Hatch-The-Thought

Increasingly, there is no time, no room, no desire to say anything that is not immediate, received, or acknowledged. You want, are used to, an anticipatory audience always ready to partake in that moment of nostalgia, togetherness, activity. It can be anyone, so long as they like a status, a check-in, and better still if a comment is made.

And I’m guilty. Guilty as a hungry audience member devouring my friends’ lives vicariously; guilty of the artisan style of mysterious writing with intent to project, impress, attract, solicit and distract in a spiraling lifestyle of everyday frivolity; guilty of stalking people I just met – who are technically more acquaintances than friends - who are interesting and do not pay attention to privacy settings.

There is barely a good reason left for pondering excessively over Life when everything is so finite and so, lived in the present. It’s even harder to think when it is so noisy with newsfeeds. Once in a while, someone shares an article that is actually worthy of feeling, of thought, of discussion. And you stop to like it. And then you stop, completely. But my question is, why end here? And I answer myself by merrily opening a few more tabs on my screen to read more shared articles of note, of which I’m too impatient to savour, to be sentimental about it, and just try to hopelessly remember what I so like about it that made me almost end up doing a more permanent stop.

I still feel a lot, about a lot of things, but it’s a lot more fleeting too, barring the intensity.  It’s not something I feel proud about, yet I’m obviously not ready to work at change. You’d tell yourself it’s going along with the flow. It’s not complacency either. Just trying to work at being a better You while waiting desperately for something to happen.

Is it anything worth celebrating, when you are as lost as you were 10 years ago? Being just that bit richer and professionally accomplished does not address it.

And what do I really want, right here, right now? I would like to see Hatch again. 

My job is not responsible for me

Maybe I simply stopped writing on a personal basis because I have to write so much corporate literature for work. When I was based in the hill in younger days, there was blog fodder all the time because there was angst, anxiety and time, all inversely correlating to a lack of money and standing career-wise. Fast forward three years later, the $ + status has only led to a hedonistic and selfish lifestyle that is seriously wearing me out. I spend hard because I work harder. As it is, I am tapping this out in full knowledge that I have to prepare a message draft right after this, before I even go to bed. But I know better; that I should blog more to regain control of my life and my words. Just because I am being paid to be a corporate slave doesn’t mean I should be enslaved the full 24 hours. I am me, with or without my company label.

It is getting tougher to love Singapore and my life here, when life in Singapore is so tightly intertwined with work and there is a ridiculous obsession with productivity. I love what I do for a living; I only don’t believe I should be relentlessly working at full capacity or push gear into overdrive perpetually. For obvious reasons: why should I; and why should I, again. Surely if I conduct myself and professional obligations well and were willing to take on bigger roles and responsibilities, I can say fair game. But if more and more are being plied/piled upon one, in the dirty name of Productivity and stretching, gasp, capabilities, with still only 24 hours in the making, the original efficiency would be compromised, no matter how smart or capable one is. I am tired of playing superwoman, tired of being desk-bound and growing fat from not moving and eating gloriously decadent meals as a means of rewarding Poor Me, tired of zipping to and fro in a cab for work because I have no energy to fight the MRT crowds night and day and definitely not in the mood ever to battle the sun in my Doc Martens Diva heels.

My job is not responsible for me; I am. So in 2011, I must do more for myself.

*

Saw some of my oldest DHS friends during the last two days of 2010. Had a lovely lunch with Meihui and Minxiu for our annual threesome gathering (for some unfathomable reason, it has always been annual though it appears relatively easy to arrange for one, given how it was a very last minute arrangement). And I can no longer live in delusion after the heartbreaking moment of seeing how terrible I looked in the M-sized Cornell tee Meihui has surprised me with during her stint in the Ivy League school. I have ballooned, ah!

Since 2008, DBF and I have gone out on Each Last Day. This year, we had dinner in my favourite Japanese restaurant - Aoki – and I managed to down successfully two small glasses of Yebisu beer from Sapporo. It was followed by a hilarious KTV session and we had a quiet countdown at the Bak Kut Teh place within PSA vicinity. We believe this is a good omen.

