The cost of my weekly language class (10 weeks) = $400
The cost of Chutney’s obedience training class (7 weeks) = $400
There is something wrong with that, isn’t there? Thankfully, I love him and I need him to learn to get over his feet fetish. REALLY.
It feels strange being in HK. Having spent all morning trying to find the restraint not to call him, I realise that I deleted his numbers with exception of his CH mobile a while ago.
What a woman can tell with someone’s voice. It was extremely telling. Like the others, I chose to walk away.
I really have to learn to stick around.
Talking to J made me think of T. With much apprehension, I dial his number. Expectedly, the phone rings torturing me as it continues. Eventually, I reach T’s voicemail which I struggle to understand to, as it is in a language I barely remember much less speak.
For a moment, I consider leaving a message and realise quickly that I have over stepped my boundaries by calling.
Quickly, I place the receiver down. It is not fair to T that I want to know that he is ok. It is not fair at all. I walked out, again. As I stare down the phone for an answer, and just as suddenly I decide to try once more.
Just once more, I tell myself.
In two seconds, I am met with a familiar Parisian accent. We need to talk, please. T is living the life that he wanted for us, except I am no longer there. Is that fair? I am doing exactly what I want to do, except it is without him. Is that fair?
India has a way to making you appreciate the little things in life. After witnessing a roadside accident on route to the airport, I missed the serenity of Singapore. The date was set before I even left so it was certainly marked down in iCal.
Giggles, and guffaws. Little Mrs Holland Lollipop is all packed to a place where there are more cows than human beings. A cocktail would be cherry on the terribly decadent cake, but seeing how I’m off alkie and meat. It was absolutely more than a girl could ask for.
At the risk of sounding terribly Singaporean, this is a real case of “eyes bigger than stomach”. A was kind enough to share this with me. Dee vine.
Yes. I’ll marry you if you can make me pancakes for breakfast in bed every Sunday. I’m easy like that.
Calcutta (Kolkata) was a complete culture shock for my organised Singaporean system. From the time I stepped off the tarmac, I was greeted by a symphony of chaos, smog and sheer insanity.
Imagine rush hour traffic 24/7, mixed with a full dose of 8 million people talking ALL AT ONCE, essence of dried up pee, a whiff of decomposing refuse, throw in a dash of circa 1950s yellow Ambassador cabs blowing their horns at a rate of once per every other second and just for fun *makes Russell Peters Indian accent* add emancipated street mongrels as well as the occasional skeletal cow or two. That’s Kolkata.
The city is a myraid of many things – diverse, colourful yet extremely heartbreaking and sad. Inevitably, I could not help but think of Chutney and compare his life to the life of an average slum child. Chutney’s life seems like an absolute blessing. Yet, the Kolkata-ites are happy. You smile at them and you get an absolute genuine smile in return.
If this doesn’t make you appreciate your time with your loved ones, I am not sure anything might.
A vacation rarely has any stronghold for change. Yet, I faced one of the fears that resonated deep within me – deep dark spaces. Anxiety attacks were kept to the minimum mainly because, I was too busy laughing and worrying about the unslightly sweat stains.
Love is rice paper spring rolls, and the midnight black puppy outside our hotel. The perfect way to end this year, filled with laughter, healthy food, and sheer madness.
Less than a month ago, I was served with a writ of summons. For all intents and purposes, it is absolute proof that life is not fair. Counting my blessings, it is a battle for the powers to be because, I no longer want to fight.
Fight-or-Flight? Do or do not.
In the meantime, gewgaws keep me satiated.
iolite solitaire
Puccini’s arias are part of popular culture even if the ignorant and unassuming public does not realise it. Giacomo Puccini is the talented Italian composer behind works like La Bohème and Mademe Butterfly.
The Singapore Lyric Opera is presenting Puccini’s Turandot this season. A Persian legend which tells of an icy Chinese princess whose suitors were made to answer three impossible riddles or perish. Eventually, an exiled price wins her heart in a test of sacrifice, loyalty and love.
Nessun Dorma is an aria from the final act of Turandot and Pavarotti turned it into a cult hit when he sung it during the 1990 World Cup and later, 2006 Winter Olympics. One of his signature arias, I doubt anyone will ever sing it better than Pavarotti. Bias, much?
All I hope now is that I’ll be back in Singapore by then.
I’ve been learning to live without you now
But I miss you sometimes
The more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I knew, I’m learning them again Read the rest of this entry »
|
