Writing

Each man must look to himself to teach him the meaning of life. It is not something discover; it is something moulded. ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I experimented with a mixed bag of projects last year. There had been no shortage of ideas and parties who initially shared the enthusiasm, but soon diverged as our values clashed. After dismal attempts at partnership, I realize this is not my optimum work mode. In this muddled phase of everything is working but not working either, I have a major identity crisis. What am I doing?

I still believe in my pet projects but the one that manages to win out is writing. I have been writing weekly articles for a travel website. Since the deadlines are really tight I have to prioritize and adjust some facets of my daily schedule to meet them. However, the many abrupt changes recently have upended everything and I decide it's high time to take a sabbatical to reorganize and recharge. While reworking the schedule for the articles, the editor tells me he is leaving for Burma in mid-January and since there is little Internet access, he tells me to write on areas I haven't covered. The usual practice is getting a nod from him before proceeding with a new topic. With five articles and a month's work in my repertoire, he says he is confident and assured with whatever I come up with. Wow.

I think this is the biggest acknowledgement I have received in my life. I am finally doing what I love and getting recognized by a professional writer. It seems like a cloud has lifted and I can see my way. I don't have a muddled identity anymore. I write.

p.s. My professor has been right all along. It will be a long road with many twists and turns and there will be bouts of losing myself and doubting my sanity, but have faith.

(photo www.artsjournal.com)

Indignation

Bouquet of Anger

A good indignation brings out all one's power ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

As I was searching for a picture of anger, I came across the photo above, named a bouquet of anger. On a closer look, I think it's aptly named because of the wild arrangement of prickly and thorny foliage.

After Merlyn left, I had two part times who alternately helped me around the house. On Christmas Day, of all days, one decided to switch with the other. To be honest, I didn't expect them to show up at all on Christmas. To make a long story short, the one who's supposed to come didn't call me till 5pm, said she was sick. The other one said she was already out doing choir practice. Fine.

The thing that got me fuming was both claimed the other had asked for the switch. It smelled fishy. One thing I looked for in any working relationship was reliability and trust. When the weekday one showed up yesterday, she could not look me in the eye. No remorse, no apology.

The result? I fired her on the spot.

I thought I would panic without help, but the overwhelming feeling was that of empowerment. I wasn't 100 % pleased with their work, but I really didn't want to mop the floor either. I gritted my teeth and did all the housework I abhor on Boxing Day. It wasn't that bad.

Actually this episode was a well learnt lesson on conditioning. I was conditioned to rely on someone else to do "whatever"for me. The conditioning went beyond hired help to working partners gone MIA. I thought there was only one person who was capable, but billions of people in this world had the caliber, if not more, to perform the same work. It might not be a bad thing when one ended, perhaps there were undercurrents I had not noticed all along.

I also kept forgetting there's always this one person I could rely on, Me. A well learnt lesson in 2009. Looking forward, exercising my muscle in self reliance would be foremost on my New Year's resolution list. It ain't all bad in the end.

(photo http://www.static.dezeen.com/)

Gratefulness

White Azaleas

I had a wonderful professor in college who was also the Dean of English and she played a pivotal role in my decision to major in English literature. On the first day of our Medieval English class she read us a poem in old English. The spelling and pronunciation of the words were totally foreign to me but I was mesmerized by her melodic voice. Her wealth of knowledge was like a magnet drawing me to take as many of her classes as possible.

One day, she told me to see her after class. I didn't give it much thought as she liked to see students individually about their essays. I was so surprised when she said she wanted to recommend me for a summer exchange program to study Shakespeare at Cambridge University. I was dumb struck and very flattered. The decision to go was made then and there.

We actually lived on the campus, in Trinity college and our meals were served by students volunteering for the summer. The mess hall was exactly like Hogwart's. We had classes in the morning and after lunch. By four o' clock, tea would be served in the courtyard. After that we were free to roam about. I was drawn to the cluster of book shops selling old books and maps. I loved the musty air and the dust that trailed the book from the moment you took it off the shelf to the final puff swirling in the afternoon light when you opened the creaking pages.

The program included excursions to Stratford to see the place where the bard had lived and to London to watch a play by the Royal Shakespeare Company. We saw the comedy "Much Ado about Nothing". The highlight though was attending class every day where quite a few of us had a crush on our professor. Mind you, our class was supposed to be an intensive study of Romeo and Juliet. Our professor was a born story teller and would venture off with stories in the middle of discussing a thematic scheme of the play. We implored him to read us something in old English every day and he accepted with a broad grin.

This was many years ago, but to this day, I continue to feel blessed and grateful for having the Dean as my mentor. She was one harsh grader and she would always say to us, "critique your work as if I was grading it". Her training was military but appreciated in afterthought. I have been contributing articles to a tourism website recently. One prerequisite is an excellent command of the English language. As I write, a familiar voice from the distant past materialize to guide me through, "Is this a run on sentence, is this redundant, is this metaphor balanced or is this pun intended?"

Her parting words when I left school was a quote from Emerson. I finally knew what it meant.
~Most of the shadows of this life are caused by standing in our own sunshine.

Some Pig!

Santa Porky

The weather has turned much cooler, which is wonderful relief to a person who dreads the heat and humidity, c'est moi. Since I have two cats, I can't open the windows as wide as I'd like for fear they will jump out, but I do open the ten windows at my place about two inches wide each to air the house.

Out of stupidity and forgetfulness one night, I forgot to close the window nearest to the head board of my bed. When I woke up to feed Dayee in the morning, I had a full blown headache. Oh, Dayee has a daylight savings setting. She wakes up at 7am instead of 6am now. After popping two painkillers, I waddled back to the bedroom.

I could feel a draft sitting on the bed arranging the covers and it checked out to be from "the" opened window. I was muttering to myself that I fully deserved the head cold. I wanted something warm but I didn't want to go through the kitchen drawers to find the hot water bottle and worse, wait for the water to boil. I gave my pig a sly look.

Mr. Porky does not like to sleep on the bed. The thing is he cannot climb up nor jump down. I didn't care, my head was throbbing. I grabbed my pig and put him beside me. His warmth spread through the blankets and I felt so blissful I fell into a four hour coma. When I woke up, the headache was gone and I felt warm all over, not only because of Porky's hot bod, but the fact he stayed with me the whole time without struggling to go down the bed.