*

Best Friend and I decided to start 2011 in typical Chinese fashion: paying a visit to Marina Bay Sands to soak in the 人气 + 旺ness. We didn’t attend the casino but we had a good time pretending we were overseas and browsing store after store. And what’s a visit there without entering the home grounds of a celebrity chef right. DB Bistro Moderne has us feasting on healthy potato gnocchi with bean puree, balanced by the classic DB burger with foie gras and braised short ribs with flourless chocolate lava cake. Very Parisian bourgeois. We were also cam-whoring ourselves while others were requesting to be photographed with Daniel Boulud! The food was satisfactory enough to warrant the consideration of a return trip and I hope to try Cut and Caffe B next.


Best Friend and I, accessorised!


DBF and I in Aoki. Polo tee, eek.



Meihui, I and Minxiu who is in another Polo tee, eek.



nice one of the girls who are not in Polo tees, yayness!

迈向理想生活

这些日子以来，做的最好决定便是报读上梁老师的写词班。梁老师是良师，所以每堂课都有新体验，非常过瘾。梁老师说我写词很有感觉，叫我加油，更使我心花怒放，乐得不得了。近日，因工作活动得和梁老师联络，从而认识师母，让我觉得缘分还真是奇妙的东西。从前1994读自然同窗，没想到如今2010和两位主角称的上相识。刚通过简讯说了晚安(有工作在前提啦)，互相附送 =)，太不可思议了。不过，我喜欢！

有梁老师指导，相信我能创作优秀的作品，卖出去！早日投入全职创作，迈向理想生活！

Touched & Touche!

She had been looking forward to the night. It was just unfortunate that he sat two seats away from her instead of beside her. It could be worse, she supposed. She wasn’t expecting him to turn up at all, given the day’s events. At least, she could sneak a peek now and then, very furtively and admiringly so, sideways at this Very Suave And Manly Person.

During the break, he aligned himself within her line of vision and chatted with the moderator, such that had she had her sight focused naturally on what is in front of her, her eyes would lay straight on him.

She simply averted her gaze.

After a while, he pulled up a chair and sat in front of her, mirroring her demure pose, except he was staring at her.

She became acutely conscious of the enormous effort it took to pretend that it was entirely normal he had chosen to face her. And how ridiculously unnatural it was for her to feign ignorance.

Nevertheless, she continued to assume a façade of fascination at the other side conversation being conducted when it was impossible to miss him and that his own unwavering gaze was bordering on rude. She knows, even without looking up. She was stubborn, or if you prefer, spunky, in this way that can be rather endearing.

“How are you holding up, Ange?” he asked, softly and not unpleasantly.

She was simultaneously relieved of her awkwardness somewhat and given a proper reason to stare back in innocence defiance. But the simplest question is always loaded and she could only croak back another question in response. Are you asking about now or about work. In general , he shrugged. Okay, I guess. Trying to be happy. That would be right, he asserted. It is your natural, logical disposition. That you are a happy person. He has gone mad, she thought, and this is a bizarre conversation that I have no idea how to continue. Undeterred, she gave a lousy shot: What’s your natural disposition then? Introspective and reflective. She tried to be cool and witty: guys are more attractive when they are melancholic and depressed. She failed, she believed. He didn’t look like he got the joke. Then the awkwardness returned and she couldn’t remember what they had been talking about.

She forgot everything except the part when he suddenly stood up, took a few steps forward, leaned closer and placed his hands on her arms before returning to his original seat. There must have been a legitimate context, except there was none in this case; memory could not fathom and rationalise away the gap, and the grasp.

She vaguely recalled looking away and pretending what he did was natural again, and perhaps, it was, this time. An inner voice wondered if she had come across as too disinterested and sighed loudly.

She had hoped to make amends during the trip home together, as they stay in close proximity. Hopefully she won’t be tongue-tied in his presence. Nothing went according to plan though as another colleague had offered to drive them home. He rejected for no good reason, while she accepted. And they went their separate ways, most unwillingly on her part. He said bye, shook the male colleague’s hand, and touched her arm again in what she imagined to be a farewell gesture.

