visitor Centre. We presumed it was of significance to the whole nuclear power production line somehow or other. Hence the confused expression.

Inside the Visitor Centre it was classic 1970s. We even watched a little educational film in the entrance foyer about how nuclear power is produced. The host of the film was a robotics arm moving about next to the screen, talking to a cartoon professor whose face would appear in the screen.

Here is a schematic of the nuclear fission plant. Press a button and a light would glow indicating the section you've selected.

What a lovely mannequin in a yellow raincoat with matching orange gloves. Good to see the nuclear industry is also fashion conscious. But it's obviously very delicate. Note the railing that prevents you from reaching over and touching its fine textures.

Mum and Dad were very taken by one of the displays. Warning: Learning in Progress. Do Not Approach.

Besides the little introduction film in the foyer, we were also guided to the theatrette by some uniformed guides at the Centre. Uniforms are very big in Taiwan. I'm sorry I don't have a picture of them. But just imagine a lot of polyester and really safe black shoes. But back to the theatrette. It wasn't any old theatrette, it was in 3D!!! I shit you not, we got given 3D glasses as we went in. Man those effects came straight from 1976.

Edumicated! We came out happy we'd learnt something. Were there subliminal messages spliced into the psychedelic 3D film we'd watched a minute ago?

A rockin' family Sunday for the memoirs.

Contentment and Where We Find It

2008-03-05T22:04:00.004+08:00

It's two and a half weeks into a journey that will hopefully, last a lifetime. No I didn't get married, though some could say it's a marriage. Right now I'm devoted to my work and spending a lot of overtime there. It's definitely the honeymoon period right now seeing it's the first month and all. I'm willing to put in the hours. Willing to place it as top priority. There's currently no balance. I am head over heels.

Say What? Nevermind!

2008-02-25T01:05:00.005+08:00

I feel like Dorothy out of the Wizard of Oz. This fantastic whirly-wind tornado thingy-mi-jiggy swept me up in its aerodynamic force and dumped me in the middle of something that I'm kind of grasping, but not quite. Perhaps it's the Panadol Extra Cold & Flu is doing its thang.

But flu-y or not, I am pretty certain I've not been here before. Yep, that's right, I've never worked in a country where English is not the first language. And for the life of me I never thought I would be working for the Taiwanese version of Pixar. My head is now stuffed full of, viscous mucus and new lingo in both English and Mandarin.

What a "cut" refers to in live-action, is referred to as a "scene" in animation. But rememeber we are speaking in Mandarin so it's actually referred to as a "ka", the bad English pronounciation of the word "cut" where the ending is carelessly dropped as is the tendency of Asian speakers with poor English abilities. It took me a whole day to work out that they weren't talking about a "card", which was what I thought they were calling a "frame", or "shot", or "panel" of a storyboard. Almost too much for me what in the first week of work and struck down with a really nasty head cold.

They must've thought I had rather weak and nervous bowels those first few days, for I kept running to the toilet. It really wasn't what they thought. I had to keep going back for tissues to blow my nose. That was all. Plus I didn't want to blow the house down with the effort I was putting into draining my blocked nasal passages. Nor wake the dead.

But somehow the first week had passed and nothing more can be done. Nothing more needed to be done.

I was glad I met some colleagues from my old work for dinner and drinks the Friday night. I was really glad to see them and catch up on all the old office gossip. It felt natural and nice, and all night I was speaking in Mandarin! I felt great, possibly floated by something alcohol related. Or perhaps it was the Panadol Extra Cold & Flu doing its thang.

It is Sunday night and another surreal week is about to start, so, I'd better go get a good night's rest, take another Panadol and let it do its good thang.

The Way We Were, Or Never Will Be Ever, Again

2008-01-29T02:20:00.000+08:00

My birthday in Toronto, September 2006 was woeful.
My birthday in Taichung, September 2007 was non-existent.
My birthday in Taipei, September 2008 will be my 30th.

This year I've decided to do a series aptly titled 'On Approaching 30'. It is a special number. Whether we pay attention to it or not, that big hyphenated 3-0 evades our life cycle and clearly stakes a claim as a noted marker of one's life.

The idea of turning 30, turns some people off. Stereotypically, women fear it as the slippery slide to old age and lost attraction to the opposite sex. The end of one's golden youth and beauty is a frightening thought indeed. But deeper than that, isn't it also a loss of one's confidence and perhaps also a look back a youthful life misspent with nothing but drunken memories and hardly forgotten regrets? It is a miserable time indeed.

But surely there's another way of looking at this. I've been aware of this phenomenon, this natural tendency dread the inevitable passing of time that this attitude just simply won't do for me. Father Time keeps on marching and we shall march in step with him! So instead of bemoaning the big 3-0, welcome it. Why worry about turning 30 when there's 40, 50, 60, 70, 80 to think about. And more if you're lucky. Are you going to get more depressed with each decade or look forward to each anniversary as a chance for a big fabulous party?

In the grand, grand scale of human years turning 30 is just a drop in the ocean these days. Turning 30 should be a happy celebration of having gained some wisdom from those stupid 20s years, possibly jumping from one job to another not knowing how to establish a career, perhaps having serious relationships that only faultered in end because your two lives only soared in two different directions.

After fooling around in your 20s, you come to know what you want in your 30s. And you know what you need to do to get it. You breathe a sigh of relief that you've had the benefit of hindsight and now can figure out the better if not best solution for your problems.

I say all of this because I am approaching 30. I am single, I have no assets, I am starting out again on my career path. Now can you see why I have to be so damn positive?

Kicking Up A Stink

2008-01-22T22:43:00.000+08:00

One thing I can't get used to the idea of is how garbage from your house is collected in Taiwan.

In Australia, UK and Canada, one places garbage in one's garbage bin, leave said garbage bin outside one's residence on the designated day of the week and fabulously, it gets collected while you are conveniently at work. A wonderful system one happily gives credit, thanks and taxes to one's local council.

Not so in Taiwan. If you are not fortunate enough to live in a "maintained" apartment/condo then garbage, my friend, becomes quite literally a dirty word.

Instead of the delighted ease of "taking the garbage out the night before", denizums of Taiwan must prepare to dash, garbage bags full 'o goodies, out onto the streets at the sound of an approaching garbage truck in the evening to dispose their household refuse directly into the stinky rear end of the trucks themselves.

It can become quite an irksome ritual as you can imagine. Street corner neighbourhood watch meetings could take place impromtu as one can usually count on a representative of each household to gather at said street corner at said time at said day of week. Or perhaps housewives would look forward to a time out of home to meet and chat with fellow wives for their weekly gossips. Too bad though if you have to work late one night o' poor bachelor or bachelorette. You miss the boat and your garbage piles up for another seven days. And to endure the tut-tut-tutting of beady-eyed housewives for not keeping a clean enough house the following week.

So how does one know for certain a garbage truck is on its wafty way to your street? Cleverly an on-board sound system emitting a half melody on repeative loop alert you of its approaching presence. And the tune? Why, Greensleeves of course. Played in digital ring-tone like quality. For me, it took strips off my happy childhood. To hear Greensleeves in the warm distance, generating excitement, grabbing a handful of pocket change in my hot little hands to run down the street to discover it was just a fucking garbage truck.

No Standing Please

2008-01-18T16:48:00.000+08:00

I love walking, I have nothing against it and find it a great invigorating activity, especially if you live close to everything.

So many people despise it like it's a show of poor evolution. Humans are suppose to have evolved so much that we only can only move from one locale to another with the aid of technology. Be it car, bus, train, truck, tractor, bicycle, tram, ferry, subway... In Taiwan, two forms of people moving technology are worth noting:

The Scooter and The Bullet Train

I haven't researched this, but I'll bet you scooters outnumber people on this island. Or that they cover every inch of this land like ants. Motorised ants. It scares me a bit to be on the back of one of those things, zooming down a main street with a billion other motorised ants carrying FAMILIES on their two-wheeled backs. The most I've seen on one was a mum, a dad and three little ones wedged here and there. As if that wasn't flying in the face of danger, the kids didn't have safety helmets either. There's a running joke that if you see a family on a scooter and figure there's still room for more, then you've been in Taiwan too long.

I've been here six months and I've witnessed five accidents. Not fatal ones, not even broken bones were involved. Somehow people here know how to ride their scooters to avoid major injuries. It's a skill. Or the miracle of Mazu, the Goddess Protector of Taiwan. What's even more amazing is that I've seen an almost head-on crash between two scooters where one guy swung out of the way at the last minute, crashing his scooter sideways while his body fell and slid a few metres the opposite direction. His counterpart stopped and watched him stand up, walk over to his scooter, pick up the scooter and then ride off without a word or even a look at his potential face-plant mate. It was as if near crashes are so commonplace that no expression of incredulousness is needed at the other driver's inept motoring ability. It was simply an accepted fact of Taiwanese road culture. Accidents, much like shit, happens. What are you going to do about it?

Now for a small small island like Taiwan, the size of half a Tasmania, from tip to toe about the distance from London to Manchester, where about only half of its surface is actually commutable (much of it is very mountainous terrain), we have a modern, expedient Bullet Train/High Speed Rail system.

How many countries out there have high speed capabilities? France (think Eurostar), Japan (think Shinkansen), Germany (practically their entire train network - they're Germans), China, Russia and others. It seems practical that high speed rail exists there. But in little teeny tiny Taiwan? High speed rail is classed at speeds of 200km/hr and more. The Taiwanese one shuttles folks back and forth at around 300km/hr. You'll have to be careful not to speed off the end of the island a minute after take off. Just kidding.

