aDrenais' Book of Shadows

The cranky Internet connection in my building ensured that I took 3 hours to connect to the 'Create Post' page in blogger. I'm sure the whole bullshit about 'Blogger: Switching to the new Blogger' had something to do with it as well, but I'm not going to waste anymore time speculating the endless possibilities of this shitty situation.

After all, I logged onto Blogger with a mission: to describe my envisioned funeral.

Inspiration hit me as I was in the shower the last time I was in Singapore. I badly wanted to share it with somebody, but it is such a morbid topic that I couldn't bring myself to spoil the festive cheer. Since then, I have mulled over my idea of a perfect funeral (I have trouble getting things out of my head if I don't thrash it out), and after much refinement, I present "The Green Bottle Event" (aka Serena's funeral).

It will be a memorial, rather than an incense-burning affair where people stream in and out throughout the day. This will render it unnecessary for my family members to hang around the whole day waiting for people to offer incense in a rite that benefits neither the dead nor the living. Since the intention is for people to gather at a specific time, it will have to be held over the weekend (or public holiday, haha). I don't really care where, although I suppose everybody knows where Zouk is? I'm talking about the ballroom of Grand Copthorne, doofus. Anyway, that's the time and venue sorted out.

Everybody will be in black of course, but ideally they would have been informed to include green in their outfits. Whether it is screaming lime green, turquoise or sedate olive green, it doesn't really matter. It can be a scarf, emerald earrings, sunglasses, camouflage cargopants, a gold belt that's bordering on green - you get the idea. I was just pondering the logistics of how this message is going to get around. I can just see a friend receiving this text message: "Serena died. Memorial at xx on xx, xa.m. Wear GREEN." I must remember to inform my family of any brilliant ideas I get between now to my death on get around this particular pothole.

Now, where does the bottle part come in? At the entrance of the event, there will be a number of green bottles set on a table. The green bottles will most likely be Heineken bottles from home, God knows I buy enough of them for my sister everytime I return to Singapore. There'll be a sign over the bottles, indicating "Please take one if you would like to take to the stage to share Serena's role in your life". I know there're 10 green bottles in the children song, but I like to think that I had made a difference in the lives of more than 10 friends/family members, therefore as of now the number of bottles is limited to how many my sister can bring from home :)

At the appointed time, my family members will take the stage and welcome everybody for attending the memorial. Jay Chou's '黑色幽默' (Hoho) would have been on loop in the background, getting on the nerves of 70% of my friends who don't like Jay Chou. After the piece by my family, Jay Chou will fade out, and Dad will start by sharing what a trial I've been to him, and proceed to hang his green bottle on the wall after his speech. When everybody's said their piece and hung their bottles, a recording of the last verse of "10 Green Bottles" will play:

"1 green bottle, hanging on the wall
1 green bottle, hanging on the wall
If 1 green bottle, should accidentally fall
There'd be no green bottles, hanging on the wall"

I greatly favour rigging the bottles so that they all fall in an almighty crash at the end of the song, but I suspect that will not go down too well with whoever's left to clean up, so I think the next best thing is to symbolically remove each of the bottles by the end of the song, and lay them in the casket with me for the cremation.

Elgin, if he's around at that time, will be forced (I don't know who will do the forcing when I'm not around, but if I have to possess someone to get job done, I'm sure it can be arranged :D) to sing Jay Chou's '轨迹' or '借口'as a finale. For the record, Elgin doesn't think much of Jay Chou, calling him the Great Mumbler. He doesn't like green much either, which is why he will be dressed in a green suit singing a Jay Chou song in a final goodbye to me. How romantic @_@

轨迹
作词:黄俊郎
作曲:周杰伦
编曲:钟与民

怎么隐藏 我的悲伤 失去你的地方
你的发香 散的匆忙 我已经跟不上
闭上眼睛 还能看见 你离去的痕迹
在月光下 一直找寻 那想念的身影

如果说分手是痛苦的起点 那在终点之前我愿意再爱一遍
想要对你说的不敢说的爱 会不会有人可以明白

我会发着呆 然后忘记你
接着紧紧闭上眼 想着那一天会有人代替
让我不再想念你

我会发着呆 然后微微笑
接着紧紧闭上眼 回想那一年你温柔的脸
在我忘记之前

心里的眼泪 模糊了视线 你会看不见

借口
词 曲 编:周杰伦

翻着我们的照片想念若隐若现
去年的冬天我们笑得很甜
看着你哭泣的脸对着我说再见
来不及听见你已走得很远

也许你已经放弃我 也许已经很难回头
我知道是自己错过 请再给我一个理由说你不爱我

就算是我不懂 能不能原谅我
请不要把分手当作你的请求
我知道坚持要走 是你受伤的藉口
请你回头 我会陪你 一直走到最后

就算没有结果 我也能够承受
我知道你的痛是我给的承诺
你说给过我纵容 沉默是因为包容
如果要走请你记得我

如果难过请你忘了我

His Mandarin is the worst, I hope somebody will have pity on him and tell him what the songs mean.

Sydney once more. On Christmas day too. Merry Christmas, folks.

I brought enough food to last the 24hr layover, no more AUD$83 suppers this time *heart pain* I was pleasantly surprised to find the Crew Lounge empty at 1p.m. LT, perhaps everybody's in bed nursing a hangover from Christmas eve? Anyhow, I was glad to finally have 10 hrs of solid sleep last night, probably the first since my insomnia in London. Lovely Christmas, this year.

After arriving in Bahrain on 16th Dec from London at 10a.m., I flew back to Singapore at 8p.m. the same night. I somehow managed to potter around my flat without getting any sleep. I also managed not to get anything done, except for some cleaning and washing. Snored my way into Singapore, and arrived to torrents of rain on 17th. I should stop bringing my swimming suit to Singapore; it never failed to rain the few precious days I was back in Nov and Dec.

It was a fruitful 5 days spent in Singapore, and I enjoyed the time to myself immensely. The first day was spent at home chatting with Mom, and we talked about everything from family gossip to the ghastly outfits the local artistes wore at the Star Awards (repeat telecast was on TV). It is so much easier to talk to her now that I see her only a couple of times a month, I really enjoy the conversations. Still, her motherly instincts has her berating me whenever she sees a new purchase that I don't need. Which occurs every other day. Ugh.

The rest of the days were spent in a leisurely haze, walking the dog and picking dozens of ticks off him (damn upsetting task, but if I don't do it nobody will), KTV-ing with Sister and Brother, catching After This Our Exile and being the only person out of 3 who enjoyed it, and getting angry at Elgin on the average of 5 times a day. I went shopping for Christmas gifts and ended up with hundreds of dollars of Ettusais (how do you pronounce this damn word!) products, the Shu Uemura eyelash curler that Jia raved about, and more stuff that I don't need. For myself, that is.

I then took the flight back to Bahrain on 22nd 5a.m. Sg time, only to report for work at 5p.m. Bahrain time the same night, operating as crew back to Singapore. I requested for this flight so that I'd be back in Singapore on 23rd for Ting's wedding. It was quite something, to be able to say "see you tomorrow" to Elgin at the airport and spend the next 16 of 24 hours in the air flying to Bahrain and back to Singapore. As Mom put it, wa jiak bah kha eng.

About Ting's wedding. I was supposed to be one of the 'Jie-Mei's, but I tired myself out so much in the past few days that I reached her house only at around 1p.m., when all the fun was over :( As such I only assisted in the reception of the dinner itself, and guarded the very very full angpow box with my life. Ting looked fabulous in each of her outfits, while her family members positively glowed with all the beaming they did throughout the dinner. Can't wait to attend the next wedding :)

Back to the present. It's the end of the year, a time to take stock of all that has happened in the year and plan for greater things ahead for the coming one. Looking at my previous entries, I realised I failed to do most of what I set out to do: save money, learn new things, and not blog about mundane things, among others. When I first made the leap from being a blog voyeur to keeping my own, the one thing I promised myself was not to keep a mindless commentary of daily occurences, and to write only about things that matter. I suppose it is too hard to write meaningful entries all the time, and therefore I have to settle for majority of the posts looking like this one, droning on about my life and trying to make some sense out of it.

I have bloody insomnia, and I'm freezing my ass off in London. Not a good combination, this is.

I fell asleep at midnight local time, and abruptly woke up at 3a.m. for no reason. After that, I was unable to return to sleep despite the dronings of the broadcaster on TV, my trying to solve an impossible Sudoku puzzle, and various other methods employed to intice Mr Sandman to pay a visit. I was dead beat, after the same thing happened the previous night, and an easy-but-long flight. I even thought that maybe alittle erotic stimuli was in order, but that only served to make me tired and horny. Blast it.