When he saw me stir, he climbed up to my belly and looked at me with the big question, "Can I go down now?" After I put him down, I saw him rushing to his cage to do his thing. He was so relieved he had a big grin after and I knew he felt so proud. Of course such a good boy deserved a cookie and a big hug.

Some pig!!

The Book Thief

I have been reading Proust for months and I tell myself I have to finish all 6 tomes before moving onto another book. I am onto the fourth book, on page 400 for a week now, still have 400 pages to go to book five. I enjoy Proust but it's not easy reading. I was updating my virtual book shelf on facebook the other day and a like-minded reader piped, "she is always reading Proust and James Joyce but she thinks she will never finish either". I agree.

One day browsing at a book store I came across "The Book Thief". After leafing through a few pages, I couldn't resist buying it. The setting was Nazi Germany. Death was the narrator but it was not macabre in any way. The plot revolved around a nine year old girl and the events that happened in the five years Hitler rose to power.

The book reverberated with the goodness of human nature in those stark times. Nine year old Lisel was thrust into a foster home after witnessing her little brother's death and her mom branded a communist. At her new home, she found a loving papa who taught her to read the first book she stole, "The Gravedigger's Handbook", a book she had picked up from the cemetery where they buried her brother.

Interwoven was Death's narration of the souls he had carried away as the war raged on. Descriptions of hard times were told through the life of the young girl and her best friend Rudy, stealing apples, trading them for candies, playing soccer and yes, stealing books, from the Nazis burning and the mayor's library.

The most touching part of the story was Lisel's bonding with papa, a gentle and upright man "with silver eyes" and her friendship with Max, a Jew whom they had harbored in the basement.

"The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole...."

Max, at that moment, knew that only a child could have given a weather report like that. On the wall, he painted a long, tightly knotted rope with dripping yellow sun at the end of it, as if you could dive right into it. On a ropy cloud, he drew two figures--a thin girl and a withering Jew--they were walking arms balanced, towards the dripping sun."

I won't give away the ending but suffice to say, it is a book that stays with you for days after you have finished it. It has a lingering effect akin to "The Kite Runner". In those war torn years, Death carried away many souls. He always marveled at and questioned the best and worst in humans. However, when Death carried away the souls of little kids, he would always kiss them and carry them ever so lightly.

A good read.

What a Delight

As with the approach of every festive season, an onslaught of catalogues would cram the mailbox, beckoning you to browse and drop some coins. One of the most eye catching catalogue is the Mikimoto Collection 2010. The cover of the little booklet is red with gold lettering, which makes it extra Christmasy.

The collection is called Rosy Bliss and the description says the "Jewelry designed to evoke blissful feelings, blooming apace with your pursuit of happiness". Really? It piqued my curiosity. As I turn the pages, I could see design after design of floral motifs in pink sapphires and diamonds set with the famous pearls.

After browsing the whole collection, I really want to salute the people who came up with the wordings for the collection because they have captured the essence of the design. I do feel "blissful" at the sight of the delightful pendant above.

(photo: www.mikimoto.com.hk)

Skincare Tip II Essential Oil

Aromatherapy

The saying goes oil and water don't mix. It's true, they don't. The weather is considerably cooler and drier and the moisture from the skin seems to evaporate with the brisk winds. It's such a luxury to immerse in a nice hot bath filled with bath oil. The problem is, the oil mostly floats on top and it really beats the goal of moisturizing the whole body.

I ask a beautician about this and she says the trick is to put some soap on the palm of your hands, work it into a lather, then pour the oil on top and rub again. After the soapy oil is mixed, you can "wash" it off in your tub of water and the oil will be evenly distributed in the water. The thing to remember is not to put too much soap on your palm, it's only purpose is to mix the oil and water.

I also use a blend of essential oil for my face. I feel so pampered when the oil glides on my face and I can do a mini facial when the skin is absorbing the oil. However, when I wash my hands afterwards, I always feel there is a residue of oil. Then I remembered the tip above of water and oil don't mix. So one day after using the oil, I pump a dollop of liquid soap on my palm and rub them before I touch water. It works. The oil melts away. My face is moisturized and my hands are squeaky clean.

This is yet another great tip if you use essential oil as a skincare routine.
(photo: www.splendicity.com)

Skincare Tip I Sunscreen

Guerlain Sunscreen

For the longest time, I have been "plagued" by a skincare "problem" which is accentuated in photographs. It does not matter if I tilt up or lower my head when photographing, I just can't hide the rings on my neck!! Winters are much welcomed because I can wear turtle necks and hide my neck rings.

People say there are two places that show your age, your hands and your neck. Well, I have a turkey neck since my 20's so I guess I am born with it. I have used many different brands of neck creams that promise to reverse or halt the process of developing neck rings. Aside from being more moisturising than face creams, they simply don't work.

One day, I point this out to a makeup artist and she says neck creams are a waste of dollars and since the rings are already there, it's impossible to make them go away without plastic surgery. Okay, I won't go under the knife for this, but she says there is a way to lighten them and keep new neck rings from forming.

She says since there is no fat deposit on the neck, the skin is prone to sagging and forming rings. She asks me if I use sunscreen on my neck. I just use it on my face. She then suggests that I dab sunscreen on my neck. Since we don't usually apply makeup on the neck we can reapply the sunscreen during the day.

I really have my doubts upon first hearing it. However, after a summer's of diligence, it has paid off!! The rings on my neck are still there, but much lighter. The best thing is the tone of my face sans makeup and my neck are the same. Usually the neck is darker for most people.

I am so happy it has worked and sunscreen comes so much cheaper than the pricey neck creams. It's a routine now. When I apply sunscreen on my face, I dab on a thicker layer on my neck. What a wonderful skincare tip!!
(photo www.guerlain.com)

Stella McCartney - Designer with a Conscience

The "It" Shoe for A/W 09, laser cut perforated faux nappa thigh high boots

I received The Style Hunter newsletter from Lane Crawford a while back. I went WOW on the second page which featured these thigh high boots designed by Stella McCartney. She had been my favorite designer since she joined the house of Chole. She's now with Gucci and has her own line under her name.