It is a marvel of human ingenuity to be fair. The procarious balancing of different sized family members on the smallest motor vehicle that is. And yes too, being able to hurtle along at break-neck speeds, a privilege known only to a handful of first world countries in this world. Hoorah for Taiwan.

Autobiography of an Over Abundant Quantity

2008-01-14T23:08:00.000+08:00

"Tina T's Countdown" was always a record of events and thoughts passing through time, to the eventual goal of leaving some place and arriving back home to Australia.

But after what happened today, I won't be counting down no more.

It was a whirlwind weekend. My mind has been a complete mess. Decisions were made then unmade. Then made again before changing my mind for the umpteenth time.

Finally this morning when it came to crunch time, I made a call that is potentially the end of life as I once knew. No, I'm not going into the nunnery. I've taken a job in the realm of the industry I once worked, once perceived as one where I could excel in despite smaller pools of opportunities and possible years of really hard work but really, seemed to have been advancing towards in various ways and on roundabout paths to, since Year 10 Work Experience.

One Mr Bryce Courtenay, Australia's best selling author set me on that path. He had worked for many years at the top advertising agencies in Sydney. So inspired by his writing was I that in Year 10 when proposed with the task of arranging two week's of work experience, it was the easiest choice in the world to seek out Mr Courtenay's agency and ask for a week there. To be up front and clear, stalking was NOT one of my motivations. Bryce wasn't there at the time, apparently away on publicity tour of yet another new book but I wasn't disappointed. I would have another run-in with him a couple of years later (that's another story) and even a fan letter was written years after that.

The point was, I understood what I needed to do to get into advertising from then on. I shall become a graphic designer! Except everybody wanted to be a graphic designer that year in 1996 when I was in Year 12 and took my HSC where your marks either got you in, or in my case, out of your First Preference for university course. I took Interior Design as a consolation.

I am NOT an Interior Designer today.

Having spent four years hitting my head against a brickwall (interior design never came to me) I did graduate with a BA Design (Int.) with second class honours, but I knew something else beckoned. I enrolled in night school (I love saying that, it's so American like Grease the movie; it was technically a part time course at TAFE, government-run vocational training centres; for the life of me I can't remember what TAFE stands for) where I studies Film and Video Design, building upon my lessons at uni where I had taken Film and Television Design subjects.

It was with luck and timing on my side that I would meet a girl at TAFE who told me about the job opening. Her company was looking for a video tape librarian and it was the perfect entry level position I needed. They were in Post Production. A complete unknown to me. Who has ever heard of post production and what the heck did a post production company do anyway? I applied for the job nevertheless and was offered it after being interviewed three times. It's probably the most intensive interview process I've ever went through incidentally.

I would loosely infer that I received the most education I've ever received in my life at that place. When I left there, I left only to go to another post production company. When I left the second company, I went to London looking for something similar. I ended up in Broadcast Services, which was still in the same family so to speak. My one year in Toronto was a departure work-wise, but always knew at the back of my head that it was only a short detour and that my goal remained the same, for over the years, a seed was planted and it grew. It grows only if I keep working in the Media Content Creation world. I believe the fruits of my labour would be sweet only if I remained focused and toiled endlessly for it. If I chose to abandon it, what will I have? Only a wilted dream.

Taiwan was never meant to by my final stop in my travels. I was on my way back to Australia when "Taiwan" happened. It was out of sheer morbid curiosity that I decided to throw a couple of Post Production companies my resume, to see what would happen and to facilitate my fantasies of escaping the life of a Bored Secretary, something I had horribly disfigured into in the last three months which I vehemently detested.

Then I received a call. And I attended an interview. Then I received another call and a job was on offer.

It was a Computer Animations company but that is beside the point as it has Post Prodution facilities. It was a Post Production company with a focus in Computer Animations. It was suddenly very likely that my nomadian existence could come to an abrupt end, even before I was to reach my Holy Land. The last three days and three nights would have found useful an enlightened intervention. But curse me none was forthcoming. Only in the final hours did I eventually stop my hand-wringing for a moment to make that call and committed myself to realistically, a miniumm of a few years of working in Taiwan. But here's the real kick to the balls: it's less pay than being a Bored Secretary.

On route to career goal, but in less than desirable social/cultural/economic/political setting AND less pay.

I'm a Luddite Who Loves Robots.

Things don't make sense here. But amusing they better damn will be, cause it looks like we'll be here for a while.

Your Computer Ain't Broke

2008-01-04T22:29:00.000+08:00

想試試看我有沒有能力只用中文寫一篇文章...

And the answer is no.

However I've been pretty amazed at myself that for someone who left Taiwan at the age of 8 and never again took up further schoolings in the Chinese language, my speaking, reading, listening and writing skills have all vastly improved in the last six months.

This leads me to think - if I can do it, then anyone can! For sure the Candyman can.

I'm going mad it would seem. Giddy on the highs of a job offer. That's right, you've heard it first here. I've been offered a job. THIS is what I was alluding to in my previous post (phew Dave, it wasn't your's after all).

After two and a bit months of white collar slavery, I've found another beast to call thine master. I shall unsheath my shackles at my current employ and ride the fortunes of another. T'is a luminate dawn in mine sights; may you all keep well my favoured friends, and foes, alike.

Misletoes

2007-12-26T23:52:00.000+08:00

This year was the first year where Christmas didn't exist.

Though my family never celebrated Christmas (us being Asian and all), Christmas was always an unescapable fact of life. In Australia, in England, in Canada. Christmas arelways seemed to creep earlier and earlier into our consciousness each year, when we'd walk into a mall and hear the familiar tingles of Christmas songs ad nauseum and sigh Oh is it that time of the year already?

Red, green, gold and silver twinkle high and low. Ornamented trees and reindeers in David Jones (Sydneysiders will know this is a big chain of department stores), or that fucking huge nativity scene with the garish coloured lights and plastic camels on Pennent Hills Road or thereabouts. But it was definitely in the Bible Belt of Sydney.

There would always be reports on the News at Six on Ten (at six o'clock, on Channel Ten) about consumer spending and customer confidence and how much we're all putting on credit cards like it's a scandal. And how the smart ones are waiting to purchase that big ticket white good till after Boxing Day when the sales start.

And for the past three Christmases it was the biting and soul-awakening cold. The kind of Christmas image seen and experienced in most of the world but a wonder to me but somehow made all the sense. Santa looked right here, against the white snow in his fur-lined coat. And so did the turkey. The Germans know how to put on Christmas. Sucking back a mug of gluhwein and munching on cinnamon biscuits at the Christmas market in the cold, among twinkling lights, watching steam rise and disappate with each increasingly alcoholic breath. Nose and cheeks red from cold and heat but never given a second thought. Just tug that hat down a little more securely over the ears and do a little jig on the spot.

Christmas didn't exist this year. I went into the office and did my nine hours. I went in again today. It's Boxing Day, elsewhere in the world. I will go into the office again tomorrow and the day after. What are these street posters that I see? Christmas Hip Hop Party. Buffet dinner, only NT$1500 per person. What baffoonery. A piss-weak attempt at a foreign concept and it's irritating. Like scratching nails on a blackboard.

Every year, Norway presents a huge Christmas tree to Britain to thank the Brits for saving their arse in WWII. The tree is erected in Trafalgar Square along with a plaque stating this very fact.

History. Tradition. Christmas.

The Garden Path

2007-12-23T23:55:00.000+08:00

It occurred to me not that long ago, in fact, whilst I was in the shower 30 mins earlier, that I hadn't penned a Countdown of any sorts for a while.

And I'd hate to be called out for Fraudulent Advertising here. Or indeed any where.

So a little recap of my Asia Edition timeline.
Yawn.
I arrived in Taiwan on the 25th June.
Yawwwn.
It will be the 25th December on Tuesday.
Yaaawwwnnnn - look people just bear with me for two seconds will you???

It will mark six months of my existence here. What will this Countdown countdown to? Another six months of convolution? Or two months? Or a week? Perhaps it will be a countdown to When Tina T Cracks. Place your bets people.

Ah but there'll be another twist to the story.

Yes there will.

Love Sick

2007-12-20T22:51:00.000+08:00

Oh wow, so this is what it feels like. So new, so exciting, so sexy...

To have something to hold and say it's all mine.

I can't believe how satisfying this experience has been and how long I've waited for it.

And at 12 inches, it's just the right size...

Ladies and gentlemen, I have brought myself a laptop!

My very first, very own, very slick little number that gives me hours of joy. I am finally reconnected to the world, a world that has been denied to me at work, a world that I only glimpsed at home on a dirty laptop that's already been on someone else's lap but now it's a brand new day and now that me and my baby have found each other we're going for a long, long drive together.

Update

2007-12-02T01:38:00.001+08:00

By the way, the firewall at work has cotton on to www.blogger.com and have now banned access to the site. Sigh... One less thing I get to do at work...

Yet it's still permissible to read personal blogs, even one's like Monmouth.

What crazy, topsy-turvy world we live in today.

Jazz and Blues

2007-12-02T00:56:00.000+08:00

I went to a jazz club tonight.

Surprisingly, it was probably the best jazz club I have ever been to in my life. Kudos to Taipei. Has anyone ever heard of a song called Wild Women Don't Have the Blues by Ida Cox? Written in 1924 (that's right, 1924), the lyrics will strike at the heart of any woman worth her salt today. Brings to my mind Erykah Badu's Tyrone, from her 1997 album Live. Ida did it in 1924.

