Side Sight Site

KFC = Kan't Find Chicken

I encountered a spectacular peculiarity in customer service yesterday. This new service philosophy is ‘never give the customer what he wants even though we have it’. I haven’t encountered service that ghastly for a long time because I’m really very easily pleased. But thanks to the KFC outlet at Bugis Village, I’m rekindled to stand for my right as a customer. They’d taught me how to become an irate and dissatisfied diner.

When you walk into KFC, what do you expect to find? Obviously, fried chicken. And since it’s KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken) and not KFCDT (Kentucky Fried Chicken Drums and Thighs), I would expect that the fastfood giant serves all the common parts of a chicken – breast, ribs, thighs, drumstick and wings. Yet for a long time now, KFC Singapore seemed to be serving only drumstick and thigh meats. I have always preferred the taste of breast meat. When I eat those foiled-wrapped herbal chickens, I always eat the breast first; and when I market, it is breast meat I buy. And one of my biggest weaknesses in junk food craving is the hot and crispy KFC chicken breast.

But with only DTW (drums, thighs, wings) available no matter which KFC outlet I went to lately, I postponed my KFC fix for many months. Breasts and ribs are usually easily available throughout the day except for when it is almost closing time in the past. By about 9:30pm, usually there’re only drums and wings left. Now, it’s always DTW regardless of what time I decide to clog my arteries. Believe me, I’ve been to many KFCs to ask at various times of the day… always can’t find breasts.

So my craving has been cooking in a pressure-cooker until last night when Eugene suggested KFC for dinner after gym. My stomach leaped for joy. I even ended the workout session early so that I can sink my teeth into some spicy, juicy breasts.

The Bugis Village KFC was pretty crowded when we arrived at about 8:30pm. There were 5 orders ahead of me and I could see chicken pieces that looked like breasts or ribs. My tongue was tap dancing in my throat. So my turn came and I ordered a 2pc Chicken Meal for $6.40 (2 pieces of chicken, 1 regular Pepsi, 1 coleslaw, and 1 whipped potato). There was a promotion going on for a similar 2pc meal called The Real Deal Meal. It costs $5.00 and has the same items as above except that there’s no whipped potato.

Anyway, I went for the $6.40 one and requested for breast, ribs or thigh. The service staff, S, went to the warmer tray, searched a bit, and came back to say there’s only drumstick and thigh. I’m not surprised. But it was too late for me to go by then, I have to have KFC! So I compromised and requested for 2 pieces of thigh meat. Without a word, S turned and started assembling my order and I could see that he had placed a piece of thigh, and a drumstick into the paper tray.

“Hello, hello… hi… I want 2 pieces of thigh,” I said, smiling.

S came back to the order counter and said that the meal is 1 piece of each. “But I prefer to have 2 pieces of thigh, can you give it to me?”

“No, the meal comes with 1 piece chicken thigh and 1 piece drumstick,” S replied as a matter of fact.

“But I had ordered last time and they allow me to choose which part I want.”

“Last time is last time, now we only give 1 thigh and 1 drumstick.”

There was more than 6 pieces of thighs in the warmer. “But you still have thigh what. If you run out, I can understand, but there’re still so many pieces there,” I was getting a little exasperated. I couldn’t understand why they just can’t replace the other piece.

S pointed to the standee advertising The Real Deal Meal. “There you see, the promotion is for 1 piece drumstick and 1 piece thigh. You see the picture? This promotion is only for 1 piece drumstick and 1 piece thigh.”

“But I didn’t order the $5.00 Real Deal Meal. I want the 2pc Chicken Meal, the $6.40 one. And your other outlets had always given me 2 breasts or 1 breast and 1 rib. Now I just want 2 thighs since I don’t like drumstick,” I was trying to explain myself more clearly and trying to sound friendly still.

S was getting impatient. “Let me explain. For this meal, 1 big piece must go with 1 small piece. So the drumstick goes with the thigh. You see our chicken (points to the warmer), the drumsticks and thighs are equal. So 1 thigh must go with 1 drumstick.”

“Why can I not have 2 thighs? I’m NOT ordering your $5.00 meal and KFC had always allowed customers to choose the parts they want. How can you tell me that I cannot have 2 thighs just because you match it that way? It’s not like you’re out of thighs. And since I’m getting the $6.40 meal, then I’m not subjected to your promotion what…” S was trying to say something in between, but I carried on with my logic because I didn’t think he was getting it.

“Can you let me explain?” S said, sounding miffed. I was also heating up.

“Sure, go ahead and explain.”

“How can I explain when you keep talking? When I talk, you don’t talk,” S said.

Furnace! I took a deep breath… “Fine. Explain to me then.”

“1 big piece must go with 1 small piece. That’s what this promotion is for. 1 chicken thigh must go with 1 drumstick.”

“… … …” What the f*#k?!! He’s just repeating himself. He kept sticking to that story the whole time and I understood it already. The reason why I kept talking was because he wasn’t getting where I’m coming from.

“Never mind then. Cancel my order for the 2pc Chicken Meal. I’ll order them separate. I pc thigh, and another piece thigh, 2 coleslaws and a cheesy fries,” my tongue was already in my stomach, I’ve lost my desire and appetite. I didn’t want to argue with a mule nor let the other diners behind think I’m hogging.

“So you don’t want the meal?”

“No, I don’t. I want to order separately. Now can you give me 2 pieces of thighs? Thank you.”

I finally got 2 pieces of thigh meat. What would’ve originally cost me $9.60 (a 2pc Chicken Meal and a cheesy fries) ended up costing me $11.80 and without a drink (the 2pc meal includes a drink). It’s not for a few dollars that I’m haggling about. I just don’t understand why they allow us to pick the chicken pieces previously and now I have to follow the 1-thigh-1-drumstick rule. Where have the other parts of the chicken gone? Why is that I can have my needs served previously, and now, I have to pay money and yet serve the interest of the fastfood franchise?

Simon joined us for dinner and he ordered the $5.00 meal. He had also wanted to change to breast meat too because being the gym-conscious denizens that we are, breast meat is still the part to eat to feed ourselves protein while minimizing on chicken fat. But well, we’re having KFC. How much fat saving can we really do? But it’s been a matter of taste and preference of chicken-eating over the years. However, after Simon heard me explaining futilely to the staff to change my order, he decided to just settle for 1 piece thigh and 1 piece drumstick. He did ask his service staff (I think he a China Chinese, and mine’s a Malay server) for breast meat, but the staff told him he would have to wait 20 to 30 minutes for them to cook it. My server didn’t even mention that.

Later, the outlet manager came to us. He sounds Filipino. He explained that the chicken parts come in packets and there’re usually more drumsticks in the packets. When Simon asked for breast meat, they had to look packet by packet to see if there’s breast meat in it and then cook it for him. Are chickens having more than 2 legs now? Why the disparity in the ratio of thighs to, well, maybe not breast because there’s only one, but ribs? The ribs are not whole ribs but split into 2. So 2 thighs, 2 ribs… how come each pack has more thighs than ribs?

It is not the duty of the customer to empathize with your business strategy. It is how, through your trade, you understand what the customers want and you deliver. If more people want breasts (since they go out so quickly), then you have to find suppliers that can give you that. If you can’t, then let the customer decide if they still want to eat even if the choice is only drumsticks. Or convert the drumstick meat into the Popcorn Chicken or serve as patties for their burgers. The point is, find a solution and not pass the problem to the customers. And if you need to pass the problem, at least sound cordial and be nice about it. Is there any point of contention that the other service staffs (Simon’s server and outlet manager) are non-natives whereas my server was clearly Singaporean?

Anyhoo… KFC won’t close down because of 1 dissatisfied customer. Maybe now it’ll make it even easier for me to resist KFC and stick to my boiled chicken breast diet.