It is all over the papers and on BBC: the Suffolk Strangler has murdered 5 prostitutes in 6 weeks in the southeast of the UK. I think I read too many detective thrillers for my own good; I regarded the killings with polite disinterest, thinking to myself that the MO and choice of victims have been explored to death by fiction authors. The killer probably is unemployed, marginalised by society, sexually-abused as a child, and hides his mysogynistic tendencies carefully under a Mr Nice Guy cover. 5 murders, no leads. Good luck with the investigation.

The crew hotel in London is Park Inn, and there's this section of Park Inn that is specially catered to airline crew. There is ample opportunity, therefore, to oogle at the beautiful (and immensely rich) Cathay crew, marvel at the uniform of the Air India crew, and generally people-watch.

Lethargy is making me vocabulary-challenged. It took me about half an hour to type the above 3 paragraphs, and they look like crap. Shall stop for now.

Ok, picture time it is. I look best in this pic, and that's not saying much. Sorry Hao I didn't bother to take pictures of others, I was too cold and grumpy to bother. But the cake was nice, and I finished 1/3 of it for breakfast the next day. Nice people, my gang.


I was on standby on my birthday, and darling Rostering delightfully gave me a Lahore flight. Lahore, Pakistan. Pakistani flights are second only to Indian sectors in tedium and disgustingness. The passengers don't speak English, they want juice, water, and everything else, and they smell. I'm sorry there's no word more apt. Ugh. Thankfully the flight wasn't full both ways, and I had a good set of crew. I learnt heaps of Arabic words on the flight too! Mainly rude ones, but it's a start nonetheless. The highlight of the flight was getting to fly with Siu, a Singaporean senior who's been with Gulf Air for 7 years. She was in 1st-class, together with this chef:

Apparently a heartthrob, although I can't really see why. Didn't stop me from taking silly photos, though :)

So, I'm cold and cranky, right? I figured I deserve a really good birthday gift this year, therefore I flew back to Singapore for just 2 days, especially for this year's ABC concert featuring Chen Shen, Pin Guan and most importantly, Mayday! I didn't inform Dad and Mum of this treat to myself, so I'm not privy to exactly what they thought of such frivolity. Mum gave a snort when I told her I was leaving for Bahrain the very next day, but otherwise she held her tongue remarkably well. I attended the concert with Ren, who enjoyed the concert almost as much as I did. I think we'll start drinking ABC stout in case ABC manages to invite Jay Chou next year.

Didn't have much time to do much of anything else the next day, but I did manage to visit Tampines Ikea. It's so ulu! The magnitude of the place was super impressive, and as usual I had to resist the urge to buy everything in sight. I settled for a full-length mirror for my place in Bahrain, more on a whim than anything else. It was a steal at only $9.90, and I had professional help with the packaging:

There was even a shoulder strap can! Not like I was about to use it in Changi Airport, or rather, in front of the crew. I thought there might have been alittle problem bringing it on board, but the crew was cool and hardly bat an eyelid when I told them I wanted to handcarry a full-length mirror to Bahrain just because.

On Ting's advice, I went to scout for a suitable portable heater, and tah-dah!

It's a nifty little thing, blows hot air well enough, and best of all it's cheap! The only thing is that I find myself turning it off in the middle of the night because the room gets too stuffy. It alleviates the misery just a notch, but I'm still grumbling away because I am depressed by the dreary weather. Looking forward to going home very soon :D

It's too bloody cold to sleep.

I remember snorting when seniors told me that it gets really cold in Bahrain in winter. Those conversations took place in the middle of summer, when 40 deg celsius was considered mild weather, so pardon me if I did not take them very seriously. It's 4.45a.m. now, I've been back since 3a.m. from flight, but I refuse to sleep because there'd be too much shivering involved.

I've never been a winter person. The only place I've stayed for an extended period of time during winter is Xiamen, and that was ok because it belongs to the southern part of China where temperatures don't drop as drastically as they do in the north. Furthermore, I was officially there as a student, but in reality all I had to do all day was to shop and surf the Internet, so there wasn't any exertion on my part. Even when I go to wintry places like London and Switzerland with my family on holidays, we were tourists and didn't have to do much more than snap pictures and take in the sights. Even then, I was really grumpy on most of those trips, because I was too cold to enjoy the holiday properly.

But this. Having to go about my daily affairs in a normal fashion under winter conditions; it's killing me. I mean, I have to wake up at 5a.m. sometimes for work, and taking a shower at that time is no joke! The best part is that the a/c in my apartment doesn't double up as a heater. What's more, the a/c is not mounted onto the wall properly, so that the cold seeps in through the gaps between the a/c and the wall, permeating every corner of my room. I shiver in my sleep so much that I wake up sore (It may well be from the heavy comforters I pile onto myself, I can't tell). My friend told me I probably have this seasonal disorder where I get depressed by the cold. Damn right I do.

So now I'm cold and miserable, and cannot curl up in ball and hibernate because I have to work. Every so often I ask myself why am I putting myself through this shit, and then I remember: because I have nothing to show for my time here, yet. I haven't been to the nearby countries, I haven't saved much (at all, actually), I haven't accomplished what I want to do here. Keeping these in mind get me through work, but it doesn't make the cold go away. Brr.

Turning 24
The gang I hang out with in Bahrain was super wu-sim, and came over to my place with a cake to celebrate. It's funny how I get so much more excited about other people's birthdays than my own, maybe because we celebrated their birthdays in the summer *disgruntled*. I'm still considering posting the pictures taken during the celebration, because I was depressed and it showed. I was photographed in my pjs, swaddled up in a woolly jumper, and had hideous uncombed hair.

And thereby ending another year of my life on an all-time low. Insyallah next year's birthday will be in a better place, with better prospects, and in a warmer country.

G'day mate from Sydney! The weather here is nice and cool in the evening, shall give you a weather update of the daytime temperature after I've experienced it. I arrived in Sydney at around 10p.m. local time, spent an inordinate amount of time oohing over my beautiful hotel room in Intercontinential, boozed til I felt light-headed in the crew room, then proceeded to Chinatown for supper at a seafood restaurant that worked out to be AUD$20 per person. It's 4.23a.m. in Sydney now, but only 1.23a.m. in Singapore. Not feeling the least sleepy, while the rest of my crew are all holed up in their rooms. Oh how I'm gonna suffer tomorrow *wry*

A Series of Fortunate Events
I was called out on standby for this SIN-SYD block, replacing 4 days' worth of standby and a crappy 2-day block doing some Kathmandu turnaround. It was a pleasant surprise, and this very first time I operated as crew back to Singapore had me flying with 2 other Singaporeans. Considering that there are only about 40 Singaporean crew in Gulf Air, I think it's a first time Singaporeans form the majority nationality. The other crew hail from the Philippines (2), Thailand (2), Bahrain (2), Greece (1) and Australia (1). One of the Singaporean girls, Connie, is a senior who took the time to share with us her flying experience, scary tales and funny stories alike. The other one is Janna, my batchmate. We are equally new, so we were as blur as each other on board. It was her first time back to Singapore after 7 months, and yet I think I was more excited than she was upon arrival in Singapore. Just as we landed after the 8-hour flight, my contact lenses were killing me and I was tearing like crazy, but I preferred the extreme pain to walking in Changi Airport with my glasses. It was a very keen awareness of the fact that I was stepping into Changi Airport in my uniform for the first time ever, and God forbid I look less than presentable. Actually I didn't manage to hold my head all that high, because I'm still fighting a losing battle against my terrible pimple outbreak. I was self-conscious about every bit of my appearance; at the same time I was trying to affect a oh-I'm-so-glamorous image. Damnit I'm so going back on the pill to try to control my outbreak issue.

2) My December roster has been released, and I'd been granted my request to fly SIN-SYD on 22nd! This means that I'd be in Singapore for Ting's wedding, as well as on Boxing day. It's not the same as spending Christmas in Singapore, but I'm grateful that it's at least around the festive period. On the upside, I'd be spending Christmas countdown in Sydney, and if all goes well I should be having a blast :)
I will be in Bangkok for NYE. Not sure how exciting that is gonna be, but at least it's somewhere familiar and comforting (where I can spend lots of money).
The best thing about the December roster is that I have 2 days off on 6-7 Dec, so I'd be free to fly back to Singapore in time for the Mayday concert held in the Singapore Indoor Stadium on 6 Dec! It would have been ideal if I had been given a SIN-SYD block on the 5th, but I'd be too tired to enjoy the concert properly anyway if I had to work the day before and the day after, so this is just peachy. Can't wait to go scream myself hoarse once again!

I guess I should be bummed that I haven't been given a single European destination, like Paris, Frankfurt or Dublin. Frankly, I'm not that concerned yet, probably because I'm still too eager to fly home whenever possible. Give it a few months, my senior said while nodding sagely.

Self-discovery Part II
As mentioned, I've progressed somewhat further along my path of self-realisation, and I hope that I'm on my way to becoming a nicer person.