Wild Women Don't Get the Blues
I hear these women raving 'bout their monkey men
About their trifling husbands
and their no good friends
These poor women sit around all day and moan
Wondering why their wandering papa's don't come home
But wild women don't worry, wild women don't have no blues
Now when you've got a man, don't never be on the square
'Cause if you do he'll have a woman everywhere
I never was known to treat no one man right
I keep 'em working hard both day and night
'Cause wild women don't worry, wild women don't have their blues
I've got a disposition and a way of my own
When my man starts kicking I let him find another home
I get full of good liquor, walk the streets all night
Go home and put my man out if he don't act right
Wild women don't worry, wild women don't have their blues
You never get nothing by being an angel child
You better change your ways and get real wild
I wanna tell you something, I wouldn't tell you a lie
Wild women are the only kind that really get by
'Cause wild women don't worry, wild women don't have their blues

Tyrone
[Erykah] "Lets See How Ya'll Groove to this"
"Alright"
I'm gettin' tired of your shit
You don't never buy me nothin
'See Everytime you come around
You got to bring Jim, James, Paul, & Tyrone
See why can't we be by ourselves, sometimes
See I've been having this on my mind
For a long timeI just want it to be
You and me
Like it used to be, Baby
But ya don't know how to act
So matter of fact
[Chorus] I think ya better call Tyrone (Call Him)
And Tell him come on, Help you get your Shit (Come On, Come on)
You need to Call Tyrone (Call Him)
And tell him I said come on
Now everytime I ask you for a little cash
You say no and turn right around and ask me for some ass
Oh, Well hold up listen partna
I ain't no cheap thrill
Cause Miss Badu is always comin' for real
And you know the deal
Everytime we go somewhereI gotta reach down in my purse
To pay your way and your homeboys way
And sometimes your cousin's way
They don't never have to pay
Don't have no cars
Hang around in bars
Try to hang around with stars
Like Badu
I'm gon' tell you the truth
Show and proveor get the boot
I think ya better, (Erykah Badu-He, he he) (Call Him)
And tell him come on
Help you get your shit
You need to call Tyrone (Call Him)
[Erykah Badu] "Hold On"
But ya can't use my phone

Demanding

2007-11-29T22:40:00.000+08:00

I sit and stare at the computer screen.

I sit and stare some more. A few hours pass and it's time for lunch. Having feasted on an incredibly affordable take out meal courtesy of a noodle man in a van, I continue the arduous routine of the sit/stare task.

Nothing wavers me. Not the phones ringing at desks of industrious co-workers, not their rapid-fire discussions dismantling issues tantamount to bursting dykes and reducing them to small, quivering leaks. I am a turret atop my cubicled walls.

This is a fantasy. I am in fact more ready to slouch then slump, a hair's width away from falling into complete unconsciousness at experiencing the kind of boredom that stems from the fully concentrated, triple-distilled, pure essence of having Absolutely Nothing To Do. There isn't even a reason for me to pretend to look busy: my boss is away and I am tucked neatly into a corner cubicle. I could sleep under my desk, though I'm sure someone is bound to discover me once the smell of decay reaches them in a few weeks.

I fear I am losing my professional edge. Coming up with these words required the kind of mental acuity not demanded in my job of late. My vision is blurred, my head warm and heavy. My backside is numb from prolonged sitting. I need a good lie down so I can do it all again tomorrow.

Small Things

2007-11-08T17:35:00.000+08:00

I buy breakfast in Taipei. One rice ball (stuffed with pickled white radish, pork floss and fried dough stick - trust me, it's good) costs NTD$30. I buy the same rice ball, plus soy milk, in Taichung and it's also NT$30.

A very small yet affective way of demonstrating the difference in cost of living between major and minor cities.

QED

...Ok, so it's a very slow morning at work today. Actually everyday is a slow day at work for me. I feel like I'm getting away with being paid for doing not very much at all. I suppose it's not much different to my last job in Canada, I didn't do much there at all either, but I didn't have a manager sitting right behind me like I do here now, so any chance I have to sneak a line or two onto this blog is considered subversive behaviour. Hence the gratification. Ah the gratification.

Sometimes I Wonder

2007-11-02T20:36:00.000+08:00

On the front page of our intranet today I found out our company "...sponsors a mobile library for the visually-impaired..."

What kind of a cruel, sick gift is this? A mobile library? If the blind ever wanted to re-visit the library they're up for a hell of a time if it kept moving up and down the road!

Drunk Koreans

2007-11-01T12:54:00.000+08:00

"Hey man."

We look over. "Hey. Cheers." It's directed at my American Friend. A nod is returned and we resume our conversation. "Hey man," Uh-oh. Drunken conversation about to overtake inhibition and logic. "You're cool. You American?" Yes was the reply. "I like-a you speak English." The next question was directed at me. "You American?" No was MY reply (who would have thought?). This apparently was of no interest to the enquirer and our new aquaintance resumed all eyes and attention to my friend, who was being very accommodating.

"I sit?" he says as he plonks down opposite us, deserting his Sober Friend at the next table. Sober Friend was a good man. He could sense the evening could turn at any stage and he joined us to keep an eye on his friend for fear of disgrace and would apologise intermittenly for the rest of the evening for his friend's gradual descent into incoherancy.

A round of drinks is ordered and Mr Drunk downs a full glass of red like it was a shot. After he's already had beer and whisky for many hours prior. Sober Friend begins to act as translator, though I think some parts he made up himself. For like when the two would seem to be arguing amongst themselves in Korean for a few minutes, furrowed brow and arms gesticulating, before Sober Friend turns to us in an aura of calm to ask, "Where you work?"

Lots of little conversations ensued, each of us having snippets of each other's conversations.

Drunk to American: You look like artist.
American to Drunk: Haha, I'm not.
Me to Drunk: He's a writer.
American to Me: Don't lie now.
Drunk to American: Hey I'm talking to you.
Sober to Drunk: (Korean) &^%*)%#.
American to Drunk: What...?
Sober to American: 足球... We play on Saturday...
Drunk to American: (Korean) *%#@(_#...
American to Me: You were saying?
Me to Sober: 足球? Oh soccer...
Drunk to American: I like you.

It was getting awkward and we were the last customers left in the bar. The music had stopped. The lights seemed brighter. Mr Drunk was however quite at ease and smiles benignly. We sit. Eventually he decides it was time to go. Sober Friend bids us farewell and like a lifesaver, guides Mr Drunk gingerly through the door.

On My Way to Taipei

2007-10-25T00:01:00.001+08:00

I could see the end coming.

It was all of a sudden upon me. Being unemployed in resort-like surroundings for three months was good going. To pack up and move for a job within two days of getting notice that you're hired was just too fast for my liking.

That was only two weeks ago but feels like an eternity.

It was barely morning when we started on the road. Hence the happy face below:

Plus it was turning out to be a Bad Hair Day.

Dud

2007-10-24T22:15:00.000+08:00

I met a guy today. An online friend I'd exchanged two or three emails in the last two months with.

First impressions. Slightly greasy unkept hair. The kind that some guys think is cool, but not. Bleary eyed. Like he'd been partying way too much the night before. Non descript clothes. Didn't look too close cause I'd seen enough. Why is it that foreign men in Taiwan feel they can discard all fashion sense once they spend more than a month here? It's because they're white and can get girls no matter how ugly, poor, uneducated and unkept they are. And this guy knew it.

We sat down in a bar. And without taking even a sip of his drink while I had two, he droned about his work. He says he's an "artist". No sir, you are an engineer with the stupid idea of wanting to make what is essentially a mobile phone into a piece of wearable jewellery. Twat.

He is gay. I don't mean that in a degrogatory way. I mean he IS gay. My gaydar had already peaked from his emails but confirmed by the way he carried on about how he likes girls, really likes girls. Then the freudian slip of repeating a question I hadn't asked. Do you mean if I had a boyfriend, I mean girlfriend? No you schmuck. I said family. FAMILY.

Two hours went by and he had to go. Said he's going out and asked people to go out with him but everybody declined. But he's still going cause it's Wednesday, ladies night.

Go. Be my guest. GO.

Drudgery

2007-10-23T21:40:00.000+08:00

Tired. So so tired.

Working full time again. Public transport in peak hour. Fluorescent lighting.

I even have a cubicle.

God help me.

It's no where near as fun and exciting as one of my favourite films, Working Girl. In that movie, lowly secretary Melanie Griffith makes her way to top in mergers and aquisitions in investment banking with her padded shoulders, big hair and icy blue eyeshadow. Throw in handsome Harrison Ford as love interest and that all time favourite sing-along song 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton that enormously jovial song bird and you have any little girl's dream come true. Alright just mine maybe. Look I grew up in the 80s OK?

Just over a week ago I got a job as a lowly secretary in wholesale bank finance of an investment bank.

But there's no theme song. There's no Dolly to cheer me up with her big enthusiasm. No Harrison hunk to kiss behind closed boardroom doors. And it's certainly not working out to be 9 to 5. Way to go to destroy one's own dream.

Dance

2007-10-23T21:27:00.000+08:00

I went to Taipei's answer to Coyote Ugly the other night.

Sadly no Tyra Banks to be found but thankfully no Leanne Rimes either. Just people, like me. I was reminded of my glorious youth when I was a crazy, happy, little dance nymph living with an anything-goes attitude exemplified by my dance motto: "If there is a stage, I'm on it".

Encouraged by free champange for ladies before 12, I felt inclined to make use of the bar top and purpose-built railings. But after only a minute and a half of shimmying to the overplayed but much loved Groove Amada classic Super Stylin I found myself already out of breath. My god, I thought as realization hit, it really was a lifetime ago. Women my age wear these damn heels because we cannot dance anymore, excusing ourselves from exertion beyond the walk to the loo and back!

