Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego

I heard the names "Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego" twice in a matter of three hours today. It was very strange -- the first time was when my friend wanted to talk about the story out-of-the-blue (I still don't know why), and the second was when I opened the door of my room and heard the remnants of an audio sermon wafting from the living room.

Hearing "Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego" twice in three hours was so uncanny that I had this conversation:

Me: "So, erm, God, why Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego?"

*silence*

"Erm, are you telling me that I ought to eat only vegetables and drink only water and I'll finish the marathon well?"

*silence*

"It's something about the fire right? The fact that Jesus was with them in the fire and that the fire could not harm them?"

*silence*

"Gosh. That's very sweet. But I wonder why you have to resort to such coincidences to speak, you know what I mean?"

*silence*

"Okay okay, I know, if I don't read my Bible, how else is it supposed to happen..."

*silence*

"But, you know, I'm not so sure about not being harmed by the fire. I'm not even sure of my salvation..."

*silence*

"Go fill up that form on my table? What kind of an answer is that? I ask you such a profound question and you give me something to do?"

Sometimes, just sometimes, he gives you exactly what you need.

sshhhh, don't tell anyone

If my colleagues noticed, they are too polite.

*whispers* I'm wearing exactly the same thing I was wearing yesterday.

And it isn't even a generic black top, but a multi-coloured and striped long sleeve shirt. Heh heh heh.

It makes me happy

Objectively, this week in MN's life doesn't look too hot. There is that marathon at the end of the week that she is not prepared for, and there are those two niggly, worrying hospital visits this week. But somehow, in the midst of all this leg dragging and general grouchiness, some things make her feel better, like that smiling log bench with the twig in its mouth; like the following God-sent people:

1. A lifeguard who says to her: "?????????????????" (Miss, you need to pull harder on your stroke, all the way back to your thigh.") And the ensuing conversation on the marathon and how he once had to be carried out on the twenty-something mark and could not pass motion for a week after. He thought my Chinese was good! He must have had chlorine in his ears. ;)

2. A colleague who brings a ??? (hard-boiled egg cooked in tea leaves) in a paper cup covered in tin-foil.

3. A married pastor friend who buys me lunch and is real enough to whisper over kaya toast and teh, "eh, do you think that lady in white there is gorgeous?"

4. A friend who calls on the phone and tells me she is going dancing with the penguins in the arctic.

-----

er, does anyone know why Chinese doesn't show up on my blog?

A simple life

The death of the former Russian spy Alexander Litvinenko from Polonoium-210 poisoning reads like something out of a thriller novel. The ex-spy was in the midst of investigating the murder of his compatriot Anna Politkovskaya -- Anna Politkovskaya was shot to death only last month -- when he himself was poisoned. The day he fell ill, he met two Russians and later in the day, his Italian friend at a sushi bar. Just before he died on 23 November 2006, he made a statement blaming Mr. Putin for his death.

I was following the story on the BBC news and I had to have some serious suspension of disbelief. A sushi bar, an uncommon radioactive substance that is not easily traced, a statement blaming the top man in Russia, what in the world is going on?

It reeked of the Cold War and the ubiquitous fear in the 80s that a nuclear bomb would take out the entire civilized world, except that this time, it was somebody else's problem. In a completely selfish way, it made me grateful for the simple life. It is enough when you can have the peace of mind to sleep at night and the composure to enjoy the little things in life.

The situation concerning powerful nations, policies and hidden agendas is so complicated that I don't even know what to hope for. The naive hope that the world will be a better and more ethical place? Perhaps. Because I don't know how else to articulate it.

Thanks to God for my Redeemer,
Thanks for all Thou dost provide!
Thanks for times now but a memory,
Thanks for Jesus by my side!
Thanks for pleasant, balmy springtime,
Thanks for dark and stormy fall!
Thanks for tears by now forgotten,
Thanks for peace within my soul!

Thanks for prayers that Thou hast answered,
Thanks for what Thou dost deny!
Thanks for storms that I have weathered,
Thanks for all Thou dost supply!
Thanks for pain, and thanks for pleasure,
Thanks for comfort in despair!
Thanks for grace that none can measure,
Thanks for love beyond compare!