A few years back, Stella had a crossover with Adidas for women's sports clothes and shoes. I coveted that pair of Adidas shoes for a long time but never got to buy it. I finally got a top. I had serious doubts about the comfort and fit at the asymmetrical cutting, but it turned out to be super comfortable and it wrapped the body really well.

Aside from the fabulous designs, I loved Stella's support of Peta and her not using fur or leather in any of her designs. She is a vegetarian and very vocal about her belief of "no-animal" policy in her clothing lines. Her message appears on her labels and on one of her Adidas jacket, it even says "it's suitable for sporty vegetarian". Sir Paul McCartney is also very supportive of Peta and he protests against designers who use animal furs for designs.

Stella launched a skincare line called CARE two years ago and its ingredients are 100% organic. I have tried the line and it feels good to know you are using products with no preservatives. The line is really simple, with a cleansing milk, floral toning water, day cream and night cream. At the same time, Stella has launched a fragrance under her name.

I really admire Stella McCartney for advocating her beliefs in her designs. With her name and fame, I hope more and more people will be aware that great designs don't have to scream pain. She is a designer with a conscience. Hats off!!
( photo: www.stellamccartney.com)

The Meaning of Christmas

Animals Asia's gift catalogue

I have been supporting Animals Asia for years. When I received the gift catalogue and the appeal for donations this year, I cannot suppress a smile. Aside from the usual bear related merchandise like calendars, key chains and t-shirts, plus directly befriending a bear by donating each month. We could choose gifts directly for the bears like pots of honey, fruit baskets, vet care for a month, bear health check, climbing frame, gall bladder surgery and a hammock.

Christmas is a season of giving and spreading love, in this case to my charity of choice. After years of suffering, these bears deserve all the things they are entitled to from the beginning. I am so happy Jill Robinson has founded the cause to rescue these bears and has brought the plight of the bears to the world. There is a little note that AAF has brought an increased awareness to animal welfare in China, the origin of the bears suffering.

I am saving for a hammock for the bears. The picture above has brought a smile and a warm glow all over me I haven't felt for a while. A writer once said that when you feel poor, try to give whatever you have to someone worse off than you. You will feel richer afterwards. I believe he is referring to the giving of love and the love bounces right back to you in the form of appreciation.

Celebratory copy

I received this year's annual report copy in the mail two days ago. The deadline was real tight this year, but I didn't expect to see it in print so soon. Compared to the subdued red cover last year, this year's design had a celebratory feel to it. It reminded me of Christmas lights.

It is my second consecutive year doing translations for this association. I am going to keep this copy alongside 2008's copy on my bookshelf reserved for writing work. It still feels surreal to see your own words in print. I wonder what it's like if it's not a translated work but my own writing. I bet it would feel real gratifying.

The Little Rock

The giving of love is an education in itself. ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

I have been meaning to write this post for some time. I have been struggling with it because the subject touches some raw nerves, and my survival instinct is to push it away. This time around it's been nagging me most of my waking moments, so it's high time I vented.

From my very early posts of a Christmas saved by a puppy, I have described the family I am in as dysfunctional. My earliest memory as a child is, it's never been a normal household. As the parents contemplate the impending divorce, I am told things a twelve-year old should not be partial to.

One parent takes it out on me, the other ignores me. I am brought up by an endless stream of helpers. As far as I am concerned, I have been orphaned at that point. The emotional distance has never failed to bridge all these years. The funny but ironic thing is the child has grown, but the parents are still stuck in the stagnated time tunnel.

I have read a lot of articles that children either emulate their parents or rebel against them. I have chosen the latter. The biggest insult someone can bring on me is I resemble "her". There is an insider joke among the helpers that I am a little rock. One day, I burst out from a piece of rock and no one knows where I have come from. I am cool with being a rock.

The older I get, the less respect I have for them. Bitter, angry, sad, disappointed, ashamed, the list goes on and on. I can still remember the astonishment when I receive the bills from my birthday dinner, sent to the family company for reimbursement. Before my mentor leaves the company, I am given a book which details every reimbursement paid for everything she has bought for me and my brothers.

Gatherings are rarely pleasant, so I have learned to keep my distance. I shy away from as many social calls as much as possible. As for the unavoidable ones, I armor myself with pep talk before and pour me a Black Label after.

When you see a parent at a dinner and he does not even see you or ask how you are or he has left town without you knowing and he is online but never says hello, you know you are the little rock. You just burst out from nowhere.

This is not a sad post. It's a story of a little rock which has magically grown to a rock that is able to anchor the author's life.

(photo: www. woosk.com)

Delivered

Photo by Terry Bear


Photo by Terry Bear

I am so relieved the translation project was completed in a little more than two weeks. It's much faster and streamlined compared to last year. There was a little mishap towards the end though, when I received a call saying the authors of the two remaining scripts could not be located.

The deadline came and went and three days later, I received the final scripts. By this time, I have completed eighteen drafts and these two were submitted in a matter of hours. I wasn't worried about the deadline because by now there wasn't one. I just hated having things unfinished.

I have been criticized that when I commit to do something, I have to get right on it like a full steam engine. This personal attack is really stupefying to me. How else can you complete anything otherwise, if not for full commitment? I don't feel a comeback is necessary for the criticism, just that people have different values.

My belief is under-promise but over-deliver. After all, my company's reputation rests on it.

I am happily looking forward to my next project. I have finally found a budding photographer to take photos for my posy portfolio!!
(photos by Terry Bear)

Regrets

Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself.
I am large, I contain multitudes. ~ Walt Whitman

So much has happened in the expanse of a year. So much has changed, leaving me a little sad and nostalgic of things past.

As I am working on the final drafts on the translation project, I can't brush away the feeling of deja-vu. I was working on the same project last year, albeit outsourcing a third of the drafts. This year I am working on my own and the good news is it's much more efficient.

The bad news is missing the laughter, the sharing at the studio. Studio White opened on September 26th last year. Although the studio still exists as a virtual studio, I really miss the little hangout. It is a really neat studio. I remember going to pick out the lights, mirror, cabinets, coffee table and the sofa...Every time I open the door to the studio, I would go "wow, it's so nice!"

Tant pis everything is truncated when we have to give back the place. After the move, nothing is the same. I still feel the studio has a premature end. The biggest loss though, is the shared dream and vision. Now, as I am rounding up the translation project, I am left with what I have been feeling all these months but refused to acknowledge, a sense of loss.