Was it fortunate that at least in the grand scheme of things, I was not the only person on that bar top? I guess so. But it was unfortunate that a few moments later a salaciously dressed woman chose her piece of bar top real estate right next to me. Gold strappy heels, denim hot pants, bikini top. She hid her identity behind large bling sunglasses. Bless.

The men in the bar of course gaped at her like frozen apes, looking like a succession of eggs were about to pop out of their oral orifices.

I'm not jealous. Hell no. There was nothing in her appearance or moves that made me wish I had her aura of cheap stripper nasty. The point is, have I become an embittered old woman, cursing the rightful place nubile babes have in the dance pecking order?

Nah.

I've always loved to dance and glad to find I still do. And this experience has also racked up my Countries of Bar and/or Table Top Dancing count to 8: Australia, Singapore, UK, France, Germany, Bosnia, Canada, Taiwan.

I've seen Greek mothers and grandmothers getting up on table tops to dance at hen's nights and weddings. I feel a kinship towards them right now.

Opa!

Tourist in My Own Country

2007-10-01T18:31:00.000+08:00

I visited the National Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Park and the Dr Sun Yat Sen Memorial Park in Taipei. These two memorial parks are named and in honour of two men of controversial importance in the complex and entwined history of the Republic of China and of modern China itself.

Within the mammoth grounds of the National Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Park stands the National Theatre and the National Concert Hall and at the far end, a white building with blue octagonal roof is the Memorial Hall. Within the hall is a large sculpture of a seated Chiang Kai Shek, though it was closed for renovations during my visit.

Chiang Kai Shek played a large part in Taiwan's history. Towards the end of the Chinese Civil War against the Mao-led Communists, Chiang and his Nationalist Party, Kuomingtang (KMT) retreats to Taiwan in 1949. His retreat meant a temporal move of the goverment of the Republic of China (ROC) which was first established in 1912 by his mentor Dr Sun Yat Sen. Here he claims his government to be the rightful sovereign over all of China and Taipei its provisional capital. In 1949 Mao establishes the People's Republic of China, in China. Chiang and the ROC has effectively been ousted.

Chiang was elected as the President of the ROC in 1948 and remained in the position until his death in 1975. Taiwan under the Chiang and the KMT was a single-party state. In fact, Taiwan is placed under martial law until 1987 and this entire period is known as 'White Terror', suppression of all political dissent against the KMT. Actual or even perceived dissention was punishable by imprisonment or execution. Even something as trivial as the local Taiwanese dialect is banned and Mandarin, favoured by mainlanders and KMT is enforced. I clearly recall my childhood as a first grader, in 1984, discussing with my friends in know-all tones that speaking in Taiwanese is not allowed.

The Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall was officially opened in 1980. It is an impressive building, its blue and white colours and traditional shape stands proudly in the large open square. Under Chiang's rule, Taiwan under goes massive developments and throughout the 60s and into the 70s grows an economy of envy, earning a place as one of the "Four Asian Tigers".

With the Cold War in place during this time, Chiang is regarded by the West as a legitimate and respected leader of China (which included the island of Taiwan) even though the ROC had no actual control whatsoever with anything that occurred on the mainland. One has to remember that Chiang led China into WWII as an Allied force and was the one of the four most powerful nations at that time along with the USA, UK and France, collectively known as the "Four Policemen". At the end of the second world war, Chiang was the head of a country that became a founding member of the United Nations and also a permanent member of the UN Security Council.

With the lift of martial law in 1987, criticism of Chiang from the people of Taiwan is finally bubbling forth. Many monuments, statues, streets named after or in honour of Chiang are being gradually removed or replaced. In fact in 2007, President Chen Shui Bian of the Democratic Progressive Party announced that the National Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall to be renamed the National Taiwan Democracy Memorial Hall. However supporters of the original name (predominately KMT members) objected to the change and now due to political scuffling and legal tug-o-war the old name is still technically the correct name but none from either side of the political fence likes to refer to it as such. Kinda like Taiwan's own political/legal status. I mean ROC.

Technically Taiwan does not exist as a county. Doesn't that just blow your mind?

L: Impressive gates to the Memorial Park; R: CKS Memorial Hall, large and looming in the distance. High school kids in the foreground.

L: Troops in prep for the "Double 10 Day" parade (or Independence Day, held on the 10th of October), in front of the National Concert Hall; R: The National Concert Hall, under renovations for the celebrations.

L: Front view of the National Concert Hall with troops parading ant-like in front; R: Sweaty soldiers guarding rifles during a break in their practice.

I mentioned earlier that Dr Sun Yat Sen was a mentor to Chiang Kai Shek. He is considered by both the People's Republic of China and the Republic of China as the "Father of the Fatherland". Dr Sun's influence culminated in the overthrow of the Qing Dynasty in 1911, the last dynastic family that will ever rule China.

Inside the memorial hall which is topped by a wonderful golden roof, is a large statue of Dr Sun, guarded by two military personnel at all times. There is a sign in front of the statue asking visitors to bow to the statue as a sign of respect. I did not, as one is under no obligation. But I did see a Taiwanese man and his wife bowing deeply upon entering.

The memorial hall sits in a less austere sounds and its verandah on the shady side that day sat many old men playing Chinese chess with other old men onlookers.

L: Old and new - SYS Memorial Hall and Taipei 101; R: Side view of SYS Memorial Hall.

L: The front of SYS Memorial Hall; R: Mosaic on the foot path.

L: Sign declaring new name for CKS Memorial Hall, technically not correct due to legal and political game play; R: The verandah of SYS Memorial Hall.

L: A Chinese chess game in session, one of many on the day; R: Sign in front of Dr Sun's statue requesting visitors to salute. Bowing is acceptable.

Bling-a-licious

2007-10-01T00:21:00.000+08:00

Saw these tacky custom mobile phone covers the other day. They are regular phones with stick-on sparkly things on them. Turn your phone bling-a-licious in an instant. You can take them to special customising stores for these professional finishes.

So I decided to do the same with mine. ButI thought, why spend all that money when you can D.I.Y.? A small pack costs only NT$50. I think for complete coverage you need 3 to 4 packs depending on the size of your phone. I used 2 packs.

My phone has been with me since May 2006, but as you can see it's waaaaay old from a lifetime ago. It was a hand-me-down as I had at the time lost my (actually it was my company's) nice new one with colour screen and camera. The hand-me-down was pretty scratched up so this was the perfect opportunity to do something about it.

Ok, so it's a little mutton dressed as lamb...

But hey, when in Rome!

A Cat Special or A Special Cat

2007-09-30T21:48:00.000+08:00

I've been conditioned to really like cats since being at Mike and Jeri's this week.

While we were out last Tuesday on Middle Autumn Festival we stopped off at two pet stores and I have to confess I saw kittens that were adorable.

But so is Du. As these pics testify.

Sorry to non-feline lovers to subject you to this very subjective entry.

L: Du in red top that she hates; R: Du napping on her pillow.

L: Kitten sleeping in her litterbox; R: Kitten falling asleep upright.

L: Massive "tiger cat". It really was huge. And looks like Garfield; R: Du in her bumble bee costume that she hates.

All-star Du.

Food Fest

2007-09-26T00:00:00.000+08:00

Today is Middle Autumn Festival day proper and the last day of the long weekend. A late start, I woke to a small lunch at 12:30pm consisting of seaweed and onion soup with chopped minced fish cakes. Then my brother announced we were to take the MRT to Xi Men Ding, a popular area in the city for the hip and happening kids of Taipei. It's a shopping district, full of cinemas, restaurants, food stands, knick knacks, tattoo shops, hair salons and such.

We arrive around 2:30pm to sample the first attraction of the day - intestine rice noodles. It's a bowl of thick-souped rice noodles, with bits of chopped pork intestines, topped with coriander. Add some chilli sauce and it makes for a warming and delicious meal. A small bowl costs NT$40. We washed it down with a cold kumquat lemon juice drink with dried plum.

Next my brother spots a little cart selling a kind of sweets literally translated as chilled rounds. They are clear glutinous bite-size balls with flavoured centres. They come filled with red bean, mellon and peach. You get nine for NT$30.

As we ate we wondered for a bit and did a little shopping. Time for a food break, so we had deep fried minced fish cakes. It's topped with a special sauce and is a delicious snack. One portion costs NT$40. My brother Mike and his girlfriend Jeri also shared a thick soup with floured pork. This is the best I can describe it! We walked round the corner and had strawberry and condensed milk shaved ice.

After walking around some more browsing at this and that, we rested our feet at a tea house and I had iced apple red tea, which is just apple flavoured black tea. I also ordered a double flavoured toast which is a thickly sliced piece of toast cut in half, with peanut butter on one half and chocolate on the other. Jeri had an iced passionfruit green tea and my bro had a coffee (just a regular coffee not worth bolding).

Xi Men Ding kept us occupied for hours but someone mentioned smelly tofu and I wanted to have some as it is one of my favourite snacks. My brother knew the best place for it but we needed to take the MRT to another location.

15 mins later we arrive at the smelly tofu shop only to find it was closed for Middle Autumn Festival! So onwards we went to nearby Tong Hwa Street Night Market.