Oh, by the way, the standee advertising The Deal Meal said ‘Choice of chicken parts is subject to availability.’ It didn’t say 1 piece thigh and 1 piece drumstick… So if they have thighs, they should still give it to the customer… because they are available.

Drip Drop

Drip drop, drip drop

See a quarry lake of sobs?

Drip drop, drip drop

Dry an ocean with the mop.

Drip drop, drip drop

Will Venus give a head of nods?

Drip drop, drip drop

Does it end with squirts on top?

Drip drop, drip drop

Drip drop, drip drop

Leave the hopeful hopes to rot?

Don’t the hopeful hopes be stopped.

I’m in a monopengamous-relationship. Not.

Have you ever been to a singles party and the organizer tells you a monogamous relationship won’t work? Maybe that’s a more severe affliction of a lesser demographic where the sanctity of marriage is hard to come by? Infidelity is not an exclusive right in the coupling of testosterones. Of course the other 90% of the population has their fair share of polygamy and a marriage cert is by no means a talisman against lust and adulterous affairs. What’s different, in this case, is the view that in order for a closed relationship to work, it has to eventually open up. That, in order for two committed silver-haired to arrive at a golden sunset, they have to share the white cream of orgasm, sometimes together, sometimes apart, but with full knowledge, consent, and blessings from each other along the way.

‘Tis the irony of love… devoted to you, but can donate to many. And in my view, it is the love of ourselves and our desires more than loving our partner that proliferates the donation (read : sex) drive. Well, if the partners are of the same mind, then perhaps two selfish acts equal one magnanimous act of sharing… that of our bodies with many people? Is it any wonder AIDS and STD infections are on the rise? (This is not a condemnation of sex or to stake responsibilities on any particular group of people. It is just an observation of the correlation between increased infection rates and the promiscuity of mind. And that’s a no brainer. Yes, we can practice safe sex. But why are the numbers still rising despite double-digit growth in Durex’s stock?)

The argument is that if I have sex with other people and I’m honest about it with my partner, or the caveat is that both of us must partake together, then there’s nothing to hide, so we cum (pardon the pun) clean to each other. It’s a symbol of the strength of our love. Well, the effigy of honesty is carved out of what suits you best. I’m not trying to be a moral bigot nor is it my right to judge. If two (or three) people can find love and fulfillment in whatever union matrix they prefer, then I would say Go For It!

What I am contesting is the assertion that an open relationship is the future of monogamy. It’s like saying, “Polygamy is sooooo yesterday. I’m in a monopengamous-relationship, where my heart is closed for only one, but my penis (vagina / anus) is open to you, you, maybe not you, definitely you, and you!”

We get bored eating the same thing every day. Can you imagine having chicken rice all the time for three years? Hmm… how about having some wild mushrooms once in a while? Yeah… just that the mushroom can turn out to be a toadstool. Here’s an idea… how about not being just a chicken rice stall, but turn the relationship into a buffet restaurant? Well, the stall is beyond repair and remodeling takes too much effort. It is easier to just have wanton noodles next to the chicken rice stall. Or that nasi lemak stall opposite. Or I can have chicken rice with dumplings soup. Heck, I’ll have ‘em all!

I attended a singles party recently and one of the unique features of it was that guests can send notes to the one/s they fancy among the crowd. I thought it was ingenious and you can imagine how flattered I was when I received a note. I opened it immediately and it read, “I think u are absolutely (?) but though ur ideals is difficult to find.” Well, I think a word is missing after ‘absolutely’, and I attribute that to the half-drunken state in which the note was probably written. The note was from one of the party’s organizers. And I could see that it’s all well-meaning.

Before everyone’s breath could start a fire, the organizer, W, engaged me in a brief chat. He asked me what I am looking for in a partner and relationship. “Monogamy,” was my reply. He had this look of bewilderment which I thought was probably because he expected me to start with the physical attributes of my ideal mate, so I explained, “I want someone who believes in a monogamous relationship. Not someone who will entertain a threesome or foursome or whatever, or will remain physically faithful and monogamous for maybe a couple of years, or say, six months, and then requests to have an open relationship.”

W replied, “That’s an ideal. Don’t be so uptight. You really think closed relationship can last?” (read : face the reality. Wake up from your fairytale happily-ever-after ending.) Well, fact is, I do. “If I expect that my relationship will eventually open up, just by entertaining that thought, then there’s a possibility that it will. If we want the best, had gotten the best, and expect nothing but the best, very often, we get it. If you allow the thought of an open relationship with your partner, well, you will get it. If you can compromise and accommodate such an arrangement and is happy with it, so be it. Your compromise will bring in what your compromise can settle for.” (I had wanted to jokingly add that it is because of people like him, with this mentality, that I’m still single. Well, I guess the joke’s really on me because the fact is, I am still single, and have been for more than 3 years.)

My choice of an ideal mate is definitely not just someone who I can share geriatric prescription with later in life. There will be all those configurations that will unlock the heart and free the horny goat with it. All I’m saying is to accept the way I love as I know how to. And don’t tell me it’s hard to find because you hadn’t found or simply because you weren’t looking. Maybe my door will open with a simple tap of an electronic card in the future, but for now, I’m keeping my 20-digit combination lock… till death do us apart.

横着看世界

人生路途遥远，却又很快走到终点，下一步过后可能就不再有足迹，我们的呼吸只从别人的叹息中继续。

最近死讯不断。首先痛失了五位新加坡龙舟队友，虽然我不直接认识他们，但在训练场地里曾眼识，而大家热爱划龙舟，嗜好把我们串成一家。尤其 Stephen Loh，见过他几次，是个非常朝气猛壮的运动员。接着就收到短讯说 AY 的母亲病逝，然后 WK 的父亲也走了，隔天又听说 Andy 的母亲已离开世间，短短两周内说了那么多告别。

我和过世地并不相识，但听闻死讯时，我不经都会有点鼻酸。我能想象如果我失去我的妈妈或爸爸，甚至 Joy。。。 我不敢想下去了，可是总有一天他们还是会离去地，应该怎么准备呢？

不爱或减爱。不爱就不会痛。可能吗？是自欺欺人吧？心是肉做地，血是滚烫地，冰点从何立势？那就埋怨吧。。。嫌不足，嫌他短，嫌他热天不打伞，嫌在冬季不取暖。以怨怒取代爱慕，这样的日子你想过吗？我很不希望，但我每天都是不知不觉这样过。

或者是通过宗教信仰来抚平失去的痛苦？什么天下没有不散的宴席；四大皆空；由土而生，归土为安；要把眼线寄托在一个没见过的灵体身上，而不是注重于与我们共度数十年光景的良伴好友。这样做实际吗？这好像是在孩子跌伤的膝盖上吹口气一样，治标不治本。

面对离别并没有什么好的迎接方法，就让眼泪滴干心中情吧。节哀顺变，人死不能复生，要为活着的人勇敢活下去。。。朋友，您还有别的劝哀说法吗？

教教我，让我能与哀悼中的朋友分享，也好让我为自己做好准备。

Swept Out As Dirt

What costs more? A beggar who gives a dollar? Or a millionaire who donates a thousand? The thousand meant more. Who gives a thought about the heart that made that next-to-nothing spend a measly dollar?

Perhaps a dollar buys more than one could ever see. My dollar is well spent. And it is not a matter of claiming credit that a discourse came of seed. The cloud that blurs human perception and the interpretation of actions are many. But with repeated red paint over a pink spot, all tenderness now becomes a blistering sore. Does one take the humble stance and take a meek retreat? Or is it a time to cry injustice and claim the respect that is mindfully yours?

Who cares? Does it matter? What does it amount to?