I have been feeling out of sorts over the weekend and completely unawares that it's the Canadian thanksgiving weekend, which is a month earlier than the States, I cannot find my friend whom I trust would "get" me. As the battery on my phone dies after 2 hours, the verdict is I finally have to face the fact that I have lost my direction in life. Gone is the blanket of complacency and the blinding denial.

It's time to do something, to emerge from this lull because at my age, I don't want to leave this world with any regrets and I have plenty. It's ironic, but my friend is right in saying the one thing I have no regrets is working in my previous job because I have delivered everything, given my all. Thinking back, she is right. Now, I have to put that enthusiasm into my new endeavor, because really, I don't have room for regrets.

photo: www.freefoto.com

Vegetarian

I have become a 100% vegetarian couple weeks ago. The reason I say 100% is because I used to eat chicken and seafood. I have quit eating beef, pork or any kind of mammal since I was 16. It's not as hard as I thought, abstaining from the rest. After a few weeks without chicken or fish, I can't put a morsel in my mouth now.

About 2 weeks ago, I read and watched a Peta file on how diary cows are abused and used to the maximum to milk them for money, money and more money without any consideration these innocent animals can feel pain, emotionally and physically. After they have lost their value, that is when the cows can't stand or milk anymore, they just leave them to wither and die, lying in their own feces. Milk is definitely gone. I am lactose intolerant anyway, so why buy milk purely for my morning coffee and make these poor animals suffer? I have replaced milk with soy milk and I am so happy Starbuck's and Pacific Coffee serve soy milk if you request it.

A friend posted a video of how they slaughter cows and man was it cruel. Some friends say they don't have the courage to stomach the video but they have the stomach to eat it. They shot a bullet in the cow's head, but the cows were still conscious when they were hooked up, sliced opened and their legs sawed off. The footage showed a cow shedding a tear prior to being shot. All the other cows awaiting their fate were crying in the background.

Peta is not a radical organization. It proposes ethical treatment of animals. When it boils down to monetary gain, ethics is out of the window. If animals are to die for human consumption, can't humans at least treat them with respect, dignity and as humanely as possible? Think of the next burger, steak, pot roast, lamb, veal and milk you take. Can you see the cow, the pig, the lamb, the calf suffering? Can you hear them crying?

People may think that I am radical, like Peta, but there are some friends who are turning away from meat, too. When I eat out now, if the dish has any meat, I'll just tell them I am vegetarian and to replace with vegetable instead. Well, if it's not possible to alter the dish, I'll have a coffee then, black and pick up the tab.

photo http://www.caswellmom.com

Adason

Adason Lo

I was real happy to receive a call from the LUA three weeks ago to do their annual report second year in a row. My work revolves translating Chinese scripts into English drafts. Over the past two weeks, I have received an onslaught of scripts and slaving away with them, not daring to slack because the deadline is real tight this year.

Translation is a very solitary work, which suits my personality and work style perfectly. I could just email the finished drafts without the need to meet with any clients. Since there is only me in the company of the Chinese characters and English alphabets, the downside is after several hours with them, my brain is stuck.

It doesn't help that I am my own worst critic. I would edit the draft a zillion times before submitting them. A word or a phrase would jump out at me and I would go "whoa, where did this come from?" and I would edit the whole piece from the beginning. There are times when I simply could not fathom a phrase that would retain the gist of its intended meaning from one language to another, then I know it's really time to STOP and unwind.

Surfing the tv channels, I chanced upon a singing competition on television. My thumb was hovering over the remote's button but the singing I heard made me froze. It was one of my favorite songs and it's sung so beautifully. I ended up watching the whole episode.

It turned out this brilliant singer is Adason Lo. He is 23 and really talented. He has over 10,000 fans on his facebook page already. He sings, composes music and even plays the piano and violin. His songs are all by my favorite artists, and a lot of us fans, even judges, think he interprets them better than the original artists. That first time I heard him sing on TV, I went "Wow". I have followed 9 episodes now, the show is the highlight of my Sunday evenings.

He wrote a note on Oct. 1st on his page, thanking his fans for the support. At last count, there were close to 400 encouraging comments. Like a lot of fans, I felt touched by his note. I left a comment telling him that his singing and especially his talent had touched a lot of people and to do his best this Sunday.

Being able to immerse myself in this beautiful voice of his helps me unwind completely. With a freshened mind, the phrase I have been struggling before would pop out out of the blue. Can't wait till tomorrow night to hear Adason sing again. Ganbatei!!

Shakespeare Abridged

A friend invited me to go to a matinee play at the Academy for Performing Arts yesterday. The poster touted the play would condense all of Shakespeare's 37 plays into 97 minutes. Wow, this aroused my interest immensely. I could read through two plays in that time frame, but all 37? Impossible!

It turned out to be a three men play that attempted to engage the audience into a roller coaster ride abridging and condensing the work by the Bard. It began with Romeo and Juliet, which was amongst the three plays the trio spent the most time on, about eight minutes each. The other two were Othello and Hamlet.

I laughed and coughed the most when they debated how and who should play Othello, since he's a Moor and supposed to be African. They are all whites. There were a few racial jokes, but they finally decided to rap the lines. It was hilarious.

The last play was Hamlet and the best part was Hamlet's "to be or not to be" soliloquy that one of the actors recited nonchalantly. It was the longest and most serious recital of the play but he added afterwards saying, "I didn't know what it meant either." This was wildly funny.

I was a little surprised there so many kids at the play, most likely because it's a matinee show. There were quite a few puns and terms I thought would escape them, but the kids understood and loved them. I guess it's the talent of the actors who managed to draw the audience in, even kids. I read that it's the longest running comedy in Britain. Hats off to the Reduced Shakespeare Company trio!!

p.s. Apologies to my friend, who had to endure my coughing in between the laughs.

Kate Spade Show

Invitation and paraphernalia

Our seats

Rows of tea for two

Programme and gift vouchers

Models' entrance

Kate Spade's first clothing collection

Strutting down the runway

Last month, I received an invitation to view the first clothing collection by Kate Spade New York. I had been a long time fan of their bag and especially shoe collection, the 3 inch heels were actually comfortable to walk in.

The fashion show was held at the Four Season's hotel. I called to RSVP and the lady told me to bring a friend along for the fun. We arrived on the dot and registered at the entrance of the ballroom. When we walked in, we were speechless. Rows and rows of teas were arranged along the catwalk.

