whao a human..never seen one of those before 

Survivor Wilsons Prom

There I was lying. In a shrimp like position. Knees to my chest. Hands in between by knees. Clutching desperately to my hotpack. I would twist myself into any contorted position to get warm. The storm was going crazy outside the tent. The tent was shaking violently and threatening to collapse on me.

Yes, that's what happens when you chose to go camping in Wilson's Prom on an exceptionally cold weekend, and not figure out before hand how to get the sleeping bag zipper to work. Smart.

Still it was a pretty good trip. The highlight has to be the sunrise walk up Mt Oberon. It was 5:30am. Blue-grey darkness. The forest was still, and I was kicking myself for being there. The whole climb up I was so tired I was thinking morbid thoughts. What if I saw a dead body now? Would I a) sit next to it and rest? b) run down in the pretext of getting help? Then I thought about juice. And how nice it would be if there was boost juice at the top. And why i should open a boost juice stall at the top. And then I thought about bob. And then juice. And the dead body. And bob. And juice. Yeah you get the general idea.

But as I kept climbing, the forest slowly roused. The blue-greyness was tinged with warm yellow, and tress started rustling. The birds started chirping, one song at a time. There was a certain unexplainable energy about the forest, like a million soft alarm bells going off at the same time. There was such a sense of anticipation about it. And I felt like I was part of that tableau of morning ness.

The moment I stepped on the last rock at the summit, the sun exploded above the dense clouds, creating a harsh silhouette against the twisted landscape of trees. The misty sky was the exact same colour as the grey-blue sea, so no horizon could be seen. The waves, beach, sea, sky, rocks were a continuation of each other, making this just a small part of the larger earth.

Being up there, looking at this God-perfected image, was absolutely amazing. Every photo I took was only cheapening its beauty. The only thing that would make it better was Bob and a cup of juice.

Is There Any Difference Between Dating an Asian Guy from Dating a White Guy?

My recent conversation with a close girlfriend was about the differences between dating an Asian man and a Caucasian guy, ironic since I am doing an essay on the differences between the Asian and western press. Considering I have never seriously dated anyone non-Asian before or have any close white male friends, I have absolutely no expertise in that area. To me, I have never felt the impulse to date someone based on race. I absolutely adore my international friends but I also wouldn't mind if my life partner is so local that he can understand what I am saying when I'm muttering singlish in my sleep, and consider having Nasi Briyani and Assam Laksa for my wedding reception. And I am very much in love and happy with my Malaysian Chinese better half.

But that got me thinking, is there really a blinking difference between an Asian guy and a non-Asian guy? Considering about half my friends are dating people from another races:

Singaporean Chinese/White Aussie 3x,Chinese Singaporean/White French, Taiwanese/Brazilian, Chinese Singaporean/English, White English/Sri Lankan, Chinese Singaporean/White American, Chinese Singaporean/White Canadian, Japanese/White American, Vietnamese/White American, White Aussie/Chinese are just some examples

does race really matter when you are dating someone? Or are we just bounded by the stereotypes of people we see around us? The typical ones I have heard, which I think are all gross generalisations include: white guys are better in bed. White guys just want to get you in bed and then leave. Asian guys are all mummies’ boys. Asian guys are gentler and make better husbands. Asian men are weak. White men are violent and will get drunk and beat the shit out of you. White men who are dating Asian girls all have Asian fetish. Asian girls who date white guys are all SPGs (Sarong party girls: a Singaporean term for Asian girls who dig white men for their money and their supposed expertise in bed)

Well I have seen big strapping Asian men as much as I have seen white men that are geeky and total pansies. So are we just demonising the "other"? Or just thinking that the grass is greener on the other side? Is it just an exotic factor? I mean, it is kinda novel for a while to say, hi I'm dating a Persian-Swedish-Russian-Latino mixed blooded dude rather than I'm dating a fellow Singaporean who I met in school and we are going to apply for a HDB flat together? Do people consciously pick people of a certain race to prove a point? Like, if you are an Asian girl, pick an Asian dude to prove you are not an SPG. Or pick a white dude just to prove you are not the “Fobby/Cheena-chinese” sort?

Or does it really not matter at all? That race has absolutely nothing to do with the person as a whole, and none of the other person's cultural baggage is ever going to affect true love?

The Gum Syndicate

Today I was a total Singaporean.

