WHere are you?!
You and me,
Dinner,
Conversation,
Music,
Laughter,
and maybe just a little dance...
You, me and a weekend in Paris...
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Rainy days don't bode well for being out in an open yard...
I hence spent sometime in the afternoon just responding to e-mails and hoping that at least one would inch closer to a final conclusion, another blow to the final nail.
Back in the hotel, restlessness got the best of me (plus this insatiable craving for a good cup of coffee, books and cookies). Changed, upped and dashed across the street to Paragon for a quick walkabout hoping that
a. Window shopping would get some things off the back of my mind
b. COffee
Alas, it just felt awkward being back in Singapore and without any familiar company. I figured in cityscape it's taboo not to have anyone else with you when one sits down for coffee... Damn it, wished the ipod wasn't left in the safe (read: ipod= social distraction). Even trips to my favourite shops turned into 2 second walkabouts...
Back out on the street to the "do-or-die" location where anxietys would lay down for a moment, to a big bookstore... with a coffee joint (very populist, very cliched... but hang that!). Lest I spent 2 hours roaming around, an hour sat at the arts and design section (for photos of course). The texture of a book spine sending tingles down mine, the feel of textured paper and fabric all mixed into one... not nirvana, but its comforting... silky feel of ivory paper as the finger scrolls down each and every section and print ink rises creating a lattice of sensation.
Then, there was this empowering aroma (read, coffee...caffeine *gasp* *eyes lit up*) and I strolled to the magazine section thinking what I should get lest I sit down all by myself in a coffee place.
Brain chatter ensues...
It can't be geeky
It can't be nerdy
It can't be pretentious
It can't be tetosterone charged overcompensating...
I settled on the New Yorker and threw "It can't be" #3 out... only when picking one up, the lovely price tag of 15 dollars led me to nonchalantly flipping through it (as cover) and sliding it back up on the shelf... sigh... nevermind... deep breath, I'm sure they'll have something to read at the coffee bar...
Now, walked up confidently "Its just me today (read: I'm desperately trying to fit in)"
"Btw, would you have any cookies..."
"I'll have the Ethiopian (I do like the Ethiopian coffee... introduced a while ago as a hi-bye but reacquainted earlier this year)"
More brain chatter
They've put me in a corner, bloody cliched... (trying to think brave)
Lets see what they have...
This is the point where all form of equality ends...
Magazines for women: Count, 6 different magazines
Magazines for men/women: 1 (it had to be a business magazine)
Glossy Males: None
21st century my ass...
Regardless, one had to get over that as the coffee was on its way and there were cookies to munch on. Had a brief chat with the waitress climaxing at the point I asked for the bill... Guess all was fine in Lalaland, bag of cookies at hand and a little less edgy by the coffee...
More than a year I've been travelling here... I still don't know if I'd like it but I sure know that my measly paycheck won't cut it... But its back to the room, with time to spare before one ventures out once again in search of a meal.
I hence spent sometime in the afternoon just responding to e-mails and hoping that at least one would inch closer to a final conclusion, another blow to the final nail.
Back in the hotel, restlessness got the best of me (plus this insatiable craving for a good cup of coffee, books and cookies). Changed, upped and dashed across the street to Paragon for a quick walkabout hoping that
a. Window shopping would get some things off the back of my mind
b. COffee
Alas, it just felt awkward being back in Singapore and without any familiar company. I figured in cityscape it's taboo not to have anyone else with you when one sits down for coffee... Damn it, wished the ipod wasn't left in the safe (read: ipod= social distraction). Even trips to my favourite shops turned into 2 second walkabouts...
Back out on the street to the "do-or-die" location where anxietys would lay down for a moment, to a big bookstore... with a coffee joint (very populist, very cliched... but hang that!). Lest I spent 2 hours roaming around, an hour sat at the arts and design section (for photos of course). The texture of a book spine sending tingles down mine, the feel of textured paper and fabric all mixed into one... not nirvana, but its comforting... silky feel of ivory paper as the finger scrolls down each and every section and print ink rises creating a lattice of sensation.
Then, there was this empowering aroma (read, coffee...caffeine *gasp* *eyes lit up*) and I strolled to the magazine section thinking what I should get lest I sit down all by myself in a coffee place.
Brain chatter ensues...
It can't be geeky
It can't be nerdy
It can't be pretentious
It can't be tetosterone charged overcompensating...
I settled on the New Yorker and threw "It can't be" #3 out... only when picking one up, the lovely price tag of 15 dollars led me to nonchalantly flipping through it (as cover) and sliding it back up on the shelf... sigh... nevermind... deep breath, I'm sure they'll have something to read at the coffee bar...
Now, walked up confidently "Its just me today (read: I'm desperately trying to fit in)"
"Btw, would you have any cookies..."
