Stockholm - YL's Selection

Study hard YL

Last week, my immigration consultant informed me that my carte de sejour (resident permit) was ready, and I was to go to the Prefecture de Police de Paris to collect it. In their signature organised manner, she detailed the location and the procedures for the collection in the email.

First thing the next morning, I showed up at the building and joined a queue of foreigners (i.e. Africans and Chinese) in the drizzle. First step according to the email was to obtain a queue ticket. While I waited to speak to the receptionist, I marvelled at how those in front of me were able to communicate effortlessly with her in French. Aren't these supposed to be foreigners?? Did I miss a paragraph in the "Moving to France" manual that I must speak fluent French before moving?

Of course, when it came to my turn, I could not explain clearly why I was there. After some confused exchanges between us, she told me dismissively to go to Charles de Gaulle Etoile, which was near where I lived, and where I had travelled from that morning, and most importantly, a good 45 minutes' commute.

Nothing about France surprises me anymore; I expect nothing but stumbling blocks for every thing I try to do here. But of course it does not make it any less exasperating, and question marks were doing dances in my head. I did not believe that my immigration consultant had sent me on a wild-goose chase on a rainy Thursday morning. So I sat down in a corner to call her, but it was too early and no one picked up the phone. After 10 minutes of pondering and plotting my journey to Charles de Gaulle Etoile and bemoaning my fate, I began to wonder who the people milling around my corner were doing.

And then it occured to me that I went to the wrong room. And then the ticket machine materialised out of thin air, right in front of me. So I slowly and casually stood up, strolled over to the machine, and took a ticket, hoping NOT to attract any attention.

And then, trying hard to maintain the same nonchalant expression and pace, I strolled over to the caisse (cashier) to buy my stamps for the carte, which is step two on my email.

Look at the (tiny) directions properly...

The fees for the carte are to be paid using.....special stamps!

And voila, 15 minutes later, it was my turn, and I received my carte de sejour with no further incident.

Paris tires me out...

YL, study hard, learn your French before coming and save me!!

The Chinese are taking over Part II

When I step into the one of the biggest department stores in Paris, Printemps, I feel at home. Why? Because every other face I see are East Asians. They could be Japanese, Koreans, Chinese, Singaporeans, Malaysians, Hong Kongers, etc, but I'm going to bet you that they are likely Chinese from the PRC.

The main doors into the store had stickers advertising opening and closing times and tax refund services - in Chinese. I am not even sure there was an English sign.

When you ruffle through a stack of store map pamphlets, and find a big chunk of the Chinese version with no English version in sight, you know what language their biggest customer demographic speak.

There was a queue to go into the Chanel store. Yes, they are East Asians.

The three tax refund services found on 3 different floors had desks manned by East Asians. (I know because I visited each floor to apply for the store credit/discount card. The first customer service rep said they have "no more cards". What the h*ll?? Refusing to believe that Printemps could run out of the store cards, I went in search of someone else who knows what they are talking about. Of course I was right.)

I was told that the sales staff at LV and other big-name stores who speak Mandarin are given a higher commission rate.

Perhaps I should start learning Mandarin instead of French while I'm here.

Toilet Milk?

Living in France means one cannot take things for granted because of the language barrier. I am not talking about "advanced" stuff like asking your bank to change your mailing address because mails going to your office NEVER find their way to you because the mailroom keeps sending it to the canteen and janitor department. I am not talking about ordering food at a "Chinese" restaurant in Paris' Chinatown because even though the menus are printed only in Chinese or Vietnamese and French (all of which I cannot read), you can always bet a waiter can understand enough Mandarin or Cantonese for you to order something simple. I am not even talking about trying to figure out the motive for murder on tonight's episode of CSI because it is all dubbed in French, and you can't change it to English. (Yes, it is rather strange to hear Gary Sinise and David Caruso speak fast, fluent French)

I am talking about going to the local supermarket to buy basic necessities and groceries. Familiar brands are replaced by lots of French brands that mock my ignorance. What used to be the simplest, most brainless activity morphed into hour-long debates with myself.