We were led to our seats and a waiter appeared to ask us if we wanted tea or coffee. What we wanted was to click away with the camera and record this moment. It just felt so surreal, so SATC. We took turns taking pictures and after making a nuisance obstructing the waiters serving other ladies, we sat down.

We started to devour the 3 tier tea set. It was the usual fare, with finger sandwiches and savories, scones and cakes, but somehow they tasted extra special. I think it had to do with the atmosphere and the excitement.

Finally, the fashion show began and the first model was my all time favorite, Amanda Strang. She just looked so pretty and sweet and so Kate Spade. Polka dots were everywhere, which was just right with the caption,"Be chic, be pretty and have fun!!". The show lasted for about 15 minutes. I clapped so hard when all the models paraded down for the finale. It was just so pretty and so fun!!

I had my last sip of coffee and thought to myself what a wonderful day it was. I felt so happy. Afterwards, we went to the Kate Spade shop to look at the clothing. Well, there weren't many on display and we felt that we had an insider look and we both had a secret smile walking out of the store.

I'm loving it

I didn't have much of an appetite the past few days. This morning, my stomach was growling. It was a good sign because the coughing and wheezing were a lot less and I was hungry!! There was no way I was getting out in this weather though. Throwing out the garbage was enough to make me start wheezing.

I went to the kitchen and found the delivery menus and there was the 24 hour McDonald's delivery service. I placed my order and the operator was nice enough to tell me that if I order this plus that, my delivery would be free. The total had to be US$7 or above.

I ended up ordering two macaroni (one with egg, another with chicken), one hot cake, one large coffee and a cup of hot chocolate, all for $7. They became my breakfast, lunch and dinner. The best thing was the macaroni and soup came in separate containers. This way, I could just heat up the soup in the microwave and pour it onto the macaroni anytime and I would not have soggy macaroni!! Another plus, no dish washing. I'm lovin' it!!

photo http://americansfortruth.com/uploads/2008/03/mcdonalds-logo.JPG

Asthma

I haven't been so sick as I had been the last few days for a long time. It first started with a sore throat after lunch. I didn't pay much attention to it. Then, my friend insisted we walk in 33c instead of grabbing a cab to see something. Fine. When I got home, I was sweating profusely and started to get out of breath.

As the night wore on, the sore throat became a hacking cough and the wheezing came. Then I knew it was a full blown asthma attack. I have a handy inhaler with me all the time and usually several puffs would do the trick. Not this time though. I was coughing and hacking so much my chest and back were in pain because of the exertion to get the phlegm out.

Next day was the worst. I remember sitting in the bath tub, instead of standing, to take a shower. I couldn't sit nor stand straight because hunching my back was the best posture to not cough. After the half hearted attempt at showering, I had to sit in the tub and wait for the wheezing to ease off before I could climb out.

Sleeping was out of the question because lying down would bring a new bout of hacking and more wheezing. Even though it was a torture to cough like that, I managed to get almost all the phlegm out. Yesterday morning, the part time helper came and one look at me she said she'd clean my room first, so I could rest. I took my medicine while waiting and I fell into a coma and slept till 3pm.

I still have no clue what triggered this massive attack. There were suggestions of food allergy, air pollution and of course blame it on the cats theory. I am just happy the episode is over and from now on, I'll be extra careful with my known allergies.

photo
(http://dailygrommet.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/hot-tea.jpg)

Hypocrisy

Wilted flower

Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is ~Voltaire

This is the last post about Gen Y, thank goodness. The episode had finally ended with a long overdue phone call. Gen Y would avoid a phone conversation like plague with every lame excuse, so all communication had been via msn. Hey, who could best the all time excuse with "mom is around, so I can't talk"?

As per my earlier post of the suspected dyslexia Gen Y was afflicted, nothing meaningful could get across via msn. What's worse, Gen Y would evade any question or embarrassing and awkward moment with an icon. It's simply maddening.

In order to clarify things, a phone call was in order. With no icon to hide beneath, you could hear the fidgeting and the unease when Gen Y was asked a direct question. Gen Y reacted by ranting off in a speech so fast you could only catch snippets of it, with the sole aim to diffuse the question and hang up as quickly as possible.

As it was not possible to avoid confrontation, Gen Y began to say things that were downright selfish, irresponsible and hurtful. You could hear all the defensive mechanisms roaring at full capacity. Out of weaponry, Gen Y finally resorted to projection. Your fall from grace, in his eyes, was caused by you exposing his hypocrisy.

If you could only be contented with Gen Y hiding behind an icon, then it would not be necessary to end everything. Your phone call had unmasked the real feelings and attitude. Remember, it's all your fault. Right.

photo
http://www2.istockphoto.com/file_thumbview_approve/6255026/2/istockphoto_6255026-wilted-flower-in-vase.jpg

Quatre Saisons

I read an article a while back that some people suffer from seasonal mood disorders. Usually it's winter because sunlight is less and it makes people depressed. I, on the other hand have summer blues. I languish in summers. I hate the heat, the humidity, the sweat. Worst of all is the blinding light, it never fails to give me a migraine. I have taken my fair share of painkillers this summer.

It's been getting hotter every year. Yes, I think it's the effect of global warming. To keep the heat out, I have all the blinds down during the day. This year it is so hot that even with the air conditioning on, it's at most "warm", not cool in the house. I can just jump back into the shower after drying my hair because I would be sweating already. I hate summers.

I have always loved autumns. I believe special things happen when the brisk, dry air arrives. I hope come September, summer will be officially over. Listening to Vivaldi's Four Seasons again, autumn is still my favorite.

photo
http://www.digiskill.com/images/fralubiz/bkgd/autumn-leaf-tile.jpg

Grief

Couple days ago, I took Porky for a waddle to the supermarket. When we reached the door, I put him in his travelling bag, since dogs were not allowed inside. With my shopping list in hand, I walked up and down the aisles to pick up what I needed.

When I turned the corner, I bumped into a lady who used to work at my dad's company for almost 30 years. We started to chat and she pointed to a wiggling bag in the shopping cart and I told her it was my pig. I asked her how she was and tears started to well in her eyes. I knew I had asked the wrong question, again....