It is one thing to be appreciated for the comic relief. It is another to be treated as the clown. Sometimes, being the nice guy and having the vastest of acceptance only makes one a blank canvas that everyone steps on. What I am is only defined by the pattern of their footprints. Those with the Prada or Gucci boots will leave me with an imprint of glamour by association. But really, I’m just a piece of plain cloth. Perhaps I should exert my colors so that dirt won’t alter my design. Expensive or cheap.

Yet, the grime leaves a spot. I washed it, and it is clean. Then another spill made a spot. I washed it again. Is it the carelessness of the people around, or am I a fabric that easily stains?

What if it was a fire that burnt?

The color can never return.

There will probably be a hole. That could probably be mended with needle and thread. But the clumped-up linen will only form a scar. Will that still make a flawless piece of clothing? A shirt? Or a skirt perhaps? Where do we disguise the pain as part of the design?

I don’t think a blemish should be accepted in a well and perfect garment. No one drinks cheap wine in a crystal glass. I thought the glasses didn’t mind. But they’d rather have dirt in them than supermarket-grade rose syrup.

It gets scarier every year

When I can use less make-up to appear decomposed. I look dead without even trying. No Halloween party this year so ended up at St James, and I was really amused by the effort a lot of people put into dressing up. They made my reprise of the dead-soldier-look from Halloween 2005 so tame. But there’re too many fairies trying to be angels, and wings on a crowded dancefloor or podium is just asking to be plucked like a hen before slaughter.

Sometimes it’s funny how we put up a mask to be ourselves. I think the whole dressing up thing makes people friendlier. And it was really good fun except for this person who kept using its hand to brush against my crotch while dancing on the podium, in full view of everyone. This is Halloween, not ‘Hello-weenie’! So daring. Caressing someone so sexually in public. Such audacity. It shocked the clerical collar right off my conservative cassock. So before the situation got out of hand (no pun intended), I descended back on the hellish dancefloor with angel wings slapping me left and right. Perhaps next year I should dress up as a really big pair of scissors.

470km later...

My legs. My legs! I can’t feel my legs! There is really no limit to the amount of pain I can go through. Because after a while, it just becomes a part of me, the body takes over and numbs the brain. But as soon as I stop focusing on the goal, the pain consumes me. As soon as I stopped doing the thing that brought me pain, I actually felt more pain.

But it’s all for a good cause. Took part in the Fitness First Cycling Marathon last Saturday (27 Oct 07) to help raise funds for the Children Cancer Foundation. There were 6 teams altogether. Each team had 5 members and it was a relay on 3 stationary bikes for 7 hours from 10:00am to 5:30pm. My team cycled a total of about 470km and the total distance covered by all 6 teams was 3,500km. Guess my team didn’t contribute very much. But we were all shacked out at the end. I rode a total of 107km in about 4 hrs 20 mins. After that, I walked like a crab.

Choon Wee quipped during lunch, “It’s ok la, I think can complete the whole marathon easily. I thought it would be very shiong, but after I cycled just now, I feel it’s ok leh.” That was after he did 50km in slightly over 2 hours. Admirable. But delusional. For when he took on the second set, that confidence quickly melted. And when the marathon was extended by half an hour, he cringed like a desert prune. The first set was easy and I think it was best to go as far and as long as possible because when I was riding my first hour, it didn’t take too much effort. But after I stopped and went on the bike again after some rest, my legs weighed a ton. I felt a pinching pain at my hips and knees. At one point, my thighs started to cramp. Many times I wanted to stop, but I just kept going.

Thinking about those children, some as young as 6 years old, battling a painful and expensive disease like cancer; they don’t have a choice to quit, so I must go on too. That’s also the inspiration for the name of our team. We’re called Los Heroes (Los is Spanish for ‘The’) to honor these young heroes and their families who had to deal with cancer. I have close family members going through terminal illness so I can feel how difficult it is to wake up every day to find out that a part of your body is no longer functioning. And the pain of seeing a loved one suffer. They’re the silent heroes. We will all be heroes one day.

The KL in knell

Knell /nel/ n (usu sing) the sound of a bell rung slowly after a death or at a funeral.

The acronym of Kuala Lumpur spelt and summed up the knell of a time I had during this most recent trip. Maybe it’s because I had been to KL too many times within the past 3 years and my last trip was only about 3 months ago. The shopping is still great, especially since it’s going to be Hari Raya Puasa soon and so the height of the sale frenzy. Food-wise, it is good value because of the exchange rate, but clubbing is a less than fun experience compared to Singapore.

We went to Farginnapi Bar, Onovu and Namiso and they charged an entrance fee of between RM$25 to RM$30 for one standard drink. Onovu serves the worst vodka orange I had ever tasted. The orange juice is diluted and there’s hardly any taste of vodka in it at all. The bar price is RM$20 for a bottle of Heineken Beer and RM$80 for a jug of vodka orange. Apparently, the KL dwellers only club on Saturday. I don’t know if that’s because of the month of Ramadhan, but Onovu was rather empty on Friday, full on Saturday, and closed on Sunday. Namiso was opened on Sunday but you can number the patronage easily.

SKYBRIDGE de-TOUR

Other than that, I still didn’t get to go on the Skybridge tour of the Petronas Twin Towers. I read that we have to queue for about 1 to 2 hours to get the free tickets for the tour and only 1,300 free tickets are issued daily. During the weekends, people start queuing as early as 7.30am for the first tour that starts at 8.30am. There’s an exhibition about the Twin Towers and Skybridge on the ground level but you’re allowed only 10 mins on the Skybridge itself. The Skybridge is on the 41st level of the towers and offers a vantage view of KL city. However, part of that view is blocked and a better way to view the city is to actually go to the KL Tower instead. A taxi driver told us that some 5-star hotels have tickets reserved and will release it to their guests, or you could pay someone RM$15 per ticket to queue for you. The queue is shorter during the weekdays, but the tour is closed on Mondays. So after considering the odds, we decided to give the Skybridge a miss and also because we didn’t wake up early enough.

TRAVEL FACTS

Transport : Transtar Premium 39-seater coach (S$47.00) / Transtar First Class 16-seater coach (S$41.00)

Travel Insurance : S$28.00

Departure (SGP) : 5 Oct 07, Friday, 8:30am, Golden Mile Complex (Arrived at KL 1:30pm)

Departure (KL) : 8 Aug 07, Monday, 6:00pm, Pasarakyat (Arrived SGP at 10:00pm.)

Accommodation : Capitol Hotel Deluxe Room, RM$230 per night (RM$70 per night for additional bed).

Sandwiched between Plaza Sungei Wang and Plaza Low Yat, the hotel is really right at the heart of the major shopping complexes. But, good location is the ONLY advantage this hotel has to offer. The hotel and room looks neat and spanky (as compared to some of the other worn-out mid-range hotels around Bukit Bintang area), but the room is really small and the hotel is skim on facilities. There is no swimming pool, no gym, no bathtub in the toilet, and does not include breakfast. And the service staffs have no smiles.

The safe deposit box in the room was jammed and I had to call the reception 3 times in over half an hour before someone finally came and fix it. And the receptionist sounded like she was either going to faint from her Ramadhan fasting or Marilyn Monroe drawing her dying breath. Then on our second night, the tap in the shower burst and we had to change room. The new room, which was just across from our old one, had a weird layout. The room door was just in front of the cupboard door and they open into each other. But that was all still acceptable.

What wasn’t acceptable was the fact that we booked a wake-up call, but that call never came! A morning call is probably the most basic service that a hotel needs to get right. We booked a call for 10am so that we could make it to the Skybridge by 11am to get a ticket for the tour. We weren’t woken up at 10am and by the time we roused from bed, it’s too late to get a ticket. Thankfully it wasn’t a life and death matter. Imagine if we were to miss a flight or business meeting just because the hotel cannot be relied on for a morning call? There’re 3 of us in the room so it can’t be all 3 not hearing it and I’ve known hotels to knock on your door if you fail to pick up the morning call. And one of my friends actually heard the reception staff bickering right in front of a customer. I didn’t see it personally, but if that was true, then I would’ve experienced the worst in hotel service.

