A weekend in Paradise
This is the bleak rainy view from the hotel balcony where I spent the weekend. The photo does not do it justice, for I can only describe the rain as torrential. The voice on the radio announced that it was the rainiest weekend in an entire century, and many places were completely flooded. Surely they do not exaggerate. Alas, this is my world, where bad weather karma follows me around faithfully like a wet dog. I lingered on the thought that I must truly be cursed, as I observed the puddles starting to form dark stains on the carpet. I was in the Sunshine State, and no one was more aware of the irony than I. Nevertheless, I have grown quite used to this weather trickery, and dutifully informed the companion that we were going to have a good time despite the rain. Armed with my trusty umbrella, we trooped off to admire the rays and the sharks in not-so-sunshiny Seaworld. We went on the rides. We watched the dolphin shows. We took photos of the pelicans. We even went to the beach in the rain. Afterwards we pub-crawled our way through Surfers Paradise, watching the water rush past our shoes as we nibbled on tapas and got drunk on wine. The rain continued for 2 whole days. The best part – the sun shone fiercely the day we departed.
After a hard day
I love looking at all those junk mail flyers promoting white good and electronics from JB Hi-fi, Bing Lee, Good Guys, Harvey Norman. In a weird twisted way, surveying the rows of fridges, ovens and microwaves I will never own, which would exist only in the kitchen I will never have, is kind of relaxing. Even reading all the various features of a washing machine, checking what the WELS rating is, how much it spins per minute, has become part of my down-time routine at home after work. Also, my favourite page is the appliance page. Wow, look at that nice shiny coffee machine. If only I liked coffee, I could have me one of those machines. What about a citrus juicer? I bet I will be drinking my fair of orange juice, if only I had a juicer. And you know what I really need? A bagless vacuum cleaner. Those chips from last weekend’s get-together are beginning to settle into the carpet. Maybe I could steam mop them away. Oh wait! You know what’s really cool? An air multiplier.
Going backwards
Giving someone the only spare set of keys to your house is the ultimate act of trust from one human being to another. Possessing the keys to someone’s home also means possessing the keys to someone’s heart. The spare-key person is your in-case-of-emergency-number, your go-to person if you accidentally lock yourself out or if things simply go wrong at home. Knowing that someone else has the keys instantly gives you a feeling of comfort that you don’t always have to be alone, and that there’s always one person you can rely on. Or that maybe, the spare-key person might surprise you at home with their presence (or a nice cooked dinner!) when you least expect it.
Due to unfortunate circumstances, in recent times this spare-key priviledge had been used more than once to threaten me. The intentions were malicious and hurtful, and I have had no choice but to take them back. So these days I have to triple check that I have my keys before slamming the door shut, and come home woefully to an empty apartment everyday. In fact I have become so used to it that I can go for days without having any human interaction. I fear I am becoming hermit-like and reclusive.
Location unknown
Sometime this week I need to book hotel accommodation. This is because I am flying off to the Gold Coast with the companion in exactly 5 days from today. 10 years I have been in this country and I have never stepped foot that far north of Australia or been to Sea World. So a few months ago when a ridiculously dirt cheap airfare came around, I somehow convinced the companion to buy us those tickets.
Anyway, back to accommodation. So, it is kind of last minute booking, so where else to look but the Last Minute website. The prices advertised there are maliciously deceiving. There are many hotels for a ‘low rate’ of less than $100 but when one clicks to obtain more information, one finds out a stay needs to be a week or more in order for that price to be valid. However, an interesting feature about this website is that it also promotes ‘Secret Hotels’ for the same low rate as the other mediocre ones, which basically means you book and pay for a hotel before its name and location are revealed. The hotel will be 4 to 5 stars though.
Before I continue let me point out that I do not like NOT knowing where I am staying when booking hotels. I’m the kind of person who judges the quality of a hotel by the photo gallery on their website. I mean, if I am going to pay so much money to stay in a hotel, I just need to know this information. Are their rooms professionally decorated? Is their reception lobby spacious and inviting? Most importantly, do they have hairdryers in their rooms? All vital requirements.
