vietnam lesson one: negotiation skills

on arrival at the danang airport, we were looking for a taxi to bring us to hoi-an, about 30 km away. like in many asian airports, we were swamped with taxi touts the moment we stepped out from the security area.

the boyfriend started talking to one. 20 USD was the tout's price. according to my lonely planet, 12 USD should be the market rate. given that it was a 2005 version, and taking into account the runaway inflation of more than 20% in vietnam this year, we did a quick mental calculation and generously counter-offered 15 USD.

the gasoline prices are very high now. the vietnamese shook his head.

we decided to employ the delay tactic. nonchalantly, we stood around, had a smoke and waited for other touts to approach us. none did. apparently they had a code of honour not to undercut each other. our new friend had clearly staked us out as his potential customers.

he hovered near us. the boyfriend went over to talk to him. i saw them nodding. ok, they had reached an agreement.

how much did you agree on? - i asked as he came back to pick up our bags.

20 USD.

silver lining

for the past few weeks, i've spent all my time in the office surfing the net. no work no motivation no inspiration. to add insult to injury, the evil trolls in the IT department have implemented a giant internet filter: no entertainment sites, no social network sites, no blog sites, no streaming media.

in short, no fun at all.

good thing that the recent upheavals in the financial markets, the US presidential elections and hurricane ike have provided fodder for my bored mind. fortunately newspapers are not considered to be a bad distraction from work. i attack the online newspapers with a vengeance. first the english papers followed by the same news in the french papers. at least my french is improving by leaps and bounds: there is always a silver lining somewhere if we look hard enough.

ironically, the bbc website is categorised under entertainment: the most independent news agency in the world is merely entertainment. damn those evil trolls who know nothing beyond their little worlds in their dark little caves.

friends are envious when i tell them of my predicament. overworked, combating stress ulcers and unsuccessfully trying to balance work and life, to them, my endless days in the quiet office sound like a gift from heaven. to me, it feels like a curse from hell.

seconds stretch away to eternity. an email arrived. i pounce on it like a starving mad woman. nothing important - delete. check mail again. nothing. perhaps the filter of the evil trolls have blocked off the bulk of my work emails too. maybe out there somewhere, there is a mountain of requests, approvals and report drafts waiting for my action and validation. but here in my office, nothing.

make tea, drink tea, toilet. it's still only 3 in the afternoon. make some more tea and the cycle begins all over again.

go shopping? take long lunches? get a haircut? i've done all that already. there's only so much i can do within the constraints of sustaining a minimal presence in the office so as not to arouse the attentions of the gossipy secretaries or the busy bigwigs. it's back to reading the news online for me.

it's a sad thing to feel so useless and unimportant.

right, another cup of tea perhaps and 30 minutes more before i throw in the towel. tomorrow, i leave for my week-long holiday. hopefully october will bring me more exciting things to do.

at least i will have my holiday to blog about. you see, there is always a silver lining somewhere when we look hard enough.

time for a change

now that i'm back to the little island of singapore, i'm no longer wondering/wandering around the world like i used to.

everything's changed.

it's different now. my new mission is to search for my mid-day sun. come join me in my quest. i'm happy to have your company.

purity of pain

violent feelings again - i guess the discipline and routine of the army couldn't do much for me.

today, i crave for the purity of physical pain. it makes me feel alive. like a fraidy cat that i am, i crave only for the "safe" kind of physical pain that i can be in control of, like muscle aches after a hard workout or a very deep massage or the satisfaction of a high kick that connected with the punching pad.

i am alive!

no, i don't want pain that i have no control over, like the pain of my stomach churning as i suffer from a bout of stomach flu (since sunday night). or the pain in the heart. or pain from bumping my head. or pain of accidentally slamming the door on my finger. although pain like these also serve to remind me that i'm alive, they also highlight how frail i can be.

i want to feel alive! i want to feel strong!

my colleague is starting to get nervous that i'm giving him funny looks. i should try to convince him of my concept of the purity of pain. he's quite rotund - he'll make a good punching bag. now, where are my boxing gloves...?

i want to join the army

i want to go on road marches carrying mess tins and ration biscuits in my backpack.
i want to polish my boots with spit until every single freckle on my face is reflected.
i want to charge at paper cut-outs of enemy soldiers yelling on top of my voice.
i want to be know nothing but discipline and blind obedience all day.
i want to make beds so taut that coins could bounce right back.
i want to carry a serious looking weapon, maybe even three.
i want to do push-ups until i can no longer brush my teeth.
i want to be a faceless nameless part of a team.
i want to paint my face green and black.
i want to do water parades every night.
i want to wear a helmet full of plants.
i want to be bitten by mosquitoes.
i want to defend my country.
i want to be a foot soldier.
i want to join the army.

