Celebrate the small milestones in life

When you reach a certain age, you start realising there are many things you've taken for granted. This age comes differently to different people for different things.

Perhaps, at 15 you've realised it's really not possible for you to get away with almost everything anymore and you have to work hard at getting your allowance because being cute just doesn't cut it anymore. Maybe, at 22 the working world really doesn't care if you look pretty or not, so even though you got the job on your good looks you kinda have to work at proving yourself.

Then it's likely, that at 30 you are faced with difficult career choices because apparently working hard isn't enough and you will never get that promotion. Or probably that the higher your salary becomes it ironically becomes harder for you to save money when you turn 35.

How about the fact that you can no longer breeze through a 2.4km run at 17 minutes as you did in school because while the heart is willing, the flesh (and muscles) are weak? Or in the words of my bestie (in view of drinking): "I am not 18 anymore."

For me, this passage can lead to a profound post. I could talk about chances taken, opportunities missed, lovers forsaken, promotions passed over for. I could go on about physical health, emotional trauma, familial ties and friendship bonds. In the same vein, we could discuss career and finance, the young and the old, the heart versus the mind.

I can even tell you how I finally hit puberty at 28 with a acne outbreak and scarring on my cheeks, which I did not even have as a teen, ever? (God knows that if I have to suffer that, he better grant this puberty with its other elements - height growth and boob enlargement!)

But my breakthrough today that we are discussing is the peculiar case of my drinking powers, or the lack of. As a young adult, I was a decent drinker - not the best of course, but I can hold a decent amount. Then I stopped. Then as I entered my mid-twenties, I discovered, to my horror, I fall at a glass.

I've been training - having a drink every other night - in the hopes of well, buffing it up and not being a complete wimp. I've managed to go up to 3 glasses once, being whisky (I totally detest the taste of beer after the 4th sip) before my world started its threat on removing my depth perception.

I hit kind of a milestone today - sorta, coulda, maybe? Usually once I vomit, my head starts pounding and I need a soft surface to sleep, like, you know, within 10 minutes. The sorta coulda maybe milestone was after a wimpy glass of scotch today, I rested and lasted maybe half an hour before I felt really oozy and wanted to leave... just before my dear friends got a taxi for me I felt the urge to spew. So I walked to the washroom, vile came out of me (I can never quite fathom how vomit seems to be multiplied by infinity - how is it that I only had a bowl of noodles and 3 glasses of liquid in the last 6 hours with a erm, dump before that, and manage to vomit out the quantity of, let's say, an Olympic pool?! I exaggerate, but you know what I mean!), and I rested, not very glamourously for 1 minute on the thankGoditsclean floor in the bar.

Then, as magically as it started, I was fine. Of course, by then, one was at my door waiting for me to come out of the cubicle, another took my bag and was waiting for me in the loo (this gentleman not knowing that it's actually a female toilet even though it's open concept), a 3rd and 4th one at the main road hailing cabs for me. I got out, having that slight headache, expecting for the crash to come in... but it didn't! This is the time first I had alcohol induced puke and well, survived. I was joking to bestie that I might leave by 8pm (hey, I had an early day and we really really drank quite fast... relatively!). I will never do a Vandalin (sudden falling asleep at the location where you are drinking - dropping your glass of whisky optional), I will struggle and sleep on the cab or at home. But I was fine!

The crash never came, the headache left after I had sufficient coke - caffeine, sugar and water, I guess that's what I need in general after a puke!

Here's to surviving better with alcohol!

oh Doctor!

So I needed to get some pills to delay my erm, monthly womanly flow, because I was going to Batam with my best friend, and I didn't want the inconvenience. Yay the marvels of modern medicine, yay!

It started from a trip to the Polyclinic at 3 plus in the afternoon. I registered, and because it was my first time at this particular polyclinic because I moved from the really laidback West to the pretentious "no-this-is-laidback" East, I had to go through consultation and all. Apparently our polyclinics do not share information.

So after half an hour of waiting for my number to be called at my consultation room (and seeing every other room's patients change like pedestrians in Raffles Place at lunch time), I finally got to see the appointed doctor (who, I was sure, tired of executives coming in on a Friday after for a MC after giving a bad impersonation of a hacking cough or stomach ache) and surprised him with my request. See, I decided to ask for just birth control pills instead since they also do the same job.

The thing about doctors that really piss me off is that they apparently don't realise turning away from the patient to type in their records is not very polite. However, I do appreciate their hard work and understand that after 8 hours of depressing tongues of smelly mouths they do try to attend to everyone. So this doctor, a gentleman, typed and typed while I briefly said:

I want birth control pills.