I am tempted though, to try a Secret Hotel. Yeah, what the hell, live on the edge a bit. Will I get a gem or a dud? I guess I will find out this weekend.
Big Day Out
The clock at Central showed 2pm, and the plan was to get to Sydney Olympic Park at 2:30pm to catch the first act we wanted to see. It was a band that I didn’t know, but hell, I didn’t care. With an excess of energy and excitement, I wisely took the day off work and slept in past 9am. I knew it would be a good move. Armed with the essentials – tank top, shorts, covered shoes and of course the lovely companion, I attended my very first Big Day Out here in Sydney.
Temperatures soared. It must be at least 35 degrees. We sweltered but rejoiced in the sunshine thinking about our poor colleagues who were working meaninglessly at that moment. We wandered around aimlessly looking for sunscreen and beer. Sunscreen was eventually found in a poorly indicated area, and obviously beer found us. At $7 a pop, beer was everywhere. Looking for the strange green tag to put on our wrists to indicate we were above 18, did take a while. It was Friday. Everyone looked about 12. I guess that included us.
Call me a girl, but I squealed like one at Powderfinger and Eskimo Joe. My eardrums were almost lost where the companion dragged me to Fear Factory. I did not understand metal, but amused myself by observing the head-bangers around me. One guy slapped me with his dreadlocks. I forgave him. It is metal. The companion has tried to explain, but my brains did not want to listen. Me and metal, shall forever lead separate lives, and that’s ok. I saw bands I never really knew, but raved about by others, though I found myself not disliking Mars Volta and Muse.
The verdict – a good Big Day Out. This has prepared me for the next music festival we are going to in March. I realize I am having too much fun. I do not want to go to work. I do not want to wake up at 7am on weekdays. I do not want to think about doors and windows and staircases. I want to go to music festivals and the beach every day. Can someone tell me how? At least until summer’s over.
Nostalgia
I have found an amusing email rant I wrote some 10 years ago, while I was still living in Malaysia:
Dear Me, Queky, Big Boss, Senile-Old-Dino, Hantu, Cacats, Futtuteirus, Suvs, Ahteks, Weng, Kitt, Fooks, Changyen, & Kaipohsan,
limbo (lim/bo), m.,pl. 1. a place or state of oblivion to which persons or things are regarded as being relegated when cast aside, forgotten, past, or out of date. 2. intermediate inactive or neglected state.
The other meaning of it focuses within a region on the border of hell or heaven, but I thought ‘intermediate inactive or neglected state’ seemed more appropriate. Since everyone seems to have crawled into their lil hole of obscurity once again, there’s nothing like some absolute bitchin’ to kickstart the upcoming new month of June.
Seems to me that everyone who is currently in the working world really has gone to a place of oblivion – make that ALMOST everyone, unlike us, G is obviously working hard at pouring his little heart out. Not sharing his enthusiasm, I start my complaining.
First, I work at a crap place. When I step out of my car every morning, I walk through a barren land of filth and used condoms on the uneven surface of the dusty ground. I walk past the corner restaurant, trying not to fall into the grime-filled drain clogged with puke-coloured food ‘pieces and stuff’. I also try not to bump into the friendly neighbourhood madman, who occasionally sits in his wheelchair in the middle of the road waving his hands about and cursing innocent passers-by like myself. Most of all, I try not to get run down by big scary-ass buses who whiz by inches in front of me, forgetting that human life is rampant in that area.
A few doors away from the disease-ridden food stalls (the LOOK disease-ridden), I reach the clinic door, trying not to brush against the red blood-stained white tiled walls, which by now, is a brownish colour. We have to walk through the clinic, because although we have our own door, a group of drug addicts getting their daily fix doesn’t seem very professionally appropriate for anyone who is looking around for an architect’s office. So, our real entrance is locked, sealed and obsolete while we saunter upstairs through the clinic. But of course, we love the nurses downstairs because they occasionally feed us.