The lady joined another company nine years ago. This company was filled with familiar faces from my dad's extinct company and I always visited them at lunch time. Aside from the free meal, there were always funny stories about the old times.

Four years ago, I received a call from my aunt in the morning. She told me that this lady had flown to the States to see her daughter. Okay, but this did not warrant a call at 7am. My aunt then told me that the daughter had a car accident and was in surgery as we speak. She thought that I would like to know, since the lady was my mentor in a lot of ways.

Then the bad news came bit by bit. The daughter went skiing with a bunch of friends. She forgot something in the trunk and asked her friends to go ahead. When she reached the rear of the car and opened the trunk, a car nearby skidded. The driver had lost control of the car but finally managed to stop, trapping the daughter, sandwiched between two cars.

When the lady reached the hospital, her daughter was already gone. Her injuries were too extensive and the doctors could not stop the internal bleeding. The lady was devastated and in shock. How could this happen when her daughter was engaged to be married and only 27 years old? All this time, the lady berated herself and grieved.

She said she was still in a trance when she attended her daughter's funeral. The turnout was massive. The whole church was filled with people she didn't know. Not only was her daughter a Christian, she was also active in a lot of church activities and charity. She asked everyone, especially herself, "why had God taken such a good child away?"

I went to visit her after she came back. I could not believe my eyes, her black hair had turned pepper grey. Our greetings were truncated because she would choke up when she speak. I still visit at lunch time, but it's a hushed one now. Gone was the lively conversation. The lady would pick up her lunch box and take it to her room. The rest of us would sit in the pantry and eat in silence or with minimal conversation.

That day at the supermarket, she told me the most important thing was to be happy, because life was too short. She reminded me to live with as little regret as possible, because life was too unpredictable. She kept saying she would do anything to have her daughter back...

Her routine was to take a walk to the supermarket after dinner every evening. Life still had to go on. Her hair was almost white now.

photo
(http://www.erinjohnsonphoto.com/blog/uploaded_images/IMG_1274-771281.JPG)

Lost

Last week, I had the harrowing experience of almost losing Camille. The fact that she's here to wreck havoc to my laptop meant she wasn't lost. I was expecting a delivery and knowing how nervous Camille was with strangers, noise or anything that's not familiar, I made an appointment with the pet groomer a week earlier, so the kids could be safely out of the house when the delivery guys came.

When I took the travelling bag out that morning, Camille went into hiding. After futile attempts to coax her out, I decided to bring Ashley and Porky first. She was nowhere to be found when I came back. I was getting antsy because the delivery would be here soon. I called and called, but there was no sight of her. I sensed trouble already.

It turned out that she was hiding under my bed. When she knew she was found, she shot out. The door was ajar because the guys had to move the old bed out. I thought she ran out of the house. After the delivery guys left, I went in search of her, in the house, the building, the neighborhood. Not a glimpse. No one had seen her.

I went to pick up Ashley and Porky from the groomer's and told the lady that should somebody bring Camille in, to please give me a ring. I came back exhausted. I was sure that I had lost her. It was approaching 6pm and getting dark. I got more worried by the minute. The noise from the renovation upstairs and the roadside had died down and the silence made it more foreboding that something bad had happened to her.

I got up and went into the bathroom to freshen up. When I came out, lo and behold, there she was. Camille had appeared from nowhere and somewhere. I was so relieved I called up my friend, who had prayed with me five minutes earlier. Our prayer was if God saw fit that Camille should stay with me, to please bring her back. I had done my best to find her and I'll leave it in His hands. Here she was, a miracle.

Sometimes, I wished I had never adopted Camille. She was hyper in every way and scared of everything. However, my overwhelming thoughts when she went missing was how scared she would be. I wanted her to come back because I wanted her to know that she was not orphaned anymore. She had found a permanent home with us.

I still yell at her when she knocks over things, scratches the sofa, among other things. Despite being a menace, I am happy she's home. God works in mysterious ways.

(photo http://santafeworkshops.com/newsletter/AnselAdams_Dogwoodwe.jpg)

Empathy

I have never been so furious with my kids, ever. This morning I heard a dull thud and I knew it's one of the cats, most likely Camille, who had done something. I didn't have my contacts or glasses on, but holding Porky in my arms, I ventured out of bed in a daze to check out what the mayhem was this time. It turned out to be my laptop.

From the mangled mouse usb and the portal in my laptop, the evidence clearly pointed to Camille toying with the wire attaching the mouse and pulled the laptop down. It was 6:30am. I fed Dayee and proceeded to check if the laptop still worked. It did. Fine, I was still hung over with my sleeping pill, so I grabbed Porky and went back to sleep.

When I woke up, I turned on the laptop. So far so good, until I plugged in a memory stick. The screen went black. I checked the power, disconnected and reconnected all the plugs. Nothing, zilch. That's when I cracked. I was screaming at Camille and finally cornered her in the bathroom behind the laundry basket. I closed the bathroom door and she knew she was in trouble. Boy, I was yelling and screaming at her and I really wanted her to vanish, to go away.

I wanted to cry. Since Merlyn left, I had been telling myself that it's a transition period for the kids and me. I understood that Camille was attached to Merlyn and the fact that she couldn't find her was nerve wrecking for her.

She broke every picture frame in the house. I was hopping mad, especially the first one she broke was a photo of Kobe and me. I was so glad that though the glass was broken, the photo was intact. The next few nights, she proceeded to break the others. At this point, I didn't even care. It's not like these things were not replaceable, but my sanity was irreplaceable.

The only 2 people who understood the stress and why I snapped was a friend who's taking care of her 17 year old doggie and my shrink. He was surprised I held everything together for over a month and except for telling him that I was tired, my mood was okay. He proceeded to tell me that I was one tough cookie. Having a sleeping pill hangover every day would drive a lot of people crazy. That's when I cried. Thank God somebody understood.

As for my friend taking care of her doggie, we agreed that we were the only 2 people who understood our particular situation at this moment. We don't need advice, lecture nor solution. She could have euthanized her doggie and I could have given Camille away. If we could do it, we would have already. Hey, it's a life we're talking right here. I just pray Camille would calm down soon. Giving her away was not an option. Despite all this, she did not deserve to be orphaned again.

Out of all this, it dawned on me that the people you thought would understand you best would be capable of empathy. Fat chance.

