oysters

oysters bring on a strange mix of emotions to me.

i'd viewed my first grey bizzare mollusc sitting in its shell with apprehension. wet. cold. probably still alive. appetising. yums. yeah right. i squeezed the lemon gingerly onto the glistening pulp, both it and i squirmed, i more visibly than the poor shellfish.

the first guy who ate an oyster this way was probably on a dare. or had lost a bet. most definitely drunk.

i surveyed the expectant eyes around my table. scooped up the moist morsel, popped it into my mouth and nearly gagged. the metallic taste of the oyster permeated everything else for the rest of the meal. i remained decidedly pale for the evening.

that was about 10 years ago. a guy friend once told me that the reason why he loves oysters is that it reminds him of female organs. down there? the cold grey slimy oysters? down there? not the most flattering comparison, was it? that was quite a turn-off! i'd never conceded to another oyster...

not until last weekend...

i'd spent a 4 day weekend in normandy, visiting the coastline in the north-western part of france. i took the opportunity to re-live the episodes from band of brothers, exploring the D Day landing sites along the beaches and spent some time at one of the numerous cemetery memorial and indulging in the refreshing local "apple juice".

but yes, back to les huitres the oysters...

i wasn't on a dare, neither did i lose a bet, nor was i drunk (not yet anyway). but i decided to get to the bottom of why so many of my friends love those grey moist things (other than the reason given by my guy friend that traumatised me so). i gingerly picked at an oyster with the fork. deep breath, and - hmmmmmm... wet - yes. cold - yes. actually it tasted like a beach at low tide. hmmmmm... not bad. not bad at all. visions of singing mermaids, dancing coral fishes come to mind. the sun and the lapping waves. hmmmm... actually i quite liked the taste.

the next day, i ordered my very own oyster platter. i have to admit that it is still far from my top 10 list of favourite food but i don't think i'd squirm or scrunch up my face the next time my dinner companion orders oysters.

but i still don't know about it being like a girl's down there though. honey-pot, yes. velvet-carpet, yes. but cold oysters??? i suspect that my guy friend needs to liven up his sex life!

blackberry poet

staring out to the busy harbour,
boats and tugs ply the seas in labour.

still at loss about my displaced nokia friend,
wondering where she is, upon which hand.

though she hardly sang when we came upon this distant land,
i miss her now the sweet sounds she rang.

i bid you farewell and sorry my nokia friend.

written by a friend based in hong kong, who had just lost his singapore mobile phone. he'd sent this to me on his blackberry.

wonder-girl

a few weeks ago, a dear friend was trying to convince me to consider going out with a girl. why limit my target market to only half of the population when i can have the best of both worlds?

i gave some serious thoughts to his well-meaning advice. hmmm... like most women, i enjoy checking out other girls. i find it terribly interesting to observe how women carry themselves, what they wear, how they wear it, what they say and how they say it... it's especially hilarious to see how the other people are also checking them out. i do always appreciate the better things in life, so why not?

with that in mind, i walked around paris with different eyes. instead of just checking them out, i began to appraise the women around me carefully. does she turn me on, how will it feel to hold her hand or look into her eyes, will i find her an interesting date or will she only know about make-up, manicures and diets? does she wear the same shoe size as i do, and will she wear out my killer heels? does she have sexy shoes to share with me? will she think i'm as interesting? will she go out with me? will she be angry with me if i'm held up in the office? does she expect me to walk her home or will she walk me home?

in the end, i think i drove myself half-mad with all these thoughts. women are too complicated for me, no scratch that out: i'm too complicated for other women! i think i'll just stick with men. for now.

divine intervention

i wandered into a deserted cathedral in paris.
my mobile phone's ringing reverberated off the high ceiling and stone walls.
i hurried guiltily out of the solemn cathedral and answered.