where do i sign up?

insomnia

sleep never evades the contented, the happy.

it is the unhappy people who lay awake at night, tossing and turning, chasing the elusive oblivion of sleep. perhaps some are too afraid of sleep, afraid of what their dreams will bring: their deepest darkest fears haunting them at their most vulnerable moment.

i used to shake my head with pity when friends tell me that they don't sleep well. i could sleep through anything and i did. i didn't understand how one could be unsuccessful at something so basic. there is nothing that needs doing, except to relax and drift off to slumberland.

easy peasy.

i have been unable to sleep since i got back to singapore. countless nights of watching the shadows wax and wan, endless hours of counting sheep, waiting for the birds to serenade the coming of a brand new day. a brand new day held together by caffeine and sheer willpower. fatigue hovers constantly over my shoulders like a concerned brother.

i don't know why i can fail at something so effortless. it has been 10 months that i am back already. is there something that frighten me? ... or am i simply unhappy?

september

i've always liked september. even in seasonless singapore, i can always feel the pace slowing down after the assault of pollution from forest fires in indonesia and the muggy lull when the monsoon reverses its direction.

different, this year. this year, we had a rainy august that washed away the poisonous haze. that wash away the hectic madness. buses slow to a crawl (snail going backwards, was the phrase i used when stuck in traffic along paterson road in the evening rush hour), people are stranded at the bus stops, mrt stations, looking wistfully up at the angry skies spitting rain, rain and more rain.

umbrellas are futile when the sky gods are in this mood. we whip out our phones and send text messages to friends who are caught in the same situation at different bus stops. a storm of sms bounce across rainy singapore.

this year, september crept in quietly. i didn't even realise that it was here until the second day. already it's the 4th. even though the weather remains rainy, the mood is different. i read my horoscope for the month. a horoscope prediction and a poem at the same time, i like it already. a happy month is predicted, and i like it even more now. i know all the sceptism about horoscope predictions, but it still gives me the creeps how accurate it can be. 3rd and 4th prediction is spot on - the stars are right, i shouldn't fret anymore.

last year, my september was fraught with doubts, disappointment, tears, hurt, hope, forgiveness and fighting to stay in paris. it was a huge emotional rollercoaster. 4 september 2007 was the start of it all, my saddest day that year. the reverberations are still felt in 2008. very faint now, but still there.

i want to make this year's 4 september better. it has been a shaky start, the day is already halfway through but i am determined. a pisces fish can swim everywhere when she puts her mind to it. and i've put my mind to it.

when i was living in an english small town, we could smell the wood fires as people smoke out their chimneys for the winter. a dark rich smell that lingered pensively in the evening air. we don't do the same in singapore, of course, but something is different in the air. i can feel it deep in my bones.

september is here.

badly written book

today, i am a badly written book. i'm one of those paperbacks that sit prettily on a book shelf with a mysteriously black cover. a blurred photo of neon lights and traffic is splashed out on my front cover. about 313 pages long, 313 pages of suspense and thrills. i promise to be a book of action. read me.

i have a dramatically cliché title

i have a catchy title. something short, vague but altogether trendy. something that alludes to fun and excitement and maybe a hint of sexuality. something rather clever, like a single word with multiple meanings, or a play on words, or a little pun without being corny. no, a corny title wouldn't work very well.

i am not a soppy romance.

i am a badly written story, no plot, no motive, no substance. but i'm full of irony and pomp and much ado about nothing. absolutely nothing. it takes place in an anonymous exotic asian city. the characters are nameless, faceless but very stylish. there is a hero and countless inconsequential characters flitting through the chapters. the leading lady doesn't die in the end. i can't reveal if she has a happy ending. you'll have to read on.

i did not win the man booker prize.

i have rave reviews of my story: quotes of praise splashed across my back cover. "i couldn't put it down until i reached the last page", "best book this year", they proclaimed in big bold fonts. who are they? tabloids and female magazines with little literary weight. i am best suited for a cramped long-haul flight, or your summer holidays by the beach. bring me along, tuck me into your bag.

i am not a ghost story.
i am not a spy thriller.
i am not sci-fi nor fantasy.
i am not a political satire.
i am certainly not a classic.

dear readers i don't pretend to be anything that i'm not.

i am just what i am, a badly written book.