Taiwan is famous for night markets. You'll find streets lined on both sides with a myriad of stores selling the latest and greatest stuff, as well as food stands, stalls and carts. A whole mix of licenced and legal, and unlicenced and illegal vendors are crammed into the street, all for your shopping and eating pleasure. But I suggest you buy whatever you like at that moment, for if your vendor happens to be of the illegal kind, the vendor and cart will in a blink of an eye disappear at the approach or even smell of a police officer so you'll have no chance to go back should you eventually decide two steps later it was a bargin afterall. They are that fast and instinctive. Like rare short-haired bandicoots.

At Tong Hwa we found a stall selling bite-size smelly tofu for NT$55 for a large portion.

My brother also had sweet tofu dessert from another stall, but it was weirdly flavoured with chocolate and other unknowns which is such a sacrilege. The only way to have it in my books is traditional with peanuts.

Next my brother and I spy a food cart selling blood rice cakes and we get a stick, a childhood favourite of his and mine. Pork blood is mixed with rice then steamed. It's then cut up into rectangular portions and skewered, so you get a stick per portion. It is kept in boiled water until you order one. The vendor will then dip it in a special sauce, paint on chilli sauce if you ask for it, then coat it in crushed peanuts on both sides and finish it off with coriander. Only NT$25 per stick.

Jeri on the other hand spies a cart selling chicken bums. It's the very tip of the chicken's rear end which is quite fatty. You get five per skewer. Grilled to perfection they are crisy and moist and beautifully edible and nicely bite-sized!

I get thirsty and murder a freshly squeezed sugar cane juice. It is very sweet and incredily thirst quenching in my opinion.

Almost immediately we find ourselves next sitting at a food stall sharing a bowl of bitter melon and rib soup as well as a medicinal soup with pork knuckle.

Most items are quite cheap at these night markets so it was hard to resist a little more browsing and shopping. It wasn't the end of the night however as we came to the end of the night markets. Around the corner were a number of pet stores where small crowds gathered at the windows to look at the impossibly cute puppies and kittens. Mike and Jeri took the opportunity to buy Du a "birthday" present, seeing today was the fourth anniversary of Du's adoption from the animal shelter to their home. A new collar was added to two items that were already purchased earlier at Xi Men Ding: a New York Yankees top and a demin skirt!

It was 9:30pm as we started towards the MRT but something was missing. I felt I had room for more. So near the station we stepped into a small restaurant that had three tables and a take-out window, and had sticky rice and pork ball soup. A filling end to seven-hour outing!

We come home tired but content. Then we start to torment poor Du by subjecting her to her birthday presents (she does NOT like wearing clothese). But such is the life of a pet. It was such a laugh.

As I started to compose this entry my brother serves up sliced white peaches and passionfruit halves. Always nice to finish a meal with some refreshing fruit.

Did I also mention that Middle Autumn Festival is always around the time of the full moon? I promise you the photo on the left is the moon and not a spot light!

Big Day Out

2007-09-23T23:07:00.000+08:00

I'm spending a week with my brother and his girlfriend in Taipei. It's the long weekend, cause it's 中秋節, or Middle Autumn Festival coming up on Tuesday. The cool, or rather, kind of odd thing they do here in Taiwan is that Monday is turned into a public holiday so you get four days off in a row, but then you have to make it up on Saturday. You make your own mind up.

Clockwise from top left: Pepper Cake; different kinds of deep fried mushrooms; Fort San Domingo; my bro with icecream tower.

We went to 淡水 (Tamshui) for lunch, which consisted of some famous wontons, traditional pepper cakes filled with pork and green onions, fried 'shrooms and finished with a double-flavour soft-serve icecream cone that was 30cm tall. We shared that last item.

The reason we went to Tamshui was because they were taking me horse riding at a stables near by! It was a proper lesson, not lame like being lead on the horse by a person on foot. The lesson lasted for 40 mins. At the end of the lesson I had to swing off the horse to disembark, or whatever the word is. Problem was, I had used my arms too much during the ride, and my biceps were so strained that they almost failed to support my weight as I pushed off the horse. Almost, but not entirely. It was when I attempted to undo my helmet and found I couldn't bend my arms up to reach the buckle under my chin that I realised how bad my arms were. Think of that classroom science experiment where you had to push your arms as hard as you can against the sides of a doorway for a few minutes, then step away to see your arms rise voluntarily to the sky. It was that effect on my arms then, 'cept it was going the opposite direction. I wondered how I was going to eat dinner tonight if I couldn't bend my arms to put food in my mouth.

On our way home we stopped off at 紅毛城 (Fort San Domingo). Here's a little history. In 1629 the Spaniads built the Fort. In 1642 the Dutch kicked the Spaniads out. The Fort is now known in Chinese as the Fort of the Red Hair, describing of the appearance of the Dutch occupiers. In 1867 the English leases it for 99 years from China and builds a British Consulate next to the Fort. But she hands it back in 1972 when England broke diplomatic ties with the Republic of China (different from the People's Republic of China. It's fascinating history, I suggest you look into this dear readers).

L: My bro and his GF devouring pepper cakes; R: The three amigos.

L: British Consulate at Fort San Domingo; R: View of shore opposite.

L: My new man in Taiwan; R: Dusk on way home.

By the time we reached home it was dinner time, and we made a grocery stop for BBQ supplies. It has become somewhat of a tradition now to BBQ around Middle Autumn Day and admire the beauty of the moon, as it's usually full moon the day of the Middle Autumn Festival.

In Taiwan you don't need no fancy schmancy BBQ grill powering on 6 gas cylinders, no big backyards size of football fields or city parks. In Taiwan all you need is your front door step, sometimes shop front, or in our case, the balcony for space is a premium here. If it's raining like it was for us, just put up two or three umbrellas and hook 'em to the railing. But perhaps consider having an extra umbrella on hand, for one of our umbrellas did decide to emancipate itself from BBQing duties and took flight from our 15th floor balcony to go dancing in the night. Foodwise we ate pork, chicken wings, fish, capsicum, mushrooms, clams, mince fish cakes, bamboo shoot and duck heart skewers. Taiwanese BBQs rock.

L: Check out our ultra small balcony BBQ action; R: Precautions against the rain.

L and R: Food.

L: More food; R: Taiwanese/ROC flag. It's not allowed to be flown in international arenas such as the Olympics. Go read up on this people!

Body sore but belly full. A good night's sleep beckons.

Sean! Yes I'm talking to YOU!

2007-09-22T02:14:00.001+08:00

I can't believe we keep missing each other on MSN!

Get in contact. I emailed you at soulshiv, is that not right anymore?

I hate misplacing friends.

Note to all: I love you all dearly and equally. Fact.

xoxoxoxoxox

Scandalous

2007-09-17T16:51:00.000+08:00

I'm currently reading Thomas and Jane Carlyle, Portrait of a Marriage by Rosemary Ashton, an historical biography. What me pretentious? Nooo...

I first became aware of the Carlyles in Weekend 7 of my London countdown. At the suggestion of Lonely Planet: London, I took Corrinne with me to visit the preserved home of one of London's most intriguing couples of the 19th century.

From that visit, and the few pages from many that I've managed to understand so far from the book, the Carlyles were a power couple; he/she capable of commanding great respect, admiration and/or money earned from their individual and/or collective talents/genius/success. Today's example would be Brangelina. Posh and Becks. Bill and Hilary Clinton. Kylie and Jason back in the day.

I would love to be one half of a power couple. Admittedly I am a LONG way off that dream. But if we don't have dreams, what do we have? And having these dreams makes it easier going to bed at night. (It's the morning when you wake up that's the horror.)

But I digress. A book devoted to a celebrity couple. Wholly on the subject of their marriage, from courtship to death, when they parted. Doesn't this just sounds like a lifetime's worth of tabloid magazines bound together? But because this particular couple was exceptionally intelligent, witty and scholarly, an examination of their relationship is deemed academia. Go figure.

Wistful Thinking

2007-09-14T23:14:00.000+08:00

It's hard, this job hunting business. How long can you live at home until it's time you took what ever job that was offered? How many good, solid, yet uninspiring prospects can you keep turning down in hopes of that elusive dream job? Such a prickly situation too, with the folks. They want you to have that security, cause it's hard to come by. But all you want to do is wait, cause maybe, just maybe, the big prize is just around the corner. It's a gamble they say. But it'll come you hope. They worry. You shrink.

My head is spinning. Who exactly is looking for work?

The last three years come flooding back. The freedom. The friends. Good times, no, great times. Nostalgia plays with your memories, makes them fuzzy with rosey tints.

Touched By an Angel

2007-09-05T23:47:00.000+08:00

In every tour group there's always one or two characters that stick in your mind. Mine was a lady who loved to answer to everything our tour guide said to us, whether it was required or not. It was like being in a southern gospel church.

Tour guide: "Hokkaido is a very picturesque island..."
Lady: "Yes! Picturesque."
"... famous for dairy products like milk..."
"Like milk! Yes!"
"... you'll have the opportunity to enjoy the baths tonight..."
"Hot baths tonight. Uh-huh."
"... please gather in the lobby for dinner at 6pm..."
"Lobby at 6. Halleluiah!"
"We'll visit a waterfall this afternoon..."
"Praise the lord!"
"... followed by a sulfur valley, the source of this area's hot springs..."
"Amen! He speaks the truth!"

I wanted to clap and sing and jump on my feet and raise my hands and be loved and healed! But I didn't think the tour guide would've appreciated the interruption.

Climb Every Mountain

2007-09-04T10:15:00.000+08:00

I went to Japan for 5 days. Hokkaido to be exact. The folks were going, so I invited myself along.

Food great. Coach rides not so great. Natural hot spring baths every night divine... especially the outdoor ones. Ever seen footage on National Geographic of those Japanese mountain monkeys bathing in natural rock pools in the middle of winter, whilst snow falls around them? And how content and relaxed they looked, faces flushed rosey pink they are languidly close to nodding off? That was me, minus the fur and the snow.

