And that makes it, officially, One Year.

Jess, no one gives a fuck about your dreams ok?

Dream log:

Saw a rather grubby and fat white cat stretching itself and then chatting to another black and white one (also fat) about how it managed to get on the MRT train, and how on earth was it going to find its way back? Cat said it was simple, it was only one stop (Yio Chu Kang) and he had to go pick up another cat, by the name of Wando (surely not), and they would both go back together.

In a separate part of the dream -- me cramming stuff into one of my too-small bags that I left behind in Singapore. And then trying to fit that bag into a shopping bag I had. Went through a pile of bags (some were not mine) in an attempt to find one large enough but still small enough to be considered a handbag. In the meantime, Guiqing and Jill have both given me 7 missed calls asking me WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU HURRY UP.

---------------

My mom has a line that she utters with relish whenever she sees me leaving the house with one of those ridiculously small handbags that's only big enough to fit a flat piece of plastic and a handphone (depending on the size of your handphone, of course). I love hearing her say it.

"So big ah? Don't have smaller one?"

To which I would always reply. "Shut up."

"No, no. Really. Its too big. You should use a smaller one."

Dream log:

Wandering around with a woman in her golden years along the cobblestoned pavements of a quaint Eastern European town, trying hard not to gawk like a stupid tourist, but seeing amazing da Vinci-like contraptions (including a giant spinning sphere like the rides you see in amusement park but with da Vinci-levels of intricacy and made of green, rusting metal), we stopped at a church and I made my way down the pews and knelt in front of what looked like the sign of the cross laid out at the altar. Only that it wasn't the right way up, and as I knelt there and pretended to pray I leafed through a booklet that was at the altar that gave very specific instructions on the steps of worship. The woman I was with came up to me with a worried look on her face, and I told her I hadn't known, I thought it was just your average church. And she explained and said that it was the sign of the inverted cross they were worshipping, and the lines that made up the cross were broken at one point, leaving a gap, and at the gap was a symbol of the earth -- and she said that this symbolised how humankind and the world in general was preventing goodness, and that was why the cross remained inverted. At least, till that gap was filled.

Midday Rant

For fuck's sake. It's not all about money. It's NOT.

Listening to DJ Mel on This is Music online, I was rather surprised to hear a radio ad asking American citizens to come! Sign up! Join the CIA!

Oh.

Yesterday, as I walked back to my apartment, I took a shortcut across the lake/recreation area rather than jostle with the crowds on the main roads.

As I stepped out from the shadows of the trees to cross a small bridge across the lake, the light shone so brightly I stopped in amazement and looked up at the moon.

I mused for a bit about how rare it was to see your shadow formed by the light of the moon (or the lack of it, but you know what I mean). This doesn't happen much in Singapore. In Singapore, your shadows come about either by sunlight, lampposts or some florescent tubings.

It was really quite beautiful, and I stood on the bridge for a bit.

Just five minutes ago, I realised from Tym's blog that it was mid-autumn's festival yesterday.

Oh.

It'd slipped my mind completely but I suppose its nice in a way -- the first time I had appreciated the beauty of a full moon because it was stunning, and not because I was deliberately looking out for it since that's what you're supposed to do on 中秋节.

Speechless.

I'm not entirely sure what to make of it now, since I've hardly had the time to digest it, but if I had a beer in my hand, I would raise a toast to Jo Becker, Peter S. Goodman and Michael Powell.

Once Elected, Palin Hired Friends and Lashed Foes

"...Throughout her political career, she has pursued vendettas, fired officials who crossed her and sometimes blurred the line between government and personal grievance, according to a review of public records and interviews with 60 Republican and Democratic legislators and local officials."

I humiliated a man for breakfast

The guy who collects the payment for newspaper subscriptions has been regularly overcharging for our daily papers. We even have the receipts to prove it. His mistake was inconsistency -- when the rates keeps changing, its kinda a giveaway don't you think?

So when he showed up this morning, asking for a payment which was 100tk over the usual fake amount, I hauled him over next door to my translator/neighbour's and proceeded to humiliate him in lousy Bangla.

His hand shook as he wrote on a piece of paper, trying to calculate exactly how much money he had siphoned off our bills. I asked him repeatedly in Bangla, "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Counting from the time since I moved in (since I've no idea what went on with earlier tenants) we established that he had taken an extra 360tk. He wrote off the bill for this month, and handed me 60tk from his own pocket.

He didn't look sorry -- he looked stunned. He tried speaking to me placatingly as I went back into my own apartment. I told him, "I'm very angry now." I closed the door in his face, not in triumph, but in defeat.

What have I accomplished, really? Yes, we established the fact that I am indeed not stupid, but also that I'm not much of a human being.