So, Dad was in Bahrain for a visit last month. It was both exciting and trying. Exciting because it was a deviation from the monotony of life in Bahrain, trying because of the necessity of living with him for 8 days within a confined space. As my flatmate is Muslim, Dad and I both decided that he should not hang around the common living area too much because we weren't sure how open my flatmate is to having a stranger in her private space. As such, Dad was restricted to my room most of the time, where he embarked on his mission to make my life in Bahrain more comfortable.

He organised my very messy room into neat stacks, and categorised everything before stowly it away out of sight. Dad's comments were like 'It would be easier if you could...', and before I knew it, the next moment it would be arranged exactly like how he said it should be. It was dead helpful of course, because I've had the flat for almost half a year and it was still in shambles, but I couldn't help feeling irritated at how he barged in and took charge of organising my domain. I was also irritated at his suggestions, because some of them were really valid and frankly quite intelligent, and then I had to be pissed with myself for getting irritated.

I realised that I was more like Dad than I would care to admit. When my friends speak to me about their problems, or even when they just bitch about life in general, I find myself thinking of how best to solve their problems, and make suggestions on how they can better their lives. While I was just trying to be of assistance, I bet my friends were mightily irritated by my interfering ways, making suggestions as though I knew better. Friends might have hinted at my annoying behaviour before, but it's much more effective to be on the receiving end of such treatment, to be aware of how exasperating it was to have someone constantly telling you how to lead your life.

Thus, whenever I'm tempted to offer my sagely advice nowadays, I force myself to think of Dad and the agonising week we spent together, and I clam shut, immediately. Methinks it's made me a more popular person :)

Why have I not updated my blog in over a month? Because there are suddenly too many people aware of the existence of this space (No tofu, it's not you - I need to be more careful with my words after the Friendster fiasco). Because I have been on another bout of self-exploration, which required much thought before I was confident enough to put it into words. Because I don't know what can be said about my Toilet Bowl, although things are looking up greatly. And because of a mysterious wave of low self-esteem that has passed, thankfully, but rendered me unable to formulate a proper sentence for the better part of a month.

I cannot attribute the low self-esteem to a single cause. It probably has it's roots in the multiple rejections *bleargh*, followed by a terrible pimple breakout that began in early Oct due to hormones. I dashed to get a facial done the moment I arrived in Singapore, and spent the next couple of days at home moaning about how ugly and blotchy my face had become. I then got an absolutely disastrous haircut, which made me feel like I was 40 each time I spied myself in the mirror. The scars have faded alittle, I got a new haircut, and at last I feel ready to take on the world again.



Elgin was sweet; he was the only one who was waiting at Arrivals when I landed, even if he didn't have money for the cabfare home. He waited around the entire day while I handed out gifts for my family, went to buy a new mobile phone because I left the phone my Singapore line behind in Bahrain, and went for my killer facial where I cried in pain like a wuss (not cried out in pain - I actually cried as in bawled, sobbed, whatever other synonyms there are for cried. It wasn't the tears-trickling-out-of-corner-of-eye-due-to-ill-placed-pimple-on-side-of-nose kind either, I cried, period). He had his reasons, of course, and he was well rewarded for his patience *cough cough*

I thought there would be less friction since I was back, but I thought wrong. I never appreciated the effort Elgin made in making me part of his life, for I pretty much settled into the routine of joining him and his friends right from the beginning of our relationship. When I returned to find that his social circle no longer encompassed me, I suddenly had a whole new understanding of the impact of my decision to leave for Bahrain half a year ago. Of course it was rather foolish of me not to have anticipated it, but this aspect didn't even occur to me, until it hit me full in the face. He had his new friends, new hangouts, new activities that I wasn't privy about, and it troubled me that I am no longer a part of his normal daily routine.

He wasn't so insensitive as to carry on without a thought for me; he actually was quite nice about it, going out with his friends only when I was otherwise occupied. And logically, I cannot fault him for going out with his friends while I engaged myself in other activities. I thus concluded that I suffered from a social dsyfunction termed (by myself) superiority complex.

This is not to be confused with the established definition of superiority complex (click for details). Superiority complex according to me refers to an irrational expectation on my part of my friends and family to bend over to make time for me, since I was in Singapore only for a limited period of time. I was honestly bewildered by Elgin's choice to go out with his friends, when the time could be spent with me. By the same thread, I took more offense than necessary that my friends did not have the time to meet up when I was in town. There were plently of last minute cancellations, even those that I booked 1 month in advance, and I was really bothered by those. I thought that I should be more given abit more priority than mundane things like deadlines and projects; I was after all only in Singapore for 10 days after an absence of half a year. I got bitter, and further withdrew into my coccoon of depression and despair.

Only after a considerable amount of time spent thinking things through did I get around my obtuse reasoning. I acknowledged that I was the one who made the choice to go strand myself on a remote island for the better part of a year, and unexpected events invariably crop up so that friends and family regrettably have better things to do than to meet up. I also acknowledged that I need to not think so highly of myself, for everyone is entitled to choose how to spend their time and I really am not as witty and amusing as I believe myself to be. It was a tough one to swallow, but I'm so over myself now.

(Incidentally, after I googled 'superiority complex' for the purpose of this post, I realised that I suffer from the original definition of the term as well! See this article by Dr C. George Boeree:

The superiority complex involves covering up your inferiority by pretending to be superior. If you feel small, one way to feel big is to make everyone else feel even smaller! Bullies, braggarts, and petty dictators everywhere are the prime example. More subtle examples are the people who are given to attention-getting dramatics....)

There were further issues that cropped up between Elgin and me that wore us both out emotionally and mentally. Suffice to say that I realised how much I meant to him, and how important he is in my life. I need to keep that in mind the next time I threaten to flush. Oh, in response to the previous post, he sent a single flower and a special gift via speedpost immediately, so that I was suitably placated until I arrived in Singapore for my next outburst:


The flower was wilted around the edges from being enclosed in a box for 4 days, but it survived. The special gift is cylindrical, fits into the hand and is designed to keep me happy for awhile. Ha.

In a totally unrelated thread, I think I love him, for real. Scary.

Dear Toilet Bowl,

It's been 3 months since I moved into my apartment and got acquainted with you. Although you feel that you've been doing a pretty good job because I always seem happy each time I flush, I have to let you know once and for all that it is not. bloody. enough.

Firstly, the fact that you're always there for me doesn't prove a thing - except maybe for the fact that you're immobile. I need to remind you that being present fulfills your basic obligation as a toilet bowl; it does not mean that you've performed all your responsibilites just because you're always available whenever I need to take a dump. The duties of a toilet bowl varies from bowl to bowl, as widely accepted, but there are certain things that all users agree upon: paying attention to the needs of users, pampering the users occasionally (if not frequently), and making yourself more suitable for the long-term usage of your user.

I considered getting a jewel-encrusted seat cover. Of course if that was beyond what you were comfortable with, I totally understand. However, when I requested for plain old toilet paper, you did not deem it fit to provide me with what I felt was a basic requirement in maintaining a user-toilet bowl relationship. It wasn't as though I gave no indication; I specifically communicated that toilet paper, with some well-chosen words, could keep me happy for quite awhile. I asked for the sky, and then I asked for toilet paper. It's beyond me how you could deny me of something so simple.

Undeniably, you have been a good toilet bowl in many aspects. You don't complain when I have to leave you for long stretches at a time, you endure my tantrums with patience whenever I have PMS, and you don't mind me using other toilet bowls when I'm out. I also must commend you for enduring filth particularly well. BUT. I get tired of polishing the cistern all the time. I cannot be reminding you to keep me happy constantly, it is your responsibility as a toilet bowl. And the fact that you have the above-mentioned positive qualities does not negate the fact that I am often unhappy using you. I understand the theory that sometimes the plus points in one aspect cancel out the shortcomings in another aspect, to maintain a not-so-steady equilibrium. But for the last time, let this be made clear: It is not enough for me. Allowing me daily use is not a privilege that you grant, it is your basic obligation as a toilet bowl (note that I've already said this before).

Frankly, it sucks to have to learn about your daily activities from the shower curtain. It sucks even more to learn that while you have time to update the shower curtain of your consorts with the bathroom sink, you don't have the time to give me toilet paper. Maybe your time is better spent beautifying the shower curtain, so that all can see how wisely you spend your time. Maybe it is not apparent to you, but I do have a confidence issue. After 3 rejections, I am particularly susceptible to thinking that I'm wallpaper as compared to the lovely ladies out there. I can't even be bothered to point out that helping me with it is not a requirement, but more of a decent thing for a toilet bowl to do.

I just need you to understand one more thing. Love dies. It is possible to drive love away. With neglect. With inattention to details that matter to the other party. It may be a big fuss to kick over toilet paper, but I assure you that the lack of any forthcoming toilet paper represents greater underlying issues. If I don't even get toilet paper, how do I expect soap, detergent and Kiwi Quik-clean in time to come? There are other bowls that I choose to ignore, but exactly why I'm ignoring them is getting fuzzier.

