sometimes i wonder, what is this itch that grows from within my being? the propulsion that happens inside of me every now and then, that tells me that i need to do something more, because i can?
i realised, today, that hey, i've learnt some stuffs about the world in general, and that's the kinda stuff that most others won't have, nor want to talk to you about because they know squat about them. i mean, politics and economy?? and sometimes because i know a little bit more than others do the conversation becomes stilted, cause nobody really can carry on a conversation without additional ammo, so to speak, to carry on with.
i know, because it's happening more and more often. not because i know a great deal, of course, but because whatever i know they don't know and whatever they know i don't. it also does not help when i get conversation fodder like fashion, who's worn what, which's the newest watch, where the swarovski-studded shoes are, suchlike.
i mean, what happened to topics like how to run a business, for example? how to rear fish? how to invest, what various financial tools are, how to manage people, how to deal with tough customers, how to keep the company's reputation up - this kind of topics? whatever happened to those?
i'd love to listen to these. but do i get them?
noooo.
i get things like:-
• the weather - which is alright as long as they're talking about typhoons, taiwan, ike, after they get past singapore's roiling humidity
• fashion - which i like but don't follow like a KARL LAGERFELD stalker
• parties - superficial. why talk about them when you only need to turn up and attend them? i personally don't see the point of saying "oh hey, were you there at the party last night?" when if you were not too busy getting bloody drunk you most probably would know whether he/she was at the party or not. and if you weren't drunk? what're you trying to prove to whomever's within earshot of your query? that you have a life? please.
• who's snogged whom - does it really matter to you??? if it does i'm saying do something about it, and fast.
so i do nothing but sit on my arse and read articles. precisely because i do nothing but sit on my arse and read articles. i like my job, but somehow, just somehow, it gets a little bit stagnant.
so what is it, God? why am i there for, other than resting and taking the necessary step of cutting some people loose and then healing from there, where privacy is allowed and independence is unapologetically granted? will You let me know when i am to move on, Sir?
Right now i am at peace, mostly. the sense that something should be happening is assailing me and i need some action at the workplace, action wherein i may feel good about. not that i don't feel good about my work now Lord, but that it's... wow. i need something more.
give me something more, Lord, more responsibility. let me learn. let me venture and speak with people, interact with people and good heavens, please show me the boundaries so i may push them! i have energy, i can commit, but let it be worthwhile and interesting!
let me leave the ratrace having enjoyed every moment of it. in Jesus' Name i pray, amen.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
ooh i'm going to see a racer tomorrow! on company time, too!
good golly, i love my job :))
then, then! day after that i get to wear this pretty dress and have reason to walk around like that in botanic gardens talking about F1 and JOHNNIE WALKER.
i can't wait!
good golly, i love my job :))
then, then! day after that i get to wear this pretty dress and have reason to walk around like that in botanic gardens talking about F1 and JOHNNIE WALKER.
i can't wait!
Friday, September 19, 2008
johnny walker night
i had gone for training for an event as classy as crystal decanters and long-stemmed glasses - dressed smartly as usual in my short button-up dress topped off with my black jacket.
only i was carrying far too many books (three exercisebookfuls of good honest stuff, from economical articles to GARRISON KEILLOR's witty pieces - and a book by niccolo machiavelli. yes, that scheming bastard) - and a bottle of shampoo.
don't ask me why i had a bottle of shampoo, i just do, okay?*
anyways. so the training went on and we found out aaall about johnny walker and the blue label, how it started and how it's going on, how the blue label has earned it stripes, so to speak.
suffice to say, we had bombarded our trainer (his name's colin) mercilessly with questions. being the indulgent host that he is, however, he answered our questions patiently and with humour, then proceeded to take us out to the bar, where he mixed magic cocktails for the bunch of us**.
the cocktails were especially created with the coming F1 race in mind and sported names like pitstop, yellow flag, suchlike. we sampled these mixes and suffice to say, they're a hit both with the ladies and the gentlemen. we had about six cocktails in all, and these mixes are sold only at six other places (with pretty names like "hilton" and "marriott").