"Now, I need fresh milk. OK, let's see what they have. No, not UHT (long life milk). I want fresh milk. What's the French word for fresh milk? Lait frais? Yes...looks like it. It has the right consistency. But why is it that they only have 10 cm worth of fridge space for lait frais and only in 2 different brands, but 10 feet worth of space for all the other bewildering brands and types of lait? Could lait frais be some bizarre French liquid cream or liquid cheese concoction? Can I take the risk?"

(Yes, it turns out that lait frais IS fresh milk, and that the French supermarkets stocks a much bigger selection of UHT milk than fresh milk)

" OK, eggs next. What is the difference between eleve en plein air and the others? And what the h*ll is eleve plein air?"

(it means free-range)

"Right, I need laundry detergent and softener. Aha! This must be laundry detergent. Adoucissant. Right. Now where's the softener? Hmm...[followed by 10 minutes of comparing the brands and words on all the bottles and boxes in the aisle]...I think adoucissant is NOT laundry detergent. Why is it that they all have the same picture of a laundry basket? Oh wait, this one has a picture of a very soft blanket with a little boy resting his head on it and looking very comfortable. So this could be a softener. Or maybe it's just a picture of a very clean blanket that the boy is most happy with?"

(Turns out adoucissant is a laundry softener. Laundry detergent is lessive)

Now repeat the above self-conversations with multiple other products: dish detergent, floor cleaner, ham, bread, shower gel, etc.

French lessons for people moving to France should really focus on these important daily necessities, rather than learning how to conjugate verbs.

My booty after 2 hours at the local Monoprix supermarket

Speaking of which, I saw a Nivea product labelled "Lait du toilette", which is directly translated as toilet milk. I'm guessing that I don't need one of those, but if you know something I don't, please enlighten me.

The Chinese are taking over!

Watch out - if you haven't heard already - the People's Republic of China is surely taking over the world!!

Everyday I see more concrete evidence of this. They have overtaken the food courts in Singapore, the spas in Malaysia, the shopping malls in Hong Kong, and the hotels in Paris.

I flew 10,000 km to Paris today, bracing myself for the usual language barrier and readied the few paltry French words I know when I arrived at the hotel to check-in. Lo and behold, I'm greeted by a young pleasant Chinese lady behind the reception counter, who enquired immediately if I spoke Mandarin. So I checked into my room in La Defense, the heart of the Paris business district, in Mandarin.

Minutes later, when I stepped out of the lift on the floor where my room is, I was assailed by sounds of Mandarin wafting through the corridors. A group of Chinese businessmen and businesswomen appeared soon after, discussing their negotiations strategy at a meeting that will take place later.

Be prepared. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Amateur Warrior

ECO warrior.

No lah, I'm far from being that. Eco conscious, maybe. There are still some luxuries that I cannot live without, like long showers or the good old fashioned feminine napkins. So, I do not think I will ever switch to the mooncup advocated by Mel (how's that working out, by the way? :) )

But I do try to conserve, recycle and reuse whatever possible within my own little domain. Some of these habits stem from a childhood that is not exactly blessed with ample funds, so I remember using old envelopes to do all my math calculations, and rough books get used TWICE, once in pencil, then in pen over the penciled stuff. My family will tell you what a stingy poker I am with facial tissues. Everyone in my family who eats out with me HAVE to share ONE piece of tissue. Come on, how big can your mouth be?

Every piece of paper in my house gets used and reused before being recycled. Everything that can possibly be recycled is cleaned and placed in the recycling bin. There is really no excuse for anyone not doing this, especially in a developed country like UK, where it's made so easy - city councils come by to collect recyclable items every week or so. When doing my weekly groceries, I place my groceries into as few plastic bags as possible, and I bring my own backpack to carry the rest. I have taken to giving subtle hints to friends and family to do the same (you know who you are!). I buy second-hand clothes from eBay (ok, ok...I admit that's more because I'm cheap and like a good bargain).