"do you want to come out for a drink tonight?"
it was him. my heart sang. yes!

divine intervention

futball

at 11.38am yestreday, i received a text message: "tonight's on! ticket is yours!" it was my friend from espn.

the event? champion's league finals last night at stade de france. yes, a football match! it's not any old football match - it's the showdown between arsenal and barcelona. i'm not that much of a football fan, but i know that i can make my brothers extremely jealous if i make it there. i get along great with my brothers, but hey, i'll never say no for a chance to needle them under the skin a little. call it middle-child syndrome if you will. this was just too good an opportunity to pass!

you can imagine my delight when my friend managed to secure a seat for me. resourceful him, lucky me, jealous brothers! perfect combination!

i got into the stadium minutes before the kick-off. i don't know what was the capacity of stade de france, but it was gigantic! and it was packed full to the brim! i could feel a slight tingling on my fingertips and tiny goosebumps on my arms from the charged excitement. my heart was pounding in time with the clapping of the fans as they chanted their team cheers and waved their team scarfs in the evening air.

the barcelona fans were to my right, forming a restless kadeidoscope of red and blue. i had seen them around paris all day: posing in front of the louvre with their team tshirts and roaming the streets chanting "barcelona" in a good-humoured rowdy way.

on my left were the arsenal fans, sitting in an orderly way in separate blocks of yellow and white. very organised. i hadn't seen many arsenal fans around town the entire day so much so that i was beginning to wonder if any had made the trip over the english channel to catch the game at all.

i wore black. and for vanity reasons, i also put on my red beach hat. it was so that my brothers back in singapore might have a higher chance of spotting me on tv. however briefly the camera may sweep by the crowds, surely, a red hat would stand a higher chance of being spotted! sibling rivalry aside, i must admit that being at the game was truly awesome, though watching football without close-ups, instant action replays or commentators did take some getting use to.

due to the fact that my espn friend and one of my brothers are avid supporters of arsenal, i was a de facto arsenal fan and was cheering along with their supporters. arsenal fan for a day!

what was the final score, you ask? 2-1, barcelona won the championship.

at the end of the 90 minutes, i realised one very important thing: it sucks when your team doesn't win. it really sucks! i am so glad that i am not a huge supporter of any team. i would be one of those football hooligans who go on an angry rampage every time my team loses. totally. and knowing me, i would probably end up supporting a really lousy team because they've got the cutest players. i've never denied being shallow... with the football world cup just around the corner, tell me, which national team has the cutest player that i should support?

zero, my hero

what is your favourite number? lucky 7? radical 13? high 5? room 101? year 2046? or is it 236,895,359,585?

mine, i've just decided, is 0.

think about it. it didn't exist in many ancient cultures. for example, there is no real symbol for it in written chinese (at least i don't think so) and it doesn't exist in roman numerals either. pretty elusive, huh? the invention of zero, is attributed to the hindu culture, with the earliest records dating back to the 9th century. so what did people do before that? they probably shrug a lot:

1-1=?

*shrug* nothing. who cares, anyway? *shrug*

in our modern culture of excesses, 0 is probably not even a very desirable situation to be in. i want everything, more more more! the absence of something is associated with negativity. to come back empty-handed. to stare vacantly, to be at a loss for words. to lose one's head/heart/mind. to feel drained.

but consider this: the shape and form of 0 is a beauty to behold. a circle with no beginning and no end, unencumbered by sharp edges. no worries no problems, no nothing. the unbearable lightness of being, just floating away... 0

next time someone asks you what is your favourite number, consider 0.

three weddings and a hat

i desperately want to attend a wedding here in europe.
why?
because i need an excuse to get a hat!

my italian friend kindly pointed out that it's more of a british thing to do to wear a hat for weddings. i don't care: i can claim my link as a commonwealth member or as a citizen of an ex-british colony. i just want to wear a hat!

of course i can go ahead and wear one anyway. but it's not really the same thing. it's like wearing a crash helmet without a motorbike, or putting on swimming goggles at the cinema. it's just not in the same spirit!

most weddings in europe take place in summer, but i have not received any invitations yet for this summer. i've started trying to persuade a few of my closer buddies here in paris to throw in the towel and tie the knot. resist no more!