Exchange Rate : S$1.00 to RM$2.29 (Travel Expenses : S$400, exclude transport, accommodation and insurance.)

WHAT I LEARNT ABOUT MYSELF DURING THIS TRIP

1)      That I can still dance like a caffeinated monkey who had too much sugar for more than 2 hours, non-stop, no drugs.

2)      That I’m more impatient than I thought I am patient.

3)      That I’m less forgiving than I believed myself to be.

4)      That I can never be romantically attracted to someone too much younger than me.

5)      That I cannot resist buying something that I don’t need just because it is cheap.

6)      That I continue to eat, even though I’m already full, as long as there’s still food on the table.

THE BEST THING DURING THE TRIP

We met this most charming waitress at Olio Dome located at Lot 10. The Indian girl is all smiles and chatty with a warmth that is sincere and very natural. So compelled were we by her personable service that we each wrote her a compliment on the feedback forms. I think her name is Kiruba. One smile can really soothe a bumpy mile…

An unknowing fox spirit

This entry is dedicated to the enemy I never knew I had, and to the possibly good acquaintances we can become.

The past comes back to haunt you… and I had a ‘haunting’ yesterday. My mobile phone announced I received a message. The SMS said, “If I help you to recall the past 14 years ago, you will have a shock of your life. We were once so near but yet so far… it’s an ugly past…”

I was breathing in salt-coated needles. NO… it can’t be the cleaner who hosed me down, totally naked, because I shat in my shorts due to diahorrea and all the toilets were locked! No, wait… it can’t, coz that’s when I was 9 years old. That’s more than 14 years ago… Or NO… is it the security guard who caught me shoplifting at Parkway Parade Isetan? Then again, that’s in my early teens, again more than 14 years ago, and I had paid for everything since. OH NO… was it the air stewardess who stopped the Cathay Pacific plane to let me get off because I was having a panic attack in sight of all the passengers? No, wait… I know the name of the sender, it can’t be a stewardess.

Thankfully I don’t have that many follies or embarrassing moments to count. Phew… Until I was reminded that I was once a fox spirit (狐狸精), unwittingly. Otherwise known as the third party, I was in the dark that someone I took an interest in was actually attached. But the other half smelt the rat (though I prefer to be a Chihuahua) and found out who I was. Naturally, I didn’t know who that person was because I didn’t know there was a plus one in the deal. Anyway, I was told by the horse’s mouth that I was the subject of resentment and outright spiteful acts. But the best part was, I didn’t feel I was experiencing any malaise and danced through my 20-something across rainbows on pony backs. Ignorance is bliss. That person didn’t exist for me, but I occupied that person.

I had plain forgotten that I had ever encountered the person who SMS-ed me, but we did cross path once… at Plaza Singapura. That incident, I didn’t forget. I was shopping there with a female friend of mine and saw another acquaintance, whom I went over to say hi. Out of nowhere, someone suddenly started to hurl verbal discords at me. I stood baffled. I remember thinking ‘was that a mentally oriented person? What a pity because that person was young and good-looking’, then I realized it wasn’t madness, it was maliciousness. I was still stunned but my friend went into an oratory assault with my public assassin who shouted repeatedly, ‘you can act very well huh! No wonder you’re a TCS actor!’

All those while, the friend who I said hi to stood there. And when the dispute escalated, that friend actually walked away without any attempt to calm the situation. That walk-away was my object of intended affection months back until I was forced to go cold-turkey. The chagrined one, as I found out, was the partner. But I have no image of the person who caused me grievance and the incident was long buried. It was dug back out for me, but I prefer to have forgotten. Forgotten memories are best recovered by making new ones.

Those were really the days. As I was talking to my now ex-enemy and new-found acquaintance, I had a sense of bewilderment. It was a sweet feeling though. And certain thoughts ran through my head… Back then, we would kill, create a big hoo-ha, scratch the eyes out of ‘mistresses’, but now, wives and mistresses live under one roof. Once when a relationship meant only one person to another… now, with the consent of the other, relationships are going three-way, or open for all. In these times, perhaps the fox spirit could finally rest in peace and become a bygone myth. Well, I hope my heart won’t trap me in these situations again and take me another 14 years to get acquainted with someone of a gem to call a friend.

I'm a tourist at my own home

It always feels so good to come to Singapore for holidays. The Whampoa Drive serviced apartment I’m staying in is so comfortable and it even provides a really cute dog to sleep with. I think I’ll sample some really good local food like chicken rice and laksa tonight at the open-air café, but before that, I should have a workout at the hotel’s gym first… aahhh… such is the good life… the life of a Singaporean in denial after six days in Bangkok.

Of course this is no serviced apartment (unless I consider mum and dad picking up after me as being service), Whampoa Drive is home. There’s no café but the Whampoa Drive Hawker Centre, and the gym is none other than California Novena. But well, ain’t it nice to pretend like I’m a tourist back home? To limbo that vacation mentality a little longer before finally accepting the fact that I’d been dragged from heaven back down to earth. How does one treat an addiction like Bangkok? With another trip of course! Life should just be one long holiday…

TRAVEL FACTS 

Airfare : Tiger Airways, S$140 (Return ticket inclusive of SGP and BKK airport tax. Additional S$140 for Michael’s ticket.)

Travel Insurance : S$27.00

Departure (SGP) : 1 Aug 07, Wednesday, 12.10pm (Arrived at BKK local time 1:15pm.)

Departure (BKK) : 6 Aug 07, Monday, BKK local time 8:10pm (arrived SGP at 11:15pm.)

SGP to BKK Flight Duration : Approx. 2 hours

BKK Airport to City : It takes about 40 mins to travel from Suvarnabhumi Airport to the downtown city district of Sathorn using the highway. There’s a 40bht toll for the highway to be borne by the passenger. The airport taxi charges a flat rate of 450bht to city; travelling from city to airport by a metered taxi costs about 300bht.

Accommodation : Metropolitan Hotel, South Sathorn (Free for 2 nights as Michael won first prize in a lucky draw, else the Studio Room we stayed in should cost about S$260 per night). Bab Barr, Sathorn Soi (1,600bht, approx. S$74.42)

Exchange Rate : S$1.00 to 21.50bht (Travel Expenses : S$600, exclude airfare, accommodation and insurance.)

The highlight of this trip would be the stay at the Metropolitan Hotel. Other than that, there’s no where new that I went or did that’s exotic. And that’s a bummer because I can feel myself becoming me a ‘comfort’ traveler rather than a ‘sightseeing’ tourist, and I much prefer being the latter. But with the Met Hotel being a honeycomb, there’re no good reasons to go anywhere else. The hotel is much like a ‘new age’ living space for people buying into the yoga, spa, and holistic health sort of culture.

Almost everywhere I went within the lavender-scented air of the hotel, I’m cocooned in a state of relaxation that made me feel like a white feather floating on angels’ breath (except when the smell of Mic’s smokes plunged the room into a tobacco stink). Our room was pleasingly furnished and the bathroom comes with a set of aroma-oil formulated toiletries that smelt so good. There’re yoga mats everywhere and the Jacuzzi at the health centre was my favorite spot… soft natural daylight diffused into the zen-styled interior with a beige mosaic hot pool of water that bubbles over the pool’s edge. The centre also provided free yoga instructions and body conditioning classes.