being the bold, demanding chit that i am, i had requested that we have a taste of the blue label with ice water, as colin had so deliciously described when he was enlightening us to the joys and pleasures of the best whisky in the world. and boy, was i glad that i was the bold, demanding chit!
colin had instructed us that the palate needs to be cooled with plain water before it should touch any of the liquid gold - the palate must be chilled. when the whisky touched our tongues, omigosh - the divine flavours i never knew existed - nor ever thought could exist in a whisky - fanned and spread themselves out in my mouth.
whatever the japanese comics had illustrated when the characters tasted good food? those happened to me when the flavours blossomed on my tastebuds. the best bit was when i breathed out - now that's another flavour altogether.
whatever idea i had about a whisky being a man's drink had suddenly become hogwash, sudden enlightenment dictates that the only reason why i had equated whisky to paint-stripping agents was because i was drinking paint-stripping agents.
blue label and paint-strippers? vast difference.
and thus came the end of the evening. colin, as before, was gracious and i was a little sorry to go, but am glad that i am an ambassador of this particular whisky.
* unless you really want an answer. and if you really wanted an answer i would have told you that it's because I BOUGHT A BOTTLE OF SHAMPOO. BECAUSE I WANTED IT.
** comprised of four team leaders in the F&B industry (they've got the know-how as to how to treat a guest right), four of us whisky girls and jackeline, nixon and albert, our minders. ahem. "minders". it makes me feel posh just saying that.
only i was carrying far too many books (three exercisebookfuls of good honest stuff, from economical articles to GARRISON KEILLOR's witty pieces - and a book by niccolo machiavelli. yes, that scheming bastard) - and a bottle of shampoo.
don't ask me why i had a bottle of shampoo, i just do, okay?*
anyways. so the training went on and we found out aaall about johnny walker and the blue label, how it started and how it's going on, how the blue label has earned it stripes, so to speak.
suffice to say, we had bombarded our trainer (his name's colin) mercilessly with questions. being the indulgent host that he is, however, he answered our questions patiently and with humour, then proceeded to take us out to the bar, where he mixed magic cocktails for the bunch of us**.
the cocktails were especially created with the coming F1 race in mind and sported names like pitstop, yellow flag, suchlike. we sampled these mixes and suffice to say, they're a hit both with the ladies and the gentlemen. we had about six cocktails in all, and these mixes are sold only at six other places (with pretty names like "hilton" and "marriott").
being the bold, demanding chit that i am, i had requested that we have a taste of the blue label with ice water, as colin had so deliciously described when he was enlightening us to the joys and pleasures of the best whisky in the world. and boy, was i glad that i was the bold, demanding chit!
colin had instructed us that the palate needs to be cooled with plain water before it should touch any of the liquid gold - the palate must be chilled. when the whisky touched our tongues, omigosh - the divine flavours i never knew existed - nor ever thought could exist in a whisky - fanned and spread themselves out in my mouth.
whatever the japanese comics had illustrated when the characters tasted good food? those happened to me when the flavours blossomed on my tastebuds. the best bit was when i breathed out - now that's another flavour altogether.
whatever idea i had about a whisky being a man's drink had suddenly become hogwash, sudden enlightenment dictates that the only reason why i had equated whisky to paint-stripping agents was because i was drinking paint-stripping agents.
blue label and paint-strippers? vast difference.
and thus came the end of the evening. colin, as before, was gracious and i was a little sorry to go, but am glad that i am an ambassador of this particular whisky.
* unless you really want an answer. and if you really wanted an answer i would have told you that it's because I BOUGHT A BOTTLE OF SHAMPOO. BECAUSE I WANTED IT.
