Macau

Caught Zaia, the Cirque du Soleil show for The Venetian Macao. Absolutely loved the dream like theme in comparison to KA which was fiery, exciting, just more of everything. While my jaw was at my feet, I recall thinking who conjures up productions of this nature. Must be one hell of a creative. Astronauts floating across the street, fire twirling acrobats who have no bones in their body and can probably fit themselves into a soft drink can.

A-freaking-mazing. Other than that little nugget, Macau is sad. We were leaning on the third level railings of MGM Grand Casino when we are barked at by security. Turns out, people tend to hurl themself off buildings, railings after losing their life’s possessions to gambling. According to the marketing lady we spoke to at The Venetian, there’s a suicide a day. Not uncommon. I couldn’t imagine working here, I reckon I’d go batshit crazy. Imagine living on Sentosa. Well, it’s a ferry away from Hong Kong where tons of shopping, night life etc.  This is what Singapore wants for her island – a casino.

A moment in HK

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.

The Perfect Saturday

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.

Kolkata, India

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.

Because I miss her so.

Los Angeles proved to be an interesting get-away for me.

Every bus ride was an adventure, each with its own personal quirky character. Who forgets the fraggled tooth white dude that had a fetish for his birkinstock sandals because of how often he kept smelling it and how he lovingly placed it on the seat next to him during evening rush hour. How I quickly learnt that the right bus to take back home would be the one with the most Asian grannies complete with pastel woolly hat, blue plaid dollar bag and umbrella/ walking stick.

Who needs a clock to turn back time when a trip to Bally’s somehow morphed me into an underaged mexican teenage? As a newly morphed teenager, I managed to get picked up by an 11th grader on his way back home from school and he politely invited me back to his place parent’s place for a cold glass of orange juice. Only in LA.
It amazed me that the people in LA were so nice despite of what people say.

With the metro, I never had to stand for longer than one stop because the dude who resembled a subway thug would let his seat up to me just because I was a girl. Absolutely refreshing because I come from a city where guys pretend to fall asleep so they can keep that precious rush hour seat.

Like NY, I love the city for its quirk though it was a task to order salty fish fried rice without being reminded that a wai guo ren wouldn’t like it. I guess, my poker straight chinese straight hair wasn’t a good enough hint.

It is odd that I felt home in a place that is far from that. Yet now, I am home missing a city that helped me conquer my fear of public transport and fraggled tooth quirks.