I attended an evening’s yoga class and had one-on-one direction from the instructress. She’s very tanned and very pretty. Not beautiful, but pretty. And she really used her whole body when guiding me into the yoga poses. Me being about as flexible as a communist, I pity her for using so much strength to pull and lengthen my body. When doing a seated forward bend, she leaned her whole torso against my back and pushed me forward. For a moment, I forgot the stinging pain behind my knees but felt instead the flattening out of her bosoms, her breath and an icky feeling because I was perspiring like a hog but she was dry, and yet she had skin contact with my sweat like it’s no bother at all. But it was a really good session as she thought me variations to suit my level of flexibility and she pointed out the correct techniques in the stretches. I had never felt sorer from a yoga session the next day.

The other big thing that happened was a hostile confrontation with Mic. I can’t remember how it happened but it was a shouting match. But I think it is good to let out thoughts and feelings of unhappiness the moment it occurred rather than keep it all inside. Anyway, it has been resolved and hopefully this step back pushes our friendship forward by leaps.

Also made some new friends from Hong Kong and reinstated a few old acquaintances from Singapore. Six days flew past so quickly and I hope the months go by faster still so that I can be back in Bangkok again soon. And hopefully the immigration at the new airport would’ve picked up by then. For now, I’ll continue to be a tourist in my own home.

--- Spending List ---

Pork limb rice with additional intestine and egg at Siam Centre foodcourt - 50bht (S$2.32)

Chicken rice (breast meat) at roadside stall outside Station JD - 40bht (S$1.86)

Sharksfin soup, bird’s nest soup, spicy fried fish, 4 steamed big head prawns, oyster omelet, and stir-fry bittergroud leaves Mei Lung Restaurant in Chinatown - 1,700bht (S$79.10)

1 bottle whiskey at Station JD - 1,400bht (S$65.12)

1 bottle soda water - 20bht (S$0.93)

1 bottle Singha beer at go-go show - 200bht to 240bht (S$9.30 to S$11.16)

Traditional Thai massage 1 hour - 250bht (S$11.63)

Taxi starting fare - 35bht (S$1.63)

Per increment - 2bht (S$0.09)

GQ undershirts size L from Tokyu, MBK - round neck (179bht / S$8.33), V-neck (199bht / S$9.26)

Bikiner low-rise white cotton box-brief size S from Zen, WTC - 180bht (S$8.37)

Groovin low-rise yellow nylon box-brief size S from Zen, WTC - 250bht (S$11.63)

Pure Essential Oil (from Chatuchak), 10ml - 80bht (S$3.72)

Pure Essential Oil (from airport), 10ml - 120bht (S$5.58)

Cone-shaped scented incense - 50bht (S$2.33)

PROUD ACHIEVEMENT

Puma shoulder-sling dark brown PVC leather sports bag from Chatuchak - 199bht (S$9.26)

三分钟深交

On repeat : Kuala Lumpur

Why do I keep visiting Kuala Lumpur on an astrologer’s dozen make-beliefs (with every month represented by some pseudo cosmic presence that defines personalities? Come on!), when I really wanted to explore new territories? Maybe it’s travelling within the comfort zone, knowing what to expect, recognizing the roads that’ll lead to where I’m headed... But there’s only so much space in my wardrobe for clothes, and that possibly quantifiable amount of alcohol I can drink before I quarrel with the sanitary bowl. Still, I’m back in KL. Doing the same things… shop, club, shop, club. And I didn’t even eat much good food on this trip.

Had initially wanted to do just a Friday to Sunday skipover, but extended till Monday because more friends decided to run away from Singapore as well. But repeated visits to one place is like a relationship. There were some surprises but I grew familiar and I knew where to touch to get what I wanted. I navigated the map to my enjoyment. Sometimes I have in mind to do more, yet did not. But hey, free-and-easy holidays meant we flow with the go. Still, whenever I travel, especially to places I’ve been before, I make it a point to do something differently. I want to experience life like the locals do. I’d more readily get lost on local transport than position my arms on a 90-degree cab flag-down. And with cities like KL, I realized from this trip that getting around in her three-operator rail system was easier than getting jailhouses to practice non-preferential treatments for celebrity prisoners. (What?! Christopher Lee’s hair was not shaved when he served his only 28-days prison term for drunk driving, injuring two motorcyclists, and fleeing the scene? And he got his own prison cell?) Oh well, on with the country that Chris Lee came from…



TRAVEL FACTS

Departure (Singapore) : 22 Jun 07, Friday, 8:30am (Arived KL at 2:00pm). Transtar Premium Coach (S$41)

Departure (KL) : 25 Jun 07, Monday, 6:00pm (arrived SGP at 1:15pm). Transtar 1st-Class Coach (S$47, incl S$10 admin charge for changing departure date; else, the return ticket is S$37)

SGP to KL Travel Time : Approx. 5 hours (two 15-mins stops for toilet breaks)

Accommodation : Corus Hotel (S$50 per night per person, no breakfast included). It’s a four-star hotel along Jalan Ampang and about five minutes from KL City Centre. I find that it is not a very convenient location because most of our activities were around Jalan Bukit Bintang (about five minutes cab ride away depending on traffic conditions).

Exchange Rate : S$1.00 to RM$2.23

Is it true that when we get familiar with someone, we tend to take the good things he/she offers for granted and tend to nick-pick? I’ve never remembered KL people to be rude, but this trip I had heaped servings (other than those staff at the M’sian tourism center and Customs) of their hostilities.

Scenario 1 : People pushing past you in the clubs. They literally squeezed past without being the least bit apologetic; no ‘excuse me’ or ‘I’m sorry’. No doubt the clubs are packed but there’s still room for courtesy. Maybe because I’m Asian and not Caucasian.

Scenario 2 : M’sian Indians want more tips. Racial sedition is not cool, but from my two encounters at tipping an Indian bar waiter (he looked Bangladeshi) and cab driver, I was surprised that they actually asked for more than what I gave them. At the Farginnapi Bar, I tipped the waiter RM$10 for bringing us four cans of Coke as mixers. He immediately asked for RM$20 claiming that one can of Coke cost RM$5. But all mixers were free because we opened a bottle of Chivas (RM$420). That guy was trying to dupe me into giving him money he’s not supposed to get. Later he turned around and asked me not to tell the boss about the incident.

And on the way back to the hotel in a cab, I paid RM$8 for a fare of RM$5.80, the extra being tips. And guess what? The cab driver held on to the money without thanks, turned around and gave me a disgusted snigger. I could tell from his body language that he was on the verge of asking for more. It was an Indian driver.

Scenario 3 : Cab drivers who refused to turn on mileage meters and charge a flat rate of RM$10 going anywhere within the prime areas. I thought that problem was eradicated when I was there about a year ago and cabs are metered. Apparently not. If you travel at night or if the cab driver can tell that you’re a tourist, they will tell you that going anywhere is a flat rate of RM$10 to RM$15. I checked with two local friends there and they said that that’s not the case; the drivers should turn on their meters and charge accordingly. But after meeting five of these drivers, you have no choice but to relent to their charges.

Scenario 4 : Shopkeeper cursing you. Being the bargain hunter that I am, I went to KL’s Chinatown (known as Petaling Street) to scout some good buys. As I was moved along the packed roadside stalls, I checked out some sunglasses and asked how much was the brown-tint Ray Ban sunglass I tried on. The Chinese vendor said, “RM$45”. But I had seen the exact same glasses at the Central Market for only RM$12.90 (the sunglasses there weren’t well-maintained and slightly out-of-shape so I didn’t buy there) so I bargained. Almost immediately, he reduced it to RM$20. I was ready to pay the difference since the glasses were in better condition, but I didn’t like the dishonesty of that store so I turned to go out of principle. Then he said in Cantonese, “Okay, RM$8.00”. Wow! RM$8.00!!?? That’s only S$3.50 for really cool sunglasses! Who cares about integrity? So I turned around and wanted to try on more glasses only to have him say in my face, “You wish! You go and DIE early!” I am NOT exaggerating. Those were his exact words... In Cantonese.

