Sing-along with JM

I knew that Mraz would be good and he would be entertaining and I was not disappointed. I was impressed by how he really sounded better live and was glad that it wasn't hype. Still, I felt something was not quite right, somewhere. And now, I realised it: he hit all the right notes and made no false moves--he was too polished. He had everything down pat. It's weird. I wish he made some boo-boos. Or am I asking too much? But still, he rocks my world! :)

I heart quiet, that is all

I hadn't meant to abandon my blog for so long. But it has been pretty tough going at work and I haven't been feeling too inspired of late--I don't know why--it makes blogging hard.

2 recent events had thrown me into close proximity with my extended family and relatives: my grandmother's passing away and the CNY. It was a lethagic experience, the strange combination of not being able to connect with them on any meaningful level and yet be surrounded by their constant action and noisy chatter. Of being in with them and yet out of it.

I remember watching by the sidelines with my eldest sister with bemusement and marvelling at their initiative (or what my sister terms it--I prefer calling it kan-cheongness) and this herd instinct to surge towards whatever needs to be done at the wake. Idleness is a cannot in my father's family.

At the end, all of them were busy pulling down the numerous quilts that were sent with condolences by the family's friends and business associates and industriously cutting out the letterings sewn onto them. The 2 of us quietly agreed that we were redundant and should just leave them to do the work, and be the lazy bums around there.

It was later that we were told they were all actually staking their claims on the quilts that they had been eyeing during the wake. There was even some "tug-and-pull" going on.

The experience just reinforced what I know about myself, that I still like peace and quiet best of all. I love the company of my family and close friends and would be unhappy without them, but I can never hope to be a social butterfly, fluttering on the winds of small talk and clever jokes.

"And everything is fine."

"I’m not the person you want to meet. The music is. And the music is alive in you as much as it is in me. We created it together. Therefore, you already know me. We’ve already hugged and kissed. We grew close for a moment and then said our goodbyes. "

This is the most heartfelt, honest thing I've read in a while, shorn of any conceit or self-satisfaction. I may sound like a besotted fan but I'm not and I just want to say thank you for the music. You go, Mraz!

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?