"I'll have the Ethiopian (I do like the Ethiopian coffee... introduced a while ago as a hi-bye but reacquainted earlier this year)"
More brain chatter
They've put me in a corner, bloody cliched... (trying to think brave)
Lets see what they have...
This is the point where all form of equality ends...
Magazines for women: Count, 6 different magazines
Magazines for men/women: 1 (it had to be a business magazine)
Glossy Males: None
21st century my ass...
Regardless, one had to get over that as the coffee was on its way and there were cookies to munch on. Had a brief chat with the waitress climaxing at the point I asked for the bill... Guess all was fine in Lalaland, bag of cookies at hand and a little less edgy by the coffee...
More than a year I've been travelling here... I still don't know if I'd like it but I sure know that my measly paycheck won't cut it... But its back to the room, with time to spare before one ventures out once again in search of a meal.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Verbal Diahhrea
Well, not quite... it's just several days of pent up writing... Anyway, yesterday I spent some time gazing up to the clear night sky miles away from any major city...
"There's nothing like the cosmos to put a bad economics paper into perspective"
"There's nothing like the cosmos to put a bad economics paper into perspective"
Meant to be the structure of a long entry written about a year ago.
"Dear,
If life were to be so kind as to depart from its usual monotony.
Strange
Kind
Eloquence
Dignified Interest
Edginess
Letter
Portend
Poetic intelligence, great cadence
Smile
Exquisite
Dark as the night, cold as the wind… to depart into the night, with no light in sight
Disparity
Delirium
Felicity
Like a bright summer’s night, ceaseless days like the boundless appeal
Wanderlust
Confused
Dysfunctional
Wished you are here
Love
Get over here"
I think of it as a wish list and present status
"Dear,
If life were to be so kind as to depart from its usual monotony.
Strange
Kind
Eloquence
Dignified Interest
Edginess
Letter
Portend
Poetic intelligence, great cadence
Smile
Exquisite
Dark as the night, cold as the wind… to depart into the night, with no light in sight
Disparity
Delirium
Felicity
Like a bright summer’s night, ceaseless days like the boundless appeal
Wanderlust
Confused
Dysfunctional
Wished you are here
Love
Get over here"
I think of it as a wish list and present status
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Listening to:The Curse of Ka'zar, Lemon Jelly
Thinking of:
Anyway, I’m sat at a café with the best intentions of completing a review and then typing it out in the name of championing stakeholders.
However, all I can think of is how I spent a silly amount on a shirt. Yes, I like the shirt. No, I don’t need the shirt. But I bought it and am having no illusion that I’m justifying the purchase instead of
a. Alleviating world hunger
b. Giving a child the basic education that he/she needs
c. A gift for a loved one and making them hapy
d. Another couple of bucks into boosting a selective local economy (yes, as would have guessed it’s not a fine batik or something made in Malaysia… that, I’d have l’d have fewer issues with)
So, I’m guilty of being elitist and ostentatious… and trying to reason the purpose of the shirt.
“Art has no purpose but itself”
I’d wish it was art but that will be delusion. The least I can hope is hat it’s not made by poor children in a third world at “Fingers Bloody Cooperation”
In a far corner of my mind the thought of “Ah, it’s the store’s fault for not having a return policy”. But guess whose signature is on the sales receipt. Cest moi? Heck, even the sleeve length is being altered!
Hours later…
I’ve gotten over the shirt but I did think about something else. If you’re reading this, you’re probably in the comfort of being under a roof, in the office or about a hotspot where you’ve got a laptop open and surfing. Do think of the less fortunate and find a way to help them… it may be money or it may be time. Also, it’s also tax deductible.
Thinking of:
Anyway, I’m sat at a café with the best intentions of completing a review and then typing it out in the name of championing stakeholders.
However, all I can think of is how I spent a silly amount on a shirt. Yes, I like the shirt. No, I don’t need the shirt. But I bought it and am having no illusion that I’m justifying the purchase instead of
a. Alleviating world hunger
b. Giving a child the basic education that he/she needs
c. A gift for a loved one and making them hapy
d. Another couple of bucks into boosting a selective local economy (yes, as would have guessed it’s not a fine batik or something made in Malaysia… that, I’d have l’d have fewer issues with)
So, I’m guilty of being elitist and ostentatious… and trying to reason the purpose of the shirt.
“Art has no purpose but itself”
I’d wish it was art but that will be delusion. The least I can hope is hat it’s not made by poor children in a third world at “Fingers Bloody Cooperation”
In a far corner of my mind the thought of “Ah, it’s the store’s fault for not having a return policy”. But guess whose signature is on the sales receipt. Cest moi? Heck, even the sleeve length is being altered!
Hours later…
I’ve gotten over the shirt but I did think about something else. If you’re reading this, you’re probably in the comfort of being under a roof, in the office or about a hotspot where you’ve got a laptop open and surfing. Do think of the less fortunate and find a way to help them… it may be money or it may be time. Also, it’s also tax deductible.
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