I have a pile of laundry waiting to be folded
I have dishes in the sink
I have strawberries in the fridge waiting to be baked
I have a shower to take
I have a room to clear
I have the floor to clean
I have winter clothes to pack
I have carpets to vacuum
I have a ton of to-dos
Guess what I chose? Facebook, WordPress and Yahoo.
I really do need to get my priorities right.
For weeks and months I have been trying hard not to blog, tweet or update my FB status on ANYTHING about the elections. There has got to be billions of views flying about everyday and as much as all of this is very exciting, frankly I am tired. I am tired of listening to speeches that are poorly thought-out. Sick of having conversations that differ in ideaology and would by no means ever reach a satisfying conclusion. After a while, even the jokes seem old and grating on the ears.
Yes, I am done. Way before polling day and perhaps even before nomination day drew near, I was clearly done with politics. Call me apathetic, call me whatever you wish but the elections not only failed to inspire me, it made me even more determined to be apoliticised. Yes, its a deliberate decision. I want to shut out the noises that I hear, the stories, the accusations, the apologies, the rationales. I will declare a cooling off week for myself. I shall meditate in my own little “gu kak” and decide what matters to me the most. And then I’ll vote. I will vote, not based on the stories that I hear and see or the headlines that are oh-so-deliciously scandalous. Come 6th May (yes its different for overseas voters), my vote will be given on the basis that I believe its the best thing for Singapore. A Singapore that my children can grow up in. The Singapore that I chose as a country for my child over the U.S.
But before I begin my cooling off, please allow me my one and final rebuttal to a retarded speech. These are 10 things I have to say about trees and mushrooms:
6.24 am in the morning. I am here because I am so darn tired but cannot fall asleep. Rest is a luxury rarely afforded to me these days. Once again, I feel hunger. I am desperately wishing my post partum flabs away but nothing that I’ve done is prove of my desire. How can one eat less when your body’s working twice as hard. How can one find time to exercise when one doesn’t even get the time to sleep well. (Ok, admittedly, I could be exercising now instead of blogging, but that’s besides the point).
Anyways, I logged on to my blog and realised how soon a year has passed! I remember clearly watching these snowflakes drift through my blog and over my pictures from India. Journeys have been made, friends left, environments changed, new additions, new looks, new hopes and dreams, new directions and of course, more memories.
Clearly I did not understand the ability of hormones to radically change one’s behaviour before, but now, all I can say is that I am content with enough rest, a happy baby and even (on good days) a very imperfect body.
Ok. I shall now abruptly end this post because the sleep bug has suddenly hit me and I;ve got major writers blog, Fear not for I will be back to complete this and say my peace. =)
My son spends
0.1% of the time looking cute and cheeky
19.99% of the time crying
80% sleeping like an angel
Here’s one helluva lucky photo.
<3
Sleep away my son,
Night is nearly done.
I will wipe your tears dry pretty baby,
I will chase those fears away lovely child.
Mama will watch over you,
Comfort and surround you close.
Its been a while since I last had a rant worthy of typing. Well, at least, on virtual record. I sometimes wonder/admire the people who keep their blogs going on for years, with entries filled in religiously every week, if not every day. Very often I think of blog entries in the shower. I think about the random thoughts I have, the sights I’ve seen, my emotions, my experiences, my, well, day. Most days, these thoughts end when the last soap suds are washed out and my teeth are polished clean. Most days, these thoughts do not translate into words that would fill a blog that is read, maybe, only by the odd friend or stranger.
I’m a little more inspired and less lazy tonight.
Took a hike from work on Friday because the baby and my tummy were giving me problems and I didn’t want to risk the possibility of an early labour. The rest of the weekend was spent in a semi-conscious state where I slept til’ I was hungry, and ate till I was sleepy. Such are luxuries afforded only because of my pregnancy and I shall unashamedly exploit it till it expires. Having spent that much time in bed, my body was well rested but my mind was running a separate agenda where sleep was relegated under A.O.B. I had dream after dream after dream. Countless, vivid dreams that made a whole lot of sense to me, at least before I was fully conscious.
In one of the many dreams I had, I dreamt of an old friend, someone whom I’ve always loved and trusted. He held my hand gently and told me that I was going to be alright. His touch was soft and painfully shy but at the same time assured and certain. I felt safe, secure and extremely comforted. I woke up missing this friend of mine, wondering about a whole lot of things.
When the husband awoke, I told him about all the dreams I had, including this. In all my dealings with people and in all my relationships with friends and loved ones, I’ve always needed honesty. I mean I definitely would have made the occasional lie about whether I did my homework back in school, or when my sister insists that I have used her bag and I insist that I haven’t, or that I tell my parents I’m off studying but am out gallivanting. I have my misgivings but when it comes to being honest about the things that do matter, I am dead serious about getting it right.