Once upstairs, I see our familiar haven’t-been-cleaned-in-ages carpet tiles and I plop my stuff down on the table, dreading the rest of the day, dreading to go to the bathroom through this scary-ass long corridor, dreading to look down the corridor which overlooks this scary-ass burnt-down building which has this scary-ass window with a creepy-looking aloe vera plant plonked in between ragged curtains and broken shutters. I would provide a more detailed story of ‘The Bathroom Light Which Suddenly Came On’, but I shall save the rest (tranvestites and all that) for another day.
Second, although being in this line surrounds me with men 90% of the time, unfortunately half of that come in the form of slimy-looking old pot-bellied contractors or nerdy-looking suppliers. The rest look like Phua Chu Kang.
Last, my mind has been feeling at a limbo. That’s my excuse for not writing. Is everyone else in limbo too? Ok, not so quiet anymore. I crawl back now.
Steph
Interestingly, as I read through that email, all the memories of my first job came flooding back to me, and it appears I have not lost any of my charming whinging qualities. Also, I seemed to like the word ’scary-ass’ very much. I am ace.
Taipei lessons
I’m back, world! From the non-internet friendly depths of Taipei. In case anyone is wondering what I was doing there, some of you may remember that I had a wedding to attend in Malaysia. More on that in the next week or so, but going to Taipei whilst stopping in Malaysia for a couple of days seemed like a good idea at the time. Why do all such bad ideas seemed like such good ideas at the time? I shall have to write a whole separate post on that issue at some stage. Anyway, lessons learnt during my short 5-day stay, which I wish I had known much earlier. It would probably have prevented me from going there.
1. Develop good aim.
Yes, I am talking about the potty. The abundance of very small and narrow hole-in-the-ground type loos in public places mean that if you REALLY need to go, aiming well should be a strong point. Or risk pee-ing all over yourself. Worse, stepping on someone else’s pee. Er, I’m not saying I did any of the former. Otherwise, it would be wise to wait for a ‘normal’ toilet.
2. Develop bad manners.
You’ll fit right in. People do not say excuse me, sorry, or smile. If you are in their way, they will push right through you. They also do not like being asked directions, as the majority of them do not seem to know much about their own city. Also, friendliness does NOT seem to be a virtue here. DO NOT SPEAK TO BUS DRIVERS.
3. Speak Chinese.
With bad signage and directions everywhere, it is just best to learn Chinese. I wish I had continued those damn lessons I took when I was 10, but all I remembered from Chinese lessons was learning how to sing ‘Fat Pig’. Great lot of help that was. Luckily, I brought my mum with me, who did speak the language.
4. Learn to love eating dumplings.
Because that’s just about everywhere. There ain’t much else that’s tastier to eat. There are also soups and tofu-type food, and noodles, but that’s it. So, dumplings for a few days.
5. Take the taxi.
They are the best I have ever seen. Honest, fast, and they even charge less if they accidentally take the wrong route.
What’s the conclusion? I suppose one can tell I absolutely hated it. After hardly 10 days away, I want to go home. How on earth did I manage to travel for so many months last year? Another mystery.
A year in solitude
So the new decade has begun. At a somewhat rocky start, here are some memorable statistics of the last year.
Countries travelled: 18
Starting 2009 in France, I subsequently made my way around 18 countries in the following order. France – Switzerland – Liechtenstein – Netherlands – Belgium – Germany – Czech Republic – Austria – Hungary – Sweden – Denmark – Italy – Greece – United Arab Emirates – Malaysia – Singapore – Indonesia – Australia. After an exhausting and emotional trip, I finally made my way back home to Sydney halfway through the year.
Hours worked: Around 650
I know, it doesn’t sound like a lot. After a 12-month period of unemployment and time-wasting, I rejoined the rat-race on the eve of my birthday this year in September.
Hours wasted on Facebook: 1000
Facebook is evil. Although the novelty of sticky-beaking into everyone’s lives is starting to wear off, I can’t help but spend many unproductive hours continuing to do exactly that. Remember, I don’t own a TV.
Money spent: More than $30,000
Thanks to travelling, buying a car, starting a collection of new furniture, and a seemingly endless plethora of other useless things, I appear to have an empty bank account. Good memories though.