I went to Norsiah's kitchen again, for the second time in twenty-four hours.

Then I went to 7-11 and thought...hmm...let's get a pack of gum. Seriously, I thought that was the coolest thing I could be doing for the moment. I don't know why I did it, but I looked around, and then gingerly took a pack of gum and paid, with adrenalin rushing through me.

The minute I stepped out of the shop, a police car stopped right in front of me. And for a moment there, my heart stopped. I was about to turn and run with my pack of gum when I remembered, bloody hell, I'm in Australia. Not at the Malaysian causeway trying to smuggle in packets of gum.

Knock knock knock. Sir, today you attempted procreation how many times?

" Having babies is a duty. Make that a duty to self, society and country. MPs like Dr Ong Seh Hong (Aljunied GRC) want to pump up the social pressure on such people whom he described as 'irresponsible'. Yesterday, even as their counterparts continued pushing for carrots such as a five-day work week and cash incentives, Dr Ong and several MPs suggested it was also time to use the stick. Indeed, the MPs argued passionately that procreation was a responsibility that people should fulfil regardless of sweeteners. Adopting the most hardline stance among them all, Dr Ong emphasised traditional Asian values as he dismissed the common refrain that family planning is a personal decision. Declared the father of three: 'Procreation is not only the duty of everyone, but also the responsibility of every citizen towards his family, parents, society and country.' Those 'irresponsible' people who shun the stork, he said, should realise they would become a liability to the society in future. " quoted from The Straits Times

So exactly which part of my life does the government not control? Procreation is an individual choice, and never a duty. Maybe if they took a bit of human geography they will realise that an aging population is a problem ALL developing countries are facing. Modernisation is the best contraception. And it is not going to change. How about tackling it sensibly like creating a more viable pension scheme, increasing the retirement age, helping middle-aged retrenched people get a job, improving our age-care scheme etc.? Or start changing the working culture in Singapore into one that promotes family life, a.k.a children can see their parents before 6pm everyday, and couples don't work till 10pm, come home and pass out on the bed. What is not sensible: TV dramas 'highlighting the sorry plight of a childless old couple and the great problems faced by an ageing society'.

Soon they will increase the price of condoms, tell me how many times a year I should have sex and ask me to fill in the times I attempt procreation in a little brown book with the Singapore core values printed on the front page.

For the Collective Good of Society?

From Demystifying Asian Values in Journalism,

"the destination Singapore wants to reach has been the progress and prosperity of the nation - a goal ingrained in the mind of every citizen from the moment he goes to school, when he has to recite the national pledge. The mass media as ally in the lofty aim of national upliftment: who can quarrel with that?"

Do all Singaporeans have the lofty aim of wanting Singapore to prosper as a Nation? Or do we want Singapore to prosper only so that we can prosper? What if Singapore wasn't a prosperous nation? Is that what happens when you have a nation build upon the ideals of prosperity and economic progress?

Singapore ranks 147th in the press freedom index. That's way below Arfganistan, Iraq and Palestine. In our category, we are the only developed country there. But no worries, at least the word freedom is not in our pledge. The U.S was founded on freedom, and with all the emphasis on the First Ammendment, they rank 44th.

I am taking a subject now that looks at Singapore from an outside point of view, and everyday I learn things that blow me away. Go read the Newspaper Printing and Presse Act, the Sedition Act and the Official Secrets Act. It says that if the newspaper doesn't cooperate with the government, its license will be revoked. Considering we only have ONE broadsheet newspaper in Singapore, then revoke how? We got no newspaper to read.

The Epitome of High Culture - The Diarrhea Song

There are four types of people in the world.

Those that get drunk, all the time.

Those that look after people who get drunk, all the time.

Those that do an equal amount of both.

And those that don't drink.


And now, a drinking song, from the US.

When you're slidin' into first
and your pants are 'bout to burst
Diarrhea, (Pfff. Pfff)
Diarrhea

When you're slidin' into second
And you need a disinfectant
Diarrhea, (Pfff. Pfff)
Diarrhea

When you're slindin' into third
And you drop a wet turd
Diarrhea, (Pfff. Pfff)
Diarrhea

When you're slidin' into home
And your pants are filled with foam
Diarrhea, (Pfff. Pfff)
Diarrhea

It's easy to tell what's on my mind these days eh.

Can you tell an Aussie-Asian from an Asian-Asian?