Contrary to what YL thinks, I also do not believe in consumerism. Half the world suffers from poverty and struggle to *exist*, and here we are, the priviledged few, acquiring 15 different types of...oh, I don't know...teapots... just because we can. It's apalling. Pardon me from saying this, but I believe the whole marketing song-and-dance over Christmas - all that giving and presents - has encouraged consumerism in the Western countries to such a degree that it's disgusting. It's one thing to give to close family and friends, but it's a whole different story when you're forced to buy something for a colleague whom you can't bear to speak to for 11 months of a year. We have enough things going into the landfill and we have exhausted enough of the earth's resources in making things we actually need and use. I do believe in buying nice things for their artistic value - and I do indulge in it myself - but let's put a limit to it, people.

Which is why I make sure I use every gift that I am given, regardless of what I think of it. If a tree has been sacrificed or a cubic metre of the atmosphere has been polluted to produce it, and someone has actually paid the shop for it, then I might as well make sure it is worth it. (Also, when someone takes the effort to purchase something and designate it for me, it is only good manners to appreciate it by making use of it. It is my own little way of saying thank you for the thoughtfulness and friendship.) One may extrapolate my statement above and argue that since something is already produced, we might as well enjoy it. Here is the fallacy of that argument - by doing so, YOU are encouraging consumerism. Let it stop at you. Give the message that we do not need this stuff. Buy what you need, buy what looks pretty, but do it conservatively.

Convocation Part II

Monday was YL's convocation at the Royal College of Radiologists of Ireland. Fen Gugu and us flew to Dublin just for the day to see him strut about in his gown and to let him bask in the glory a bit.

Competent Communicator

Finally!! Six years, 10 speeches and copious amount of sweat later, I'm finally a CC! That's a Competent Communicator, for you non-Toastmasters out there. For a journey that's taken me from KL, Malaysia to London, UK, it is not at all tiring but instead, very gratifying. There is so much that I owe to the Toastmasters - self-confidence, a career change into my preferred area of work, and...a husband. That will be a long story for another blog.

Singapore, here I come for my ATMB (that's Advanced Toastmaster Bronze) and CL (Competent Leader)!

Debut tag

I have been guilty of ignoring tags in the past; blame it on lack of time but mostly blame it on laziness. The guilt bugged me until I found out that kruy had tagged me. You're lucky that I have a lull in my schedule (I'm the type who cannot stand an idle moment), so here it is, my debut tag...

Name one person who made you laugh last night?
Husband. As always.

What were you doing at 0800?
Pulling myself up from bed and staggering to attend to Sophie's whinning "Mamma, Mamma" while cursing under my breath about my two numb arms from my Typhoid, Tetanus, and Hepatitis A vaccinations the night before.

What were you doing 30 minutes ago?
Bidding 3 houseguests goodbye and wishing them luck with the windy chilly night out there. I'm so glad I'm not out there tonight...

What happened to you in 2006?
Trying out life as a SAHM (for the uninitiated - stay at home mom) and spending more time in the kitchen than my last 30 years combined. Needless to say, I've abdicated and returned the kitchen to YL.

What was the last thing you said out loud?
Sophie, stand still!

How many beverages did you have today?
Not enough.

What color is your hairbrush?
Blue (isn't there a better question to ask??).

What was the last thing you paid for?
Lunch at Costa Cafe.

Where were you last night?
At home. Who wants to be out in this kind of weather?!

What color is your front door?
White. Like every other door on my street.

Where do you keep your change?
In a small navy pullstring pouch that used to hold my farewell gift from my ex-colleagues.

What's the weather like today?
D**m b***dy windy & cold!

What's the best ice-cream flavour?
Vanilla, just like me - plain but always reliable.

What excites you?
Planning our travels. Planning is as much fun as seeing and doing.

Do you want to cut your hair?
Yup. It seriously looked like a broom before I finally had it cut a week ago.

Are you over the age of 25?
Why, what's wrong with being over 25???

Do you talk a lot?
Only with my family, YL and close friends. And in my journal. And on this blog. If writing counts as talking.

Do you watch the O.C.?
No. Oh please.

Do you know anyone named Steven?
Yup. 3 of them. All good people.

Do you make up your own words?
Yup. YL and I have our own vocab; not all of them fit for sharing.