(photo http://kuncoro.co.uk/uploads/raining.jpg)

Minding One's Business

A couple weeks ago, I had an early dinner at my favorite haunt, the Corner cafe. I had Porky with me, so we had to sit outside in the sweltering heat for the entire meal.

A few days later, I went down for a coffee and a puff. We were the only table and our waitress also sat down for a puff and we chatted on.

She said, "Remember the other evening you were here with Porky and we talked and laughed as always? I was feeding Porky bits of bread and you were saying how great the sole dish was. You completely ignored the person sitting opposite you as if that person did not exist!"

I laughed right out and told her I ignored that person on purpose. I thought that my being so rude would cue that person into taking off and leaving me to take my supper in peace. For some unfathomable reason, that person stuck around and watched me eat, without ordering anything.

That person made remarks about me and my life that irritated and irked me, which I thought were out of bounds and downright rude. This person was just an acquaintance. At first I really wanted to defend my lifestyle choices, but I decided against it.

An acquaintance is merely that, an acquaintance. The conversation should stay in the area of "Hi, bye" and "How do you do?". The decorum calls for just being polite. This person has really overstepped the boundaries. Too bad that person did not take any hints to shut up or go.

After paying the bill, I finally had to say, "I assume you have something else to do, so I'll say goodbye." I do not agree with some of that person's life choices, but as an acquaintance, it's not proper to blurt them out. I think that one should really mind one's own business before going out making a fool of themselves.

Studio White Renaissance

Original Studio White

A series of unexpected things happened since the inception of Studio White back in September 2008. We had to move in May 2009 to a new business center, which never felt like home. The short term lease for the studio just ended on July 31st. Everything that once was Studio White was moved home or into storage.

Things were not going smooth at the studio and my constant thoughts were to end the whole project end of July. There were ongoing conversations of how to keep a virtual studio, since keeping an actual studio was not cost effective.

The silver lining came in the guise of a pre-wedding shoot that saved the studio's graces. The bride was really happy with the makeup, hair and the posy, and it renewed hopes that the endeavour was not a lost cause.

I had completely ditched the idea of going into wedding planning. There's just too much competition. The idea of having to book venues, cars, gowns, schedule all the activities was mind-boggling and things I absolutely did not want to get involved in. I did not want to be a coordinator and orchestrate a wedding. I could visualize the accompanied stress already.

I admit not thinking through the whole business model of Studio White was a fatal error. Be that as it may, we had an ongoing ad campaign on a popular local wedding website and Studio White had created some noise.

After a lot of thoughts, Studio White would continue as a virtual studio, providing only two kinds of services, makeup and flowers. It was such a waste to have decorated the studio and had to move. It was more of a waste to have created Studio White and had to erase all the effort and work with it because of a bad business decision.

I am happy to announce that Studio White is still very much alive. Forgone was the partnership. We will fly solo in our own endeavours, but will come together as the occasion arises. It was a lesson well learnt.

White Rose Posy

Posy extras make a nice bouquet



Hydrangea, Roses and Musk Posy

Over the weekend, I made a posy for a pre-wedding shoot. The shooting had been cancelled three times due to bad weather. I touched base with the makeup artist this morning and she said although it rained in the afternoon, the shooting went as scheduled till night time. There were a couple of great shots in there as well.

I met with the couple, the bride at the studio before this fourth shooting attempt and the fiance when he picked up the posy. I could just imagine them giddy with happiness. All the crossed fingers worked.

I asked about the posy to see if it lasted the whole day outdoors. The bride and I had decided to use the sturdier white roses instead of peonies at the end, because it was just too hot for the peonies not to wither. The feedback? The posy was in most of the photos and the couple really liked it.

It felt so rewarding, not only because the posy was well received, but because of it, I could be part of the couple's happiness.

What is Love?

Recently while chatting with friends, I told them I had never loved anyone romantically. That realization just dawned on me one day. They were surprised. In truth I was dumbstruck. If it wasn't love, how come I felt so devastated whenever a relationship ended? Thinking back, they were more like infatuations and crushes.

When I asked my friends what love was and mentally ticking off what they said, all I knew without a doubt was that I loved Kobe and the kids. I had never "loved" a person. Even the one person whom I had an on and off relationship for a decade, and considered the "love" of my life, it still wasn't love.

In 1 Corinthians 13, it said,
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Okay, but I still could not grasp what love is. I know the feeling of falling in love, but I have never "seen" the person behind the feeling and love that person. Perhaps when the right person comes along I might know then, because I really want to know what is love.

photo: http://www.shootgardening.co.uk/uploaded/images/plant_ribes_laurifolium_1_80.jpg

Memories

~Those who have played a big part in one's life very rarely disappear from it suddenly for good. They return to it at odd moments (so much so that people suspect a renewal of old love) before leaving it together. ~ Marcel Proust

What brings people together? One theory is Fate, two people meet at the right place, at the right time. A lot of people pass us by, but what makes us stop in our tracks and notice that person?

Whatever the reason is, I have noticed that people re-surface again and again to give you answers to some unresolved questions about yourself, about that person, and about your relationship.

It's sad when a person who makes a mark in your life leaves. This, however is not the abyss. The abyss is loss, when that person or yourself has nothing more to give or receive and ultimately leaves forever. All that remains are snippets of memories. These memories are unique in the sense that the person might not remember them or have a different version of them.

My fondest memories of a birthday was receiving an overseas call around midnight, instead of a "hello", was singing "Happy Birthday". Another fond memory would be carefully taping cat hair from a suit jacket. My way of saying "thank you" and getting a real "thank you" in return.

These are minutiae things. It's really nothing to other people, but what made it so special were the genuine feelings. The "Happy Birthday" call would not be so cherished if not for the feelings transmitted through the phone line. The act of taping cat hair would not have as much significance if not for the grateful feelings.

I do not believe these feelings could be felt twice, even with the same person. Every encounter is special and unique. Although people tell me it's really nothing, I choose to be grateful. Afterall, we are not entitled.

photo: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2VPKjWinYGHGNZli5DYlLYxhqeAg8aPIZswooq2aLfKhvs3dxepG8xWzAyKBSUuKm764xijjagtmlPcysSmb1937cBCA90KQ6jxHFcAwdDoTqX-kxF3hfR2eA4ncNMN14pq8jSX3OFKMu/s320/2007_0914AutumnFlowerShow0106.JPG

Stereotypes

Stereotyping is such a cliche and so passe.