THE DOWNSIDE UP

As a traveler, I am pretty accepting of the oddities during a trip. I mean, if I expected everything to be the same as in Singapore, I might as well not go anywhere. But KL being the capital of Malaysia and a developed metropolitan, there must be some urban standards that one will come to expect. And I didn’t expect to find the male toilet at the Pasarakyat Bus Terminal to be in a state of waste. Flies buzzed around and tap-dance on my skin while I took a leak on urinals the color of a smoker’s stained enamel.

For goodness sake, this is a coach terminal! It is the first place a visitor will encounter and the last place he will leave from. Imagine riding in the luxury of a first-class coach to be dropped off into a worst-class toilet. The whole complex is a terminal wasteland. And don’t eat at Yok Yat (Seafood) Bak Kut Teh located a few streets down. For just a bowl of Bak Kut Teh (four pieces of pork ribs), a bowl of pig’s liver soup, two pieces of tow pok (fried beanskin), a bowl of you tiao (fried flour sticks), two bowls of rice and a pot of tea, we were charged RM$29! It could be worth it if the meal was exceptional, but I bet that Joy’s dog food would be tastier. The pigs died in vain being a dish for this restaurant. It’s yuck-a-dy Yat!

Thankfully, the wine chicken noodle and curry noodle redeemed that first bad lunch. Don’t know the exact stalls at Jalan Alor they were bought from, but they were really delicious. Also managed to scout some pretty good bargains this trip with my best buys being stylo-mylo Ray Ban shades at RM$15 a piece at Chinatown (around Bukit Bintang, the price was RM$25). The things there were pretty cheap but you must bargain. Other than Chinatown, I also shopped some cheap t-shirts at Jusco. I used to think that Parkson Grand was good value for money, but the Jusco departmental store at Mid Valley had more bargain bin stuff, which are death-traps for my credit card.

As for clubbing, there weren’t much amusement. It’s expensive to piss at the clubs because the bar prices are the same, if not slightly more expensive than in SGP. We went to Onovu and the carpeted entrance smelled of week-old puke and the place was crawling with exhibitionists gyrating to nursery rhymes pretending to be club music. We also visited Namiso where its patronage probably bought their clothes from the Salvation Army donation centers. Well, at least their dress sense provided visual comedy and distracted from the lack of anyone good-looking around. Then half-way through the night, the club suddenly cleared. Within five minutes, the six of us were left bewildered in the empty club with the music still pumping and lights flashing. Apparently, there was a rumored raid by the narcotics police, so those on illegal substances had to leave. And the whole club was empty. We were the only ones left watching the waiters pick up ‘stuff’ from the floor. It was a pity because the music was really groovy. After about 15 minutes, half the crowd returned but it was almost closing time.

The clubs in KL close precisely at 3am. So since we just go warmed up, we went back and continued our drinks with games. Leroy and I checked out of Corus Hotel and stayed our extended night with Adrian and the rest at Somerset Service Residences. It had 2 rooms, a living room and a kitchen. I was told that the apartment rates go for RM$800 a night. But since Karen works for the hotelier’s SGP office, she got it for S$70 per night. It was a very nice stay with TV, hi-fi system and all, but the best part was the service. The staff were very polite and anticipated our needs. After we checked out, they promptly asked if we needed a taxi and went out to the main road to hail one in. I’m not one of those pampered traveler, but I think I could really get used to it.

On the whole, this had been a good break since I hadn’t gone anywhere for more than a year. The only regret is that I spent too much time sleeping and recovering from hangovers than to fulfill the itinerary I had planned for the trip. I still haven’t gone on the morning tour of the Petronas Twin Towers bridge. Perhaps the next trip.

Torture your pain

It was time to fight poison with poison. After more than 2 weeks of excruciating soreness, I was delirious and all I wanted to do was exact revenge on my pain. I wanted my right upper back strain to experience the misery it caused me. I wanted to torture that damned pain, make it suffer… and it felt good.

The first time I had acupuncture done was about 5 years ago when I kept having a hammering headache for days. I don’t have a history of migraine and I rarely feel like my skull was redecorating itself. And I can take no painkillers because my face will swell into a baboon’s ass. So I decided to try acupuncture since it was getting mainstream validity for its efficacies.

I had my first prick at a branch of the Ma Guang TCM Medical Group and after one session, the headache never came back. Maybe it was because the idea of seeing fine needles sticking out from either side of my procerus freaked my brain pain away, but I had no doubt that acupuncture effect instant reactions from the body.

And on Tuesday (5 Jun 07), I had my second taste of it at Jing Hua Acupuncture. I wasn’t prepared for my back to be human dartboard but the Chinese female physician from China rattled on so quickly about my diagnosis and how she will rub me the right way, I was swept into the packaged treatment. Or should I say, the torture of Nanking.

It started with an acupuncture therapy that seemed to last light years. The process of tapping 7 or 8 needles onto my back was quick. It’s the period waiting for the needles to work their magic that took what to me, was an eternity. As I lay prone, staring down on the white tiles from the hole in the headrest, I could feel my back heating up. The back of my right shoulder also felt a mild sensation of numbness. I thought, ‘wow, the needles can get my body to churn up heat by itself, this is so cool!’

But it was hot. I felt like I was getting a sunburn indoors. Then I sort of deduced that there was actually a heating lamp over the punctured site. That’s when I also felt a minty cool tingling sensation at those needle points while the rest of my right wing grilled. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, but I wondered how long I need to have them on. I mean, do they cause internal injury if left on for too long? So I tried to raise my face up from the hole to ask for assistance.

All I managed was twitching my neck muscle but couldn’t raise my whole head. It seemed that the 2 needles stuck behind my head at the base of the skull numbed my neck muscles. Ok, I am getting panicky. But it won’t look cool having a walrus of a man squealing for help. So I tried to listen in to my physician dispense advice to a patient she was attending to in the next cubicle instead. She can outsell even the most experienced salesperson.

Finally, she came over and pulled out the chills. After some questioning and feeling around my upper back, she proceeded to coat me with the most ‘spicy’ pain relief oil I’ve ever used. Her trained fingers were really good. She found my spot easily and started to punish my pain. Needless to say, my face was all twisted up with every grimace to the point that the pain felt so good.

When you’re used to a certain, constant method of causing pain, it becomes a comfort spot. Then a new stimulus comes along… this time in the form of a thumb-sized mallet that she used to hit repeatedly on my sores. The surface pain of having something slapping your skin is nothing compared to the stings I felt deep within my muscles. My feet began to dance in the air to the beat of the mallet.

But the wooden hammer is nothing compared to what she used next - an egg-sized glass bulb. It looked so cute. It can’t hurt a scratch. Except when it sucked a rim of my flesh into its little mouth, and the physician proceeded to run it all over my back as if she was scrubbing a pair of old canvas shoes… yeah, not a scratch… more like skid marks from 10 trucks in a four-way collision. Yet, that’s only the baby of more glass suckers to come.

Totally ravaged by now, I heard the excited clatter of my next torturers. I sort of knew what’s coming. I saw a basket tray of soot-bellied glass bulbs at a corner before I lay down. The transparent globes, as big as decorative Christmas balls, gleamed hungrily as they caught my reflection. Now I am theirs.

With a flick of the lighter heating up their appetite, they leeched onto my back sucking in as much meat as their heated vacuum can allow. There were 18 of them feeding off my back and their grip was so tight. This torture method is called moxibuction. And it is supposed to remove excess ‘dampness’ in my body which had caused the tenderness in my back muscles. I don’t know how true that is but I sure got grossed out at the saucer-sized bruises they left behind.