So I had to tell the husband. No lies, no secrets. Not even if its just a dream.
The husband is a wonderful creature. Sensitive, loving, boyish and annoying, mature when called for, responsible, trusting and above all, assured and confident. I cannot vouch for what other people might think or feel but I am pretty sure that as much as it would have incurred some jealousy, he handled it pretty well. Knowing me, if he did make a big deal out of it, I would have thought a great deal out of it and risk disproportionately analysing my thoughts and feelings about it. Sometimes, some dreams come and go and you just have to be thankful for comfort they bring you.
I continue to count my blessings for having married a wonderful man and at the same time, for having loving friends who come to me, even in my dreams, and give me the comfort and love that only their generous souls will share.
Besides awaiting the arrival of Russell dear, I have been spending time haphazardly wondering about future, my baby and morbidly enough, my mortality.
On Work and Futures:
Being in school again reminds me of all the reasons why I would love to continue and all the reasons why I should and need to further my other interests. As of now, I don’t even know what my real interests are. Perhaps this is the bane of being all too open minded and carefree.
On Mortality:
In the first three months of my pregnancy, I often had dreams of my loved ones dying. All peaceful deaths that did not leave me crying in my sleep nor haunt me in my waking hours.
In my second trimester, I started having dreams of murder. In those dreams, I was always a bystander, solemnly watching the crime and being pretty nonchalant about it. I hardly blinked an eye and even the most awful of tortures did not cause me discomfort in my sleep. I was, as always, in a very zen-like state of mind.
People often have erotic dreams or dreams of cute pets during their pregnancies but I guess for me, its always going to be about death. Now in my final trimester, I wake up on alternate nights, scared and alone, keenly aware of my negligible presence in this space and time. I shiver and cry silently at the thought of being unable to be there for my child forever, to be with my husband forever, to see my parents and family leave me one day. Time loops around me with eternity staring at me in the face. Where would I be after this?
When people say they are afraid of dying, I simply assume that they are afraid of the manner at which they would die. Now that I know it, its what that does not come after death that haunts most of us.
On Children and Education:
An abstract from an article I read:
“The lives of our children are now in direct conflict with their developmental biology. “Academic learning depends upon the automization of basic skills at a physical level.” Without intentional movement, proper stimulation, and motor experiences, the vestibular systems do not mature properly. The brain does not inhibit primitive reflexes, etc. A host of other problems appear. There are REAL consequences for these deprivations, including the inability of the eye to track properly while reading, appropriate impulse control, correctly interpreting input and stimulus, etc. In the past, sensory deprivation was the bane of the poor. Today, many of our children are lacking essential experiences REGARDLESS of their parent’s income or social status. We begin by “containerizing” them in infant seats -that attach to car seats- that attach to strollers. They watch videos even when they are in the car. Group settings, day cares, and classrooms are often loud and chaotic. The area that an eight year old child can travel on their own has “shrunk by nearly 90%,” 96% of children reported watching television regularly and 81% reported spending extended amounts of time playing computer games. Some researchers are saying that in one or two generations, the historic structure of childhood has completely changed. Structure and function are inseparable, as the structure of the brain is physically shaped through functional experiences taken in by the senses (in tandem with its genetic proclivities).Dr. Jane Healey, the author of Endangered Minds, says that our population’s lack of real life experiences is expressing itself as a lack of neural connections in the frontal lobe area of our brains (responsible for attention, organization, impulse control, decision making, and knowing right from wrong), as well as connections needed for higher intellectual thought processes. She further says that the brains of children today resemble those of patients with traumatic brain injuries…except rather than loosing functions…they are never being developed in the first place. This is not a good place to be in an “information” age.”
Interesting discussion. I wish I wouldn’t screw up my own parenting.
Too many random thoughts on a Monday morning. I suppose pregnant mums have short attention spans and flitting memories. =)
p.s. I hate it when people slurp their noodles audibly behind their cubicles.
New York, New York!
Since the move here, I’ve been to New York only twice. I always needed an agenda/reason to travel to New York. It just seemed like a waste of energy/time/petrol to drive through the highways of U.S. to not have an important task to attend to at your destination. I mean I am afterall not exactly a tourist and hence, am deprived of the luxuries of one.
The first trip towards New York brought us to Purchase, a hamlet of the town of Harrison in Westchester County. A lovely place, with nice drives along small roads that take you to houses that I can only dream of living in. I was there to attend the graduation recital of my dance instructor, Miss Gillian Tan. Photography was not allowed and hence I do not have snapshots of her wonderful piece to show. But here’s a picture of the two Gillians.
As u can tell, I am getting fatter. Such a beautifully round and plump face. You would think I'm crazy if I admitted that I sub-consciously sucked in my tummy when this picture was taken!