Thanks for roses by the wayside,
Thanks for thorns their stems contain!
Thanks for home and thanks for fireside,
Thanks for hope, that sweet refrain!
Thanks for joy and thanks for sorrow,
Thanks for heav’nly peace with Thee!
Thanks for hope in the tomorrow,
Thanks through all eternity!

Believe it or not

Sept 11, 1978
A man in a bowler hat fires a pellet of ricin from an umbrella into the thigh of Georgi Markov. He dies four days later. An umbrella! That's like the The Penguin in Batman!

September 2004
Viktor Yushchenko, an Ukrainian opposition presidential candidate, is poisoned with dioxin, causing a drastic change in his appearance.

Getting rid of the search bar in Firefox

Do you know how Mozilla makes money? Every time you use the Google Search Bar at the top right hand corner of the Firefox browser and click one of the sponsored links (Google Ads), Mozilla gets a cut. It is rumoured that Mozilla made something to the tune of 72 million in 2005.

I'm not against them making money or anything. I just like a clean browser. Everything ought to be useful, and the search bar isn't for me as I do my searches through the address bar. I already have keywords for all my favourite searches. So I removed it.

1. Right-click the menu bar > Customize
Drag the search bar into the box that popped up.

It's that easy.

ITB Anonymous: Session IV

Hello everyone, my name is Ms. Nomer, and I have a problem.

A bit of trivia before I start: what is an important difference between running and swimming?

After a swim, you're not smelly!

This past week, my bedroom has been suffused with the antispetic smell of chlorine, unlike the usual musky smell emanating from the laundry basket at the corner of the room. I almost like the sweaty smell more than the chlorine smell, just because it is more familiar and it always makes me feel happy and accomplished.

So after a week of not running, I went for my first run yesterday evening. My mind had grown soft -- I wasn't looking forward to exerting myself at all -- but once I got started, it felt so remarkably good to get gloriously sweaty again. Great big glops of sweat, like a labourer at work. And the cadence of the feet, the ability to breathe whenever I wanted to, the music in my ears, the road before me, it was all very good.

And then of course, the pain set in.

I have resigned myself to the fact that I will not be able to walk after the marathon this coming Sunday. It is not like I haven't cut back my mileage. My total mileage this past week was less than 10km. How I am going to go from less than 10km to 42.195km this coming Sunday is going to somewhat of a miracle on the Moses-parting-the-red-sea scale. Not to mention the ITB. My longest run so far is about 26km; my ITB is probably irrevocably inflamed; the die is cast.

But dang it, I'm going to finish it anyway, hobbling if required.

So, since it doesn't help to ruminate on this matter any more as the die is cast, I'll just do what I have to this week (swim the freestyle, eat, drink) and think about something else altogether:

Do people sweat when they swim?

If so, is that why public pools taste salty?

Food for though eh? :) Have a good day.

A Good Year

We were going to watch Happy Feet with the tickets J gave us -- according to Gwynne, Happy Feet got rated "PG" in the US for "mild peril", haha! -- but the folks at the cinema said that we couldn't watch Happy Feet with free tickets.

So we watched A Good Year instead, starring Russell Crowe as Max Skinner. You know, despite the bad reviews, we actually really liked it. I tend to end up liking the movies that I know nothing about going in. I think the lack of expectations really helps. It works like this: if you don't know it is supposed to be a romantic comedy, the humour takes you by surprise. If you know that you are going to watch a romantic comedy, then you expect it to make you laugh, and if you're particularly demanding, you'll even expect it to expand the boundaries of its genre.

So on hindsight, knowing that it is supposed to be a romantic comedy, it isn't fantastic 'cos it doesn't make a person root for the couple the way the best romantic comedies do. The falling-in-love-couple-thing is a side plot in my opinion. But taken on its own, labels aside, A Good Year is actually quite funny in a slapstick kinda way. The vineyard it is set in is also gorgeous; dappling sunlight through leaves... you can practically smell the wine from your seat.


One of our favourite scenes from the movie.

This movie has a preponderance of female flesh for some reason. No nudity or obscenity or anything (not that I can remember anyway). Just that the camera pans and lingers, for absolutely no reason at all. I suppose that for some folks, that is reason enough to go watch it. But if you do, don't expect too much. Set out to have a good time, and you'll probably will. :)

A to-do and a to-wish list

Running late. I have five minutes. I wish I could draw.  And run.  And dance the tango.  And settle down.