first victim: my chinese friend and her french boyfriend. i'm very sure that their wedding will be a very interesting blend of east and west. of course i would have to find a hat that blends in both cultures to mark the happy occasion. it would have to be red, obviously. the chinese loves red for auspicious occasions like weddings. perhaps a discrete little hat perched at the back of my head, with a flamboyant black feather. yes, trés yves st laurent!

second victim: my italian colleague and his italian girlfriend. he was the one who kindly pointed out that an italian wedding would not necessarily involve hats, but he guaranteed that it would be a day of feasting and drinking. sounds really great to me, i'll wear a hat to add cheer to the festivities. it would have to be one of those wide-brimmed black straw hats. hmmm... piled with flamboyant flowers and possibly even fruits like grapes or berries, tastefully done. complete with huge black sunglasses. designed by dolce and gabbana, perhaps?

third victim: my french buddy and his german girlfriend. they've been together for centuries, and i think it's high time they take that final step together. and for them, a small silver hat with black netting that i can pull over my eyes! very chic, very slick. i'll have to talk to them again about this.

which hat do you think i'll have the highest chance of wearing, this year?

mews for you

the cat's mother gave birth to another litter of kittens. i spent the evening at my friend's place playing with the cats. she has 2 grown cats and 5 mewing newborn chatons kittens. one of the kittens looks exactly like my cat. i remember the first months of my cat's life when she was a fluffy ball of curiosity. don't let those cute little baby claws deceive you, they are perhaps at their most dangerous as the kittens still don't know when to retract their claws at play. and those little teeth... aieeee! they love to bite during the teething period.

my friend was trying to tempt me into adopting another kitten. i must confess that i was very very tempted, but in the end visions of me ending up as that old bitch with lots of cats frightened me enough to say a firm no. actually, i also remembered the horrific first months when i got the cat, when she would wake me up every morning at 5 by attacking my toes. after lots of training and patience and slashed toes, she now plays fetch and comes running (sometimes - cats are tempermental afterall) when i call her. the thought of doing it all over again with a rookie kitten is daunting. i guess i'm a one-cat kinda girl.

5 mewing playful kittens in the basket was really cute though...

but why do all baby animals look so extremely cute? is it because they all have this wide-eyed innocence that we no longer find in adults? is it because everything is in miniature size? (but i find baby elephants cute too!) is it because we sense their vulnerable dependance and that somehow brought out the maternal instinct in us?

ps. i'm still thinking about that cute little grey tortoiseshell who slept on my tummy as i watched tv with my friend. un petit tigre a little tiger. cute!

pps. that's me in the photo, by the way.

everybody needs a hug... sometimes

it's one of those days when nothing is wrong but yet nothing feels right.

today, i'm a picture in one of those children's colouring books, but the kid has crayoned all around outside my lines.

today, i'm a cup that is overflowing but the tap continues to run.

today, my mind is in 10 thousand places at the same time but i have no idea where these places are.

today, i am music played at the wrong speed, perhaps even backwards.

today, something is going to happen, but i just don't know what. not yet... and i shall hold my breath until then.

speed

is there a speed regulator to dating? i'm not talking about those speed dating fiascos, no, but is there a unwritten code somewhere that dictates the speed at which one should proceed on dates?

at the risk of sounding jaded, naive or out of touch with the world (however it can be interpreted), what qualifies as a date, anyway? does the guy need to pick me up from my place, buy me dinner and walk me home after? or is this a really old-fashioned concept. i don't mind if the guy doesn't pick me up - i can go places on my own or i will take a taxi if i'm wearing killer heels. pay for my dinner, yes, i think it's a nice touch especially in the beginning but i honestly don't mind treating the guy either, especially if he offers good conversation. but one big thing that i'm a huge sucker for, is walking me home. i guess that is my qualifier for a date that went well. don't you agree? i think it would be a nice ending to an enjoyable evening.