So I say this to you: you have 1 week to prove yourself. I don't care how you do it, I just want something to hold on to. Otherwise - I flush.

Yours,
Serena

It was my 3rd-year anniversary yesterday. It might as well have been an anniversary with my toilet bowl, for what it was worth.

I didn't merit a card. Not after explicitly stating in a hostile manner that I would appreciate a card every now and then, a little something for me to mull over whenever I was feeling low. I wrote an extremely mean card to him awhile ago, chastising him for the lack of effort on his part -- if that didn't work I don't know what will. So, it's been proven that it hasn't worked: no card, no gift; not even when my dad was coming to visit and all he had to do was to scribble something on a scrap of paper for my dad to bring it over. No postage involved! Why?

That's the question I've been asking myself lately. Why is it so hard for him to comprehend that I have higher expectations? Why won't he try? Why am I still hanging on if he can't even write me a card to shut me up? Why does he not try knowing full well that I will kick up a huge fuss when I don't receive as much as a fucking postcard for spending 3 years together? Why do I bother? Why?

Enough rhetorics. Enough theatrics. Enough.

On one of the Dhaka flights, a Bangladeshi beckoned a flight attendant (FA) with one finger, going "Sister, sister, come here, come here". The FA was busy, so she went about her business (we don't take our passengers very seriously) and went into the galley. When she went back into the cabin 15 minutes later, the same passenger was still going "Sister sister" doing the come-hither thing with his hand (we hate that, by the way, damn irritating). So the FA went up to the passenger, and he immediately said (inject heavy Bangla accent) "I've been fingering you for 15 minutes, and you never came"

"Sir, it takes more than 15 minutes of fingering for me to come."

Gah, it doesn't sound as funny in writing, but I almost peed laughing when I heard it.

* * *
My dad's here for a visit! I'm glad of course, always good to have something new to break the monotony of life here. But honestly, he's killing me with his ideas on how to better my life here. He's been poking into every corner of my room, and I swear it's a matter of time before he finds my illicit stuff. He actually saw the C batteries for one of them, and he asked me what I needed such big batteries for. "Err, alarm clock lor." I have a weeny alarm clock that's like 3 inches across, and I hastily added "I want to bring my alarm clock from Singapore here, got snooze function..." and then changed the subject. Arggh!

5 things that made me happy today:

1) C batteries. They make it to the top of my list today, because three C batteries made me a very happy girl earlier. Hah :)

2) Mandarin pop oldies. I was listening to 东东陈晓东's 流星森林雨 earlier while attempting to clear the perpetual mess in my room, and I paused whatever I was doing to savour the song. You know how it is when you listen to a song repeatedly at a certain point in your life, so that whenever you hear the particular song again you'd be reminded of how you felt then? My teenage years were spent trying to be the perfect misunderstood youth, so most of the Mandarin oldies actually trigger melancholy, even if I cannot remember what I was upset about when listening to those songs. Still, they are part of my history, and I'm proud to be happily upset listening to 东东陈晓东 (God it sounds so stupid now, 东东陈晓东?!?).

3) Doing laundry. I spent USD60 in Dhaka at the end of Sept, and came back with an assortment of tops and bottoms that I thought I might wear. Most of them fit me pretty well actually, but they stank to high heaven - a deadly combination of new-clothes-from-factory smell and the-Bangla smell. I handwashed the whole lot and used alot of fabric softener to rid the smells, yay! On the subject of fabric softeners: I made a confession to my ex-colleague-cum-good-friend Von in my last e-mail to her. See, prior to my stint in Bahrain, I've never used fabric softeners in my life, and the thought of using them had never crossed my mind. However! Because I saw so many girls trudging to the laundry room with soap powder plus softener, I was convinced that softener was a necessity in my new life as a flight attendant (bear in mind I was stupid and impressionable when I first arrived in Bahrain. Nothing has changed much, come to think of it, except for the fact that 5 months have past since then). Here's what I wrote in my e-mail:

I've never bothered with (or even heard of) fabric softeners for laundry while I was in Singapore; apparently it is what people put to make clothes smell good. When I reached Bahrain and entered the predominantly female world of Gulf Air, I saw girls in the laundry room using fabric softeners like it was a necessity, and I followed suit so that I could be one of them, a Gulf Air girl. It didn't matter that only I was aware of the fact that I am a proud user of fabric softener, I wanted to play the part to perfection, and if others were using this softener product, I damn well will too. I used the word 'pretentious' when I tried to relate this strange affliction to my friend, because I pretend it's a necessity, not even for show because nobody's gonna know. I pretend for my own benefit. What kind of weird am I?!!

4) Neurotically going through information made public by/of former acquiantances. It doesn't matter that I haven't spoken to the first boyfriend in 4 years now, I just want to know how he's doing. I don't derive pleasure from the fact that he is down and out (at times), neither will I feel sad if I find out that he's doing well. I just want to know; it makes me happy to know how he's doing. I used to tell myself that it is a phase I'll grow out of, but if it's really a phase it's a bloody long one. I broke up with first boyfriend 6 years ago!

5) Buying see-through lingerie. I spent a freaking BD 14.5 (approx. SGD60) on flimsy see-through lacy stuff. It caused abit of heartache only later when the enormity of the purchase set in, but when buying them it was the best feeling in the world. Not exactly in anticipation of the chance to wear them, more like a total sense of abandonment, busting all that money on such frivolous items. As if I don't have to pay insurance, give money to my parents, save, pay bills - it was just me, moolah, and more material acquistions! Ok, I know I need help; I've enlisted the assistance of my friends to stop me from buying useless things. Only they are guys, and they weren't going to step into La Senza (full of Arabic ladies in abayas) if their lives depended on it.

I'm wide awake at 3.20 a.m. This is a most perverse manifestation of 人算不如天算, I'm so aggrieved I don't know what else to do but come online and bitch about it.

I was supposed to do a Jakarta block on 27th Sept, my third this month. It is a 1hr 15 mins flight from Bahrain to Muscat, followed by 11 hours rest in the hotel before flying from Muscat to Jakarta. I was really pleased about it too, because I have things to buy and favours to do for friends. So, as usual I stayed up the whole night on the 26th because the flight out of Muscat to Jakarta is at night (midnight LT), and staying awake the previous night allows me to get ample rest in the daytime for the 8-hour night flight.

When we arrived in Muscat, we were told that instead of staying in Safari hotel (a rather crappy place, the servant quarters of Grand Hyatt Muscat), the company was putting us up at Golden Tulip Seeb. Although Safari wasn't posh, it was infinitely better than the latter, because Golden Tulip is a hotel that has seen better days (in say, the 1960s). Horror stories from crew include finding cockroaches in the rooms, semi-raw food served when you call for room service - you get the idea. I wasn't wild about my room, but because I was so tired from staying up all night I fell asleep immediately and was out for a solid 10 hours.

I awoke to absolute darkness at 8p.m. LT. Apparently there had been a blackout at the hotel since 5p.m., and in the 3 hours (!?) that I was blissfully unaware they were unable to resolve the matter. I called the reception to request for candles; the bloody receptionist acted like he's never heard of candles. Thank goodness for the torchlight function on SonyEricsson phones, buy SE! The electricity came back on at about 9.30p.m., and I started getting ready for my flight at a leisurely pace. This included cooking instant noodles for dinner, and I was in the shower at 10.05p.m. when my manager knocked on my door. She was fully dressed in uniform(my pickup time was 11p.m.!) and requested that I be ready for pickup as soon as possible. In a mad dash I was in the hotel lobby within 10 minutes, makeup askew and wet hair beneath my hat.

My manager told me that because of the blackout, we did not fulfill the minimum rest time required for the 8-hour flight, and thus were not legal to fly to Jakarta. We were going to catch a plane back to Bahrain instead, hence the rush. It was a fine day, positioning as passengers from Bahrain to Muscat, then from Muscat back to Bahrain. Freaking waste of time.

All because the company decided to put us up in a derelict hotel, I'm in Bahrain ranting and raving online instead of serving drinks to nice Indonesian housemaids on their way balek kampung. And I can't get to sleep, because of the nice long rest I had in the day. I can't be bothered to clean my room, or do much of anything else. Perfect.

I'm the undisputed Queen of Orh-chairs. I know nobody will be remotely interested in disputing this fact, but that's why it's undisputed, hah! I'm undisputedly the undisputed Queen of Orh-chairs:

Erjie I kid you not when I told you it's the size of my palm ya. I knocked into a metal cup holder attached to the back of each seat on the bus from the airport to the hotel, and boy did it hurt. I need to keep my eyes open more.