Are you a jealous person?
More so in my younger days. I'm trying to keep to the Buddhist precept of transcendence.

Name a friend whose name starts with the letter 'A'.
Aileen.

Name a friend whose name starts with the letter 'K'.
Kathy.

Who's the first person on your received call list?
Aileen.

What does the last text message you received say?
YL telling me that he's "so not fit" after his first day at the gym.

Do you chew on your straw?
Nope, never had the habit. I like things to be in their proper form.

Do you have curly hair?
Exactly the same response as kruy:- Slightly wavey at the back especially when the hair reaches shoulder length.

Where's the next place you’re going to?
Peru!!! Wish me luck for the 4-day trek up to Machu Picchu at almost 4,000m!

Who's the rudest person in your life?
Myself??

What was the last thing you ate?
YL's lotus root with peanuts soup, teowcheow-style steamed fish and sambal long beans. Yes yes, I'm lucky...

Will you get married in the future?
I hope not. This current one is enough hard work.

What's the best movie you’ve seen in the past 2 weeks?
I can tell you the worst that I've seen in the last 2 weeks - Spiderman 3. It is the most pointless and vapid of any movies I've seen. This is even though I enjoyed the first 2 movies tremendously.

Is there anyone you like right now?
YL???

When was the last time you did the dishes?
Just now, after the yummy dinner YL cooked for us & our houseguests.

Are you currently depressed?
Nope. Been there, done that.

Did you cry today?
Almost - when I had to clean Sophie's sticky, super-pungent, warm cr*p (literally) from her potty this morning.

Why did you answer and post this?
See introduction above.

Now, the best part - passing on the chain...hehehe

1. How Bizzare!
2. Kokonut4U
3. A Simple Life
4. A Day in the Life...
5. Our Sweetie Joshua

Fellow of the Royal College of Radiologists

Hurray!! YL was admitted as a Fellow of the Royal College of Radiologists today, so he can finally call himself a "real" clinical oncologist.

Oh by the way, he also passed the Irish equivalent Radiotherapy & Oncology examinations this week, so he will also be admitted as a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland.

And yes, he is getting cocky...

Venice & Tuscany

Our first real family trip this year came at an opportune time since YL's exams baggage have been lifted. It was an ambitious itinerary especially since we are travelling with Miss Tantrum. In one week, we "covered" Milan, Venice, Florence, Lucca and Pisa, in the loosest sense of the word.

Sophie insisted on helping us with our backpacks

Milan is supposed to be Italy’s most stylish city, but if you know us, you will know that we do not appreciate fashion. Actually I do appreciate fashion, I just cannot tolerate the etiquette and decorum that it demands. YL does not appreciate fashion. End of story.

We only made the stop in Milan because Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece – made ever more famous because of a certain Mr Brown – is inside the refectory of Milan’s Santa Maria della Grazie church. They only allow 20 people at one time inside the room in order to control the humidity, and the ‘tour’ is only 15 minutes long. (Note: if you intend to go, book at least 2 months in advance) Actually it isn’t much of a tour, because there are only 2 paintings in what used to be the dining room during da Vinci’s time, and nobody ever looks at the other one. After all the hassle, we were ushered into a room, and suddenly there it was, in my face. It is actually a rather pleasant painting because of its pastel shades – a result of a recent restoration – and it felt like I was meeting an old friend because I had seen it so many times in the media and books over the last couple of years. If you walk to the other end of the room and look back at the painting, you do sense the 3 dimensional effect that da Vinci was going for.

Waiting for our turn to feast on Leonardo da Vinci's The Last Supper

Venice is one big theme park and one large shopping complex, according to YL. I concur. You can find a glass shop, a mask shop, a souvenier shop or most likely, a number of variations of all three, on every street. The place is also positively crawling with holidaymakers; there were more tourists than locals. Then there is this whole concept of traveling around on boats that evokes the experience of spending a day at a big-scale watery Genting Highlands or Disneyland. Venice have been reproduced in so many places that now the real thing feels like a parody of itself.