I've done no running this week -- only freestyle, back and forth until my lungs cannot take it anymore, which doesn't take very much at all.  I've been eating and sleeping in and getting lazy.  So I must -- I tell myself  -- I must go for a short run this evening and hope that it will not protest. 

Running late.  I may have to skip the shower.

Musings after midnight

I'm a prolific blogger. I know it when it is 2am and I'm sitting in front of the computer blogging. My last post was about 12 hours ago, yet I feel like I still have so much to tell you.

I know it because I don't keep a paper diary anymore. I had one for years and years -- they ran into volumes, the pink one with the lock when I was younger, the fancy hard-backed books bound with blank paper, then the sensible black with a spiral ring -- they all lie dusty with secrets under my bed now, this love affair with my own words, and all I have is this.

I have gained an audience, lost an autobiography.

I don't do names anymore, or details, facts, or precise emotions that can be pinned down to a single person, day or moment. I distill my life for the general, stick in a few acronyms so they cannot find the name behind the moniker, and post it here -- my life as it is, for you to read and find something you like, for me to have a record, a catalyst for the past.

This wedding I was at -- surely you were at one just like it only last week; this marathon, your life feels like an uphill course with setbacks at every corner; this Monday blue feeling; this missing; this feeling of being in love; this terrible slapstick humour.

Heck, I could even be you.

Bootylicious Snippets from my Morning Surf

I'm a little coffee pot. (www.comics.com)


This is for you, Smole! Guess why it is for you? :) Monty is possibly my favourite comic of all time. (www.comics.com)








Bootylicious is actually the word for the day on the Oxford English Dictionary. Not just any 'ole dictionary ok? This is THE OED we are talking about.

And finally, Virtual Map which runs www.streetdirectory.com is being sued by the Singapore Land Authority (SLA). SLA just launched its online map portal yesterday. What goes around comes around. Now that I've said this, I'll probably get sued by www.comics.com. [Story via Otterman.]

(Click on comic for larger version.)

H's wedding in photos

Okay, it's time for photos. I realised this trip that H and I haven't been in the same country for over ten years now. She visited me when I was in Arkansas; I visited her in St. Louis; then she visited me in Singapore; I visited her in Sydney; and like this, a decade has come and gone. It is kinda neat that I don't even notice it though. Time, distance, new accents, professions, boyfriends, husbands, girlfriends.. all just negligible blips. :)

Bridal paraphernalia


Bridal shoes


Flowers for the bride. Pretty eh? My friend Scrabby did them.


Bridemaids' dress


Kissing on a cake

Wedding day


That's me lacing up the bride. I was still wearing my sports watch.


Arrgh! Rain! Holding up the bride's train and hitching up my skirt. I have no grace.


Watching... and getting a tear streak in my make-up.


I got to be a witness!


The precious red-headed flower girl.

Some photos of food.


Shabu-shabu. Gosh.. the beef! the tofu! and onions too!


Scallops.

And to round up, a photo of the happy couple


On the morning of the wedding day.
See photos below

Why run?

Have you seen the latest Adidas advertisements? Where these guys wear bibs declaring the reason they run, like "Because No. 2689 talked me into it."? I think they are great!











I especially empathise with reason No: 2418, taped-nipples and all.

Guess what? Guess what? They will be giving us these special bibs to wear on the back of our shirts during the marathon! :)

Ooh ooh ooh.. what shall we write?

------

Update: ahhahaha, we know what we're going to write and it's going to be funny and obscure and pay tribute to the 42.2km!

Freakonomics, by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner

I studied Economics in Junior College with a certain Mrs H. Tan who overflowed with the confidence that everything can be explained if only you knew the principle behind the matter. Faced with a complicated question, for e.g. why does the price of coffee go up on the first Monday of every month after a 30-day month during a recession?, she'll waltz to the blackboard with chalk in hand, rapidly draw out three graphs in quick succession, and explain just exactly why my coffee this morning cost me $1.80. Her explanation always felt close to the miraculous, and left us mere mortals with mouths slightly gaping, wondering why we didn't see it before.

Economists have that confidence about the world: everything has an explanation; you just need the right data. Steven Levitt takes this attitude along with the tools of the trade and applies it to everyday life. He manipulates exam scores; he studies long-term crime rates; he proposes audacious claims about abortion that only an Economist will dare to propose; and with one fell swoop, he overturns our smug common-sense notions about the way life is. This book has the Mrs. H. Tan effect.