** comprised of four team leaders in the F&B industry (they've got the know-how as to how to treat a guest right), four of us whisky girls and jackeline, nixon and albert, our minders. ahem. "minders". it makes me feel posh just saying that.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
meal with a friend who's going away
had a meal tonight with a friend who's leaving for thailand tomorrow. there were four of us, all buddies from the days of yore, when i sported a spikey 'do because i thought it was a bad idea to stop the hairdresser from being creative.
we all have grown smarter and wiser since then and... yeah. it's a joy to meet up and have a meal together.
jasmine's going to thailand tomorrow. we sang in the van that had a broken back window in full-throated triumph on the highway - and that's the way life should be.
...but i could feel shao han's missing jasmine before she even left. what a cold, clear feeling that is.
we all have grown smarter and wiser since then and... yeah. it's a joy to meet up and have a meal together.
jasmine's going to thailand tomorrow. we sang in the van that had a broken back window in full-throated triumph on the highway - and that's the way life should be.
...but i could feel shao han's missing jasmine before she even left. what a cold, clear feeling that is.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
some days are just like that
some days you just gotta label as bad days. not because they're not good, but because they're really, exactly and explicitly, not good.
you have no words for it, because the elements that make up that day are all small. so tiny in fact, that mentioning them would seem petty. so you grit and grin through a day of that and you're tired out and are probably feeling down as well and eureka! you decide to use one of your lifelines and call a friend.
so you call a friend who might understand the situation and then you get told, in a nice, roundabout manner, to "suck it in and take it like a woman", followed by "it's probably because you didn't do this, this, this and this".
why, what else can you do but take off your hat and say humbly, thank you very much sir, for listening, then hang up.
do you dare call another friend? nooo
who's there to call anyway? words would have dried up like an exhausted pot of tea left in the sun for far too many days on a day such as this.
plus nobody likes to have to begin with "hi" and then have to end with "well, thanks anyway" and come away feeling like you've made a bid for that swing when you're on the trapeze, air-clawed for the one you're meant to catch and hang on to but missed instead. it feels like you've huge grains of salt stuck in yon tearducts but you can't cry it out. so now you know how it feels to have salt crystals in your tearducts, only it's not salt: it's the fact that you took a nice long fall and hit more than just your face on the ground and you couldn't even cry.
you're too proud and too logical to do so and yet you can't deny that there is the desire and need to let the floodgates open. then someone asks, "are you okay?"
what may you say, really, other than "no. no, i'm not, but i'll be alright. thanks for asking" while you dust yourself off, all the while bleeding from the nose and a bruise actively spreading across your person?
you're not okay. you know you're not okay, it's obvious. you're not okay. and no, everything's not alright, why do you ask? is it because of the nickname that clearly reads "FUCK OFF", or is it the blood that's dripping from your metaphorical nose onto your metaphorical shirt? someone - you, namely - 'd just missed the trapeze and hit the mother-fuckin' floor, for God's sakes.
"are you alright"??
Gawd.
don't you have something smarter to say, like "i'm here for you if you need me" or do you say nothing at all and well, "let it run itself out", like you usually prefer to do? and it won't be your fault because she probably needed some space, anyway.
well y'know what? when someone's bleeding, the last thing anyone else can do is to leave it alone. worse if you know about it: it's almost like witnessing a car crash but not calling the ambulance "because someone else would have called" or worse yet, "ah don't want no trouble".
the next thing you know, two years have passed and all parties realise: you don't care like he or she - whomever that friend may be - doesn't care and work's always such a wonderful excuse. you're sorry about that but are even sorrier to know that that's the way it is. and it's not touching you anyhow like it's not touching him or her in any way.
it somehow makes you look at the situation and nod, resignedly to yourself in understanding and you realise that welp, life goes on. "c'est la vie," you say. then you turn off the lights, shut down the computer and go to sleep.
and what's changed? it's been like that since three years ago, before you realised the farthest you have gone to is "hi" on instant messenger.
