We got the keys today! And even though the dust, heat and top neighbours’ bedsheet invading the balcony got to me, I am also gratefully delighted. Sure, there will be tiffs on how many mirrors 2 people possibly need, and what colour the wardorbes should be (no frosted glass please), but at the end of the day, I am just thanking the Big Guy for a home to call my own.
Uncle had absolutely no sympathy when I told him that both D and I had fallen sick in the span of the last few days, just after a mere week of being frazzled with wedding dinner haggling and assorted family politics. His SMS for posterity and hearty laughter once my head clears:
“Lovesick. So romantic. U want matching pyjamas? Take my advice and just elope.”
Tym was just asking me about where to buy loose tea leaves, which made me remember that hey, that’s my favourite drink!
Once upon a time, I hoped to set up a tea shop (but realised retail is not my cuppa tea), join a tea blog community (but this seemed to be dominated mostly by married housewives in Western countries), work in a tea house (but I got another job instead).
As such, I figure I should savour my tea-drinking experiences more. Right now, I am sipping on some Lavender White Tea from Thann (at Millenia Walk). I’m still not quite used to the taste of lavender, but generally, it’s a very soothing brew and I usually sleep quite well after that. This morning, I had a much stronger-tasting brew of Ho Yan Hor cooling herbal tea because I woke up with a sore throat. This has been a pretty good remedy introduced by Julia, my Melbourne housemate, when you feel like you’re on the brink of a flu. I was saddened to hear from the Chinese Medical shop in Serangoon that this label has stopped production because there are no successors to carry on this family business.
This also reminds me - I still have PLENTY of Sri Lankan loose tea leaves - pass some to you-who-has-Ceylonese-roots soon ok?
I have been slowly packing my things in batches for the Great Move in 2 months’ time. Today, I allocated a small little box for old letters. I just can’t believe how we all used to write so many letters to each other. Some notable notes:
Andrew ( on organge organizer paper): “Oh no, you’re 18 today and I STILL haven’t found you an ideal guy yet! Never fear for AnTan will continue searching!”
Sheryl (on a really sweet card with some poem that says Nobody’s Perfect): “I’m not sure why, but I just wanted to give this to you.”
Eps (autograph book): “Even though we will be in different JCs, I’ve told Sharlene that I will definitely make it to your school’s MID AUTUMN FESTIVAL yah??” (She did eventually.)
Buckle Juniors (on green paper): “We would really like to pinch your rosy cheeks!”
Pearlyn (sparkly blue card with a curvy girl drawing that does not resemble me): “We are soooooooooo…. old!” (on 21st birthday)
Ngiam (markers of every colour): “Here are some furry stickers, rub them and you will feel better!”
Lincoln (on Mao Zedong postcard): “You are nice except for your phelgmatic sighing.” (?)
Cody (on big birthday card with furry little cotton balls): “You are a sexy bitch.”
Epiphany: People are scared of being boring.
People label others as boring very easily to make themselves feel interesting.
People who seem different from us in terms of ideas and lifestyles are seen as boring.
Truly boring people don’t think they are boring at all.
Interesting people can be overrated. Especially if they are trying so hard to prove they are not boring.
I am bored.
This post is probably boring.
I respect you Fish Auntie, for sticking to your guns and refusing to add MSG into your food even though the Ban Mian store next to you was thriving on selling super giam soup.
I respect you Fish Auntie, for making it a point to fry eggs only upon ordering so as to ensure they will always be hot and crispy.
I respect you Fish Auntie for ensuring every single slice of your very fresh fish will be evenly dipped into the corn flour water before being added to the soup.
I respect you Fish Auntie for your kickass homemade belachan chilli.
I respect you Fish Auntie for always being concerned about the health of your regular customers and advising me to not drink cold water for fear that I will get “soft legs”.
A chef I interviewed once said that you are what you cook and believed that a person’s body vibrations and energy will somehow be transferred to the food one prepares. A happy, loving person who cooks with joy and effort will make create dishes that are sustaining and therapeutic.
I will miss you, Healthy Fish Auntie.
So whatever innovative ideas (warehouse! garden party with marquee! junk food buffet!) we had has gone down the drain in the name of cost-effectiveness, efficiency, and appeasing (forget about pleasing, will never happen) kin.
So we copiously took notes at the wedding dinner on Sunday. It was nice to see Ah Pok and Eps again, though they looked really pooped. Say, why do people hold weddings that drain the life out of friends? (Stop questioning, stop questioning!)
If we can’t resist ‘em, join ‘em.
I am da Borg .
So apparently, somewhere near Manila, a sagely photographer-turned-farmer rears chickens and has named the brood after his Singapore posse and their partners. Mel the Hen (MTH) apparently is a pretty independent chick, even after Darren the Rooster was given away to someone who wanted to train him as a fighting cock. Des the Rooster is apparently hitting on MTH, even though he has already caused Sumei the Hen to plop a couple of eggs. But because MTH is rather big-sized, Des Roost has not scored yet. Ah Seng the Rooster has already been slaughtered and eaten.
I hope in no way does this reflect the plight of their human counterparts.
Being rather invalid today due to a bad tummy, I attempted to do some needlework because I didn’t want to look at the computer and I had no more books/DVDs left to consume. Embroidery Expert Jean (who incidentally has just launched a fancy cross-stitch website called Needle Little Love, it’s cute!) posted me a little set of somethin-somethin a few days ago (thanks Jean!). With great enthusiasm, I embarked on this little project. Ten minutes later, I was cursing the holey piece of cloth, remembering why I didn’t like doing those felt/denim letter holders and tacky bermudas for home economics classes *shudder*
1) I am terrible with details. (There is a difference between light green and pale green after all)
2) I am terribly impatient.
3) I HATE unpicking. Especially if I don’t have a proper unpicker. (Um, is that what they are called?)
I resisted my Grave Green Error for a while…but in the end, I could not live with monotone leaves. So…snip poke snarl.
Undoing. Should appreciate the chance to try again rather than crankily stabbing my bed with the needle.
I’ve been trying to keep up with the pace of things and have been the grumpy and lethargic amoeba I usually am whenever there is stress. But thankfully, there were these:
- Performance poetry with Ray McNiece: And right there and then, I wished I was on of those long Midwest road trips where there’s just nothingness, lucidity and reflection.
- Meeting Ve: and living vicariously through his travels. Dang, I am envious.
- One of our last meals at the original River Cafe. I will miss it.
- Meeting Iain’s Melbourne pooch Ginger for the first time in Singapore, who gingerly smelt Kimmy’s butt and left a big slobbery drool patch on my jeans.
- Nate’s sabotage series which is the only thing that got me giggling during a particularly bad work day.