Finally got 2 days off after flying for 6 days; I'm dead beat. Came home to multiple pieces of good news - I'm finally doing my Airbus training next month, Dad decided that he will pay me a visit during training, I'm doing another Jakarta flight end of this month (my 3rd one this month, woohoo!), and my leave has been rearranged so that I'll have enough leave balance to be granted leave during CNY next year. Everything seems to be in order, for once.

I'm not accustomed to not getting my way.

Weeks after I've returned from Singapore, I'm still brooding over the fact that my dad prevented me from going to the Wu Bai concert on 2 Sept. I found out details of the concert on 1 Sept, and immediately proceeded to procure tickets via Ren (who owes me a huge ass lot of money) and to give Elgin a earful for not telling me about the concert. My rationale is that if I cared about his music preference enough to buy the most expensive tickets for Beyond's concert within 2 minutes the sale of tickets went online, there is no reason why he should overlook the fact that I love rock concerts, and more importantly, Wu Bai.

There's just 1 tiny detail that I always forget: he's male, and therefore is exempt from paying attention to details as mundane as the preferences of girlfriends. God forbid he surprises me with anything as sweet as buying concert tickets for my favourite old rocker. (Actually, God forbid he surprises me with anything at all) Goddamn it.

Mom overheard, and told Dad about it. Dad gave me a lecture about how I'm old enough to know better than waste money on such frivolous pursuits. He went on for a suitable length of time to turn me off the idea of the concert, not because I didn't want badly to go but because I wanted to show him that I understood what he was saying. Crystal.

Dad then proceeded to tell me off again in front of Elgin over dinner, expressing disappointment that I was still as immatured as before. He cited the concert as an example of my lack of maturity - I am still rash like a teenager, willing to disrupt my carefully planned weekend for a concert that I learnt about only 1 day before. Elgin all but snorted in glee into his bowl of rice; the one who's always berating him about his non-existent sense of responsibility is now on the receiving end of similar treatment.

The next day, the day of the concert, I was still smarting from Dad's lecture and refused to speak to him properly. When he tried to talk to me about it, I pointed out waspedly that everybody chooses to spend their money in different ways; he chooses to take his family on holidays that cost a few grand each year, what's to him a measly concert that I really wanted to watch? Dad told me that he is bound by his role as a parent to provide guidance and advice, no matter how old I get (养 不 教 , 父 之 过). He admitted he thought I was just charmed by the serendipity of my return coinciding with the concert, and I wouldn't have gone for the concert anyway if I hadn't read about it in the papers so it's not a big loss if I didn't go.

But the point is, I did find out. And yes, I did find it serendipitous to find out just 1 day before the concert. More importantly, I love Wu Bai! Not as much as Jay of course, but he was right there when I grew up, Wu Bai and the China Blues. Sappy lyrics (一生最爱的人), crappy songs (上帝救救我 ), timeless classics (世界第一等), he's done them all. It's not like I watch concerts indiscriminately. I only watch rock concerts where the atmosphere cannot be replicated in CDs, you won't find me watching a Faye Wong concert (even though I love her songs) because all she does is stand and sing.

I was also smarting because Dad told me off in front of Elgin. Dad candidly said that he did it to stand up for Elgin, because he thought it unnecessary for me to scold Elgin for not buying me the concert tickets. How do I even begin to explain that what hurt was the fact Elgin did not care enough to keep a lookout for things that matter to me? Besides that, I was pissed because the whole incident undermines my ability to nag effectively at Elgin. I don't know how to put it across better - what I mean to say is that after Elgin witnessed Dad chastising me, he is less likely to take what I say seriously when I tell him to study hard and go to school more often. It sounds ridiculous to make that connection, but it's the bloody truth. Elgin's already not taking me seriously as it is, he now tells me that I'm not so matured myself when I remind him to spend more time on his studies.

To give credit where it's due, Dad apologised after I told him what a spot he's put me into. It reminds me of another time he apologised to me, in front of my friends no less. I accepted his apology rather ungraciously. After all, I have missed the concert. After all, Elgin's never going to let me live it down. And til now I still cannot get over the fact that I missed Wu Bai's concert when I so fortunately happened to be town.

Dear God, please let Wu Bai hold a concert again, I promise to fly out to wherever it is held. And I promise Dad will not hear a word about it.

Picture Courtesy of King of Ah Mengs

A huge, giant, enormous sorry to everybody whom I didn't get to meet when I went back to Singapore for a visit late last month. If you must know, I spent more time eating than anything else, although I mysteriously spent more time with Ren's friends in that 6 days than with any of my long-time buddies (erjie, the things I do for you!). I certainly didn't meet anybody's expectations with regards to spending time with the person in question - Mom tartly remarked to Brother that "she's home, but not home", Elgin wondered why I didn't stay over at his place more *cough cough snicker snicker*, and I was very disappointed that I didn't inform half the people I was intending to inform that I was back.

I intended to take the MRT home from the airport. After months (4 months, 5 days) of taking taxis everywhere, I felt deprived of the good old Singaporean transport system and boasted to my bunch of friends here that I was heading home on the train, 2 suitcases nonewithstanding. When I actually passed through the automatic doors in the arrival hall in T1, I felt an inexplicable urge to be home without further delay. It's possible that I'm exaggerating; I'm sure part of the urgency was due to the fact that I did not tell anybody I was returning, and had to rush home before Mom left for school (since I very intelligently did not bring my Singapore home keys over to Bahrain). Anyhow, I abandoned my grand plan and hailed a cab home, sharing it with Erfi who lives just 2 blocks away from me in Singapore. We marvelled at the fact that in the 10-odd years we lived as next-block neighbours, we never ran into each other once. We also made plans to meet up for supper at Simpang, but never did because there wasn't enough time for the people back home, much less for a person we could seek out whenever we felt like it in Bahrain.

Dad opened the door for me. He looked surprised, and I suppose he was at a loss for words for approximately 2 seconds, but that was the extent of any sort of reaction I got. I don't know what I was expecting anyway; did I really think people will start crying and jump for joy after I've been away for a mere 4 months? Ah, heck. I gave him a bear hug, and rushed to hug Mom (no discernable reaction, hah). I then talked non-stop until Mom had to go to school at noon. Before she left, she very thoughtfully handed me some SGD. To think I always prided myself on being meticulous - I don't have one-tenth my mother's attention to details.

Elgin's reaction was even better (or worse, depending on how you see it). Ren was with me, and he came to the door thinking that she was going to return him some DVDs. Ren stayed out of sight, while I stood at the door in anticipation of his reaction. As it was nighttime and I was bent over petting the dog, I suppose anybody could have mistaken me for Ren, but it took Elgin about 1 full minute to realise that it was me. I imagined many sort of reactions from him, but nothing like the 'HAllo' he chirped, followed by "Eh, I thought you were your sister, you 2 look alike man" a minute later. Why do I even bother to orchestrate a surprise of sorts, I should just call him and get him to pick me up at the airport the next time *disgruntled*

Another person I surprised was Ying, but I didn't manage to make her cry like Ting did, bummer. I did, however, manage to meet up with her twice to catch up on 4 months' worth of gossip. It was like the old times, sitting at 85 with DaJian and YingJian and talking about anything under the sun. To think we never shared a single class in school :)

Immediately after 85 on 31st, I made my way to Simpang to meet Dan, Ding, Cin and Onglai. It's been 7 years since we first met in class, and with great affection I realised that night that I could always count on them for great companionship. I don't have any other group of friends who would discuss sex in one breath, arty-farty movies in the next, and round it up with opinionated views about our individual areas of expertise (Dan's corniness/sociology/embarassing tidbits in our past - he has a memory longer than an elephant's, Ding's workoholicism/cluelessness about everything that happened back in JC/odd characters from our class that she maintained contact with, Cin's banking/reading/blogging/movies, Onglai's Bahasa Indonesia/politics/dance classes). Honest to God, I love them.

In 6 days, I visited Zouk twice in a juvenile bid to revisit my youth. The decor is different, the crowd is different, the dudes at the door (why don't they have door bitches like everybody else?) wear fancy suits now, and everybody around is 5 years younger than I am. I thought I would miss the clubbing in Singapore, but if anything it was disconcerting to hear unfamiliar mixes of club songs, to not run into anybody I know the entire night (this doesn't happen in Bahrain), and most importantly, to realise that I've never been much of a clubber.

Can't wait to do it all again in November.

Since I arrived in Bahrain, I've suffered a mind-boggling number of bruises (nobody understands 'blue-black' here) of various sizes on both legs. I can't explain most of them, and some look downright weird. I showed my recent ones to my flatmate, who insists they look like hickeys (on the legs!), and decided that I'm a sexually-deviant nympho.

I've never had linear blue-blacks, so it was quite a shock when I woke up and discovered the one shaped like a shooting star (bottom right). Getting rather used to them by now; I didn't even get worked up when I noticed the one looking like claw-marks (top right).