After lying there for more than an hour and having spent S$45.00, I was amazed how much pain I could endure. So, I fought pain with pain. And I had to go back again tomorrow for another session (I was told that my problem will be properly treated with 3 to 4 sessions of acupuncture / tui na / cupping / moxibuction). I shudder at the thought of tomorrow. For now, I feel like a fruit-seller… mangosteens, anyone?

伤

逃亡却不知去向

黑暗中只剩下恐慌

欢笑声早已缺乏快乐

有光但还是不见身上伤

航程不用指南针

随浪漂浮靠不了岸

生命路途最怕往前看

只应前景有定局的悲伤

果园怎么没有果

花园的花都懒得开

彷然挖泥都见不了宝

交错需停足以遍体鳞伤

我是难民

我是船

我是丛林

我受伤

Bad Horror Films Fight Back With Retribution

For all the bad things I've said about awful scary movies, I'm finally getting retributed in the form of one of the most horribly horrible horror movie, Retribution. The poster touted, "From the producer of The Ring and Ju-On" and I was immediately drawn... like a moth to a flame... I was drawn into my early scare-genre grave. All hopes to resuscitate my interest in J-horror movies would now be dead.

This reel of bile is so unentertanining, I still get amnesia when I try to recall what I did between 2.55pm to 4.40pm yesterday afternoon (Sunday, 29 Apr). I recall a red dress, a pretty girl, an old man that is the most unbelieveable detective, earthquakes, unnecessary high-pitched screams, no scary scenes, and a confusing plot about the present that's stuck in the past. This is really bad film karma.

[staring into space for a long time... ] ... ... ...I'm thinking very hard what to write about this movie... still thinking... thinking... ...I give up! Retribution is really crap. The pace of the show is so tediously slow. It gave so much screen time for the actors to complete their tasks (eg. watching one of the actress come down 3 storeys of stairs and walk about 100m off frame) and the unnecessary details just dragged the audience slowly through a tunnel of shard glass without adding to the story. Well, you won't realize how unnecessary they are until you retrospect about the movie, that's if you remember anything about it at all. And the supposedly eerie scenes were so funny. Especially when the pretty ghost in red confronted the old detective; it's like how children will assume their hands and fingers when they play ghost. Gosh... I haven't seen a horror movie lazier than this one in presenting its core subject.

I hope this movie gets the retribution it deserves. That is, doing really badly at the box office, gets nothing but terrible reviews, all the reels of this film around the world get spontaneous combustion, and all VCD or DVD release of it will be shipwrecked. And any attempts to air-freight it will be hijacked by monkeys. Yes, it is a ridiculous proposition. Because this movie is ridiculous. And only primates can appreciate with their half-developed intelligence.

How to grow a bigger heart?

Sometimes, I have such a narrow view of human nature. It is small because I don't have the irises to contemplate the vastness of generosity. And the apparatus that pulls focus for my mind's eye is none other than my heart. I thought I had one that contained the world... ok, maybe just the size of Russia (it being the biggest country in the world)... But really, I have a heart the size of the pigeon's. And yesterday, it actually belonged to a mosquito.

We all don't want to be taken advantage of. I mean, it is one thing to offer convenience to others or bend to their will in mindful submission, but it's another to be taken for a ride. It is an act of generous consideration for another's pedicament when you know that person won't take you for granted, but with someone new and unfamiliar, how do we draw a line? The big-hearted way would be to give, nonetheless. The mosquito way would be to give, grudingly. Perhaps I've had my share of misers, and having been a free-loader sometimes, my 'losers' radar is especially sensitive to potential suckers who drain your time, energy and/or money.

For long-standing friends, that's okay. We're still draining each other because we get replenished; and over time, it adds more than it takes. But for unchartered personalities, the map-makers could only plot the cordinates from afar... until the land comes closer and closer... and they realize it's Singapore, or Malaysia.

But last night, I'm revealed my small-heartedness. I always tell friends to "grow a bigger heart" to contain the petty misgivings of others and forgive more than we count our wounds. It is okay to "eat a little loss" for we know not what a little light in the darkness will show for the treasures it holds.

And last night, my candle was re-lit. The circumference of its light grew a little wider. If generosity is to be found at all, it begins with me. There is no space for the poverty of spirits, and that of mind... And most importantly, my heart shall not be starved.

A reaping harvest

The Reaping is a visual harvest and a reminder of the wonders of God. For once, it is nice to see a cinematic representation of a God who takes matters into His own hands rather than let man clean his own sh*t from devil worship. We’ve all seen movies about Satan’s spawn (The Omen, End Of Days, and all other horrors that called on God but didn’t work) and the rush to stop-the-end-of-world by holy men before hell-comes-of-age-and-the-whole-world-will-suffer anthologies, and thankfully, The Reaping provided the much needed salvation.

Not that I’m a pious Christian. Hell, I’ve had my share of doubting the existence of God matched as vehemently by my consistent absence from church. Or my constant questioning of an omni-present Creator who created us and knows the ills of humanity, yet does nothing to turn things into Eden on the excuse of free will. “I’ve created all things on this earth, including you, but I’ll let you choose how you want to live your life.” I mean, if You know we’re gonna sin, You know we’ll make a mess of life right?

How can faith, love and peace compete with money, vanity, fame, drugs, alcohol and sex? Instant gratification versus something that is intangible that may or may not be true. The latter six takes minutes or years to achieve, whereas the former three spans a lifetime to decide. But just as worldly pleasures take the amount of time to achieve, they last the equal amount of time to enjoy. Because ultimately, everything will pass. Only love endures. God’s love that is.

Okay, this blog sounds rather preachy. Expect that from The Reaping too. Non-Christians can be inspired to curiosity, or be plotting my murder by now. But I won’t hide the fact that I am Christian. I’m learning my belief in Jesus, and I’m damn happy about that. The Passion Of The Christ felt my pain for the person named Jesus who died for my sins, The Reaping renewed my faith in a God who sheds light in the darkness of life. God is intangible. So is life. Or fate. Or coincidence. And the whole universe. No one knows the answers…

Except science. It explains a lot of things. It makes a lot of sense. The Reaping explained all the biblical plagues as scientific occurrences. And you get all 10 Egyptian plagues in the movie, which is a nice millennium update to the ancient text. It was delightful how science tried to explain why the river Nile turned red (due to a rare algae) to the death of the first-borns in Egypt (the first-borns being fed the most from livestock that drank from the river), just like how heaven tries to describe hell. It was still entertaining even though scientists had gone hoarse explaining that from the instant we can date time.

But the best part of the movie came near its ending (don’t all movie climax at the last 10 minutes?), and I shan’t be the devil to spoil it all. What struck me was when Hillary Swank asked how we know if reality is real. Then AnnaSophia Robb replied, “Through faith…” Isn’t it ironic? Faith is something we cannot hold on to. Yet through faith, we’re to view something we cannot stay permanent in. And tonight I prayed. I thanked God for all the good times and the bad. That through it all, He is teaching me how to live. And to live life more abundantly.

Busybody jellies

This is the kind of blog that probably no one will read except busybody friends. But I like busybody friends. At least they think it mattered enough to busy my body. Ha. But for me, it’s because I value them that we had moments captured together, that I busied their bodies instead :o)

February is always fabulous coz of Chinese New Year and Mad March an excuse to celebrate a quarter passed. Time doesn’t just fly. Its supersonic turbo engine brings the future faster than we can recollect. Sometimes memories gather so quickly, it is only through photos that spark the highlights of a time spent. Sometimes before I fall asleep, I think about how terrible it is to forget. To lose my memories to age, or some disease that devours my experiences, to the point where there’re no more emotions about someone, because I had forgotten how to remember.

Perhaps if one day I can remember no more, my friends will remember for me. With this entry, the world can help me recall, and to keep the bodies of friends who are friends, busy!