In the month of Ramadan, instead of handing our Eid bonuses, I permanently cut off a man's monthly supply of an extra 100tk or so for himself, and took money from him.



I feel rather shitty right now.

"We have come to think of taking offence as a fundamental right.
We value very little more highly than our rage, which gives us,
in our opinion, the moral high ground. From this high ground
we can shoot down at our enemies and inflict heavy fatalities."
- Rushdie

Why, hello there (Part II)

Finally finished grading papers and tallying up final scores... No one failed! Hooray! Although one guy almost got knocked down a grade because I can't do simple sums. Seven plus nine is what? Thank god for calculators.

I should sleep, but someone sent me links -- and now I'm much too distracted. These photos are yummy, but she looks a bit too much like Becca here and that's an unnerving thought.

The guy that did the azaan yesterday at around half past four in the morning was seriously out of tune.

I felt kinda embarrassed on his behalf. It was karaoke-gone-wrong, and maybe that's why they had him do it in the middle of the morning? Letting him have a practice run during the off-peak session?

Maybe it was his first time, and he was just nervous. It takes guts to sing to an entire neighbourhood from huge ass speakers, I'll give him that. I can't even do it with a tiny microphone in a bar with three friends. Unless, of course, I'm drunk -- but then again list of things I won't do when drunk is painfully short.

I really don't think I should be writing stuff like this during Ramadan.

I don't know how I missed this when it was first released, but I spent the most part of my previous working day reading Slate's special issue on procrastination. It was quite a spread.

Favourite:

Letter to a Young Procrastinator

By Seth Stevenson

I, too, am a procrastinator. Always have been. In college, I'd start 10-page papers after midnight on the day they were due. Half my memories of this period involve screaming at my printer to print faster, ripping the pages from its maw, and then sprinting to my professor's office with moments to spare, sweat streaming down my face...

Why did I subject myself to so much stress, instead of starting my work earlier like "normal" people do? Well, you've no doubt heard all manner of theories regarding the root cause of procrastination. Fear of failure. Crippling perfectionism. Abnormally low type-2 phloxiplaxitus levels.

I'm here to tell you that it was none of these things. The root cause of my procrastination, in technical terms, is this: I'm lazy. Extremely lazy.

Don't judge, pal—you're lazy, too. It's why you procrastinate. When there's a difficult, disagreeable, or tedious chore that needs to get done, guess what? You don't want to do it. So you don't. Until you have to.

It's just that simple, my slothful friend. And guess what else? The trick to overcoming procrastination is even simpler. Ready? Here it is:

Get off your fat badonk and stop procrastinating. Right now. No, not after the Gilmore Girls rerun ends. Now now.

Will you do this? No. You will not. You will dabble at the crossword for a while. Later, you might get a yogurt. Eventually, you'll start reading pointless crap on the Internet. You see, you're doing it as we speak! Because: You are lazy.

He knows me better than I know myself.

Brian said his goodbyes today at the last staff meeting. It should have been an emotional and teary thing, but true to my form, I kept up the defences and just kept smiling. "I'll see you again soon, when you get back!"

I wonder if it would have been more appropriate of me to have shown a little sadness. The truth is, I am. Having a boss who actually knows what the hell he's doing is something I've come to appreciate. The insane amount of faith he has in me is rather frightening. I may have been here for almost a year (anniversary's just around the corner), but I still think any moment now, they're going to realise they've hired a moron.

But I will see him again, so that's that.

Tonight, I am thinking of Choosin's classic "leave a light on for me" moment -- which I hope I'll never forget.

I want to be God.

I kinda really want this.



I spent hours failing at the Sims and SimCity -- this might be easier, I just have to try not to die.

SMS Conversation between me and my strangely unsympathetic father

-- How to make belacan ah

-- We dont make but use it to blend with chili paste and abit of lime

-- But there is no belacan here so i have to make

-- U dont seem to understand it is made in factory from fermented shrimp and fish so u cannot make it ok

-- :(

Took photos at the recent Krishna Janmashtami-- birthday of Krishna.




One of the most tangible skills I will be taking home with me is the ability to wirelessly reconfigure a router. Did you know that a router has to be configured? Me neither.

I take insane pride in my mystical technical skills. I relish telling and re-telling the same fucking tale of working in an office of men and being the only female and the only one who could get the printer working. It was a high point of my life, and I will not relinquish it.

I had an impromptu lunch with an Australian who was the vice-principal of a primary school here. We happened to be having our lunches alone at the same restaurant and, being the shameless whore I am, I struck up some conversation.