It is the custom in Japan to bathe in public baths in the nude. To cover your modesty you are allowed one small towel. I struggled with that small towel on the first day. It simply wouldn't stretch beyond what seemed like the size of a fig leaf. Facing the reality of the situation I plunged (excuse the pun) into the world of nude public bathing. It wasn't so bad. Being in a roomful of naked women, mostly of a retired age-group, I took a sigh of relief knowing these women weren't interested in sniggering like teenage girls I once knew (or were).

Once you sink into that neck-high bath with your fellow bathers, you feel at peace and at one with everybody there and the world. After an enjoyable soak you can stand and walk away without clinging to your fig leaf. You've overcome a cultural barrier, you've done as the Romans did, you've understood the connection we all have as human beings, to the planets, and the universe. You are on the top of the world.

Just don't slip on the wet floor on your way out.

Pins and Needles

2007-08-20T14:41:00.000+08:00

Thought it was about time I started to look for a job.

But before that I need new office attire. For I may be called upon instantaneously for interviews as soon as I hit the "send" button of my email pertaining to my resume to the prospective employer and hence didn't have any time in between for the all important prep. I wasn't looking forward to this process. Clothes in Taiwan are not catered for, let's say, normal-figured girls.

I am not going to say I'm skinny, but it would take a bribe or an inner bitch for anyone to call me fat. Yet, in Taiwan I am reduced (ahem) to purchasing sizes L or even the dreaded XL. Forget about the "one size fits all" claim many trendy stores seem to be shouting around here. To that I reply, "My arse." (metaphorically and literally).

But as the saying goes, every cloud has a silver lining. In this "little tiger of the east" dwells a fiesty economy that feeds an enslaved seamstress. Meaning every store offers a while-u-wait hemming service, absolutely free of charge. So despite the horror of fitting into the largest pants they have, fished out from the back of the store room, they will at least compensate for your pain by tailoring them to your height in a jiffy.

Well that's a relief, until you realise that you're not only fat, but short too.

Ode to Cat

2007-08-15T17:34:00.000+08:00

We're catsitting Du, my brother's cat while he is on holidays in sunny Spain with his girlfriend. Lucky bastard. My brother, not the cat. Although...

Du's been alright actually, much easier to look after than I first expected. I've no experience with domesticated animals and so was pleasantly surprised how little care is required in attending to a cat. She cleans herself, doesn't over eat, goes to the toilet in the same place and makes sure the mess is carefully and thoroughly hidden in her litterbox. Bless her cotton socks.

She's a typical cat, likes to do her own thing and ignores all of your attempts to get her attention. But come bed time she wants to snuggle up. I'm in bed concentrating on a book or laptop and she would walk up to me and meow for affection. If I remained unmoved she would rub her face against my book or screen, or even transparently walk between me and the apparently undeserved object of my attention. She'd perhaps do this a few times before she nestles quietly on my lap for a little snooze. Her deep purring is a lovely sound of contentment. Her little face, curled up in her paws is angelic. You can't help but be enchanted and honoured to have her trust.

Even in the mornings when she wakes me up with her constant meowing, my annoyance quickly melts as I know this little thing is only wanting a little of my love.

This morning I woke with her puke in my bed.

After all the pampering, all the cries for more food and soothing of ills the little ingrate dares to hock up a fur ball along with her breakfast IN MY BED! Am I wrong for feeling this way? Am I a bad mother? I clean up the mess, give her a dirty look and get on with the rest of my day.

Tonight she's meowing at me again, looking at me with her big eyes, giving me sass. She's walking across my keypad so I'd give a damn about her. Oh alright missy, you get your way. I know you didn't mean to be sick. You're far too sweet to ignore. And you're purring! I love you too.

Epilogue
I haven't turned into a Cat Lady. And I still have my sanity.

My Taiwan (So Far)

2007-07-18T15:53:00.000+08:00

Taiwan was once known as "Formosa Island", after the Portuguese who in 1544 named it "Ilha Formosa", which means "Beautiful Island."

To see the beauty of Taiwan you really must escape the towns and head for the hills. As Taiwan is a tropical climed country the hills are quite green and lush. Not to mention extremely humid at this time of year.

L and R: Streets in Taichung day and night. There are worse examples of neons which I will capture for you.

L: Mountain ranges 30 mins drive from my parent's place; R: Lounges facing mountain views at a restaurant 55 mins from my parent's place.

L: Views towards Taichung at dusk; R: On motorway - see the pale mountain ranges at bottom and layered clouds above.

There are Buddhist temples aplenty in Taiwan, ranging from minature single-god temples to multi-layered mansions honouring numerous. The one I visited (see below) had a giant Buddha statue in its forecourt.

L: Temple; R: Second floor interior honoring five gods. The third floor is dedicated to Buddha.

L: "Milefuo" - statue of the very happy monk who brings good luck and happiness; R; Giant Buddha sitting on a giant lotus flower.

And you thought I'd forget? No, here are some ever important food shots for you.

L: Coffee and cake at mountain restaurant; R: A cheap and cheerful chicken lunchbox for $70 NTD = $2.50 AUS = $2.00 CDN = 1.10 pound sterling. Talk about affordability.

L: A VERY popular snack in Taiwan - Smelly Tofu, so named because it smells like BO, or feet. But let me assure you it is VERY VERY good; R: Thai fare at Taichung's premier hotel, Hotel One on the 28th floor.

Random pics chosen for their verticality:

L: Lunch July 18th 2007; R: Pegoda.

L: My Dad in the trees; R: Lunch July 1st 2007.

A Taste of the Good Life

2007-07-01T07:19:00.000+08:00

Being back at my folks in Taichung is a bit like checking yourself in voluntarily at a rehab clinic. I have no cell phone, I get to watch lots of tv, I get 3 squares a day, I get told what to do at what time, I have no access to booze, I get supervised excursions to the outside world, no one really knows where I am or how to contact me, but I can leave any time I want.

I love my mum and dad. This is true. And I knew I would be pretty emotional seeing them after an absence of three years. But after a week it's like I'd never left. I had originally thought I'd lap in the luxury of being at home and take a good month off from my "independent" life. The truth is, I'm missing the routine of getting ready for work, being both productive and slyly not during the day, looking forward to that after work drink and the feeling of being justly lazy on the weekend.

Perhaps it's the jetlag, but my days are melting into one and quite frankly I was shocked to discover it was Thursday and not Tuesday the other day (I had lost two full days, was I in a time-lapse coma?). Jetlag really is an evil mistress of Travel. I curse her name. Curse. Curse.

So yes, there's a whole new world out there for me and I've yet the capability to do it justice. But I will. Just yesterday morning mum and I went out to buy some breakfast, and she drove down a narrow road that was being encroached upon by an over-abundance of silent neon signs. This was at 6.30 am, the road was clear of traffic, the morning light shedding a misty warmth telling of the humidity in the air. The scene, I wish I had my camera with me, was so Asian.

We came home ladened with soy milk, egg rolls, steamed buns and chive pancakes.

Rehab or not, this is one fantastic start to any morning.

A Time in London, A Time in Dublin

2007-06-27T23:10:00.000+08:00

A week in London flew by. My three-day Dublin escape a mere speck of a memory. Jetlag has a firm grip on me as I sit at my Dad's computer in Taiwan, feeling like a little kid again being totally dependent on my folks, till I get a job and a place to live. Let me try and regress just a week...

Being back in London was really exciting. Just the sight of the red buses, brick homes and street signs made me giddy with delight at all its Britishness. I recovered from my jetlag at my cousin's, with her beautiful daughter Gina keeping me entertained. She IS the cutest and smartest almost-2-year-old in the world. I'll arm wrestle anyone who challenges that claim.

I also met up with my ex-colleagues, ex-flatmates, uni and other Aussie friends still lucky enough to stay in London. Being out and about reminded me of all the good times I've had. I also managed a tiny bit of sight-seeing, not so much as I haven't seen the sights but more for the fact that these are world class things to see.

L: Gorgeous little Gina; R: My uni friends Louise and Rachel and their partners Jose and Chris, dinner in Chinatown reminiscent of days of yore.

L: Plaster cast of Trajan's Column in Rome, erected in AD 113 with height of 38 metres, housed in the Victoria & Albert Museum; M: See man in red for scale; R: Natural History Museum.

I really had to tear myself away from London to go to Dublin, my pre-booked side trip. The night before departing I had a reunion of sorts with friends at Ascent Media. Gawd it was tempting to stay out all night. Love those guys. But I made a responsible decision and went home to bed. Albeit via black cab as I forgot tubes stopped earlier during the week than weekends. 30 quid later... ouch.

L: Some of the Ascent Media crew; R: Hong's Leaving Do (Hong on left). This was only about 10pm...

Got my Ontario Canada backpack on (thanks everyone at Ontario Tourism) and I was alone in a new city, something I hadn't done in a long time. But I went on a literary pub crawl that night and made some instant friends. Big shoutouts to Virginia Beach!

L: The Spire in Dublin centre; M: A Vemeer painting at the National Gallery. I really love his stuff; R: Argentinian naval cadet ship in town for a visit that I stumbled across in my attempt to finding the "U2 Wall". They will be sailing to Australia next year and I will look out for them.

Next day's highlight was the Guinness Brewery which I am very proud to say I pulled the perfect pint and even have a certificate to show for it. I knew my 14 euros was going to go somewhere worthwhile. That night also met up with Anna, Rachel my uni friend's sister. She'd been there 8 months so it was great to have a semi local take me to local places. Cheers to you Anna.