Part of the Grand Canal near the Rialto bridge

Chairs put out on the Piazza San Marco

Piazza San Marco lit up at night

Trying to feed the birds in front of the Basilica San Marco in Piazza San Marco. You must applaude me for putting up such an embarrassing photo...actually there are much worse ones... Not at all romantic and elegant like it should be:

Shopping with Mamma in Venice

Waiting for the public transport, i.e. boats or vaporetti, in one of those little floating platforms is a novelty. It’s like taking the Tube, but on water. The boats are surprisingly spacious especially the front deck, so we could push the stroller comfortably onto it, although we’ve been squashed quite a bit on them during the peak hours as well. Speaking of traveling with the stroller, it was much easier than I had anticipated, despite the numerous claustrophobic lanes, tiny arched step bridges, and the general watery access. It is a inspiring sight to watch to the local mommies pushing/lifting the strollers – many of them much bulkier than ours – up and down the steps without help. Do not be fooled, though, Venice is not easy to navigate with a stroller, but it is certainly not prohibitively so.

Venice was flooded on 2 days out the 3 we were there. You can see the waters rising in the background.

Across the Grand Canal from Piazza San Marco (where the tall clock tower is in the background). The Piazza was the traditional entry point to Venice during her heyday as a merchant city and trading port.

Food in Venice was generally overpriced and poor. Or maybe we just sucked at choosing the restaurants. The best meal YL had was on Burano island (Venice is made up of 116 islands) which came up to a reasonable EUR40 for 3 large dishes. I think the best meal I had in Venice was the fried rice that YL had cooked and brought from London and cup noodles back in the comfort of our hotel room on our first night in town. Burano island, simultaneously famed for its lace and colourful houses

Speaking of Burano, we recommend a visit if you are in Venice. You can feel the change in the atmosphere almost as soon as you set down on the island after a good 45 minutes' journey. A relaxed peace permeated the island, and lured you to slow down and hanker for the gold old simpler days of your childhood, of lush green grass and lazy dogs napping in the afternoon. It was as pretty as I had imagined, with all the cheerful colourful houses (the story goes that the houses are painted different colours so that fishermen returning home can spot their house from afar) seated along the canals and boats parked all the way down the canals.

Our most memorable experience in Venice had to be the gondola ride at night. It is cliché and it is pricey, but if you are in Venice, you must be stupid if you do not go on one of these. Each boat only takes six, and only two seats are attached. We got the prime seats because we were carrying a baby, who had the courtesy to fall asleep just before her parents got onto the boat so they had a good 45 minutes of peace to enjoy the chilly autumn night air and dark starry skies of Venice, and lulled into romantic daydreams. The soft singing and music of the gondolier in the boat behind us floated in the air, and accompanied us as we glided along along the Grand Canal and the smaller back canals.

Gondolas with the Chiesa di San Giorgio Maggiore in the background

Gondola moored along a small back canal

Florence is a mecca for art lovers. But we are not art lovers. We tried, attempting to appreciate the National Gallery in London, but who are we kidding? So we spent a grand total 2 hours in the city wandering around and checking out the replica of Michelangelo’s David located in the Piazza della Signoria that is free and accessible to all and sundry. The real thing is nestled happily behind ticket barriers at the Academia. We skipped the Uffizi (shock! horror!) – only the most influential and important (Rennaissance) art museum in the world.

Don't look! Uncle David is shame shame...

Hmm...so how do we get to the Ponte Vecchio, Sophie? Outside Florence's Duomo

A statue in the Piazza Michelangelo. Yes, I forgot the name of the statue...you would too, since there are a thousand and one statues in Florence...

A kiss on the Ponte Vecchio, Florence's oldest bridge that survived the World War bombings

My favourite bit of the entire trip was the daytrip that we made from Florence to Fiesole, a hilltop Tuscan town just about an hour outside of Florence. We joined a group that hiked up the hills (300m, about 2 hours up), stopping along the way to smell the fresh herbs, taste the wild fruits, and check out the place where Leonardo da Vinci tested his flying machine. The typical Tuscan landscape that I was expecting unfolded in front of us – yellow sun-washed, rolling vineyards and olive groves set amongst old Italian farmhouses. We ended up at a Renaissance villa to have a Tuscan lunch accompanied by wine and entertaining food anecdotes dished out by our guide. I carried Sophie up and down the hill on our trusty Ergo baby carrier (it’s been a while!) and surprisingly both of us did quite well – she was cooperative, playing with her tree sticks and singing her little ditties; I was not tired, even though she is now 11-12kg. All in all, the perfect Tuscan day!

