A pint sized elephant would:

• fit in my handbag
• only need a bunch of bak choy a day to eat
• carry small bunches of flowers in its wee trunk
• make mini tinkly trumpeting noises
• be Awesome! 

How I have been feeling:

Old people

Another reason why I like them:

They buy gelato like it's a treat; with great excitement, no regrets.
They almost always pick the chocolate flavour and relish its decadent richness.
Most of all the simple, guiltless, pleasure with which they crunch up their cones and lick the last few dribbles of melted ice-cream off their fingers :D

Less than a week to produce this:

"Expression of angiogenic, anti-angiogenic and guidance factors during development determine the unique characteristics of the macula in the adult retina, and predispose the region to degeneration in ageing" Discuss.

Reminder to self:

Brain uncensored

Randoms thoughts that crossed my mind when writing an essay today:

What if it were a giant gerbil in the sky?

If you're over the age of 12, a Hoberman's sphere should distract you for no longer than 15 minutes.
They are kinda awesome though. Who wouldn't one get distracted by one? The intellectually uncurious? Does the word "uncurious" exist? Maybe "incurious"... yeah, incurious.
Where was I? Hoberman's sphere = awesome, yes... 9 to 30" in one swift move!
It would be awesome to live in one... until if folds and crushes you in its core... maybe not that cool. Was I distracted for more than 15 mins thinking of, not even playing with, a Hoberman's sphere. It isn't really a sphere. ACK! StoppitEva!

Mushrooms.

And now I shall lick my elbow. *Proceeds. Fails disastrously. Aborts attempt at thought of neighbour coming in and seeing me with contorted body, tongue sticking out and inelegant facial expression.*

Chocolate. I need. Maybe not. Too much today. *Still eats some.*

Sugarhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh!

If Jack's magic beans had been magic cocoa beans, instead of magic normal beans (magic-normal? *Ponders.*), he would have seen unicorns farting rainbows and pygmy giraffes delicately tickling mint candy floss instead of a stupid, english-man eating, giant.
If Jack had been Jacque, would the giant have eaten him? Or would french flesh not be to the giants taste? Would french flesh, like french fries be American? Would the giant object to eating American (potentially of Irish stock) flesh?
Maybe the giant was French? A large Frenchman who hated the English, or a combination of people from the rest of the Commonwealth, unhappy at being colonized.
Ergo, giant couldn't have been Thai.
Hmmm.... Thai curry would be nice.





Obviously need to practise some mental focus exercises at some point or this essay will never be done, meh! :|

Disclaimer: no psychedelics abused.

Every once in awhile

 I would like to not exist for a bit, 

then I channel some Barney Stinson

The Ex Dilemma

It really does suck when our happiness comes at the expense of anothers but these things are often out of our hands. The average person of my age group has had at least a couple of relationships and probably been on many a date. So one must face up to the fact that your amazing boy/girl friend probably comes with a string of exes -some of whom were/ are pretty damn awesome. I've never had an issue "with the ex" before Nicholas so this has been quite an interesting experience.

The best thing that one can do is to treasure what they have when it is theirs to be had. No point crying over spilt milk, says pragmatic me but the quixotic within sympathises at anyone's love lost. That said, some previous partners can be a bit of a blister, and I have been sufficiently irked so as to not feel solicitous or sentimental, but to merely be peeved. 

Magnanimous as one can only dream of being, I could never give up what I have now, and is rightfully mine, to make a third person -I don't really know- happy. What can I say? Loving someone intimately is perhaps the most selfish thing anyone will ever do. We do it strictly for our own pleasure... mainly. Superfluous as it seems to state this point, not everyone wins. In the real world not all the participants get a medal, you've actually got to win it.  It may be best to bow out with grace; whilst ones dignity remains intact.

Emotional blackmail and evident unwillingness to let go, not limited to unchristian entreaties and attempts to end our relationship, only serve to make aforementioned ex girlfriend appear clingy and lacking in poise, rather than wronged.

What baffles me is, how in the world she could believe that we  could accede to her demands when she is of no real consequence in our lives? Never been in mine, no longer in his. The way I see it, you had your chance, things didn't work out, tant pis pour toi...  Now, with some rectitude of judgment, exit the stage for pity's sake. Props for doing it with sang-froid and class. 