The past 6 months had been trying. It had been daunting. Yet it was uplifting. The actuality of going through some situations, is really not as bad as thinking about going through them. It is always people that made pulling across a muddy swamp easier. Life can be shitty and going through it is like anal penetration. But not if there is a lot of KY. And here’s how I acquired my lubricating jellies…

Valentine’s Day with Mum and Dad

We were trying to form the shape of a heart in the picture. Well, the shape of love is not perfect but at least we each added a part and are joined at the fingers. We did dinner with Uncle Kee at United Square’s Soup Restaurant then popped over to Harry’s at Novena Square for a drink with Dr L. Was sending out Valentine’s well wishes and Dr L replied that it will be another night spent dateless. So what the heck, we got the good doctor to join us for a drink. It was the day of love. And a lifetime is not enough to be generous with it.

It was unusual mush with mum and dad, but it was nice. After all, they are the people that I love most. Let’s hope it’s not because I’m single now and they’ll be out of the picture come V Day 2008… Well, it will be nice to have 4 people in the picture next year.

Chinese New Year 2007

I had a lot more fun with my cousins this year. They’re crazy shutterbugs. The whole time that we had our reunion luncheon, Fiona and Rebecca just can’t stop snapping photos… of themselves. Wah lau, I don’t know where they inherited their vain genes from, but thanks to the cameras, for a moment, the whole family is all looking at the same direction.

It was really nice that not only the aunties and uncles who got together, but to see that the younger generation deemed it important enough to come for the reunion. More often than not, youngsters would shun away from such gatherings, but I think it is valuable to meet up once in a while as family. Oh no, I sound like an old uncle. I was even telling my First Uncle that he should get his 2 children to come join us next year and giving him advice on how to affect his children positively. I couldn’t believe those words I said to him. Suddenly, we were talking on par… an adult to another adult; no longer as uncle and nephew. Gosh… where had my youth gone??!!

This year, instead of having a gathering of ex-colleagues from Nu Skin at Irene’s place, we had it at King’s place. His place is one of the stretches of heritage conservation buildings in the centre of the city and it’s really an unusual place of residence. King and his wife, Amanda, are very humble and exceptionally personable. Without airs and down-to-earth, Amanda serves us even though she was about 9 months pregnant. And they have a maid.

Chiou Yee was also very much pregnant with her second child. Her stomach is so big, it eclipsed the DHL hot-air balloon that is outside King’s house. I think hers is the biggest pregnancy I had ever seen. Dressed in purple, she reminded me of two Barney the dinosaurs. And I met Stella’s second addition, Julia, for the first time. She is so well-behaved for a baby and Stella didn’t looked like she had just given birth. Geraldine, on the other hand, looked like she enjoyed her managerial position a little too much, while Lillian and Chua looked exactly the same when we first became an allegiance more than 3 years ago. And as usual, Irene is always bouncy and her ample bosoms are forever on 拜年 mode.

There’re a lot more friends that I am grateful for for their generosities in the past 2 months. Friends like Michael, TK, Yen Miin, Cecilia, Adrian, Victor, Jonathan, Choon Wee, Karen, Jansen, Leroy, Arthur, Alden, Dominic, Stella, John, Jansen, Nick, Eddie, TK, Anis, Jason, James, Serene, Chris Yap… Also caught up with Bryan and Daniel who’re back from Melbourne for a visit (Daniel’s favorite dog died when he was back here. We were catching up over tea when the long-distance call came. But he was very calm about it and handled it really well. I hope he’s feeling better now…), and made some new friends. Well, maybe not friends yet. More like acquaintances waiting to be friends. This is going to be a good year!

Dog leash man

Do not worry

When you sleep at the edge of the bed

For I will watch you while you sleep

I will catch you if you fall

Don’t you ever feel at lost

When we take our little walks

I may play hide and seek when you wander far

But I will never let you out of sight

Do not hide when you made a mistake

Shredding the tissue boxes or chewed my shoes

I will punish you

But never too hard that it hurts me more than you

Don’t you ever feel alone

I will leave a light on for only you

And fill your solitude with your beloved toys

Till I come back to you, my Joy

Do you remember this afternoon’s walk?

That crow that attacked you and gawked?

Do not be afraid

I won’t let you break a nail from your paw

Or let that black bird flap and kite

Guess who’s on your dinner plate tonight…

ABC of The Haunted School

It’s back to school for the spooks. And here’s the ABC for Asian scare fare, The Haunted School <校墓处>…

A is for ACTING

For horror movies, the actors are usually just accessories. As long as they don’t laugh when they’re supposed to scream, it’s like fulfilling hunger at MacDonald’s (even though Mac D tries very hard to list every dietary benefit its menu). Expect pensive looks, wide eyes and open mouths… but on really good-looking actors. The actors hail from some obscure Hong Kong boyband with a brick licking performance by veteran songstress / actress, Amanda Lee, as the ‘I-know-the-secret’ mistress of discipline. The cast wasn’t over-the-top in their portrayal and credible in emoting ghost, so it was easy to immerse in the storyline. Very often, actors take acting liberties with horror genres that they distract the audience from the purpose of the movie and the special effects. Thankfully, The Haunted School taught its actors the right grammar in their performances.

B is for BLOOD

Surprisingly, the whole movie bled only an ounce. There was no blood spitting from dismembered body parts, neither did it ooze from cisterns and sinks. The Haunted School belongs to the type of horror that’s scary rather than gory. And it did have some really creepy scenes like the sequence in the toilet; the one where a girl jumped from the school’s roof and then rising up, with her body all twisted and dangling; and the idea of the ‘wall of ghostly shadows’ (鬼影墙) was simple yet brilliantly disturbing.

While the Boo! factor scored high marks, the movie lacked a certain grip that gets you at the edge of your seat. Maybe it’s because of the kooky sense of humor that peppered the film. It was a nice touch. Especially in one really well executed scene where one of the male students opened a door and discovered the ghost after he thought it had been eliminated, that was so hilarious… the whole hall was roaring with laughter for quite a while. It was funny because the actor delivered his line very matter-of-factly without ‘comedizing’ it. You don’t get very many entertaining horror films like Haunted School nowadays.

C is for CINEMATOGRAPHY

Nothing spectacular here. You can’t tell the era of the movie despite the story spanning three generations. The special effects are effective enough except the last part where the ghost was being consumed by fire. It was pure CGI massacre. It looked like an intro animation to an Xbox game and very cartoony. On top of that, I found the thunder and lightning combo with eerie photographs a tired trick and very, very dated.

On a whole, teacher gives The Haunted School a B+. It is entertaining without choppy editing and doesn’t waste time too many unnecessary details. But I have one question though…

You see, The Haunted School is about this discipline mistress (Luan Shi Yin) who was burnt to death in the admin office <校务处> when the wife of the school’s principal caught their adulterous affair. Luan’s body was never found. After that incident, the all girls’ school closed for repairs and was opened 20 years later, and Luan returns as the phantom discipline mistress. She would call the names of students who had broken the school’s rules to come to her administration office. The students who went in never came out. Or they would be found dead at the school’s toilet.

With its reopening, the school also began to admit male students under the new education system. The school’s historical rules that are not to be broken include no smoking, no drinking, and the students’ skirts must not be more than 2 inches above their knees. But the number one rule that the students must adhere to is that they cannot have love affairs in school. So, the question is, if it was an all-girls’ school historically, how come their number one school rule is not to fall in love with each other? Unless… unLESs…

Watching The Haunted School was also somewhat of an experience because I attended the pre-release screening at NUS Temasek Hall. The media event was jointly organized by Shaw and the Singapore Paranormal Investigators (SPI). Before the movie started, SPI had a segment that showcased their work, something like a documentary following their investigation of paranormal occurrences in Singapore. It was weak and it was a joke. They investigate things like whether Mentos popped into Coke would