After reading the a blog post about Australian Born Chinese (ABC), I sat in the tram today and tried to pick out who was an ABC, and who was an asian international student, just by looks. And somehow, it is possible to tell an Aussie-Asian from an Asian-Asian. What puzzled me was that I wasn't able to pinpoint what that differentiating factor is. And so I am forced to make some grossly generalising assumptions.

Perhaps it's the dressing? Perhaps Asian-Asians wear stuff that I know they can only get from Asia, while Aussie-Asians dress like your regular aussie. Something along the lines of skinny jeans in boots, with many light layers on top. Coupled with chunky necklace and heaps of mascara. Asian-asians on the other hand are more fond of just one thick jacket, and a light tee inside. I mean, if you are just going to spent four years in a cold country, why buy many light sweaters (which are still too warm to wear in the tropics) when you can just buy one massive jumper, and dump it once your graduate. And of course in some obvious cases like hello kitty handphone accessories that blink, it has to be bought and made in Asia. Or sold in chinatown, which doesn't seem to be the hangout place for Aussie-Asians.

Maybe it's the way they carry themselves? Aussie-Asians have the "this is my country and I'm very comfortable here", and have a more open body language while Asian-Asians look slightly more defensive and have a "shit don't deport me" look.

Or is it facial features? Do Aussie-Asians have a particular look? In such a multi-cultural society like Melbourne, can we judge a person's nationality just by the way they look? Could an Asian-Asian fool you into thinking they are Aussie-Asian and vice versa?

Nonetheless, I was quite pleased that a guy I spotted as definitely Aussie-Asian picked up the phone and answered it in the most natural aussie accent ever. Definitely Australian.

My Slice of the American Pie

Back to the topic of weird dreams, last night I dreamt that I took a flight back to Penn. I had only 2 days there and was desperately trying to look up old friends. Whao I wonder what that means?

But it got me thinking. Besides a very small handful of people, I have virtually lost contact with everyone else. I blamed it on my lack of the american version of MSN, my sudden departure, my sudden dive into my internship which gave me no time to do much except work and salsa, and my new salsa friends, which filled the void I had very quickly.

I made some great friends. Had hours of great dinners and good conversations. But after one year of that, it seems sad that many have disappeared from my life completely. And yet I know that this is the way it is. It's hard to be friends with people you don't see a future with.

Are some people in our lives meant to be just memories in photographs? While others run, direct and are in the videos of our lives?

The Malaysians Are Out to Kill Us

My brain must be on a row or something, but it has been vomiting bad dreams one after the other every night.

Two nights ago, I dreamt that i was on the game show " LET'S KILL THE SINGAPOREAN"

Basically it was a game with Malaysians, Indonesians and Singaporeans in it, and no one knows who is from where. The hosts will have to guess who is Singaporean from the way they talk/dress/run for free food/talk about the army. Then they will be killed off. That was the scariest shit I've ever faced. I was the last one standing and kept saying "I'm not Singaporean, really!! I'm Malaysian. i just can't speak malay. really. not singaporean. look my boyfriend is malaysian. arghhhhhhhh!!!!" Charlene analysed that maybe it's my repressed urge to be Malaysian. I just blame the government.

Last night I dreamt that Bob and another random guy were english knights and the one that wins the duel will be my husband. However the duel involved kicking pigeons. Whoever kicked the pigeon wins. Regine thinks its stems from my conversation with her about puking penguins. I think its my repressed tendencies towards pigeon cruelty.

The Reunion Part Five

Met Vietnamese girl while going for my internship interview.

Invited her for dinner at Paul's place.

Turned out, she knows Paul's brother, because she was trying to take a photo of St Paul's and his brother kept interrupting the photo.

What are the chances that you bring a friend to another friend's dinner party (and they have never met before, one is malaysian the other is vietnamese), and they apparently have some next of kin connection.

Melbourne is way too small.

The Reunion Part Two: Only Available in Theatres

I sit at Norsiah's Kitchen with my new friend I just met from tute.

I tell her about my life, my ex relationship, my year abroad.

She tells me about her current French boyfriend, her life and her family.

My ex-boyfriend walks past. Says hi. Both of them seem to have seen each other from somewhere.

Ex-boyfriend exits.

I tells her that he is my ex.

Ex-boyfriend walks by again.

Turns out, they do know each other.

He is her boyfriend's friend.