L: That's me holding my certificate; R: Thought I'd share some Irish with you. It's an Emergency Exit sign.

Final day I took a short DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit, otherwise more usually known as a train) out to a tiny fishing village called Howth. They had seals in the bay! Spent a lovely few hours days looking at their seafood before heading back to Dublin. Unbeknownst to me at this time, Gay Pride was on! Caught the tail end of it on O'Connell Street. I was glad to see it. My trip felt complete. I had the political history (Kilmainham Gaol), the pub culture (everywhere), the quaintness (Howth) and festivities (Pride).

L: Fishing village of Howth; R: See the seal in the bay?

L: Close up of the seal(s). There were more than one; R: It's R2D2! This guy was on one of the trawlers.

L: Kilmainham Gaol, location set of many films including Michael Collins starring Liam Neeson; R: Outside courtyard where many were executed by shooting.

And now I'm back in Taiwan for RE-EDUCATION.

Tina T's Countdown - Asia Edition begins.

Patience is Apparently A Virtue

2007-06-24T03:01:00.000+08:00

A week in London passed too quickly and three days in Dublin is almost a memory. 'Cept how can forget that's where I am being held hostage at the airport right now? My flights been delayed so I am awaiting my boarding call.

It's been quite a jam packed stopover, reuniting with friends and discovering new ones.

Facebook is so the latest thing.

My feelings are a little tepid towards my incumbent return to Taiwan. Have no idea what to expect; possibly the idea of "outcast" does not bode well with me.

I want to get back to London, complain about the food, the tube, the weather... Ah but to think of adventures new in Taiwan...

Tina Week

2007-06-15T01:29:00.000+08:00

Oh man. My last blog regarding Monday drinks seem an eternity ago. I'm currently sitting on floor of my cousin's house in London, looking at a slightly overcast sky with her almost-2 year old daughter keeping me entertained. I'm looking at the pictures of my last full week in Toronto. What great times I had!

So here's a rundown of "Tina Week" after Monday (after Monday's unoffical send-off, my work friends have deemed the week "Tina Week". In order to do it justice I had "last drinks" every night of the week with various friends I've made in Toronto):

TUESDAY
After work I met up with Christiane who's last day at work was the Friday before. We both connected on many cool topics, including Taiwan (she spent a year teaching English in Taipei 10 years ago - love her). We started off in Kensington Market for drinks, then a burrito dinner at famous Burrito Boyz, then pool and drinks at Andy Poolhall, then finally more drinks further up College St. Our night started at 6pm and it ended at 12am.

WEDNESDAY
It's Martini Wednesdays at Labryinth so Nicole tells me. What does that entail? Well, $4.25 martinis that's what. Nicole, Kris and Laura are already there when I join them at 11pm. Cheap drinks were had, 2am rolls round and last calls are called. We leave in search of greasy fillers for our stomachs and found Pita Pit, where we toasted Mihoko, a friend who left us many months ago to return to Japan. 3am outside on the footpath chatting with drunken merriment when three guys approach. They are also of drunken merriment ilk and for a while we chatted before the two groups decided to merge into one to continue well into the morning at their place aided by home-made icewine, which had lovely hints of pear in bouquet and palette and a light summery body. I felt very special when one of our new friends presented me with a piece of not-readily-available-in-all-butchers moose steak from his freezer as an impromtu parting gift. What Canadian hospitality! It was almost 5:30am when I made it to bed.

THURSDAY
Caught up with Kelvin and Deeple at Hoops on Yonge where I first met Kelvin. Deeple stayed for one before going to her class, Kelvin and I stayed for a few more, Deeple came back from class and we all got back into the business of drinking proper. Cheap drinks and good stories made the night great. One more day of work left so I wasn't worried about getting in late.

FRIDAY
I was only 10 mins late for work which was impressive I thought. Was taken out to lunch, then had the whole office wishing me off in the boardroom with a cake, coffee and presents. Even got a bottle of red and a bottle of sparkling wine from a few individuals from work. So nice. Had planned to go out for Friday drinks but unfortunately those plans fell through. I was kinda glad cause I heard my body quietly saying thanks. But not for long.

SATURDAY
The usual Saturday night crowd at Dave's for one last time - even Mihoko via webcam. I got there late but got a rounding cheer and applause upon entering - I love those guys! I made my famous, or rather I should say my mum's famous chicken wings which my friends have tasted before and loved. It was just an excellent night where everyone had plenty of fun, plenty to drink and endless shenanigans. I was the first to leave that night. I was pretty drunk and wanted to make it home and not hug a toilet bowl. I also wanted to preserve the memory of the night, a final impression that was just good. Really good.

Hello Drinks!

2007-06-05T23:16:00.000+08:00

After work we headed out to Hemingway's, a NZ/Oz pub that I've been meaning to go to for a while. The sun broke through the clouds by the time we got there, so we were comfortably set up on the patio. Toronto and her patios. T'is the season.

After work drinks are such great bonding tools. Seeing these guys out made me wish I knew them more outside of work as they are such fun. Fortunately I get the pleasure of Diane's company everyday as our cubicles are side by side, and we converse conveniently through a gap in the partion wall. Lovely Luanne was there too, and with Ryan, who works offsite and who I really only communicate via email with when John is away and I look after some of his stuff when he's gone. We often forget Ryan has a face, voice and limbs too. They gave me a card and a present for my trip to London - how so very cool are they? (Very.) Kathy also gave up on going for her usual after work run and abandoned her child to stay for a second drink. And to that I raise my glass to her dedication to the cause. Rey and Amalia arrived a little later but their presence made me smile. Again what troopers as the sky was foreboding earlier on.

The duo that caused the greatest sensation must be mentioned, were Harvey and Kattrin. Kattrin actually organised both lunch and drinks with such expertise I dare say she brought the sun out too! Kattrin and Harvey took to the drinking like fish to water and showed me what marketing was all about - AND coming up with some great marketing ideas to get a name out. Work related or not, they were full of initiatives that really excited us all. In fact, their razor sharp senses fully developed the Buzz Club, its secret handshakes, code of conduct and merchandising all inclusive and all spur of the moment. I felt privileged to have seen the inception of the Buzz Club and the honour of Lifetime Member bestowed upon me.

What an awesome night out on the Yorkville establishment patio, and thanks to everyone for making Monday a memorable all-day event.

People from top left: Kathy, me, Diane, Rey; Harvey and Kattrin; me looking very lobsterish.

Goodbye Lunch

2007-06-05T04:06:00.001+08:00

This was my work goodbye lunch. The restaurant of my choosing was Bloor Street Diner, a blend of American diner and Provencale cuisine. My rotisserie chicken was tre delish. Thanks everyone for coming out and being there for me. Tear...

Clockwise from top left: everyone; Labrina and Nadia with their burgers; my chicken and Kattrin's spinach salad; everyone.

Weekend 2 - The Beginning or the End

2007-06-04T23:11:00.000+08:00

Friday night I find myself meeting a whole bunch of new people. It's sad to meet people, have a great time, and at the end of the night say, Well, it's been nice knowing you. Have a good life.

Saturday night I have a wonderful dinner with Deeple and Zanaida. We hang out at the West End on balmy summer's night, knowing it'll be the last time I'm ever doing this with these girls.

That's the down-side of travelling. The connections you make that you have to leave behind. But I've said it before, it's reaffirmed my faith in humanity. This world really isn't such a bad place, not especially if I find and connect with good people everywhere. It's open minded people, it's people who are interested in not the microcosm of their lives but sees the full picture. I wish I could collect all the fascinating and beautiful people I've met, put them in a jar like incandescent fireflies that they are, then release them into my night sky at home to continually delight me everyday.

L: Me, Toshi and Tomiko - this after one night, imagine after one week hehe!; R: Carlton - thanks for my invite!

L: Chris getting his birthday shots from Bambi our waitress; R: Kuni showing Chris the intricacies of a linen napkin chicken's anatomy.

Killer Queen

2007-06-01T04:24:00.000+08:00

I got a FREE ticket to see We Will Rock You The Musical by Ben Elton last night. Friend from work had a spare ticket that they had reserved for some US media, so off I went to see the London hit.

Why are we giving tickets to media from the US? Having lived in Sydney and London, I forget that shows, theatre, concerts, musicals, performances etc do not get staged everywhere. The US media that came, were from a Detroit breakfast show covering this big production because it won't be staged there. Maybe in Chicargo. Depending on its success here.

Toronto is the only North American city besides New York that is guaranteed the best selection of performances.

Well done to Ben Elton I say. The story line is waif-like, but he got money in the bank as soon he put the name "Queen" to paper.

I liked how the show has been tinkered to cater for the Canadian audience. The show refers to the Maple Leaf Gardens, the old home of the Toronto Maple Leafs ice hockey team (the Maple Leaf Gardens is an ice hockey holy grail). The lead, Yvan Pedneault, is a French-Canadian. In one small scene he speaks French to his chick in an attempt to woo her. She, by the way, wears underpants with the Canadian flag on it. There were also many parts of the dialogue that had the Canadians in the audience laughing, cept for one little Asian/Australian girl.