Rewarding ourselves with a hearty Tuscan meal and some Chianti wines after the 2-3 hour hike uphill in Fiesole, just outside of Florence

To continue our Tuscan experience, we left Florence to stay in an old farmhouse-converted apartment up in the hills in the village of Tramonte in northern Tuscany, 15 minutes away from the town of Lucca. It was set amongst olive groves and had a spectacular vista just 30 minutes walk uphill from the apartment. Although the apartment was not as cosy as we’d like, it did give us the opportunity to have a Tuscan cooking class in the comfort of our own place for me. You are permitted to be shocked. Yes, I am not a cook. I am still not a cook. But the cook in the family refused to do one-on-one cooking classes so I had to, otherwise we will not have anything to eat up there in the rather isolated hills. The two local ladies who came up to our apartment imparted their tips and recipes for the zuppa de cozze (mussel soup – we ate 2kg of mussels between us; it was that good!), tagliatelle al funghi (pasta with mushroom sauce – I handmade the pasta myself), lemon chicken (Lucca-style, not Chinese-style of course), funghi in umido (cooked peppers – so-so only), and chocolate cakes for dessert.

We had to cook our own meals on our first night in Lucca. Getting provisions on a Sunday in Lucca was a challenge that we did not anticipate. Most shops were closed, but luckily we found this deli. For vegetables, YL resorted to cajoling the Italian girl at a sandwich shop to let him buy her 3 tomatoes for 1 Euro

Making pasta from scratch on our second night in our Lucca house. It takes a bit of work, but not as difficult as I thought it would be. At least YL gave me a thumbs up for my effort...

Lucca is a decent-sized town with a historical center that is hemmed in by 4m thick walls. The best thing about the place is the cycling! It is the town’s preferred method of transport, and so we joined the locals by renting bicycles and breezed around town effortlessly. After all the walking and relying on public transportation in London and whenever we travel, it is such a refreshing and liberating feeling to be able to get around so easily. Sophie of course enjoyed her first time on the bicycle. Chauffeured on a bicycle, I should say.

You can't really see it, but we are actually cycling on top of the 4m-thick city walls encircling the historical part of Lucca

Popo & Nai Nai, please don't scold us....

Pisa – Leaning Tower of Pisa. Full stop.

Family picture in the Campo di Miracoli (Field of Miracles) where the Leaning Tower is located. I've got one of those super-touristy shots of me propping up the tower but I'm not putting it up - YL will mock me...

Even with our crazy jam-packed schedule and having visited Italy twice, there is still so much to see in the country that if asked to choose one European country that I want to visit, it will be (still) be la bella Italy.

PASSED!!

Dr YL passed!! He's euphoric, and I'm still shaking from the suspense and relief.

Now that we've successfully completed our official mission in London, we can channel all our attention and resources on our unofficial hedonistic mission in Europe!

Funniest woman in London

This is the last posting I'll make on this topic, because it's finally over!

Nope, I did not win the London Division Humourous Speech contest last night; I came in second. But the winner is a guy, and I am a gal. So that makes me the funniest woman in London :)

The best part is actually having half the room, if not more, many of whom are complete strangers, coming up to me, and effusively telling me what a great speech it was and how they enjoyed it. That almost makes up for not getting my hands on that trophy. At the risk of being labelled a sour grape, I thought that the winning speech had more laughs and the 5 judges' votes, but mine had more personality and the 80-odd audience' heart.

Aaa...this is a nice feather in the cap for my London TM career. Next up, Speech #10 and Competent Toastmaster!