I spent a lovely day doing absolutely nothing today. Having gone to bed at midnight the previous day, I woke at 7.45am this morning, the very first time I woke at a respectable hour - sometimes I sleep at 7.45am. Feeling mightily pleased with myself. I did a few Sudoku puzzles, arranged my purchases from Delhi and Madras alittle, and sifted through all my photos to compile my little bruise-log.

Photos of my numerous material acquisitions soon. It's 11.45pm, bedtime :)

Nothing makes me feel more patriotic than spending National Day away from Singapore. This is the second time in my life that I have not spent the evening of Aug 9 watching the NDP in front of the telly, if my memory serves me correctly. The first was during my exchange stint in Xiamen, although there was no public outburst of patrioticism then. My urge to burst into "Count on Me Singapore" was probably hampered by the certain knowledge that I'd be back in Singapore celebrating the next National Day.

Now that I'm a certified overseas labourer (I'm too lowly paid to be considered an expatriate), I find myself marking National Day on my calendar with a deep pride for my homeland that I didn't know I possess. I found myself humming National Day tunes all day, and wishing that I was back home just to catch the spectacular fireworks that will go on for 3 days (heard this from a fellow Singaporean). I was ecstatic when I heard about the National Day gathering for Singaporeans held in Ponderosa, Bahrain. I was finally going to meet fellow Singaporeans slaving away in this strange land!

It was with little regret I decided not to join my seniors in Gulf Air, whom I've grown rather attached to in the past months, for their private celebrations because they were not in the mood to socialise. I wasn't disappointed by my choice - I met over 50 people, both Singaporeans and Asians (mainly Malaysians) working in Singaporean-owned companies like City Neon, Pico, NCS and Century. They were mainly professionals like architects or structural engineers acting as consultants for the numerous construction projects being undertaken in Bahrain, and the Gulf Air girls were easily the most lowly-paid among the lot. It felt good to hear Singlish mixed with pidgin Mandarin all around me, it felt almost like home!

The organisers planned the event really well, and we had door gifts and games like a proper D&D. The door gifts were chocolates that came along with a little Singapore flag, it was a lovely welcome gift. After a few rounds of the buffet spread, we were split into 4 teams for the games. The first segment required us to guess buildings/places in Singapore, just by seeing maybe one-twentieth of the entire picture. Places that popped up included the new Supreme Court (I thought it was the revolving restaurant near the Esplanade), Sheares Bridge and Clifford Pier. The next segment involved questions that were uniquely Singaporean. Once again, I lauded the organisers' efforts at making the event a Singaporean affair. It was great fun answering questions like "Who's Ah Lian's boyfriend (Ah Beng)? Who's her best friend (Ah Huay)", "What's the story behind the Merlion (the creation by STB)", and the cover charge to Zouk (I got this one correct!)". The games section ended with a slide show of all things Singaporean. Not surprisingly, food featured prominently, and I gazed longingly for all the food I didn't realise I missed - mee pok dry, Hainanese chicken rice, laksa...

There was a birthday cake too, and instead of singing the Happy Birthday song, we sang "Majullah Singapura"! The candles nearly burnt to the end, and the organisers looked distressed at the ruined cake with all the candle wax, but honestly it was the high point of the event as we concluded the last notes of "Majullah, Singapura". I met tons of people that I would love to go out with sometime, and added alot of namecards to my collection (I laugh when people ask for my namecard, I tell them that unskilled labour don't require namecards).

We finally departed at about 11pm, with me feeling happier than I have in a long while. Happy 41st Birthday, Singapore.

I wrote him a card. My cards are not always declarations of undying love, more often than not they are excuses to give him a good piece of my mind, disguised in a pink frilly envelope. I accused, berated, complained, dissed, elucidated, (give me more time and I'd come up with a verb for every letter of the alphabet), and made my Elgin a very miserable boy that night.

That's essentially the problem I'm grappling with: that he's still a boy. I must have posted before about his theory of deferred responsibility, an issue that I was sure would go away as he got older. Unfortunately, while he certainly grew older, not much can be said for growing wiser. Daddy's kinder, he thinks that Elgin is just taking the process of growing up at his own pace. Methinks he needs to do some serious damage control soon, before I find the rich oil sheikh that I threatened him with.

Hence the card. It was harsh, bordering on vindictive. But every word was heartfelt, every accusation the culmination of 3 years of pleading gone unheeded. True to his ability to determine precisely when he's pushed his luck far enough, the sweet thing rushed out the next day and bought the webcam and mic that he was supposed to get more than a month ago. I saw him for the first time in almost 3 months - the feeling was indescribable.

Mum used to tell me that a beast that moves only when whipped is worthless, the beast has to want to move of his own accord to be of any use. (The exact context of this lovely analogy was for me to embrace the pile of exam papers that awaited me everyday, rather than having Daddy and Mummy forcing me to complete the exam papers so that I could fare better during exams) I related the moral of the story to Elgin, in hope he understands that I don't want to wield the whip and prod him along every step of his way.

I wonder if anything is going to change this time?

I came across this article in a magazine one night, and it had me in stitches. I'm really sorry I can't provide credits, didn't get to see the author's name at all. But thank you dude.

WORLD CUP RULES [for wives]
Just as most of our female partners are thanking themselves that they got through another football season, the World Cup arrives. The exact timing doesn't depend on the Moon and it only happens once every four years, but it can be a very spiritual experience with almost compulsory attendance for football fans. Even the less fanatical become ardent followers, armchair experts during World Cup month.
It is a wise woman that accepts the bare facts that their partner will probably ignore them for almost four weeks or prefer to get together with male friends. Strange things happen with recently formed couples, like she devotedly watches the games by her partner's side but believe me those innocent, encouraging comments can drive a man insane. My girlfriend loves the phrase "Nevermind, the ball is round." No Comment.
For those of you lucky enough to have a partner that enjoys the game (& understands it as much as you), continue on the next page. For the rest of us, giving her a copy of the following rules sent in by an annoymous reader could save you a lot of grief!

1. During World Cup month, you should read the sports section of the newspaper so that you are aware of what is going on regarding the World Cup, and that way you will be able to join in the conversations. If you fail to do this, then you will be totally ignored. DO NOT complain about not receiving any attention.

2. During the World Cup, the television is mine, at all times, without any exceptions. If you even take a glimpse of the remote control, you will lose it (your eye).

3. If you have to pass by in front of the TV during a game, I don't mind, as long as you do it crawling on the floor and without any distractions. If you decide to stand nude in front of the TV, make sure you put your clothes on right after because if you catch a cold, I won't have the time to take you to the doctor or look after you during the World Cup month.

4. During the games I will be blind, deaf and mute, unless I require a refill of my drink or something to eat. You are out of your mind if you expect me to listen to you, answer the telephone, or pick up the baby that just fell on the floor...It won't happen.

5. It would be a good idea for you to keep at least 2 six-packs in the fridge at all times, as well as plenty of things to nibble on, and please do not make any funny faces at my friends when they come over to watch the games. In return, you will be allowed to use the TV between 12am and 6am, unless they replay a good game that I missed during the day.

6. Please, please, please!! If you see me upset because one of my teams is losing, DO NOT say "get over it, it's just a team/only a game", or "don't worry, they'll win next time". If you say these things, you will only make me more upset and I will love you less. Remember, you will never ever know more about football than me and your so called "words of encouragement" will only lead to a break up or divorce.

7. Make sure you know which colour your partner's team is playing in, as a cheer when the other team scores a goal can be disastrous.

8. You are welcome to sit with me to watch one game and you can talk to me during halftime but only when the commercials are on, and only if the half time scores is pleasing me. In addition, please note I am saying "one" game; hence do not use the World Cup as a nice cheesy excuse to "spend time together".

9. The replays of the goals are very important. I don't care if I have seen them or I haven't seen them, I want to see them again. Many times.

10. Tell your friends not to have babies, or any other child related gatherings that requires my attendance because I will not go, I will not go, and I will not go.

11. However, if a friend of mine invites me to his house on a Sunday to watch a game, I will be there in a flash.

12. The daily World Cup highlights show on TV every night is just as important as the games themselves. Do not even think about saying "but you have already seen this, why don't you change the channel to something we can all watch?" because the reply will be "Refer to Rule 2 of this list."

13. And finally, please save your expressions such as "Thank God the World Cup is only every 4 years". I am immune to these words, because after this comes the pre-season games. The Premier League, La Liga, FA Cup and the Champions League.