Weekend 3 - Buzzing Off

2007-05-28T21:39:00.000+08:00

Friday night and it was time to meet up with my friend Lorenz, for our once every 2-3 month catch up. Each time we've go somewhere new as part of our exploration of Toronto. This week I chose Panorama, on the 51st floor of the Manulife Centre building on Bay and Bloor. It was an overcast day so the view was a little muggy, but I was still impressed with the vista that looked south towards downtown and the lake. It somewhat reminded me of the view of Manhattan from the Empire State, but this was cosier and closer (and we were sitting and sipping cocktails, so this was far more preferrable). I could imagine myself coming up here all the time. Like Loft in Sydney on King Street Wharf, sitting on deep, leather couches on the balcony on a sunny Sunday afternoon overlooking the boats in Cockle Bay. So it was strange to see this great bar practically empty on a Friday afternoon. Lorenz and I were literally the only two people that saw the afternoon "crowd" (I used the term very loosely) leave and the night time crowd come in. By the time we'd left, most seats were taken, including seats at the bar, but no where near capacity as you'd expect. So so different from a Friday afterwork drinks in London, or Sydney... Ahhh only 2.5 weeks till I leave so excited!!!

L: The view of downtown; M: the balcony; R: I sneaked a pic of a couple on the balcony overlooking the view of downtown.

This weekend was also Sachi's leaving weekend. She and I met at Second Cup, and through her I've met a bunch of great people. We have a Saturday thing ie, we usually meet up on Saturday night for a home-cooked dinner and drinks. Finally the weather has improved that we could have it out on the patio. Toronto is ALL about patios.

We will miss you Sachi, see you in Japan hopefully!

L: Sachi's friend Ai, M: Dave and Nicole; R: Sachi!!!

L: Sachi's boyfriend Dom; M: Dan and Miki 1; R: Miki 2 and Neil. These photos taken by Dave.

Weekend 4 - A Nibble of the Big Apple

2007-05-23T00:37:00.000+08:00

Clockwise from top left: NY sirloin steak sandwich; Guggenheim Museum; NW view from the Empire State Building; exhibit at the Guggenheim; Tom's Restaurant, the diner from Seinfeld; breakfast at Tom's; Time Square; Statue of Liberty; view of Central Park from the Empire State Building.

Clockwise from top left: Empire State Building foyer; view of Lower Manhattan from the Empire State Building; Steve and the Statue of Liberty; Chrysler Building; 7th Avenue street fair; Statue of Liberty; me on street corner; Guggenheim Museum; me eating.

Manhattan, the heart of New York. Yellow cabs, 5th Aveue, hot dog vendors. I heart New York memorabillia of all descriptions. It's a city that only New Yorkers know. As a weekend tourist, you only get a hint of the good life.

I see the similarities and differences between New York and London. I also see the similarities between New York and Toronto believe it or not. It's a North American thang. Despite being known for being brash, New York has also a (disingenously?) sweet demeanour. London does not. Toronto has.

I could live in New York I think. It's full of people from everywhere. But probably all have been Americanised. It is after all, the hardest country to get into. You're gonna really want to be here, to be here. So even if it's more liberal than middle America, it's still got blinkers on to a certain degree.

New York bigs itself up. In movies and on TV. Makes itself known as the place to be, a source of energy and life. They do a good job of it cause I'm still drawn to that image. Three days in New York did not satiate my curiosity, but I can live with it. Maybe I'll visit her again one day. One day, far far away.

Sigh

2007-05-17T03:25:00.000+08:00

This is a beautiful song. I'm dedicating it to all of my friends and especially to those who've recently announced their engagements.

This Never Happened Before
Paul McCartney

I'm very sure, this never happened to me before
I met you and now I'm sure
This never happened before

Now I see, this is the way it's supposed to be
I met you and now I see
This is the way it should be

This is the way it should be, for lovers
They shouldn't go it alone
It's not so good when you're on your own

So come to me, now we can be what we want to be
I love you and now I see
This is the way it should be
This is the way it should be

This is the way it should be, for lovers
They shouldn't go it alone
It's not so good when you're on your own

I'm very sure, this never happened to me before
I met you and now I'm sure
This never happened before (This never happened before)
This never happened before (This never happened before)
This never happened before (This never happened before)
This never happened before

View a video tribute of the movie I first heard it on, The Lake House:

Click on this link for the video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1w-T6LiiReA

Catharsis

2007-05-15T23:15:00.000+08:00

I feel like I'm drowning today. Water has seeped into my ears and dulled the sounds around me making them far, far away. I feel removed from everything at the moment like I'm in my own bubble. People glide around me, they see me and say hello but I respond in muted tones. Not sure if they recognise my lack of enthusiasm. Maybe they don't, maybe they do. Maybe they do and they don't care. I don't care.

The days in the office drag. I shuffle paper. Not in any kind of significant way but rather in the mind-numbing, soul-debilitating way. I have lost my humanity to the papers. A co-worker here (a women faded in years, with superlative self-importance) dictates the most menial, laboriously fickle and inane instructions in the handling of said papers. Don't forget to wipe the photocopier first to rid that speck of dust (that one tiny speck n one sees but her because she has nothing else to occupy her mind with except that speck, her foot problem and her next cigarette break).

There is a greater world out there, one that is full of adventure and joy and unknown fears and bounty, not collapsable because it is so full of life and energy. Of fascinating people and history and culture. A friend is preparing to stage her second play; another is back packing through South American countries encountering live volcanoes; another won a green card in the US lottery and for the past year has provided numerous documents and sustained months of agonising wait to finally be told he is allowed to enter the most heavily guarded country in the world, to begin a life that millions dream, to have a chance at a life not afforded to citizens of his country of birth, to encounter possible hardships in adapting to a new country but also the possible rewards from affecting real grit and determination.

Take that into perspective and look at yourself, lady.

I need to get outta here.

Weekend 5 - Flowers for Zoe

2007-05-14T21:01:00.000+08:00

Factoids
During the Second World War, the Dutch Royal Family escaped occupied Netherlands to the safe haven of Canada where they were hosted for three years. Whilst there, Queen Juliana gave birth to Princess Margariet at the Ottawa Civic Hospital. The maternity ward was temporarily conceeded as Dutch soil so the princess could claim her birth had taken place on homeland. On 5th May, 1945 the Netherlands was liberated by a largely Canadian armed forces. In gratitude of Canada's valiant efforts and hospitality Queen Juliana sent a gift 100,000 tulip bulbs to Canada. The next year she sent 20,500 more requesting a display to be created for the hospital. Every year since then a further 10,000 bulbs has been sent.

This was the beginning of a bond between the two nations and also the beginning of the Ottawa Tulip Festival, the largest of its kind in the world which officially came into existence in 1953.

L: Tulips named for the Liberation; M: National War Memorial; R: Amar, Jesus and Ernest.

This year's festival opened on 4th May and will last until 21st May. Aside from the usual displays at Parliament Hill, Dow's Lake and Major's Hill Park, one of the highlights of the festival this year is International Pavillion, offering culture, entertainment and food from participating embassies and community groups.

Formalities Over
Weekend 5 started at 5:20am on Saturday morning. Ernest and Amar and Jesus picked me up at 6:15am and we were on our way to Ottawa. A McDonald's breakfast and three Tim Horton's stops later we'd arrived. It was a sunny but chilly Spring day and our first stop by Dow's Lake was the portaloos. We strolled along the lake where tulips were planted though it was patchy in display. No comparison to the tulips at Keukenhoff. What became our focus was probably the number of babies and toddlers on display as well as the dogs and an acute sense of the amount of French that was spoken around us. Quebec was only a hop skip and a jump away.

L: Amar and I at the Festival; Giant tulip sculptures; tulips.

When one visits Ottawa, one simply must see Byward Market. With its fresh fruit, flower, jewellery, vegetable stalls it was like being back in some European city. Ah memories. The one thing Ernest made me eat was Beavertail. I didn't argue cause I'm all about eating. I ordered one with banana and chocolate. Now before you all go nuts it was just a flat piece of beaver-tail shaped dough, deep fried with toppings on top. Sheesh.

Clockwise from Top Left: Fiddleheads, a kind of fern that cooks and tastes like asparagus, apparently; deliciously sweet berries; Beavertail stall; wild garlic.

Parliament Hill is a grand sight. Set back behind a large green square, you get to take in the the width and height of the Centre Block. Attached to the back of it is the Library of Parliament. Behind Parliament Hill you get a great view of the Rideau Canal and Quebec on the other side. It's surreal how once you cross the bridge every sign you see is in French; it really feels like you've entered another country even though it's the same. It's like we left Springfield and gone into Shelbyville.

Clockwise from Top Left: Parliament Hill Centre Block by day; Ernest and Amar enjoying the view; Library of Parliament; me touching Spidey outside the National Art Gallery; Rideau Canal and Quebec in the distance; Parliament Hill Centre Block by night.

After a dinner of Indian buffet, owned by a man who was so eager to succeed in his two month old restaurant business that he would be almost on top of us to refill our water after every sip, our little party of four contemplated our next move. We've seen the tulips, we've seen the canal. We took in Parliament Hill and a few embassies (and learnt the difference between embassies and high commissions). Ottawa was a few dollars richer with our passing. What was left to do? It was about 9:30pm when we started our journey back to the big metropolis that is Toronto, the one that is filled with more life, more excitement, more action. The one that is home for only another 4 weeks. Will my departure be bittersweet at that time, or will I be brimming with joy as I once thought I would? Something tells me there's a change in the air, that I won't forget Toronto in a hurry for in-almost-hindsight, she'd thrown me a curveball and gave me much to think about - fate, being one of them.

Tisane-ity

2007-05-08T21:59:00.000+08:00

Sipping my Cocoa Spice Yogi Tea yesterday and looked at the packaging. It said this tea "awakens bygone memories of festivity and joy that linger warmly in our minds".

What the what?