Admittedly, the definitionally grey area between a current-kinda/sorta-friendship and former relationship (plus the mind-fuckery that comes with all that jazz) mucks things up. Maturely and unequivocally reviewing your status together, as we did beforehand rather than retrospectively reacting when there isn't a concordance of views may be the better option. 

After all, the reality is that two beautiful and great people could just happen to bring out the ugly in one another. It would be to look for a better fit instead of trying to cram a square peg into a round hole. Until then, I wish we could be left to our own lives unless a cordial or, at the very least, constructive relationship was sought by the other party with either/both of us.

Happy Birthday Nichowershaaw

The Saturday before at the Lone Pine

Hello old friend.

Not doing what I should be doing. RAAAAAAWR!

Java Genesiology

‎"Everybody knows genetic diversity produces the strongest offspring - why not put a little Mocha in the family Latte?" 

- Koothrappali, Ph.D

The black dog strikes again.

This blog has occasionally borne witness to my encounters with the blue funk and  the sense of helplessness when trying to help, understand even, a depressed one.
You don't know how they feel, the right words will never come to you and you're almost never sure what triggers it. It creeps in closer and closer, first consuming friends of friends, acquaintances and finally the people you love most. The first was a friend of my parents, then it became a hall mate, then an extended family member, then a boyfriend and now a member of my immediate family.

The extended family member is more or less in recovery -if that is truly possible and I hope with all my heart it is-. The hall mate I don't know well enough to ask, but every time I see an update on her facebook profile or happy pictures of her,  I am glad to see that she is still around, living through her issues one day at a time and that things are hopefully working out for her.

Two of the other individuals mentioned have taken their lives. I will remember the day my mother called me telling me of Uncle T's passing on and of how my father, a stoic man by any yardstick, was inconsolable for the longest of times. The second was personally more devastating, a former boyfriend whose death could not be confirmed as accidental or intentional. Even before the actual end though, the torture of witnessing his suffering with depression has left me raw.
A nightmare I could not arouse from. No choice but for this cross to be borne...

The close encounters with depression taught me to distinguish between the blues that we, the non-afflicted, suffer from and the actual clinical problem. So when a mentally healthy person goes, "oh just get over it," or "we all feel this way," to someone who is clinically depressed, I want to scream, telling them to shut the hell up because getting over it is what the depressed most want too and no, you and I without the illness don't actually feel the same way. We will probably never feel the way they do or be able to completely fathom it either, and for that rejoice!

As for the immediate family member, it upsets me that I didn't allow myself to recognise the signs for what they were. Low self-esteem, a propensity for self-harm, implausible stories that didn't quite add up -particularly on the self-harm-, substance abuse etc.
Having already faced one of the hardest knocks depression could throw my way (with the exception of having it in itself), the merciless scourging this illness metes out still smarts. Ominous warning signals were going off at the back of my head when these old friends were espied but I was too emotionally flayed to contend with them, yet again.

Instead of dealing with the situation full on, cravenly me dodged the devastating implications of what might be. The result of a flinch? Potentially a consequence of greater magnitude. Would it have done any good to have voiced my suspicions earlier? We all -probably- felt that my opinions may not have been completely objective due to past experiences. The disquiet was oft left unvoiced as I worried of projecting memories on something that may have a completely valid and wholly different explanation. Now it has been confirmed and for one of the few times, I hate being right. We can only do what we can and hope for the best.

I am so terrified of losing you, I don't know how to tell you that; but my dearest, this too shall pass.

A café job

is not as glamorous as Rachel -of Friends- made it look.

Over the weekend, I have:

• made several cappuccinos, flat whites, long blacks, espressos and lattes and a single iced coffee (in winter, go figure)
• wrapped banana bread slices, folded cutlery into serviettes and grilled panini fingers
• washed falafel crusted pans, crockery etc and loaded the dishwasher
• scooped gelato and plated cakes
• warmed up sandwiches, arranged croissants and fruit tarts
• ran the register and served meals to customers
• scrubbed wall tiles by the roadside
• wiped tables and arranged chairs
• delivered cookies and hot chocolate to another shop
• carried 11 litres of milk on one of the 3 trips, made in a single day, to the grocery store a block or so away

It has actually been immense fun doing the above, except maybe the last. In a mere two days of work, I've learnt a tonne and I get to be the food tester since the Egyptian owner is fasting for Ramadan.