I promise not to report sick anytime soon, please please give me a flight :s

I lost my voice after my Athens flight (my very first one), and reported sick for 10 June. I was given 3 days standby 11-13 June, without being called up. 14 June was non-ops (similar to standby, only you can choose not to be contacted if you're not interested in working that day) and I wasn't called up, 15-16 June were my off days, 17-19 June standby again. In all I have 10 days of doing nothing, and today being the 9th day: I'm bored Shitless!! In my free time, I can't help but fret about how little hours I'm clocking (we need to clock 100 hours before getting trained on the other aircrafts), and how little money I'll be getting next month. So going to eat grass.

I've been trying to explain how Bahrain is to a number of friends. I started by saying that it's the Land of Nothingness (to quote Khai, a Singaporean who's been here for 2 yrs) - no public transport, no libraries, no public swimming pools, no decent malls (they are all 2 storeys max, what to shop!), no hawker centres, you get the idea. Later I changed my mind, declaring that Bahrain is the Land of extremes: extreme boredom sets in our daily lives, but when we do something out of the ordinary, it is truly extraordinary. My visit to the Al-Fateh mosque, for example, allowed me to don the abaya:

Or, to go quading. Quading is basically going through the muck and mud of the desert on 4-wheel bikes. It's an experience in itself, something that should not be repeated unless terminally insane:

There's nothing wrong with my camera, you're meant to get dusty, muddy and yucky.

Need to wait a few more paychecks before I start diving lessons. So that I can go pearl diving, if there're any left at all.

I stayed up til 3am last night so that I could wish Mummy Selamat Hari Ibu bright and early on Mother's day. She sounded startled to hear my voice, and thanked me rather formally for calling. That's the way it is with my family, a quaint formality that exists even though we communicate perfectly normally (even affectionately, of late) in person. She shooed me off the phone after just 2 mins, when I told her that the SIM card topup I made of SGD84 will give me barely 1 hour of talktime for calls back to Singapore. I therefore took the plunge and joined the ranks of Bangladeshi workers by buying an International Calling Card, the kind widely hawked in Orchard Road. I'm officially a lowly-paid worker in a foreign land! The calling card gave me 11 mins for SGD4.20, all of which was busted on a second call to Mummy.

I just completed a 3-day intensive First Aid course under the watchful eye of the Lebanese instructor, Najwa. She has a no-nonsense air about her, the kind of teacher you don't want to mess with. A self-confessed perfectionist, she demands 100% accuracy of us because as she puts it 'in first aid, the margin of error separates life from death'. She puts the fear of God in every one of us with a purse of her lips, a narrowing of the eyes, a quick "la" (no in Arabic) accompanied by a sharp toss of her head, a firm tsk - we all studied harder than we've ever done before, just to escape her disapproving stare.

Me, I love her to bits, simply because she reminds me of Mummy. I remember being scared of her when I saw Mummy conducting her lessons in the past, her acerbic tongue lashing out at any sign of tardiness. Weaker students love to hate her, "because Mrs Sia very fierce". Regular students were in awe/fear of her as well, which suited her fine as long as her image induced a timely submission of homework. Not being popular never bothered Mummy; she just wanted to fulfill her duty as an educator. Occasionally, I bump into people who used to be taught by Mummy, and they tell me that they learnt the most under her tutelage because she pushed them to their limits.

Like her students, I did not appreciate her role in my life until I was much older. For the better part of my growing years, Mummy was a scary person who always had an exam paper on hand to take away 2 hours of my playtime. She was always stern and unsmiling, which often led me to wonder why I couldn't have a mum that knew how to have fun. I now know that the surly facade is the manifestation of a grim determination to juggle teaching, exam paper-marking, housework, and bringing up 3 kids when she was barely more than a kid herself.

Because I come from the same family, and am subjected to the same quaint formality, I'm unable to tell her in person what I want her to know: I'm proud to have a mother like you, Mummy. Happy Mother's Day.

Thanks to Colleen's boyfriend (and no thanks to mine), we are able to surf the net illegally via the proxy addresses that he provided us with. However, the tricky bit is that it only allows certain websites. For example, I am not able to check my school and gmail account, but am free to spend as much time on Friendster, Multiply and Blogger.

It's getting late, and I still have homework to do. I just want to refer you to Colleen's website, complicatingme.blogspot.com. She is the one who's more conscientious about updating her blog, so the more up-to-date photos will be from her I guess.

All's fine in Bahrain, more later.

Centre: the anticipation before arriving, all smiles
Clockwise from top left:
a) My luggage, all 95kg of it
b) Bahrain International Circuit, where the Bahrain Grand Prix is held
c) Studying hard for our upcoming first test
d) Random pic in the training centre
e) Everyday must take picture, narcissists all
f) The logo in our classroom
g) Colleen waiting in the Ladies' Waiting Area
h) The other Singaporeans

A couple of days ago, I visited Changi Village for the first time in about 2 years. Nothing much has changed; the famous Nasi Lemak was still as famous, the queue as long as I remembered.

A curious looking object landed on the table. Does it not look like one of those artfully packaged sanitary pad, in it's individual sachet or whatever it's called?!

I had a good laugh about it, but it was only....

A modern-day ketupat!! Nothing against the satay stall, because very delicious satays were served up. The ketupat, on the other hand, took some getting used to. Idly, I wondered if bahzangs of the future will be plastic-wrapped as well. Did the previous generation feel as scandalised when their favourite snacks ended up in the generic transparent plastic carrier, instead of pandan leaves or paper carriers favoured in the past?

****

Unable to maintain the necessary self-control for my diet, I went for a late-night snack with Ren and Elgin at Simpang. Zani's masterpiece:

Pretty eh?

I sought somebody I could take care of. I suppose I'm used to taking care of things, being the oldest of 3 siblings. I wanted to take care of him, and he was happy to be taken care of. Just as in the beautician's analogy, I can't blame him for getting used to it because I allowed the relationship to head this way.

I can't stand myself for forming expectations of him, which he is ill-equipped to live up to anyway. He's never had to take care of anything in his life, why should he be expected to know how to look after me? It was foolish pride on my part, to believe that I'm strong enough for the both of us, that I'd always be able to take care of myself, and him.

Who will take care of me?

In between inflicting excruciating pain by the means of a 2-hour facial session, my beautician shared her views on the cause of the modern dysfunctional family unit.

"You modern girls, everything is about equality. You insist on paying your way for everything, to show men that you can support yourself. The problem with this is the moment your marriage shows signs of breaking down, there is little to prevent you from going separate ways. You take your half, he takes his half - your divorce probably takes half the time you took to prepare for marriage.

"When I got married, it was a different thing. In the past, the man has to prove his worth, he has to show the woman and her family that he is capable of taking care and providing for his wife. When my husband married me, he bought me this house; he also stipulated how much money he will give me each month. In this way, even if he entertains thoughts of infidelity, he will have to take into consideration the investment he has made in me.

"Nowadays both the husband and wife hold jobs, and being the proud being she is the woman will decline 'household allowance' from her husband. Without having to provide for their wives, what good are husbands? There is no sense of responsibility towards their wives, and you can't blame men because women cultivated such behaviour. Then when the baby comes, the wife leaves her job, and her husband may or may not give her money because he has become accustomed to not giving her an allowance. The woman will feel resentful at having to grovel, the man will feel the pinch acutely because instead of feeding 1, he now has to feed 3."

1 for feminism, 0 for marriage.

Of my inability to control my anger, whether directed at him, myself or otherwise. I fly into rages at the smallest things, over things that I sometimes don't have control over. I just can't help getting all upset, and end up not talking for hours.

Of my nagging about his studies. He who wants to venture into finance. As if finance is not something that mere mortals have to actually study to understand the subject matter.

Of how I always am upset about something he's done. Only that in this case, it is something that he did not do. He did not come around when he said he would, and much as I hoped that he was busy studying because his exams are really, literally, freakin round-the-corner, he is reading and downloading comics. Why do I even bother?

All have not been well.

I've been such a catty, conniving bitch (in ways vastly different from BB) that I can scarcely recognise myself. In fact, I'm getting mightily tired of myself, of the mean and spiteful thoughts that have been going through my mind particularly often of late.

This has to do with the fact that for the most recent SQ recruitment (the walk-in one), of the girls who passed the first 2 stages to go on to the kebaya round, every single girl I know that attended the kebaya round passed it.

Excluding me. Of course.

Firstly, K is on her way to becoming a SQ stewardess, as Elgin cheerfully announced about 1 hour ago. "Starting training next Monday," he chirped. I wonder what kind of bitch it makes me, to alternate between wondering how on earth she made it while I didn't, and sinking into despair at the fact that she has once again bested me. Elgin liked her first, after all. And now she's going to be what I've aspired to be for so long. Fuck. Elgin tells me "Why do you want SIA, when you already have the best thing in the world? There are so many SQ stewardesses, but you're the only girl who's my girlfriend." I hate to point out the fallacy, but it's called missing the point. I haven't the heart to tell him that though, so I smile weakly, then continue to cry.