i've been on dates that happen fast, and i must admit that i like those: straightforward with no psychological games. but i also like dates that unfold slowly, over a period of time. i relish the anticipation as much as the actual date itself, or even more than the date in some cases! but what determines if it becomes a graceful waltz or a hot sweaty salsa dance? who sets the pace? what are the repercussions if you do the lambada to flamenco music? or perform a ballet to hip hop funk? what if one wants to samba while the other has two left feet?

and if you go too fast, will you get a ticket for speeding? too slow, a ticket for road hogging? tonight i wanted to a slow tango date, but somehow it felt like a never-ending yoga session. and he didn't walk me home either. hmph

where are the speed signs when i needed them?

plant killer

my plants are dead.

i had a cat-sitter coming to feed the cat when i was away. she’d somehow only focused on feeding the cat while totally ignored my pots of wilting plants scattered around the flat. there were 7 pots of thirsty plants silently screaming for water. and all of them were blatantly ignored.

a number of them dried up gracefully into crispy brown potato chips that crumble into flakes of leaves at the slightest touch.

a few others simply gave up their will to live and slumped to the floor.

brown is not a natural colour for plants. neither is droopiness a sign of good health.

now i am a little worried about my cat-sitter’s capacity for compassion. it would taken her a lot of effort to overlook 7 pots of dying plants in my tiny apartment. can she be a cat-lover as she proclaimed to be? can a person be an avid animal lover and yet be oblivious to the sufferings of vegetation? i’m not even thinking about drastic lifestyle changes and becoming a vegetarian/vegan. just simply offering a drink to quench the thirst of parched plants is all i ask.

do i dare entrust my cat to her care once again?

an italian americano

i discovered a new drink last night.
it’s called an americano. apparantly it was invented by an italian bartender who wanted to emulate the american lifestyle of sipping cocktails. it’s dry and light, perfect for the summer. have a good weekend!

recipe
half campari bitter
- for the memories of the past, of old boyfriends and of missed opportunities
half red vermouth
- for all the magnificent sunsets you share with a loved one
top up with soda water
- for the laughter bubbling in your life
pour into a sexy martini glass
- for a stolen kiss in the dark
add a slice of lemon
- for the walks in the pale silver moonlight
add a slice of orange
- for the daydreams in the warm summer sun

things are heating up!

a calm picture to cool things down as the paris temperature creeps up to the high 20s.
need: a tall glass of screwdriver. with ice. now.

bitchy paris

over a conversation over ice cream on a hot humid afternoon in singapore, a guy friend was trying to explain to me the psychology of men and their pursuit of the female species.

given a pretty girl and a not so attractive one, holding all other factors equal, men will always go for the pretty girl.
- simple to understand

given 2 equally attractive girls, one nice and sweet, the other bitchy and demanding, men will invariably go for the bitchy girl.
- now that took some time for me to think through

however, as i sat there contemplating over my cup of melting ice cream, i realised that it was true in many situations. invariably it depends on whether the guy wants to marry the girl, in which case he will probably choose the sweet demure girl to be the mother of his children. however, if he is not as concerned with procreation and life-long bliss, it is usually the chase for the bitchy girl that assures the hardest challenges, and upon success, the most ego-boosting satisfaction.

hence the paradox of my love for paris.

much to my own surprise, i love living in paris. why surprise? i’ve been here a couple of times before, as a tourist, and had found the city highly distasteful and pretentious. i could not even begin to describe the ominous sense of gloom that enveloped me when i secured a job here. As time went on, i realised that i was actually happier here than i was in the various cities that I had lived in over the past years. perhaps paris suits my current state of mind, i don’t know. all I know is that i am more at peace and contented with life here.

after 2 weeks in Singapore, i was eager to head home, eager to kiss the cat and have my routine back in full swing. imagine my dismay at the sight when i disembarked from the airplane at charles de gaulle airport: utter and complete chaos.

