This is how you miss a flight

If there is for me a moment that defined this Europe trip, it's of me sitting on that train to Berne and almost breaking out in a cold sweat because I have not planned the itinerary for Switzerland. Spontaneous traveller, I am not. Seeing how this trip is planned by me, I had expected it to be eventful (ie, unfortunate events) and I was quite right. The series of boo boos was quite fantastic and I hope to never travel with myself again--not that it's possible!

Of course there was the one about us missing the flight from Paris to Singapore. It was partly because I spent so much time at the shop trying to determine whether green or black is a better colour on an ipod nano. And partly because at the last minute my sisters decided they had to go to the washroom for 5 minutes so that we reached the gate 2 minutes late. It was so surreal when they refused to let us board the flight that I thought they were just trying to scare us, a "next time let's see whether you dare to dilly dally again" trick they pull on delinquent passengers. But oh no, they were not joking at all. My sisters both pleaded fiercely while I acted confused, but actually, I was confused--I thought the gate closes at 11.45pm, when it was 11.40 pm. They didn't buy it and our luggage were taken off the flight and we had to go back home, but not before they escorted us out of the transit area.

During the cab ride home my eldest sister was worried sick about my parents' reaction while me and the second sister started to laugh--our parents were always grumbling about our disregard for punctuality but this must be the ultimate in tardiness.

Another close shave happened on the day we left Paris for Berne. For some unfathomable reason I assumed that the train leaves from the station 5 minutes from our hotel. During lunch, I glanced at the tickets again and realised I got the wrong station! The actual station was 30 minutes away and so we rushed through lunch (the puzzled waiter remarked: "You eat fast, huh?") and quickly checked out of the hotel and hailed a cab.

The driver didn't understand English and seemed like a tempermental French (I was going to type "one of those tempermental French" but I actually didn't meet that many--most of them proved pleasant!). I pulled out the phrase book and pointed out the French phrase for driving faster. He read it aloud and gave a big laugh, as if amused, mumbled to himself and started driving. On the way, he saw 2 police patrol cars and decided to follow them, probably thinking that traffic would give way to them. But the police led us straight into a demonstration and for a while we were stuck and panicking quietly. But somehow, he managed to get us out of there and to the train station on time after navigating through a maze of narrow streets. We gave him a big tip which he was mighty pleased about.

The last boo boo happened in Zurich, when we checked into the hotel. The nice receptionist informed us that we had booked a room for Nov 13 when it was Oct 13. I think my sisters really wanted to kill me at that point. But if they did, they didn't say anything. Thankfully, the hotel was able to spare us a room that night.

I was so glad to be home after all the stress in Europe. But I realised things could have turned out worse if not for the help we got along the way from the nice French and Swiss, like the Paris hotel staff who let us cancel a night's reservation without any penalty because we miss our flight, no questions asked. Oh, and we enjoyed good weather too, and like that tagline from the Emirates ad "When was the last time you did something for the first time?", being in a new land, submerged in a whole new milieu, I really do feel new again.

Pizza by the pool

C had suggested that we either have dinner in town or order in some food by the pool at her condo. P and I immediately voted for the latter--it's cheap and fuss-free.

It was a great idea: the evening was cool and breezy, and because the pizza came late, primed by hunger, we tucked in with relish on the terikayi chicken pizza, tempura prawns and breaded scallops. We took off our shoes and put our legs up. I leaned back and looked up at the starless night sky. I love being out in the open like that, I told them. I even bought a book along because reading by the pool while munching on pizza seems terribly relaxing.

We talked about starting all over again. C had wanted to be a doctor since secondary school and in the end settled for psychology in university. But now she's mired in policy-making and paperwork. She recently started visiting a Chinese physician for her tiredness and was inspired to study TCM. That would take up at least 5 years of her time, but she is not overly bothered by that. She says we are still young, and now is the time to make the change.

I told her that the thought crossed my mind too, and she and P were very encouraging. You guys can become classmates again, P quipped, and we laughed. It was quite a pleasant thought.

I told them my ambition was to be a writer. I thought I would be happy working with words. I recalled to them the university days when I would stay up till 2, 3 am, glued to the computer, fueled by coffee, and churning out articles for writing classes, tired but getting a kick out of it, a kick that I've never been able to find ever since I graduated. Writing was difficult for me, but the satisfaction, so sweet.

Now I work with words everyday, and I hate it. Maybe you're working with them the wrong way. Become a fresh grad again, take a pay cut for a writing job, start all over again, they suggested.

We talked about the passion for work that had eluded all 3 of us. I've become so disillusioned that as long as I don't hate my work, as long as I can get myself out of bed in the morning for work, that's enough for me, I told them. Why did I sell myself short like that, I thought later. What would the 21-year-old me have thought of the 28-year-old that I had become?

Drifting on the roads and singing to Nashville

And so I'm now taking those long-overdue driving lessons. I tell people that I forsee difficulties because my hand-eye-brain coordination sucks, and they laugh. Like I'm joking.