It's also the kind of place where I've always envisioned working -on a part time basis. A darling little café at the corner of the plaza right at the city centre, serving lacto-ovo vegetarian food, great coffee and delicious gelato.

My co-workers are lovely (an eclectic mix of zany full timers, the serious business backers and edgy-student part timers/ casual workers) and we get to catch whatever actions going on at the main plaza...there was a fire twirler last night.

Despite being paid just a little over minimum wage, which is actually more than what I made as an engineer in Singapore if we break things down by hours, there are plenty of perks besides expanding my skill set; Read: FREE COFFEE and food :)))

Reasons why I can't help but love you

10) because you manfully ate the entire plate of over-salted risotto without so much as a grimace, I took a bite and almost spat it out. T'was as salty as the Dead Sea and you merely complimented its perfect texture.

9) because you have the most delicious voice. The first time we met, you were telling me in a roundabout fashion what you were doing, you could have been reciting the alphabet or saying that your eyeballs were made of cheese and I would have been just as enamoured.

8) because you handle so much stress and put up with a whole lot of yelling/ lectures/ nagging just to go out with me. I'm sorry there's nothing I can do about that. We can only hope that time will favour us a little more.

7) because you've written me personalized poetry, you've cooked for me and better still with me, pampered me a whole lot and because of the way you're never shy to express yourself. You sing to me in public, pick me up to kiss me goodbye and give me piggy back rides :))

6) because you're just as courteous and gentlemanly as the day we first met. Not just to me but everyone else too. *I love it when you hold doors open for aunties and are charming to them*

5) because you land up at my doorstep, after long, crappy work hours -sometimes post call-, having sat through horrible jams, driving from the island to the mainland and you still wear such a cheerful smile.

4) because you sang to me in the moonlight on top of a hill, kissed me in the rain on a rock by the sea and danced with me in the dead of the night in a car park.

3) because you like children and they love you back. It scares me less knowing that you are there.

2) because you've seen me at my best and liked it. More so because you've seen me at my very worst; violently angry, terrified as hell, upset, angsty, emo... the works; and you still find it in your heart to forgive me, comfort me and still love me.

1) because you are you and no one else.

I want!

Somebody please tell me why Pyrenean Mountain dogs are so damn adorable. Raaaaawr! *squishsquishsquish*

The quest for another piece of paper

now brings me to Australia. A land I consciously avoided when deciding where to do my bachelors degree.

Why did I not consider Australia then?

a) poisonous snakes (the most poisonous snake in the world, the Australian Inland Taipan, has apparently not killed anyone, but this is one "first" I don't really want to test ahaha)

b) poisonous spiders

c) crocodiles

d) baby-stealing dingos

e) the huge ass hole in the ozone layer etc.

Why am I doing my Masters here now:

a) ANU is a good university, it's close-ish to home, the 2 hour time difference won't be as killer as the US 12+/- hours would be on a long distance relationship. Finding out that it's the only Australian U with a ranking better than NUS, shallowly enough helped in the decision making process

b) I will prolly be stuck indoors most of the time and it's unlikely to find a kidnapping dingo/a crocodile/ u.v. rays in the lecture halls and labs.

c) my paranoia has worn off a little and I know many friends who have moved to Australia without encountering any of the above who are happier than the people I know in Singapore

Having discussed my previous qualms with some of the Toadies (the residents of our hall are unforch called that, since we live in Toad Hall. We're a post-grad/ mature age residence but prolly have the least dignified name. That said, we do have the best view; it was named Toad because the surrounding area looks like the scenery in the Wind in the Willow; digression complete!) they added new things to my list of heebee jeebee inducing thingums:

- Australian rips, sharks, jellyfish, wombats, kangaroos, possums Raaaaaaaaaaaaaawr!

Anyways, I am now further south of the equator, freezing my non-existent balls off, studying the brain, neural systems and genetics, learning to live in a new place again while attempting to coax and reconfigure my cerebral cortex into entering study/ note-taking/ assignment-doing mode and juggling a LDR with an over-worked -still slightly miffed (at my sudden decision to leave)- houseman some 6820 odd kilometres away.