first, a little background on my understanding of the french people. french people are good at organising and ensuring order when they set their minds to it. i am always impressed with the extent of organisation their strikes are managed. however, other than organising strikes, of which the purpose is to create inconvenience to the society or the targeted organisation (ie. chaos creation), the french have very little motivation to behave in an orderly fashion. it is simply not in their nature to do so!

back to CDG airport. there were 5 passport control counters in operation, out of which 2 were dedicated to eurpoean passport holders. given that 3 jumbo planes just landed at the same time, from bahrain, orlando and singapore, the proportion of non-european people trying to get pass passport control vastly outnumbered the europeans. did the french care? no. there was no attempt to organise the crowds of people into orderly lines, and because nobody could see what was happening, the crowds just swelled with each plane that landed. meanwhile the 2 counters dedicated to europeans stood empty.

ahead of me stood crowds of americans from the orlando flight. needless to say, they were quite vocal about their displeasure with the situation. after 12 hours of a rather turbulent flight, my patience was wearing dangerously thin. i bit on my tongue to stop from joining in this bitch fest, but instead sighed and thought to myself: welcome back to paris, i'm so happy to be home!

this got me thinking. paris makes herself so difficult to love in so many ways, but i still love her. singapore, on the other hand, is so efficient and organised, but every time i go back, i suffocate with boredom.

am I just like a typical man seeking challenges??? is paris my bitchy and demanding girl??? i need another ice cream conversation to sort out these questions!

ps. i am really happy to be home: the sight of my purring parisien cat fills my heart with joy.

fly bye

singapore, the modern city with skyscrapers everywhere, where the sun beats down on the concrete jungle mercilessly only to reward us with a tropical downpour every evening. singapore where east meets west and merges into a unique melange of contradiction.
i am looking forward to going home.

home soon! paris, with its history and grand old buildings. i heard that spring has finally arrived in paris. i am missing my cat, though i try not to think about it. i crave to have my space giving me the peace that i need, my quiet allowing me the space to think. heading to the airport soon... bon voyage!

basic needs

i've just checked myself in for my flight back. all done quickly and hassle-free over the internet. isn't it impressive how much the airlines have progressed over the years? i surfed around the airline website and found out that i can order my own special meal (if i travel on business or first class - which i'm not), select my exact seat online way ahead of time, and because it is a long distance flight, i will also receive a little pack of toiletries so that i will arrive in charles de gaulle airport looking fresh as a daisy.

all these little perks are great. but what i don't understand is...
... why do airlines still fail to address its passengers' basic needs?

basic need #1: painless check-in
every wondered why the passenger in front of you in the check-in line takes 20 minutes to get his ticket while you only take 5? ever seen the check-in queue snake around the departure lounge 3x? ever arrived at the airport 3 hours ahead of flight and still have to run to catch it? ever get bumped off an overbooked flight?

basic need #2: legroom
i'm not a professional basketball player, i'm not even considered tall in asia, but 2 hours into my flight, my legs start to get numb. and as the passenger in front of me lowers his seatback, i have the urge to scream claustrophobically. it is a 12 hour flight home for me. emphatise with my ordeal. please.

basic need #3: quiet flights
airlines skint on the soundproofing the planes so that they can fly lighter. they provide the business and first class passengers with anti-noise headphones but give the cattle-class cheap plasticky ones. unfortunately, i happen to be on cattle class on this trip. not looking forward to it at all. it's frustrating to know that i have to put up with this when quieter flights are possible.

basic need #4: food
decent food in decent portions.

basic need #5: fast baggage retrieval
this is not the airline's responsibility, technically. but i really do dread hanging around the conveyer belt at the end of my journey just to wait for my luggage to appear. why does it take so long to unload? and why don't all the luggage trolleys work properly? don't wa pay enough airport taxes to merit some better designed trolleys?

i am a fairly easy traveller who is used to taking budget airlines for short trips. i just don't think it is justified to pay all that money in long-haul flights and have to put up with ill-treatment. according to the built-in thesaurus on ms word (english u.s.), synonyms of haul include tow, drag, pull, lug, heave. that is certainly the feeling i get on long-haul flights!