Hey, guess what? I'm not! My progress has been pretty slow (and expensive), and it's safe to say that I'm not my instructor's fav student.

"Are you nervous when you're driving?", he asked one day.

"Oh yah, of course." I nodded in earnest.

"Well, I'm even more nervous that you!"

Can't say I blame him, when I have a tenderncy to turn into wrong lanes and to drift on the road, so that he is always in mortal fear that I'll hit the curb or wander into the way of other cars. And last week was tedious, because I had to go around an U-turn over and over again like a lunatic. The people at the nearby bus stop probably think we're nuts. But no choice, slow learner = repetition mah. And I handled the steering wheel so roughly that he was like, "Oi! Can you use less force? By the time we're done with your lessons, I will have to replace it!"

Ah, the joy of driving (the instuctor up the wall). Why did I even want to learn? I don't know, except this seems what adults are supposed to know, and it gives me a sense of independence to know that I can drive myself to anywhere, if ever there was a need.

It sounds pretty weird, but one of the thing I want to do when I get my license would be to drive my siblings to Jalan Kayu on a Saturday night for roti prata while playing Jose Rouse's Nashville. His album may have been one of my motivations for wanting to drive. It's one of my favourites, and every time I listen to it, I think to myself, "What a great album to drive to!"

During the Chinese New Year period, my eldest Jie Jie came back from Japan, and one late night, after my parents were asleep, my brother the newly minted driver snitched my father's car keys and we all sneaked out for roti prata and teh tarik. We had a good time, and the Jie Jie told me 2 weeks ago that she was still fondly recalling that night to her Japanese colleagues and how she was proud that we're all close to each other.

We were pretty indifferent to each other when we were younger, each preoccupied with our own lives, but it seems that age has drawn us somewhat closer together in recent years, even if one of us is overseas. I think that other than life, the next best gift that my parents gave me would be my numerous siblings. It is only when I grow older that I realise how they are the ones who will probably be there for me for the longest, even more so than my parents. May we grow closer and be a source of support for one another, no matter where we are. :)

Land of the sakura

Everyone I know wants to visit Japan. And no wonder, because life just seems...pleasanter over there. Everyone you meet is polite and mostly helpful, the weather doesn't leave you hot and bothered and sticky, and the food is great!! Not to mention that sakura was in full bloom the week I was there. You could see them everywhere, in the parks, by the roads, at the temples etc.

But of course, everything comes with a price. I felt like a pauper when shopping over there, always looking out for the cheap brands. But when you do get a bargain (whoohoo, 1000 yen Levi's jeans)--priceless!

And most meals there are experiences to be enjoyed. The food are usually yummy, and their restaurants and cafes tend to be small and cozy, unlike the impersonal and noisy ones in Sin8apore with lots of human traffic and staff who can't wait for you to vacant your places. I particulary enjoyed reading with my sister at her favourite cafe. We ordered tea and bread pudding, and then just sat there reading for 2 hours in the late afternoon. Anyway, I'm no good at describing food, so best to let the pictures do the talking!

No more 10:15

That's when we meet as a team every Monday morning for the dreaded meeting when we report to the boss the commissioning work we've been doing for the past week.

I hated those meetings. My boss's office has no windows, which is always a problem with the claustrophobic me. With no table to shield me, I would hug myself and tap my feet nervously. Most of all, what made those meetings dreadful was the fact that I never had very much to say. We would all sit in a row, reporting dutifully, one after another. As I waited for my turn and listened to my colleagues rattle off all that they've done, I couldn't help but feel very inadequate. When it's my turn, I would mumble and sometimes stammer my way through, and falter when pressed by my boss for further details because I forgot or didn't think of it in the first place.

No more of that now. I feel relieved, but also very, very tired.

The last time that I resigned from a job was a traumatic experience because I couldn't bear to leave. I was afraid I would cry when I handed in the resignation letter to my former boss, because she was so very nice to me. I told myself that this time it will be a clean-cut, business decision. No emotions at stake here, not when it's been only 8 months. I even boasted to a friend that quitting just gets easier. That's right, easy-peasy. No danger of crying there.

Maybe I was too eager to leave and didn't want to think too hard about the complications. Maybe quitting will never be easy. But I just wasn't prepared for the fallout.

I hope I'll never make a hasty decision about leaving a place. It actually took me weeks to finally decide on leaving. And now, in retrospection, it still seems like the best option but I know it was informed by frustration and impulsiveness, because something in me "snapped" in late January. And as a senior editor counselled, if only I had the patience to wait things out because it was going to get better (That is debatable, though).

I've certainly learned not to take leaving too easily again. The friendships and the connections that I had to cut short, the books and authors whom I had to "abandon", the copious amount of work I had to hand over during the last few days...they just totally drained me...but at least I have 3 weeks to recover.

The same senior editor told me not to regard my short stint as a failure. I wish things had ended in a good way, but at least I've learned many lessons, sometimes from mistakes, during these past few months. As a song goes, "I'll be better when I'm older".