The winning speech

“Line up according to height!” I cringed whenever I hear my class monitor bark those orders during my school days. Inevitably I would find myself in front whilst all my classmates scurried behind me. These days, I get squashed in the lifts because people do not realize that there is a head bobbing about somewhere below their armpits. Items on the topmost shelves in the shops live only in my imagination. In short, I am short.

According to the NHS’ 2004 Health Survey, the average male in UK is 5’9” and the average female is 5’3”. I am obviously nowhere near that. But even in Asia, I am disadvantaged; according to the Chinese and Japanese governments’ figures, the average female in each country is a little over 5’. I would have gladly pranced around hot burning coals or sacrificed livestock if I were granted an extra one inch just to be able to declare myself a 5-footer.

Yes, it used to bother me that I’m short. For one, my teenage dreams in the 80’s of becoming a glamorous air stewardess traversing the skies in a uniform with killer shoulder pads, big hair and an inch thick makeup, will simply remain a dream. That I could speak 4 languages, was a qualified first-aider and my O levels results were so brilliant they could have blinded you in an instant did not matter because I did not meet the minimum height requirement. “It is necessary for cabin crew to be able to manage heavy items onto the overhead compartments easily,” they said. I say that if you decide to bring anvils and bricks along with you on your travels, then you jolly well put them up yourselves.

Secondly, I enjoyed a long and distinguished history of heroic sporting failure throughout my schooldays due to my stature. I accomplished what seemed like an impossible feat of achieving the grand total of zero points for every annual school sports day. “You need to jump further and higher”, my house captain told me. This refreshing, earth-shattering and strategic piece of advice inspired me to intensify my prayers for her to trip over her shoelaces during her races.

Regardless, that is all in the past now. I am now at peace with my physique, and have come to see the advantages of being tiny. I hurt less if I fall because I’m closer to the ground. I save money from buying clothes from the children’s section. Who needs real pockets? I’m eco-friendly because I take up less space. I win at Paintball games with my colleagues because I am small and can move fast and undetected while my 6-footer boss who can be spotted lumbering away in the far distance as inconspicuously as an elephant. In a rampage.

But to be honest, I’ve actually forgotten my obsession with height because I have been focusing on life itself, on my passions and the people around me. There is so much that I can see and do despite not being an air stewardess. I have earned a Masters degree in Business; I have ran my fingers across the cool bejeweled marble walls of the Taj Mahal; I have taught my 2-year old to give a mean shoulder massage. All these because I was not busy snubbing annoying passengers on a full flight somewhere up there in the skies. My life has been enriched because I enjoyed what I do, whether it was learning my fifth language, ballroom dancing, and competing in speech contests. They are fun, as much fun as as plucking your leg hair out one by one.

More importantly, I’ve been concentrating on being a loyal friend and a sincere colleague. Take it from me – it does not matter whether you are too big, too small, too tall (show off!). What matters is beyond the physical – your thoughts, your actions, your heart. Focus on getting those things right, and your life will be filled with love and genuine friendship, which should be the most important things in life. Others will see beyond your flared nose and your crooked toes. Oh by the way, if you are vertically challenged like me, being nice to the taller ones help you gain access to the mysteriously objects up there on the topmost shelves.

I won AGAIN!

YL can't believe it, and neither can I. But I have the plaque to show for it, so I guess it must be true :) I am now the Champion Humorous Speech Speaker for Area 31*!

Yes, I re-enacted my performance at my Toastmaster club's Humourous Speech contest at the Area contest yesterday, and somehow the judges found it entertaining enough to allow me to take home the honours. To be fair, I thought two of the contestants were really good and it was again to my utter disbelief when they announced my name as the winner. I thought, "Are you serious?!". I still have no idea what I did.

My club's officers are as happy as schoolboys because our club have swept up ALL the trophies from the Area - the Table Topics contest, the International Speech contest, the Speech Evaluation contest, and now the Humourous Speech contest. Phew! At least I didn't let them down.

So now YL is slotted for another babysitting call on 15 October, when I represent my Area at the Division contest which includes 5 Areas representing all clubs in London. The winner of that contest will go on to represent entire LONDON at the District 71 contest (UK & Ireland). If I get that far, I think I will be so far deep in incredulity and surreality that perhaps I am dreaming all these up...