He's only been here a month, although he has made several visits since his first ten years ago. That was when he was doing the 21-years-old-and-backpacking-across-the-world stint.
He confessed he was still in the "honeymoon" period. He was in love with the villages. He couldn't see himself going back to Sydney, where people didn't talk to each other on the street and nobody tried to mind his business.

It's always good to talk to people like that, because I do like being reminded of all the good amidst the bad.

I've come to accept that there are days when all I want to do is to tell every Bangladeshi just how fucked up this country is, and then there are days when all I want to do is to give them a hug and tell them they are really such wonderful people and I'm so sorry for all the bad feelings I've ever had about them. I believe such contradictory behaviour is called "being normal".

I stepped out of the newspaper office at 10pm in Karwan Bazar, and the sound of a jaunty percussion had me tapping my feet as I chatted to the security guards. A crowd had gathered nearby, and I walked over to see a man with an instrument that looks like a banjo (only that its not, but I don't know what the name is), entertaining everyone.

The speed at which friendship and camaraderie is formed here is unbelievable. The only thing you need to be admitted into a group is to simply stand within it. The crowd of strangers, all laughing and singing along and cajoling him to do funny bits -- some gave me a look, but they soon returned their attention to the singer.

These are the workers of Karwan Bazar. The labourers who make their living using their muscles, sleeping in the same huge baskets they use to carry goods from the trucks into the stalls. I looked at their laughing faces -- it just felt so good to be standing there.

Fantasy Kingdom

I made my way down to Fantasy Kingdom (thanks to Trond, for the tip), expecting to be overwhelmed in the land where kitsch went to die. Strangely enough, it wasn't that bad - I think Sentosa (and just Singapore, in general) had primed me well.

It wasn't as crowded as I had expected, and the space wasn't that large at all. Many rides were closed, evident from the weeds and grasses that had grown over the control booths and steel beams. Still, a fair number remained opened for business. I was tempted to give the solo roller-coaster a try, but I guess I just wasn't in a risk-taking mood that day.



I planned to return to the long stretch of highway built on an embankment cutting across Ashulia lake. It seemed absolutely beautiful when I had passed it on the way to the Kingdom. Empty chairs and food stalls dotted the side of the road facing north - it looked promisingly peaceful.



I was wrong, though. The crowds emerged along with the impending sunset, and I soon felt as if I was back in Dhaka, squeezing my way through streets that were never wide enough. With every lewd stare and catcall, things just got worse and worse. I couldn't speak, couldn't say anything. Anything I uttered was deemed hilarious and just turned me into more of a circus act. I felt utterly exposed. Twice, I shoved men who pointed their camera phones into my face. One laughed, the other got scared and mumbled something about how he was actually not aiming the thing at me.

The only brief respite I had was when I climbed down the embankment to watch some boys swimming and performing various acrobatic feats. I turned my back to the main road, where there was already a sizable group just standing around watching me, and tried to pretend I was alone.



I felt relief when the sun finally set, thinking that the darkness would make me less noticeable. It didn't occur to me that others would think the same way.

The first hand reached out and barely grazed the side of my pants when I was walking past an exceptionally narrow stretch of road. If it hadn't been for my bulky camera bag limiting access, the hand would've gotten a lot more than a handful of cloth.

I was startled, and was walking far too fast to have broken my momentum in time to know for sure who did it. I didn't slow down, didn't look back, but mentally prepared myself to not let it happen again.

Sure enough, barely five minutes later, when I had already reached the other side and was so close to getting a CNG and going home, another hand reached out from right behind me. He didn't just get a handful of cloth.

I swung round. There were two men behind me, and both stared right back at me, expressionless. I grabbed the front of the shirt of the man nearer to me, yanked him closer, and slapped him hard across the face.

He was stunned for a moment, and started babbling angrily. I honestly have no idea what he was saying, but it seemed to me that there was no apology hidden amidst those words (was he trying to protest his innocence?) and as he started to raise his voice again, I slapped him a second time.

I didn't really know what to do, at that point. I couldn't argue with him, I couldn't yell, I couldn't tell the people around me what he did. I didn't know the words. So I turned around and walked to the nearest CNG, got in, and left.

On the way back, it occured to me that this was the first time in my life when I had intentionally slapped a person. I'm sorry to say that it felt good.

Short rant in the midst of sub-editing

Please, oh please, I don't want to have any more facts given to me. If I've to rewrite one more "given the fact that"... Double argh.

Why, hello there

Am slightly obsessed now with finding out more about this particular character, which would not have been the case had I paid a bit more attention to news coming out of East Asia in 2005.

I'm a great lover of androgyny (in women only), and I thought Katherine had it nailed down, but then again she had a rather unfair advantage since she's supposed to play up the androgyny in her role as Shane. Not that she has much difficulty in that area, but surely the script helps.