Alcohol consumed: 300 litres (maybe)
Notably, a large portion of that came from spending time in France and the Czech Republic. A special mention also to Bali, home of deliciously delicious Bintang beer.
Other highlights include starting a business and working for myself (sort of), writing an e-book, starting a new relationship, reconnecting with old friends, and accepting the way of the world. Happy 2010, folks.
North or south?
Sometimes I absolutely hate the holiday season in Sydney. That is because that’s what it is – holiday season. You always feel compelled like you need to go somewhere else for the holidays, just so you can join in the holiday spirit, gossip about who went where and who did what, who went to the north coast, who went to the south coast. Except in reality, I don’t celebrate Christmas, and I don’t usually go anywhere, even though going on holidays appears to be compulsory. If I had a choice I would work through Christmas and New Years, just so I could go on holidays when everyone else isn’t.
Anyway the point of this post is that it made me think about this time last year. Exactly this day last year I was in Porto, Portugal jumping on a plane to Marseille, France, where a kindly lady spontaneously invited me to spend Christmas Eve dinner with her and her family just so I would not have to spend it alone and miserable at a train station. It was the nicest thing a stranger had ever done for me. Then I promptly bid her goodbye a few hours later in order to hop on a 6 hour train to Toulouse to spend Christmas Day with someone special. That someone special took me to his parents’ house in the French countryside, and I spent a memorable dinner with them opening presents and drinking wine.
This year that someone special is spending Christmas all the way on my side of the world with me. I don’t think we are not going anywhere but I hope it will be as memorable for him here as it was for me there. For the first time I have bought someone a Christmas present. It’s fun buying presents for people. Happy holidays everyone!
A short list
Dear Santa
I know I haven’t been very good this year, but I’ve done my best with what I’ve got. Anyway do take a minute to hear my plea. I would try to be extra good next year if you could consider the following things on my list:
1. Shoes. High-heeled gold shoes, specifically. I know what you are thinking. I do not like heels. That is true. When nature created me along with all the other little girls, a liking of high-heels was forgotten. Replaced by a hatred of them. While my girlfriends gasp in shock at this revelation, this is due to the fact that I am an uncoordinated person. If I had a choice I would go barefoot if horizontal surfaces all over the world were clean and dry enough. Alternatively if society would permit I would be quite happy to wear thongs/flip-flops/slippers to work, functions, birthdays, whatever. But I have a wedding to attend in 3 weeks, a beautiful dress, and unfortunately, I cannot wear my Converse or Havianas to a fancy wedding.
2. A coffee table. Although my cardboard box has functioned exceptionally well in the last 6 months, graciously acting as a sturdy surface for many a cup of tea and plates of pasta, it is starting to look the worse for wear. Along with food and drink stains which mark its paper body forever, it also acts as a three-dimensional notepad for me, with names and numbers written on it since August. Also, I must admit, I am starting to get bored of it. I would like to hold a house-warming party next month, and I have a sinking feeling the cardboard box would finally fail its double duty as a coffee table.
3. A new liver. Ok, this might be a bit too much to ask, but really, you have to be responsible during the silly season. It is celebration of you, Santa, that all those bottles of wine and beer are consumed in the spirit of Christmas. Isn’t it reasonable that everyone should get a new liver this time of year?
4. A knack for networking. This one, I really need. It turns out that I am shithouse at networking. Or business socializing. While some naturally shmooze with the right people at the right time, I just seem to conveniently slither away from the big grins, fake handshakes, and dishing out of business cards. I do not know how to network. Please help me.
5. A TV. Yes, back to material things. As much as I love my laptop and the internets and all the other educational things I could do with my free time, I would really like to waste some of my brain-cells staring like an idiot at the idiot box. While people talk about the latest episode of Heroes or Grey’s Anatomy or Celebrity Iron Chef, I would like to contribute to these conversations. It is essential to my well-being as a functioning professional person. We all need to talk about TV shows. Now, let me assure you that I will not spend 3 hours a day with it. I promise.
Merry Christmas!