Being Bored

I loathe the MRT. It is always packed to the brim on weekdays, and no matter what time I go home after work, it’s next to impossible to scoring a seat. Fine, but not only that, there’s the sheer indignity of relinquishing my personal space to some retard who has to air his armpits (and I would usually move away instead of subjecting any part of me to face that) or who thinks it’s perfectly all right to be 5 cm apart from another human being and assumes The Other is happy with it too. MRT etiquette, my darlings. And then there’s this huge influx of foreign talent ranging from hardcore labourers to white-collar professionals who seems to have no problems getting their ass rested. Amazing. Check out peak hours and see who the perpetual seat-warmers are, and how many among them are locals. It’s glaringly obvious and I wonder where the foreign talent start boarding. Which is still fine, except the whole world seems to reside in the extreme east. I don’t get to sit from start to end, damn it.

Have not met him at the train station since last week but I finally figure out that his one-syllable reference to me is “ange”, which sounds like a strange hybrid of range, rage and angst. I had popped over his cube earlier this week to run through some agenda and found him on the phone. So I waved and waited outside, and heard him saying “ange” is here to end the conversation, which makes me smile. ‘Cos it’s so foreign sounding and not even a legal shortening (which would be angel or angie) and obviously the other party prob went huh, wtf so he had to provide my full name and department as augmentation.Yes, I kinda overheard the whole thing. Haha. Ok, that’s the cheap thrill of the week.

Cheap Thrill & A Cheaper One

I didn't see him yesterday or the day before. Just when I was walking along the corridor and opening the door to the ladies, and thinking (yes, I am a darn good multi-tasker), shucks, have used up my crush karma, someone made a sound behind me (some ah beng sound or clearing throat sound) and voila it’s him. I said hi, he said hi, and I quickly dived behind the door. I am shy, and coy like that.

Something strange happened last evening though. And it’s a sobering reminder of never say never. Imagine my surprise when I was given a liaison officer contact for work and saw a name of a person that I was once very familiar with. But time is a great neutraliser, or rather, equaliser of emotions. And I guess it’s telling when I emailed my colleague who passed the contact: Goodness, XX was like my best friend during Lit Hons year. I can safely say I won’t have completed my thesis without him! – that it’s bridge over troubled waters and only the good stuff has been left behind.

This man, by sheer virtue/vice of his audacity, stays the only man in recent years who has asked the right questions and received the wrong replies. I give him credit for the former and take credit for the latter. Ahhh, entries like this and this indicate I must once have been very angry and very hurt. Thankfully, years later, I am freed from such pettiness and can be generously sentimental about how life makes our paths cross again.

So I called from the office to break the years of non-communication first and we chatted for a while. With him, it was just too easy to settle into a familiar rhythm since we excel at nuances, guises and mind-reading (at least before we fell out), We both held up well and I believe there was genuine pleasure on both sides derived from the short exchange. He probably lost out only in the final moment. I told him to send my regards to his wife (We used to all belong to the same Lit circle) and asked how they were doing. We are doing well, he said and capped it. I am not sure if it was my feelings he was considering for such a vague reply, considering she is heavily pregnant and he is gonna be a first-time dad very soon. But that ended the conversation rather unnaturally.

I am pleased as pie to be single, available and flirtatious, with no kids.

Back to my current cheap thrill, he looks very good in a crisp white shirt and jeans today. He looks casually expensive and I will take it.

We Should Meet Like This

Very girlishly Japanese and stylishly attractive goes the thought bubble, as I admire my doppelganger in the mirror. I had decided to dress prettily today + parade my new Louis Vuitton Monogram Idylle Speedy30 Bandouliere (bought all the way from Paris, bless a dear friend). Well, we never know who I might meet on the train. Especially since we have established that he stays in the east and takes the mrt to work; never mind that we have never bumped into each other before. In any case, with a jaunt in my step and a flick of my hair, I was off. There is still the lunch hour, the corridors and the random meetings.

I didn’t see him on the train, which was to be expected. But my heart skipped a beat when someone his build strolled past me on the escalator at City Hall. I think it’s him. But he couldn’t hear me with music blasting into his ears so I tapped him on the arm at the traffic junction.

Hey. Where did you come from.

So we chatted. And he lit up a cigarette.

I love going to work even more now.