Ex-boyfriend leaves.

Girl who told my ex-boyfriend and the whole world about my relationship with my current boyfriend walks out.

Tell me this isn't a script from a movie.

I Have Ralph Perfume Up My Nose

I must have been so distracted for the last couple of days. Two days before, I left half my bag in the state library locker, went all the way home, reached my front door and realised that my key was still in the locker. And of all times, the tram at a major intersection chose to break down, leaving me dragging a laptop in the rain, through the city.

Today I left my phone in my driving instructor's car. Best part is, I don't even remember my own number. I ran into the nearest convenience shop, looked a bit like I was planning to rob the poor guy at the counter, and ask to borrow his handphone. Bob's phone no reception. Dammit. I dragged myself through uni hoping I'll bump into someone who knows my number. No such luck. So I went to Rowden White library, told them the situation, and they very kindly searched up my number for me. Called my cell. No one picked up. Dammit dammit dammit. Ran in to Houston and Kai yau in Union House, called Bob for Regine's number, called Regine, got my driving instructor's number, and finally got my handphone back.

It's times like these when you realised how intimately woven your network of friends are. You know someone that definitely knows someone. And also how dependent my life is on my cell phone. I have only committed four numbers to memory. And three of them are in Singapore.

And today I tried to spray on some perfume. I misfired and now I have perfume all over my face. Why why why??!!

Tip toeing to the Edge and Peering over

Everyday I am fighting to overcome my fears and experience things I have suppressed interest for over a decade. I'm learning to drive and realising I can, despite what others have said. I'm learning to salsa and dance, despite how often I was told I couldn't coordinate. I'm learning to take up positions and say yes to responsibility, despite my fear of failure. I signed up for an outdoor program alone, just to give it a go. I went on a short road trip with a bunch of church friends, even though I have acute phobia of spending more than half a day with people I know from church. I'm in a cell, and fighting back my reflex instinct to run, not because I want to, but because I always felt I had to. And I will, soon enough, learn to play a musical instrument and a sport, and maybe stroke a dog. I think, finally, I am ready to explore how much I can push my personal boundaries, and fight real hard against my omnipresent sense of fear, of failure. I might not do all these well, but at least I gave it a go. All I wish is that I had this epiphany much earlier than when I'm 22 and in my second last year of uni.

The Final Closure

After a year of anticipating the "bump into" of a particular ivy league uni, I finally did. Of course it had to come at the time when I'm sweaty from dance, wearing three-days old clothes I threw together in a hurry, had no make up on and was carrying a massive tumour looking back pack stuffed with 2 weeks worth of clothes. ALL girls want to look good in front of their ex. It's a " Look I'm still doing well without you" kind of thing. ALL girls. Trust me.

It turned out pretty well. Before the meeting I was trying very hard not to throw up out of sheer apprehension. I was bracing myself for five snipers, poisoned hot chocolate and a verbal onslaught that I've screwed up. Well, because I have.

But we made alot of small talk, and other more heartfelt ones. We gave our reasons. We said our sorries. We ended on a pretty positive note. We don't have to be friends. But all we want is to be able to walk on the street, bump into each other, say hi, make small talk, and move on, unaffected by the meeting.

It was quite a beautiful moment that has finally released a huge weight from me. I said things that I had kept in for a year. I can finally stop imagining what the response is, because I have heard it for real. And I can finally stop whimping around swanston street paranoid that il bump into the ex.

Miss Marples Tea House in Dandenong  

Bob's first tea party! 

Me at Miss Marples having scones! 

Pie in the Sky!! 

Second Week Back and Six Bottles of Wine

I spent most of the week trying to find a closure to my exchange. The exchange student debriefing. The meet-the-new-exchange-students party at Puggs. And finally, the housewarming/we-are-back party last night. Lots of knock-out strong Sangria (red wine, white wine, vodka, rum, orange juice, lime juice, apples and oranges...almost every substance we can find in our kitchen), chips, dip and bread. Met up with old friends, people that I haven't seen for a year. Talked, laughed, scoured and shared my past one year with them through a scrapbook show and tell session.

The night culminated to drinking and dancing at Croft Institute, a neat little club that looked like a science lab, and a bathroom like a sickbay in school. Oh and grass for a bar top, that was special. So down the dodgy philly ghetto like alleyway, and party away we did. Just like one year ago.