If you are like me and prefer not to know too much about a book before reading it, I'll suggest you NOT visit the book blog site 'cos it gives away too much. Just go read the book. If anything, it makes great fodder for dinner conversations.

(Find it in a library here. I actually bought this one from Popular for 20% off.)

Comfort pants

I'm wearing my comfort pants. They make my bottom look the size of China, but dang it, they make me feel better.

A seed of worry

Things should be easing up now that we are coming to the end of the year. Theoretically, November and December is the time of the year to take things easy, take the foot off the accelerator, and coast into the new year amid colourful Christmas lights and a general feeling of well-being.

But, no.

I have a seed of worry gnawing at my sanity. I wish it would go away.

I know the promises: God will take care of you; he knows the number of hairs on your head; everything works together for the good of those who love him... I don't doubt these great and precious promises. But do you know what my problem is? I am keenly aware that what I want may not necessarily be what God wants.

Good people die everyday according to God's will, do you know what I mean? And somehow the knowledge that it must be God's will should be sufficient for the little person; yet, it is but a cold comfort.

Horatio Spafford wrote the great legacy of a hymn "It is well with my soul" after he lost all four of his daughters in a shipwreck. If it were me, even if I knew all possible outcomes, even if I knew that everyone will die someday anyway, I would still clutch tightly to those I love, and never let go. In all my choices, I always favour the imperfect present over the elusive future, because, well, I am only human.

Nevertheless, words have power to create a vision of something not-yet-here, so these are the words of Horatio, born of much personal suffering.

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

But, Lord, 'tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh trump of the angel! Oh voice of the Lord!
Blessèd hope, blessèd rest of my soul!

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.

Running mantra #5

Sometimes you've just gotta swim.

Feeling down

I'm so screwed. The marathon is in two weeks.

Today, my illiotibial band hurt more than it did last week, forcing me to abort the long run at a mere 13km. Did I get vaselined, sunscreened, hatted, all taped up just for this?

My cardiovascular fitness isn't up to scruff -- today I felt lethagic, miserable and pessimistic. My running buddy was tired and kept having to stop. Swimming 10 laps every other day doesn't seem to be enough, yet that is about as much swimming as I can bear.

Ever since my Garmin forerunner came back from the workshop in Taiwan, I haven't been able to get a decent reception from it. It hangs like a dead weight on my wrist. Perhaps its performance mirrors his owner's.

How? How? How? All I want to do is to finish.

Room service at Sptw. Park

My parents are sweet. This is the note my mum left me this morning: "E- Prawn mee for you. No duck mee." In case you think I'm a duck noodle fanatic, the reason why she wrote "no duck mee" was because she asked me what I wanted last night -- I get room service on Saturday mornings ;) -- and for once I actually knew what I wanted: duck mee.

But prawn mee is good too. :)

My grandfather used to buy prawn mee from this very same Tanjong Pagar stall for my mother for breakfast too. Imagine that. Now the lady running the stall is much older but she still does it single-handedly, and it packs a good four half-prawns, one-eighth egg, and a smattering of fishcake and beansprouts for $2 a packet (I think, or maybe it is $2.50, I have to ask my mother. Heh.).

If I have to do an audit of my life about the things I have and the things I don't, I think I still have to conclude: I am very blessed.

My schedule so far

Sat- Run 21km
Sun - Swim 10 laps
Mon - Play!
Tue - Run 7.7km
Wed - Swim 8 laps
Thur - Run 9km
Fri - Swim 11 laps

Run swim run swim until very xian (bored) already.

How to configure your mobile phone for gmail: Critical Update

Remember my earlier post on how to configure your mobile phone for gmail?

Well, this is a critical update.

After configuring my Sony Ericsson k618i, I was happy just to receive my emails from my gmail account. It was only later when I realised that while I could receive emails, I could not send. I would get an error saying that the TLS/ SSL certificate is not authorized by known authority. To solve this problem, you need to download the following two certificates.

Download this file: http://www.verisign.com/support/thawte-roots.zip

Open the .zip file and look for ThawtePremiumServerCA.cer. Extract the .cer and bluetooth it to your phone. Your phone should recognise it as a certificate and ask you if you would like to save it. Click yes.