A good example would be people who think they are artistic could get away with being incredibly selfish, inconsiderate, rude and insolent, by justifying "creative people are that way".
Give me a break.

By buying into this stereotype, it's an abhorrence, bordering on a social illness to be artistic or creative.

I believe that the most creative people are the calmest people, almost zen like in spirit. They know that creative endeavour is a discipline and an ongoing, lifelong pursuit. Therefore they breathe it with grace, the true masters.

That cannot be said with the stereotypical "artists", because to justify their mediocrity, they have to play into the moody, brooding, not understood facade. To what purpose you might ask? Simply because they do not want to risk exposing the fact they are mediocre.

(photo: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/188/395226087_9002872142.jpg)

Perception

When a person is emotionally overcharged or overwhelmed, the best thing to do is take a step back. A therapist once told a patient to "take 3 deep breaths and call him in the morning".

I think that this is the cleverest concept expressed in the simplest way. It's all about perspective. At close range, things are always more urgent, a matter of life and death. When you take a few steps back, it's not that big a deal. When you look back in a couple days, you might not remember why it has bothered you so much.

I have taken to heart the phrase "this too, shall pass". I have begun to notice that telling someone something good has happened is considered bragging. Vice versa, telling somebody that something bad has happened is whining. The best line is "everything's okay".

A friend has told me to weigh what to say and to whom. She stresses the importance of targeting "the right person", meaning the person has to be completely on the same level as you are on that matter. If not, you would be either bragging or whining. Both extremely annoying. How true.

I am learning to say as little as possible about good fortune or bad luck. Never did it occur to me that sharing a piece of news would be bragging or whining. It's temporary anyway, for "this too, shall pass".

(photo: http://pinkbicyclette.files.wordpress.com/2009/05/5-8-08-peonies.jpg)

Projection

Some people have so much unresolved bitterness and resentment built up in their system, the only release is to project them onto someone else. This is one of the defence mechanisms you could find in any psychology 101 textbook.

When people ask me how I am these days, I would say that I am tired and exhausted. The reason none other than Merlyn has gone home to start a family. Well, well, it's a crime to be tired when you are in a transitional period, where you go from having help to take care of the house to doing it all by yourself.

The crime doesn't stop here, the descent to Dante's Inferno has just begun and the following accusations could prove that I belong in hell.

Remember I have committed an immortal sin when I have worked my ass off to get out of the rat race and finally be able to pursue my dreams. Bear in mind I am condemned to hell because the majority of the population are working to get by and I could lead a laid back lifestyle.

I am unforgivable because I am in control, balanced, at peace and basically I have a life. It's so unfair because I have the touch of Midas. Get real.

I am so happy that the kids are used to our new routine by now. They have always been good and disciplined. I do have to clean up after them, but they know what they should or shouldn't do. To unwary people, this is pure luck. Luck? The kids have been taught since babies to respect each other's space, food and toys. It took years to achieve this harmony.

I believe that if you respect others, people go out of their way to help you. As for my part time helps, Merlyn has lined up all her friends and relatives for me before she left. They all know that Merlyn is family to me and if one of them cannot make it, another one would show up. As for their fees, I only have to pay them 50% of the ongoing rate. On Sundays, I don't have to pay a cent. It's their agreement with Merlyn.

Am I blessed, lucky or have all the goodies fall into my lap? Do I have a Midas touch? I don't know. I only know that I have worked hard to achieve all this. As for being blessed. Well, eat your heart out, you betcha I am.

Taming the Kitchen

It's been a nine days since Merlyn has left for good. I have never felt so exhausted. The routine we have established in the house is completely upended.
The kids are confused and they really show it by behaving "naughtily", to put it mildly.

As if this is not enough, things have strangely started to fall apart. The coffeemaker's jug has cracked and the pout of the kettle has mysteriously melted!! I have always joked that Merlyn is the manager of the kitchen. Perhaps I am an unwelcome intruder, duh...

The transitional phase includes setting up a new routine, calming the kids, getting used to the chores around the house and most importantly taming the kitchen. I am lucky that I have part time help for a breather. What I really need is to get a wand and go to Hogwarts or Mrs. Weasley's to learn some spells. Hermoine, help!!!

The cracked jug has lasted two days without bursting, but I wouldn't push my luck the third time. I could not imagine myself getting through this phase without my two daily cups of strong coffee. I finally ventured out to get myself a new coffeemaker and kettle. In a strange but nice way, I feel that the kitchen is more "mine" after making my first cuppa in the new coffeemaker. The new whistle of the kettle is also more refreshing.

Yes, this is a new beginning. Amazingly, aside from feeling tired, I haven't felt out of control. I know that in the end, everything will be clockwork again for me and the kids. All we needed is some time to ease into our new life.

Silence

~It has been said silence is a strength, in quite a different sense it is a terrible strength in the hands who are loved. It increases the anxiety of the one who waits. Nothing so tempts us to approach another person as what is keeping us apart; and what barrier is so insurmountable as silence? But what an even greater torture than that of having to keep silence it is to have endure the silence of the person one loves.~

~Besides, more cruel than the silence of prisons, that kind of silence is in itself a prison. It is an intangible enclosure, true, but an impenetrable one. This interposed slice of empty atmosphere through which nevertheless the visual rays of the abandoned lover cannot pass.~

While reading the third tome of Proust's "A la Recherche du Temp Perdu", I came across this passage. I had complete resonance with every word, because I was the unaware prisoner a few years back. I had no clue as to what I had done or not done to deserve this treatment.

The reason is totally inconsequential now. Oh, but how I admire the depth of Proust's writing. Tears welled in my eyes when I read it. How could he know the torments of silence had he not felt it first? I believed he had seen it, heard it, smelled it, tasted it and touched it. Much more so, felt it. So have I.

A friend was right in saying that "not knowing" was the cruelest because you could not be rid of the questions surrounding "why". She was also right in saying that to just disappear, the person had to be heartless, selfish and cowardice. I used to disagree, but after reading what Proust described, silence was mental torture.

(Photo: www.sethearl.wordpress.com)
(~Excerpts: The Guermantes Way by Marcel Proust)