Secondly, the girl at work. Just as when I saw K at the walk-in interview, I thought to myself "this kind also join!" when I heard that she attended the walk-in too. She came over to my workstation a couple of days ago, to congratulate me on joining Gulf Air.

"Congratulations, Gulf Air, is it?" Knowing smile

Refusing to take the bait "Yes, it's Gulf Air. Anyway, I'm just
glad to be out of this place!" Silence

Forced to take the initiative "I'm also on the way to...you know,
going into that line. Just on the way." Knowing smile widens

"Oh, is it with a foreign airline, or with SQ?" innocently

"It's with SQ" bashfully

"Don't worry, once you get pass the sarong kebaya round, it's more or less
confirmed." subtext unspoken, vindictively

"Oh, I passed that already"

Recovering the best I could "Well, then you're well on the way!
Congratulations!" over-cheerfully, artfully, resentfully

The third person is a friend who was accepted by Gulf Air too. The malevolence I felt wasn't as staggering in this case, probably because she's tried as hard for as many different airlines as I have. Still, it compounded the matter, and propelled me further into the murky depths of my depression as I saw girl after girl breezing pass the round that I've failed 3 times.

I wish I were nicer, more generous, more capable of kind thoughts. I wish I could genuinely wish everybody well, since I have a confirmed job as cabin crew somewhere in the near/distant future (as Elgin reminds me about 20 times a day, in response to my constant moans and rants). I wish I have a bigger heart, to acknowledge that they, like me, are pursuing their dreams, just that mine is taking me to a further place. I wish I can congratulate myself on daring to follow my dreams, wherever it may take me.

I wish I passed the bloody kebaya round.

I received a call today from a pompous vile creature who will henceforth be known as Bloody Bitch. I don't normally bitch about work online, because I'm aware of the consequences involved. But I'm quitting. And the Bloody Bitch really tested the limits of my endurance. And I don't have anybody to bitch to. And it's been a long day.

Because of the sensitive nature of the industry, we need to perform 2 levels of verification when customers call. The first is basic information eg Full Name, NRIC, Date of Birth, etc. The second is more personel information, involving questions that rightfully only the person in question should be able to answer. The catch is, volunteered information cannot be considered part of the verification!! WTF!!

So, I was going through the motions.

Me: "May I have your full name, madam?"

BB: "Bloody Bitch"

Me (seeing her full name noted as BITCH Chee Bye Bloody" in my
records): "Mam, may I have your full name as in your NRIC?"

BB: "I'm telling you my name as how I want to be known as, what the hell do you want?"

Me: "Alright, may I check what's your date of birth?"

BB: "10 Mar" (Without the year, bloody not accepted)

Me: "How about your mailing address as per our records?"

BB: "10 Ali Baba Road" (No unit number, no postal code, cannot pass)

So I gave up, and proceeded to the second level of verification. After giving me 1 correct answer, she refused to answer any further questions, even when I explained that this is in her interest, so that no unauthorised personnel can have access to her records. Bloody Bitch started getting abusive, telling me that I'm really stupid, even for a customer service officer. She told me that what she wanted to know is very simple, and I've already asked her enough questions. I informed that we have a responsibility to our customers to protect their information, and that I'd not be able to assist her if she doesn't pass the verification.

She started to go on about how stupid I am, how she doesn't want to hear my voice, and that she wants a manager to speak to her immediately. Managers in general are not fond of taking rubbish escalations as such, because there's nothing they can do about this anyway. The Duty Manager turned me down twice, before I got another manager to take her call. Not that I'm blaming the Duty Manager, he had enough on his plate without handling as unreasonable an escalation as such.

BB: "Are you so stupid that you don't understand English? I want to speak to a manager. I don't want to listen to you anymore, you're making me very angry"

When the manager who took her call got me to come to the line to apologise, I did as I was told, only to have Bloody Bitch screaming further.

"DON'T TELL ME SORRY, YOU'RE NOT SORRY AT ALL. YOU'RE STUPID BEYOND BELIEF, AND I'M GOING TO COMPLAIN TO YOUR DIRECT MANAGER"

Do you suppose she's a bored desperate housewife who has nothing better to do with her time? Or maybe an uncouth illterate unreasonable person who has no understanding of the need to protect customers' privacy? Bloody Bitch is a sodding Assistant Professor from NTU. Can you imagine her giving a lecture to a lecture room full of dozing students, and in the next hour calling customer service officers to vent her frustration?

Perhaps she was born with a defective gene that requires her to disregard a fellow human being's sense of self-worth. Possibly (hopefully!) she gets the verbal abuse from her students all the time, so that she needs to yell at somebody to even things out. Anyhow, after typing this duper entry, the urge to call her office from a public phone and scream obscenities at her has subsided. But I'm not going to forget her name in a hurry. Bloody Bitch.

I gave a packet of chocolates to Zani, my favourite prata bomb maker, last night. It was all very awkward; I wished I'd gotten a more appropriate gift (cigs, say), and he looked like he wished I didn't single him out so much. I suppose his colleagues will tease him mercilessly for having an admirer, or maybe he's just plain shy.

He likes me, I really think he does. He brings me prata bomb without me having to order, and the curry he brings is filled with fish bits (so says Cin). Once, he served a prata bomb made by somebody else, and when I expressed disappointment that it was not made by him he actually went back and specially made another one for me. It must have started with me going directly to him to declare that I'd only eat prata bomb if it's made by him. In turn, he treats me like a special customer. And therefore I brought him the chocs.

I like the whole business of showing kindness to each other. It makes me feel good about myself, but more importantly it reminds me the reciprocal nature of human decency. I like to think that I made a difference in Zani's life because I went to him and praised his prata making skills. I am embarassed but secretly pleased by his superb service whenever I come around. It keeps my hopes alive, that one day I'd be genuinely appreciated at work by my bloody customers. Maybe one of them will bring me a packet of chocolates.

So, I flunked the kebaya round again, the third time now. Fewer people are pointing out the fact that Kym Ng took 8 tries to become an SQ stewardess. And I'm thankful to them for not mindlessly telling me to 'try again, it's ok, must persevere!'. Logically I shouldn't let an interview as superficial as the uniform fit get to me, but it really takes a toll on my sense of self-worth each time I leave the waiting room full of ecstatic girls not knowing what's wrong with me.

Only this time it was a little worse flunking out, because a primary school friend K made it through. She happens to be Elgin's crush during JC, for the longest time. I'm a total bitch, but when I saw her at the walk-in interview I never imagined she might make it to the kebaya round, let alone pass it on her first try. When I told Elgin that I met K at the walk-in interview, he too expressed his surprise that K would try out for the position. I suppose she just didn't fit into the stereotype of stewardess-wannabes. Which is good, come to think of it *glum*.

Of course I had to give Elgin hell for this.

"I tell you I (in a fairly hysterical, screechy manner), if K gets into SQ, I'm going to stay in Bahrain, marry a rich old oil sheikh and never come back."

"Why don't you dump me for K, I think a SQ stewardess girlfriend would be a great improvement from one that cannot get into SQ after three tries."

"There must be something wrong with the way I look, is that why you liked K back in JC and me only later?!?!"

Poor Elgin had to put up with my caustic comments the entire night. He was super sweet about it, mumuring "so vindictive leh, you" under his breath only when he thought I couldn't hear him over my rantings. I am grateful to him for his easy-going ways, it's just that I don't express it very often or very well.

It's going to be interviews galore this weekend, Emirates on Sat and Qatar on Sun. I'm on a ball!

When we were younger, almost everything we did was to rebel against our parents' authority. That was the case for me, at least. Now that I'm older and wiser, the one thing I want more than anything else in the world is my parents' approval. I want them to be proud of me.

Casually, I told Dad that I've submitted my resignation with Current Company. There was a long pause, too long. "Difficult customers, huh?" Dad struggled to say. Once, about a month ago, I came home and launched a tirade against stupid customers, and I was surprised that Dad remembered. I told him that I was too excited about my new job, so that even if they have not informed me when I would be expected to start, I can no longer concentrate and perform my duties to my own satisfaction at my current job.

A longer pause, this time accompanied by a look of incomprehension. I winced inwardly as I watched Dad trying to grasp what I said. Back in the good old days, a job was a means of providing for his family, for him to put food on the table for his wife and 3 screaming brats. There was no issue with whether he enjoyed the job, or if it was providing him with sufficient job satisfaction. It was a necessity. On his part, I've never heard him complain about the round-the-clock shift hours; nor have I ever seen him taking MCs except when he is ill. Job satisfaction came in his paycheck, not an abstract concept to be bantered around.

I like to think that I've lasted so long in Current Company because Dad was my inspiration. "If Dad can work shift hours for 30 years without complaining, so can I." Recently, I've come to realise that I'm not as good as my parents are. I cannot stay at the job out of responsibility of providing for myself, I am unable to find job satisfaction where there is none to keep myself going.