Download also this certificate by right-clicking on the link and choosing "save as". Bluetooth the certificate to your phone.

Ensure your settings are the same as in this post.

1. Connection type: POP3
2. Incoming Server: pop.googlemail.com
   
3. Outgoing Server: smtp.googlemail.com
   
4. Incoming Server: SSL ; Outgoing Server: SSL
5. Incoming Port: 995 ; Outgoing Port: 465

And that should do it. :) I am as pleased as punch... until I receive my mobile bill for this month!

blogging via email via my mobile phone

I feel so high tech.

---- ?Sent using a Sony Ericsson mobile phone

Twenty-nine obtuse angles

It was a dream, let me say that first,
A dream of twenty-nine obtuse angles.
__weird,
____nonsensical,
______the kind of dream where philosophers and physicists
furrow their brows together and mumble,
"No logic! No logic!" and hobble away
to the next mathematical problem
that exemplifies the universality
__of
the Pythagoras Theorem.

It was a dream, with a girl.
A girl with a cat and red golden curls.
A girl in love with a girl in love with a boy,
Who, remarkably, loved the girl, the girl
with the cat and the red golden curls.

So round and round the love letters went
__dear girl >
____dear boy >
______dear girl, you with the cat and the red golden curls >
____dear girl >
__dear boy >
Until the girl threw up her hands and kissed the boy,
and spurned the girl with the cat
and the red golden curls.

So she bought a house with a room with a view
and sat on her rocking chair and fell asleep
and dreamed this dream nonsensical,
about a girl with a cat and the red golden curls.

The post on the tax increase

I have been trying not to gripe about the increase in the GST (Goods and Services Tax) from 5% to 7% since Tuesday. But not griping here in this blog means that I talk incessantly about the tax increase to my friends, which isn't very pleasant for them, because they can't walk away from me in mid-conversation without offending me, while you can easily do so with absolutely no consequences. Just click on that little "x" button. :)

Just so that I can be a better dinner companion, I'm going to have to say what I have to say here:

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO 6%?? and

WHAT KIND OF A BULL EXCUSE IS IT TO SAY THAT YOU ARE RAISING TAXES TO HELP THE POOR??

Okay, I feel better now.

The GST is the kind of tax that pinches the lower-income more than the higher. For example, you buy rice, oil, meat, vegetables, fruits, detergent, and other daily necessities from your local grocery store and your bill comes up to $100. When the GST goes up to 7%, you will pay $7 in taxes. If you earn $1000, $7 is 0.7% of your income. If you earn $10,000, and you buy that same bag of groceries, you pay a GST that is only 0.07% of your income.

So it is a little ironical to say that we are implementing this tax to help the lower income, is it not?

Of course the scenario above is too idealistic. In the real world, those with more money usually spend more and hence are taxed more. Also, there is the income tax which taxes the higher income earners more than the low -- ironically, the government wants to lower the income tax percentage for the highest income earners in the bid to attract more business to our sunny island state, hence skewing it against the poor that little bit more.

On the whole, we have low taxes and a good government that gives back to her people through spending in infrastructure, education, etc. So it is not like I'm pretending that I know how to run this place better. Just be more frank with us, can? And whatever happened to 6%?

(Some ideas I have: make certain necessities such as plain rice, salt, white bread, water GST-exempt. Actually, come to think about it, that is the only idea I have.)

Technorati Tags: GST

Don't stick your chopsticks in your rice like that

At the dinner table, the little boy got tired of eating. He complained loudly, "Every day eat rice, vegetables, meat; rice, vegetables, meat.. Why can't we have pizza and california roll like my friend John? His maid comes to school with a lunch box and every day it is something different.."

His grandmother looked at him kindly and said, "Ah boy, you are very lucky already. Last time we only got to eat chicken once a year during Chinese New Year. Now you can have chicken every day. You must count your blessings!"

The little boy wasn't convinced and stuck his chopsticks straight into his bowl of rice.



A look of pain passed through grandma's eyes. She said softly, "Ah boy, don't stick your chopsticks in your rice like that."

The little boy opened his mouth to continue complaining when he noticed his gramdmother's face. So he quickly shut his mouth and took out the chopsticks, and ate his rice quietly.