---
walk away from it loren, walk away from it. improve as you must, and leave the worries behind. clichéd as it sounds, pack up your troubles in an old kit bag and smile, smile, smile.
because you're the only thrash-hauler in your world: if you don't throw the rubbish away sooner or later you're going to living in thrash. being happy is not a choice. it is survival.
being strong is not a character trait; it is a by-product of survival/happiness.
and i must be happy, cause that's the way i choose it to be.
you have no words for it, because the elements that make up that day are all small. so tiny in fact, that mentioning them would seem petty. so you grit and grin through a day of that and you're tired out and are probably feeling down as well and eureka! you decide to use one of your lifelines and call a friend.
so you call a friend who might understand the situation and then you get told, in a nice, roundabout manner, to "suck it in and take it like a woman", followed by "it's probably because you didn't do this, this, this and this".
why, what else can you do but take off your hat and say humbly, thank you very much sir, for listening, then hang up.
do you dare call another friend? nooo
who's there to call anyway? words would have dried up like an exhausted pot of tea left in the sun for far too many days on a day such as this.
plus nobody likes to have to begin with "hi" and then have to end with "well, thanks anyway" and come away feeling like you've made a bid for that swing when you're on the trapeze, air-clawed for the one you're meant to catch and hang on to but missed instead. it feels like you've huge grains of salt stuck in yon tearducts but you can't cry it out. so now you know how it feels to have salt crystals in your tearducts, only it's not salt: it's the fact that you took a nice long fall and hit more than just your face on the ground and you couldn't even cry.
you're too proud and too logical to do so and yet you can't deny that there is the desire and need to let the floodgates open. then someone asks, "are you okay?"
what may you say, really, other than "no. no, i'm not, but i'll be alright. thanks for asking" while you dust yourself off, all the while bleeding from the nose and a bruise actively spreading across your person?
you're not okay. you know you're not okay, it's obvious. you're not okay. and no, everything's not alright, why do you ask? is it because of the nickname that clearly reads "FUCK OFF", or is it the blood that's dripping from your metaphorical nose onto your metaphorical shirt? someone - you, namely - 'd just missed the trapeze and hit the mother-fuckin' floor, for God's sakes.
"are you alright"??
Gawd.
don't you have something smarter to say, like "i'm here for you if you need me" or do you say nothing at all and well, "let it run itself out", like you usually prefer to do? and it won't be your fault because she probably needed some space, anyway.
well y'know what? when someone's bleeding, the last thing anyone else can do is to leave it alone. worse if you know about it: it's almost like witnessing a car crash but not calling the ambulance "because someone else would have called" or worse yet, "ah don't want no trouble".
the next thing you know, two years have passed and all parties realise: you don't care like he or she - whomever that friend may be - doesn't care and work's always such a wonderful excuse. you're sorry about that but are even sorrier to know that that's the way it is. and it's not touching you anyhow like it's not touching him or her in any way.
it somehow makes you look at the situation and nod, resignedly to yourself in understanding and you realise that welp, life goes on. "c'est la vie," you say. then you turn off the lights, shut down the computer and go to sleep.
and what's changed? it's been like that since three years ago, before you realised the farthest you have gone to is "hi" on instant messenger.
---
walk away from it loren, walk away from it. improve as you must, and leave the worries behind. clichéd as it sounds, pack up your troubles in an old kit bag and smile, smile, smile.
because you're the only thrash-hauler in your world: if you don't throw the rubbish away sooner or later you're going to living in thrash. being happy is not a choice. it is survival.
being strong is not a character trait; it is a by-product of survival/happiness.
and i must be happy, cause that's the way i choose it to be.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
dubious pride
i am dubiously proud to come back on a tuesday evening drunk - at 9:30pm. it must be something to do with the fact that i'm working with a japanese boss.
i think he's nice.
older gentleman, and i think as long as i show respect and courtesy everything should be more than fine. :)
well he brought me to a restaurant today and had hokkaido dishes - it was great! light and appetising, coupled with sake - oh good heavens. i loved it. :)) and i work hard for my boss. :D
i think he's nice.
older gentleman, and i think as long as i show respect and courtesy everything should be more than fine. :)
well he brought me to a restaurant today and had hokkaido dishes - it was great! light and appetising, coupled with sake - oh good heavens. i loved it. :)) and i work hard for my boss. :D
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