You would think I was describing my family's history a la Vicky Pollard.



But I swear, those 5 words were what I said. He sat and typed. And typed. I swore he was going to do a Carol Beer.



But I digress. Anyway, so he replied me just one question, "Do you smoke?" First time my doctor has asked me that in relation to my er, reproductive organs, so I answered truthfully, yes.

We now interrupt this post for an important message:Now kids, never ever EVER lie to your doctor. It makes no sense for dignity with them if you're dead. All the cop and doctor shows on tv nowadays should convince you so, and if it's on tv, it must be true.

Now, back to regular programming!

Immediately he told me, ok, we may have an issue. So apparently all the popular pills on the market ain't suitable for smokers - we ain't allowed to use estrogen based pills due to a risk of blood clots. He was even defensive about it when I asked for more details since it's the first time I heard of it. He gestured to my iPad and said, "Google it! It's all there." He then sent me to the women's planning consultation room to discuss my options with the nurses there.

Once there, I met with the Senior Enrolling Nurse who really really really liked to repeat herself. So I sat down, and told her, "Doctor from Room 17 sent me over." "Ok, what for?" "I want birth control pills."

She started fumbling around. Brought out some pills. We talked about the smoking issue (rather I talked, and she made verbals words that meant nothing). Talked about the pills I used to take and then the different options (and cost) of birth control I used before, and those which were available at the clinic. Then I asked her about a pap smear since it's much cheaper at Polyclinics (I love public healthcare!). And she asked me the most astounding question:

You had sex before?

Erm ok. I was actually so stunned I paused to gather my thoughts before I answered. Long story short (yes, a bit too late) for the polyclinic, too bad for me because they only carry a single type of the Pill and it's not suitable for me. So off to my GP for other choices I went. But because after the whole process of going backwards and forwards and paying for consultation even though they couldn't offer anything, 2 out of 3 clinics were closed (they close at 4.30) by the time I reached them. Hopeful, I went to the 3rd one, which was also my favourite.

I waited another 30 minutes, and explained the issue to the doctor. He looked at my quizzically and said, "You shouldn't smoke anyway." Uh huh, doctor, but... how? "All my options are Estrogen based." "Crap!" "But you know, you can just take aspirin every morning. And make sure it's not on an empty stomach, you have a history of gastric problems." He then got up and started showing the exercises I should do in a crowded plane on a long haul flight to prevent blood clots.

The funny thing about this doctor is, somehow, our conversation veered towards cigars and we ended up talking for 5 minutes about it.

Oh Doctors. You guys make my life interesting.

Do you remember the Singapore Pledge?

It says:

We, the citizens of Singapore,
pledge ourselves as one united people,
regardless of race, language or religion,
to build a democratic society
based on justice and equality
so as to achieve happiness, prosperity and
progress for our nation

I really don't give a shit on who you are voting for, as long as you understand why you are voting for them, what they mean to you as a citizen of Singapore, and how they will help us get to this.

Personally, I am torn. I was telling Robin that day that I fully understand what both parties contesting in my estate stand for. They both have policies I agree and disagree with. End of the day, it's which policies that hold importance to me - and I now see that the two different spectrums to which I agree will never reconcile and meet because they probably contridict each other.

And I'm not comfortable making that trade-off.
But this is a good problem to have - to decide.

That is my picture, not a picture of a random man

Dear Ting bought me a tee shirt when she was in Sri Lanka... and to be honest, I haven't tried it on until yesterday.

So I don't know if she see me very up and bought me a small size or was it because she knows about my famous miniscule AA boobs, but I seriously was choking when I wore it.

That being said, darling, I seriously love it!!!

Too long for Twitter

Yes yes I know. Haven't blogged enough.

*silence*

To coin the words of one of my favourite bloggers, sometimes you have no mouth but must scream. However, sometimes you have something to say but too long for Twitter but not emo enough for Tumblr.

So I'm adding this new tag called shortstuff, documenting things no one wants to hear but I'm 自恋 enough to blog about...

Shall I start?

Social media is eating into my life. When trying to describe hi-ball glasses, such as to a client, I almost always type tumblr instead of water tumblers (don't ask me why we say tumblers. Somehow "water glasses" don't work and "water goblet" evoke a mental image of well, literally a water goblet.




That's it. Does this work for you, O Neglected Blog?

A brilliant entry

Don’t you hate it when you have this really brilliant idea for a blog post, and when you finally want to type it out… you can’t remember?