This TIME magazine article does a rather good job giving the background info on Li Yu Chun:

What Li did possess was attitude, originality and a proud androgyny that defied Chinese norms. During the tryouts—in which 150,000 contestants were winnowed to 15—Li wore loose jeans and a black button-down shirt, with no make-up and the haircut (and body) of David Bowie during his Space Oddity phase. She auditioned with In My Heart There's Only You, Never Her, an oldie made famous by Taiwan's Liu Wenzheng—a man. In the main competition she sang other songs written for male performers and called herself "a tomboy." For an audience reared on the bubble-gum, lip-gloss standards of Chinese girl pop, Li's disregard for the rule book produced an unfamiliar knee-weakening.

She stood out in the China's official song for the Olympics, a plain Jane in the midst of numerous heavily made-up women that litter the entire video. Then I watched her MTV, and just kept thing, holy shit -- that's hot.

Joy Juice

Looking back at the posts displayed on the main page, Bryan's right, I've been quite the grouchy bitch. I think he was too kind to call me a chickadee, whatever that means. Isn't that the name of some artificial corn/chicken snack?

I could be confusing that with kickapoo - which to me is the most artificial looking drink on the planet. I know the name hardly rhymes, other than the "a" in the middle, but there's a common chicken element (to be explained very soon).

I vaguely recall first seeing it in primary school, and being rather subconsciously put off by the cartoon chicken endorsing the drink. Of course, I've since realised the very lousy drawing is not actually that of a chicken - I actually have no idea what it is, really. But when I first saw it, I flippantly believed it to be a chicken, and I thought it very odd why anyone would want to drink a toxic-yellow liquid that looked like pee and appeared to have been made of chicken parts.



Last night I dreamt I was pregnant. I've had dreams about my children, but this was a first. Don't ask me who the father was, I've no idea. It was all very festive, I remember feeling particularly happy about it (at first, before it evolved into the nightmare). It seemed like I was four or five months on, and the bulge was showing and some old friends gathered round celebrating with me. I felt complete, fulfilled. And then, erm, it became nosso pleasant and I won't elaborate more about how it turned into a nightmare. Can't remember most of that part, anyway.

It was all very, very odd.





Post-alcohol update: I read my stuff from 2 years ago, and I think I was a lot funnier (even if I was still a grumpy, grouchy bitch) and didn't keep harping on the Same Old Things. I miss ST more than ever.

Culture

My successful attempt at (too) spicy black pepper prawns and sambal kangkong is making my stomach rather unhappy, and its all a bit strange right now as I read Monty Python scripts online while 张学友is playing on iTunes.

Very Bad Idea

to google recipes on local dishes when hungry. What the hell are candle nuts? Can I not make laksa without it!??!? And stop asking me to use pork. IT IS VERY TROUBLESOME TO GET PORK HERE.

And everyone talks about using belacan. But no one is telling me how to make belacan. You think here can find meh??

Too tired. Cartoons talk for me.

My sentiments, exactly.

Balance

It's a sense that no matter what China does, it won't really be accepted as an equal on the world stage, that it will always be left cleaning the toilet at the OECD country club.

Ok no prizes for the pun. But, ah, the rest of it was... heaven. I leaned back in my chair to slowly savour every single word of this piece. It was like someone scratching an itch I couldn't reach. It was bliss.

So are the media just being a little mean to China? It does at times feel akin to if coverage of the Atlanta Olympics were focused on the failings of the U.S. health care system and the plight of the American Indian. One foreign correspondent for a major American newspaper agreed, telling me, "In Athens the traffic jams were presented as the outgrowth of a hip Mediterranean lifestyle. Here they become yet another product of state repression."...

... Right now, China is an awkward place that just wants to be loved—and that makes it particularly easy to kick around.

Staying Awake.

I'm refusing to sleep tonight, for reasons unknown.





Took more pictures today. I am annoyed at how the colours on photoshop and flickr appear totally different. WTF?

Karwan Bazar is a place that I should rightly spend hours in, but barely a couple of minutes in the maze of stalls, and I'm ready to call it quits. A lot of it has to do with fear. I get claustrophobic quickly in there. Everywhere I turn, I can feel the eyes boring into the back of my head. I imagine that I would not escape in time if the crowd mobbed me. The last time I went there, I got lost and very nearly started to panic. Its all irrational and ridiculous, of course.

I'm still feeling shitty, and those who know me well will know why. There's only one thing that can get me down like this. Third time lucky? Fuck that.

I really should get some sleep.

Yeah, still in a foul mood. Been considering moving to another site which allows posting of bigger pictures. I've been experimenting, but I do realise that doing that requires a helluva lot more commitment from me regarding pictures.

Stuff from the other day. Slow steps.