After a few minutes, his grandmother explained, "Ah boy, you're a good boy. Maybe when you get to my age you'll understand why I asked you to take out the chopsticks, or maybe not. The older you get, the more you remember, and it becomes easier for ordinary things to trigger images of pain, grief and superstition. Do you know what I mean?"

The little boy had no clue what his grandmother was going on about, but he nodded his head respectfully, and ate his rice, like his mother, his mother's mother, and his mother's mother's mother...

ITB Anonymous: Session III

Hi, my name is Ms. Nomer and I have an ITB problem.

I went for my first swim last weekend, the day after a 21km (achey) long run. The water in the public pool tasted somewhat salty... very gross! But I was determined to swim and so struggled through ten laps anyway. Have I mentioned that I don't like swimming?

In other news for fellow-sufferers, I have discovered a new ITB strengthening exercise. I call it the kungfu stance.



What you have to do is to place your feet far apart (facing outwards) and bend your knees to 90 degrees. Then stand up slowly, without locking your knees. Do 15-20 reps per day, followed with ITB stretching. Do this before AND after your runs to keep your ITB flexible.

I am almost at my wits' end since nothing I'm trying seems to be working. But after talking to a friend who is trained in this area, I'm somewhat cheered with the discovery of the "kungfu stance", the success of swimming ten laps, and the possibility that insoles may help my problem.

If all else fails, will someone please wait for me at the 30km with a pair of crutches? Thanks.

Possibly the best Tom Yam Soup

you can find in Singapore is at Tyrwhitt Road.

The soup is spicy with the slightest tinge of sweet. The broth is somewhat milky -- it isn't one of those clear watery soups with bits of chili floating on the top -- and it fills a belly in a wholly satisfying way.

For $3.30, you get two prawns, two pieces of silken soft tofu, one large piece of fried fish, and many pieces of fresh fish and mushrooms. The whole thing is topped with succulent onions and lime leaves that gives the dish that extra bit of oomph.



Alternating between spoonfuls of soup, large mouthfuls of steamed rice, and nibbly bites of ngoh hiang (fried meat roll), there was no room for conversation.

Be warned, this soup will make you want to come back for more. But as with all good things, it is not easy to get. The location is practically inaccessible by public transport, and the stall is open only between 10:30am and 4:30pm (closed on Sundays).

Northern Thai Restaurant
1 Tyrwhitt Road (S) 207522
10:30am - 4:30pm (closed on Sundays)

The twists and turns of Ms. Nomer's brain

Scene 1:

Ms. Nomer at the bookstore.  There are two copies of the title she wants, both shrink wrapped.  She chooses one over the other because the other has a small hole in the shrink wrap.

Two hours later, Ms. Nomer in bed at home, struggling with the shrink wrap.  She thinks: "I don't want to get up to get the scissors.  Where is the hole in this blasted shrink wrap!?"

Scene 2:

2am.  Ms. Nomer is thirsty.  She walks groggy-eyed to the kitchen and is horrified to find a cockroach in the sink.  She sprays insecticide over the poor bugger, and watches impassively as it goes into spasms.

Twelve hours later.  Late afternoon.  Ms. Nomer goes to the kitchen with a dirty cup to wash and refill with water.  Without thinking, she walks past the kitchen sink to the face sink .  By the time she realises where and what she is doing, she is washing her cup in the porcelain face sink.

Running with the Australian bush fly

Spring last week in Wombarra, Australia was more the kind of spring that came with cold gusty winds and chilling spring rains rather than the sweet, sunny, flowery types of spring that inspires a person to lie on the grass and read a book. All the grass was wet. And it was too cold to stay still in any one spot.

But I put on my little sleeveless top and red running shorts and headed out of the door for a run anyway, figuring that I would soon warm up. I shivered a little to begin with but after 5 minutes, the bracing cold actually felt way better than the suffocating humidity back home. So I went merrily along my way, until I realised that I had stalkers: fat Australian bush flies that flew as fast as I ran and buzzed about my head with dizzy joy every time I paused to stretch or to look at the view. They drove me crazy! I looked like a crazy woman doing a crazy dance by the side of the road as I tried to keep the flies and their entire extended families from landing on my face. I was a cow with multiple swinging tails.

How do the flies thrive in this cold anyway?