I think this was the reason why I stopped blogging, or one of the reasons. We always say “No inspiration!” or “blogger’s block” (try saying that 10 times. Blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block) Be honest, did you say “Blogger’s Brock?”

Or maybe it’s just that we get so easily distracted in life. We all make excuses right? “I will go and run after next week”, or “that diet starts tomorrow”… I used to say “I’ll start baking when I get all the right equipment” but honestly, it’s not that hard to improvise.

So improvising I am. I had this really brilliant idea of an entry for the blog, only to forget what it was without a smidgen of hint. And so I wrote this!

So, I'm on the way home...

I'm on the bus home.

Ok, actually this bus can bring me home but I'm going for a late dinner with my Ang Moh, James. I call him my Ang Moh so I can claim stake as being his SPG... *looks in the mirror* alright, good looks and figure is subjective ok?!

Now, James and I have an odd friendship. We have certain rituals. Mostly involving me calling him fat and getting smacked for it. He's actually my late dinner buddy. ie Dinner after 930pm, where kids are already being put to bed and the clubs are going to admit people for a good time.

Late dinners are good. Well, not good for the body (so says some scientists who spent the 4 years in college having no fun), but good for my career and mental health. You see, I suffer from sibeisianwhyamIstillatworktitis. As much as I am a workaholic, having to face work that provide no adrenaline (ie deadlines are not within 24 hours but a healthy 2 day or more) sometimes can bring so much dread. And having too much of that adrenaline brings on another illness, the more known WTFTHEREISONONLY2HOURSLEFTWTFAMIDOINGtitus (caps are necessary), which can induce strokes, lung cancer and Idon'tfriendyouliaotitus among other things. In short, having dinner at 930pm ensures I stay in the office until a healthy 9pm, which allows me to clear my work.

That involved scrubbing labels of my cubicle (don't ask. seriously.) today.

Anyway, so James is this localised Brit. This means he retains all the bad traits of being a Brit and gains all the bad traits of being a Singaporean. In your face, colonolisation! He now natively swears cheebye and exclaims in Wah Lau Eh (he can work on the pronounciation a bit though). He can almost fancies the smell of Durian... but finds the texture too mushy. *sniff* I'm so proud of him.

So... I stop finding it surprising when we converse on a Monday about a late(r) dinner, and he informs me that he is having this terrible headache from a hangover. Nope, not surprising at all, even if this conversation takes place on a Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday... you get the drift. For all you Singaporeans who think Singapore is boring, let this Brit show you where the fun is!

The thing about this Brit is that I really enjoy his company. I find it odd that he crossed nations and ended up being a really good friend, one of those you can really talk to about anything and not worry about it being repeated. His objective advice always comes across tactful and soft, so you actually think about it.

Well, I'm reaching my bus stop now. Time for dinner!

What is it about Singapore?

What do you like about Singapore?

Relax. This isn't going to be one of those patriotic, flag wearing (which ironically is illegal in Singapore), chest thumping posts; neither is it one of those cynical, flag burning (definitely illegal), MP stabbing posts.

I just want to know what is it about Singapore you like.

For me, it's the smell of Singapore - the aroma of the rich coconut milk in Laksa, the spicy fragrance of sambal, the sanitised whiff of clean floorways and corridors, the elegant hint of expensive perfume and cologne on the crowd in Orchard Road. For me, the smell of Singapore encompasses what Singapore is - a nation of immigrants, all from different lands, all with different aims, all bearing different needs. Yet, all coming together to build this nation which gave me an education, a clean environment to grow up in, and ironically, a sanitised view of the world.

I am most proud of Singapore when I see new Chinese immigrants selling noodles in a coffee shop. In my industry, a lot of chefs are not local. Their choice of location is based on need, convenience and growth. In a way, I see these hawkers no differently. So why is it we embrace these chefs and not these hawkers?

It is well known that the hawker industry is a dying one, with some new kids experimenting with newer products in the same environment. Hawker food as we know would have evolved due to this in the next 20 years or so. You have chicken rice stalls opening restaurants, laksa stalls franchised (goodbye quality - yes I am cynical of these), hokkien mee stalls expanding to sell zi char. But those mom and pop hawker stalls we all know will be gone.