The second time down to New York, I had two tasks at hand! Giam had to go meet a Professor at the American Museum of Natural History and I had to go get Gillian’s luggage and her microwave (gift for me!) after that. I roamed about the museum on my own, in awe of the exhibits and just the sheer size of the museum itself. The entire meeting took a couple of hours and I had that much time on my own to roam about gleefully on the grounds of the museum. Even with that much time, I think I only managed to cover a quarter or less of all the exhibits there. Periodically, I had to take trips to the car to get more parking credits. I had such a great time.
Walking down the streets of Manhattan, I had to resist the urge of singing out loud “New York State of Mind”. There were people in heels and office attire walking their dogs, there were babysitters taking their charges out for a nice cool walk, there were people spilling out onto the streets reading, eating, writing, there were people sitting in the cafes sipping their lattes, and most of all, there were these street stalls that sold nuts, fruits, pretzels, hotdogs and a gazillion other things. Now I would never pass up the chance of having a hotdog on the streets of Manhattan. With a purposeful stride and loads of anticipation, we walked down five streets before we found a stall.
The chicken gyro, or chicken wrap, was yummylicious. The bits of chicken were well marinated and had a very smoky flavour to them. The creamy yet refreshing salad that was stuffed into the wrap complimented the meat extremely well. With such a positive experience, I took my walk another five streets further, hopeful that I was in for a gastronomic experience all on a tiny budget. And then I came to a stall that sold pretzels and hotdogs.
Man was the hotdog a terrible disappointment. Yes, the bun was soft and fluffy, yes the sauerkraut was warm and well pickled, and yes there was the quintessential yellow mustard and hot sauce. BUT BOY OH BOY, the essence of the hotdog, was a dog gone wrong. The limp piece of meat tasted very much like cardboard or like a vegetarian meat patty. It was bad bad bad bad bad. I had to wash that all down with a trusty cup of deacf cinnamon dolce latte from Starbucks. That pretty much became my meal for the evening.
Later in the evening, we drove down to Gillian’s place and watched her pack two years worth of her life into FIVE luggages! (btw, she’s still not done!). It was such a hilarious situation with her deciding what to throw and what not to, and me egging her on to keep stuff but Giam commenting that I was such a bad influence. In the end, she gave up and we went for dinner in White Plains with her parents. This was like almost 10pm. It’s no wonder why I’m putting on all these weight.
Beer battered fish and chips was the main course of choice but the highlight of dinner was actually the key lime cheesecake that we had to help Gillian devour. Given that we were at the American Cheesecake Factory, I still did not think that I would have liked the cheesecake this much. It’s definitely my first! I have never had key lime cheesecake in Singapore before!
Well, another 3 hours later, we were back home in New Jersey, dying from exhaustion and thankful to be safe after yet another nerve wrecking drive to and from New York.
For two successive nights, I have managed to cook up a storm in the kitchen and deliver food worthy of praises onto the dining table.
My steak was seared to perfection, served up with a side of carrots blanched and then brown in the bloody juices of the aforementioned steak. And to top off the gastronomic experience, I made a salad of chopped celery, egg and potato cubes tossed in my special sauce and a dash of black pepper. Unfortunately, the meal was quickly consumed and photos, once again, became a thing of regret.
So tonight, I decided I was not going to miss taking pictures of my wonderful Nasi Lemak meal. I feel so wonderfully talented.
And so the table was set
Ikan bilis fried with peanuts and a dash of lemon juice and sugar; Chopped celery salad with special sauce and a pinch of ground black pepper; and my fluffy omelette made with 4 egg whites and 2 egg yolks, beaten and seasoned with chopped parsley and salt; and of course, beneath it all, the wonderfully fragrant Nasi Lemak.
And of course, what's nasi lemak without my triple dipped fried chicken, with batter seasoned with salt, all purpose seasoning, japanese chilli powder, ground black pepper, white pepper and more salt.
But for all of you purists out there. Something terribly vital is missing. I’ll give you a hug for getting it right. =)
Episode 16 of Glee pays homage to our humble and lovely “Home”. Lovely selection of songs, lovely arrangements and vocals. I think I am in love, once again, with Burt Bacharach. Big band always rocks my socks.
One of my favourite pieces from the episode.
One Less Bell To Answer
One less bell to answer One less egg to fry One less man to pick up after I should be happy But all I do is cry (I cry no more laughter) Oh I should be happy (Oh why did she go)I only know that since he left My life's so empty Though I try to forget it just can't be done Each time the doorbell rings I still run I don't know haw in the world To stop thinking of him I should be happy 'Cause I still love him so I end each day the way I started Crying my heart out (Start and end each day crying) One less bell to answer One less egg to fry one less man One less man to pick up after No more laughter, no more love Since he went away
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