I was curious about what the flies were attracted to: was it my body heat? Or something else? So I looked it up when I got home and found out something more ghastly than I could imagine. The flies were looking for protein. Female flies need protein for the development of their ovaries, and they get it from my tears, saliva, sweat, the mucus in your nose and blood if I have an open wound. They are hanging about hoping that I would decide to make a nice warm lump of dung for them to lay their eggs in. Yuck!

This would explain why some of the guys had something in the region of 50 flies just hanging out on the backs of their shirts whenever they stopped moving. A friend said that the flies were attracted to certain colours more than others, but now I know better... these "attractive guys" are just sweatier!

It started raining when I was running back to the beach house. Really cold spitting rain, not like the tropical thunderstorms back home where it rains bucketfuls of warm-ish water. I was glad for it anyway, even though it was horridly cold, because it meant that the flies finally left me alone...

7am

About to go for a semi-long run. Scared like anything.

1am

I am back from the wedding dinner. It is 1am. I have a towel on my head. I vaguely remember that I have to wake up early tomorrow to try to do a long run, but it seems very far away, and I doubt I can fall asleep.

My friend Hm is married. Gosh, I'm not sure if I want to laugh or to cry. I think I may want a drink.

Stories

I am all about stories.  Stories that capture something quintessentially fleeting but stoically true.

A girl in her early twenties running to catch golden leaves fallling from the trees.

My friend Hm

My friend Hm got married last week. It was supposed to be an outdoor spring wedding at a resort overlooking a magnificent beach front, but it rained: freezing cold rain drops coupled with a gusty wind that chilled your bones. But it didn't really matter anyway, since the atrium it was held in had magnificent ceiling-to-floor windows and hard wood floors that boosted the natural acoustics. With everyone crowded into the small space, it felt cozy, inclusive and intimate.

And besides, who cares about the view when every eye is on the bride? She was radiant -- happy like a child, not at all conscious of herself, enjoying every moment, and unbelievably gorgeous. After the dinner, the bride and the groom opened the dance floor with a beautifully executed Latin dance. Because the groom looked so serious and deadpan (I think he was concentrating very hard on his steps!), it was the perfect foil to his partner's natural charm and flamboyance. She's hot stuff!

(More later. Now have to work.)

My friends bring out the sotong in me

When I was in school, one of my nicknames was "sotong", the name for cuttlefish in Malay. Sotong is synonymous with not being on the ball, hence the saying, "blur as sotong". In fact, when they drew a caricature of me in school, they put a prominent question mark on top of my head to emphasize my sotong-ness.

Hanging out with my school friends this last week brought it out in me again. It is interesting how different people bring out different aspects of your personality because I've almost forgotten how blur I actually am. When I am at work and with colleagues, they think I am the model of efficiency and fountain of information. When I am on holiday with Smole, we fight about who gets to read the map and figure out what's going on. When I am with my old school friends, suddenly I become a true blue blur sotong.

And the sotong-ness has carried over somewhat because I am still out of it. I threw out my contacts solution with the contacts still in them twice this week -- once into the toilet and once out of the window; I spilled tea all over myself and the carpet and the chair yesterday; I even flopped magnificently at boiling hard boiled eggs! What's up???

I have a theory. Just as in the Taoist concept of yin and yang, where opposites complement and bring out the best in each other, I am blur because my old school friends are so remarkably talented, and that eliminates any kind of female rivalry, and so we can get along and be good buddies. That's my theory anyway. ;)

Peripheral thoughts

Touched down 3:55am. Home 4:45am. At work 8:45am.

A bit zonked and woozey in the head, but every so often, an image from the events of the past week will barge into the brain, and I will space out, tear up, or smile to myself.

Why is it that every time I come back to Singapore, it feels stuffier, hotter, muggier, noisier, messier, and more chaotic that what I remembered it to be? How did I manage to pin my heart down to this little muggy island when I first came home from overseas? Maybe it is this:

Return train ticket from city to airport:
Singapore SGD 3.40
Sydney AUD 17.50

I am full of wanderlust. I desperately want my own place.

Live from Sydney Airport

I've realised that I've become accustomed to being at two places at
any one time. I am used to sitting at my office or home desk and
simultaneously occupying a particular space on the internet, a space
that is criss-crossed by a blogger, MSN, and email address.

So I am internet deprived. I feel like I am missing my siamese twin.

But I had a special week that I would not substitute a year's worth of
free internet access for, and I will tell you more about it when I get
home.