The joy of cooking

I cook to relax. It may sound strange to people who have actually seen me at work in the kitchen. My maid, sister and boyfriend can attest to the fact that with my neuroses on measuring, arranging and clearing combined with a contradictory klutziness particularly near hot stoves/the oven, tensions mount high. However, it's the self-same compulsions that calm me. Nothing like perfectly prepared ingredients waiting to be combined in the correct manner at the right moment to make a beautiful dish. More coq au vin?

730 days on

I still look down and wonder what it would be like if the wall crumbled and I tumbled.
I still look up and wonder what the earth sees when things fall.
Vertigo grips so hard, my knuckles turn white and head spins.
I wondered if it were possible to laugh the same way again, to live with the strange achy void everyday, pretending everything was as it should be. What should it even be?
Last year I ran away to a place so high I could look down without seeing the ground, without needing to wonder at the force of impact.
This year I can't. I am here. There is no where to go. I pass the Garden of Remembrance everyday when returning home from work. I have walked by Singapore Caskets countless times because through some strange quirk of fate, it is near the room I rent. Each time I felt cold. I tried to sleep or keep my eyes shut on the bus back from work. When walking past the place I saw you last, with quirky neck-tie to the end, I stared at the pavement. Counting cracks, grey gravel... yes hold that thought "greygravelgreygravelgreygravel," my mantra for survival.
It was almost too coincidental, the faster I ran away, the harder the universe kept lobbing back reminders of you.
It got so bad, I needed to do something. Especially the stuff that was being avoided. I visited you. The uncontrolled and spontaneous eye leaks tapered off. I stopped trying to shut out the Sg Caskets signboard and instead looked, remembered every detail of what happened there that day. Thought of our times together, allowed myself to grieve. Remembered the funny stuff, laughed. Started talking about you again. The nightmares became just dreams and those too phased themselves out.
I will never ever forget you and all that you gave me, how you changed me as a person. Elisha, we will meet again, in a better place, in better times.

rotisserie chicken

i want some now.

Von Luschan's Chromatic Scale

It's just a matter of skin, literally, but we'll somehow never outrun it.

In the country of our racial origins, we no longer belong. Actually, never belonged.

In our country of birth, we are not indigenous and are hence second class citizens.

Even amongst "second class" citizens, we remain conscious of our "original" heritage... What the fuck does that even mean anymore? Am I ever going back to India or Sri Lanka, I jolly well think not.

Why is it that even amongst the so-called educated and liberal, interracial dating remains such a sticky issue? Many of my generation were raised colour blind in theory. In practice though, we're still herded to our respective communities when it comes to dating and finding life partners. Disclaimer: 1. my parents have thus far been consistent in theory and practise (with a few minor -and temporary- lapses in the case of the more orthodox of the two) 2. there's absolutely nothing wrong with going out with someone of the same race, but the same should be true of going out with people of other races...
Note that interracial dating is not some strange inter species oddity (we have the same number of chromosome pairs amongst other things) and it's not like there are major health issues from dating someone of a different race. Variations in the gene pool tend to serve as an advantage, precluding major/ heritable genetic issues. There appears to be a distinct inability to reconcile theoretically liberal upbringings and decisions with the precipitous parental shift towards conservatism for most.

It's interesting how it isn't alright to go out with someone with the same outlooks, with compatible life philosophies & values, of similar educational & socioeconomic backgrounds, with whom you share amazing chemistry and other rational bases of judgment, simply because of variations in basal levels of melanogenesis. Scratch that, it's not interesting, it's plain shallow.

Whatever! I'll never (and hopefully will never have to) understand bigotry of this order.

slate

Everything should be going well but nothing feels right. It's worse when there is nothing to blame. How can one explain hating the people one loves best, for no reason whatsoever, or for reasons that would regularly be insufficient in piquing emotions? Explaining it away or excusing it as an existential lay by serves to earn mere labels. Weltschmerz would be a slightly untrue depiction, a fine coating over the actual self-indulgence of the misery. At this point, a good, unapologetically mindless bawl would be the best prescription.

Dear lord, let it just be damn PMS already!

The writers bloc appears to be more than insignificantly transient :(((

2010

Graduated
Employed
Un-single
A complete Ammooma list -but for married with kids-. Mais, maintenant, tout commence juste.

2011, slightly tremulous but wholly excited!