Where hawker food, the fabric of our nation's identity, used to be a great product - lousy stalls simply didn't survive - now has grown so bland and cookie-cut. Let me give you my opinion:

In the 90s, the greatest coffee shop brand was "kopitiam". There was no pretentions - food courts were the modern evil with lots of people regarding it was the death of all good hawker food - myself included. It raised our meal prices by 50 to 70%, which was maybe 50 cents to a whole dollar. But a coffeeshop foodcourt still looked like a coffeeshop - except all the stalls looked the same. Any kid born in the 90s would not really know how stalls used to look like before "generication" took over. Now, every kopitiam used to have the same stalls. They would own the drinks stall, and in the bigger ones, their ice would drop down a tube into the ice bin. There would be Fei Siong fishball noodles. Every kopitiam would differ slightly, but generally is the same.

That means it was similar to McDees.

In the new Millenium, the company that solely is responsible for the cost of bread (to consumers) increasing 100%, Breadtalk, started the Food Republic franchise. Wildly successful, we now have the same kopitiam formula in a more hip and thematic setting. It is now acceptable to pay $7 (this is crazy) for a meagre plate of chicken rice (only the plate is big) and to be honest, the food isn't honestly that great. And every Food Republic (and Opera) has Sergeant Chicken Rice. What, you say "but it's ok because well, it's Orchard and it's Food Republic". It's the same theory as paying $1.40 for a piece of "boutique" bread which honestly was very tasty... Then the neighbourhood bakeries followed. Where bread used to be a cheap and tasty breakfast (I used to buy the chocolate rice cream buns for freaking 40 cents), it now is cheaper for me to buy economic beehoon for breakfast. With luncheon meat and egg, may I add. And they don't even call it food courts anymore!! It's now a much more refined "Food Hall".

Yes yes, I know. Economic growth and inflation.

Yes yes, I know. Wages and all.

But with all these, I miss the old queensway market with its truly rustic charm and decades old recipes.

With all these, which I do appreciate, tell me..

Where can I find that great plate of Mee Rebus?

What I really want to see are these highly paid, highly regarded chefs embrace our Singaporean food. I want them not "remaking" laksa, but understanding and really knowing the culture of our food. The history, the processes, the social and political implications of that plate of local food.

And yes, Chilli Crab is OUR national dish. Not yours, Malaysia. So there. Bleah. 

I Love Food.

I love food.

Who am I kidding? I am obsessed with food. I am crazy about it. I would marry it and fornicate with it if I could! (Now now, get that dirty thought out of your mind. That was a figure of speech!)

I moved from reading food porn such as the aptly named foodpornographer to kitchen porn such as the pioneer woman cooks. I pore over equipment catalogues, go nuts at supermarkets and once in a blue moon, go bankrupt at wet markets. I am amazed at the complexity of food - how it manages to invoke familiar feelings and unexpected excitment; how it can bring tears to someone's eyes (a food writer once told me that he wept over the rabbit dish in Oswaldo); how it can cause distain just as quickly. One sure thing that I've realised is that most great dishes are created after a multitude of failed dishes - something my partner will agree since he is the one having to eat most of them!

I almost never dump food - no matter how bad they are. I believe food is to be respected, and armed with the right skills and technique, almost every "bad" dish can be saved. A dry roast can be carved and served with a simple green salad. Undercooked pasta can be combined into broth to make a hearty soup. A can of tomatoes can save a dish, almost any dish. Lemons, cream (though I say this reluctantly), butter and eggs can uplift and even transform dishes.

That's of course, what we call, in the broadest of terms "Western" food. Now, Asian food is totally another ball game. Raised on the mtv and hollywood culture of sitcoms, dramas and food television, much Asian cooking we experience through entertainment is usually "yankeed". I learnt how to do bibimbap (a koren rice dish) from a American Born Korean hosted on Bobby Fay's show on Food Network. Yet the food we eat everyday in this country is usually Asian. I think we tend to understate great Asian dishes!

My family usually eats Chinese food. (note I said food, not cuisine - a simple word has such a big difference!) my mum has never grown to like Malay or Indian dishes, an amazing fact since she grew up in Malaysia and formed her family in Singapore! The most "Indian" food I grew up eating was Roti Prata and Kumbing Sop (by Indian Muslims, not the Malay style). When I grew into adulthood, I accientally discovered cooking - the first dish I seriously made was pasta with a jar of ready made cream sauce.

So many factors influence what we perceive of food and the culture behind it. I, for one, tend to make a lot of pasta because, well, it's easy. You can throw almost anything into it. I am encouraged by my friends to discover pot roasts, baked chicken, and now my friend makes chinese soup! The day I dare to serve homecooked chinese food to my partner's mum is the day I say my cooking is good... Which might not happen in my lifetime!

Before this grows into a thesis, I just want to say... What have you eaten today, and do you know what it stands for?!