* consisting of 5 clubs in Docklands and the City of London

I *AM* funny!

Am I funny? Am I funny?

I have bombarded YL with this same question every now and then over the last few weeks. It was usually met with feigned ignorance and silence.

The reason I asked was because I finally recuperated from my embarrassment at having delivered a flat speech at my KL Toastmaster club's Humourous Speech Contest 6 years ago. I am now ready to take on the challenge again. (Actually, it's because I took my club's VP Education's declaration that it is mandatory for the club's officers to participate in the contest seriously. But that's another story.) And why not do it in London, surrounded by native English speakers with exquisite crisp English accents, a stiff upper lip and a well-known dry sense of humour? Yes, surely I will win them over easily with my Malaysian-flavoured speech, awkward body language, soft Asian voice and lame sense of humour?

I fretted and tore out my hair trying to think of a topic that would be funny without trying too hard, *and* meet the requirements of Project 9 (don't worry if you don't understand this; it's obviously TM talk). I practiced it on YL, who showed his support by not laughing at any of my lines. Yes, that certainly boost my confidence. It's now certain that I am headed for another 6 years of therapy.

The day came. It only really dawned on me that I have to BE FUNNY in a CONTEST two hours before it's supposed to take place, while in the office. I can give a speech, no problems, but I AM NOT FUNNY if my life depended on it. My body suddenly went limp and my heart tried to escape from the ribs that are holding it in place. At the contest, I drew the last spot. Of course I would get the last spot, watching the other contestants go out there and thrill the crowd while panicking over how much I suck compared to them. At least I did not have to go right after my club's expected champion and current serving President, C. He would be an absolutely tough act to follow. As expected, he was hilarious and I even forgot my nerves momentarily.

Long story short, the time came, I went up there, did my whole song and dance, and it was over. I rediscovered the joys of being able to breathe properly.

That is not the end of the story, though. When they named C as the runner up, a rush of fear washed over me. What the h*ll???? Who is the winner then? Erm....yes....ME :)

Now, on to the next level: Area level (which comprises of 6 clubs). This will be worth 10 years of therapy.

Happy Birthday Aunty Aileen!

To celebrate Aunty Aileen turning **, we threw her a little surprise dinner party at Le Saint Julien at Barbican. She was suitably surprised and beamed from ear to ear all through the night. The food was good, the wine was even better, but the cake was the best, even when everyone thought we could not stuff another morsel into our mouth. The patrons of the restaurant even serenaded us with a rowdy French version of Happy Birthday.

Starter of scallops...yummy!

Happy Ending!!

Opps! Not sure if any of you have yet to finish the 7th Harry Potter book. If yes, well, this is a mini spoiler then - it's a happy ending. Rest assured, though, that there's enough tragedy in it to continue the dark theme that it's been keeping.

It's also got the most non-stop action of all 7 books. I really could not put it down. Despite being extremely busy preparing for my Toastmasters speech, planning our year-end trip to Peru & the Inca Trail, etc etc, I HAD to steal precious minutes here and there to keep reading. Actually, I was a little hesistant to start in the beginning, because, well, what do I do after I'm done? (Did you know that people in the US were talking about setting up counselling hotlines to help children who cannot cope with the end of the Harry Potter saga?!!)

Anyways, I'm looking forward to re-reading all 7 books. Maybe have a marathon Harry Potter weekend. Yeah, fat chance, with Sophie going "Mamma, Mamma" every 2 seconds.

We've got our hands on Harry Potter!

The last Harry Potter book, that is. Aileen & I pre-ordered our copies on Amazon (why push and shove with others at the bookstores?) and the mailman rang our doorbell promptly at 8:15am on the day of publication to deliver them. A gleeful Aileen ran up the stairs to share her bounty with a still half-asleep me.

Being the busy and highly-demanded girls we are, we have not started reading the book yet, but the mundane hermit YL, aka my husband, immediately dived into the book's last few pages and is now evil-ly insisting on telling us the ending every chance he gets. I heard it's good. Or bad, depending on how you see it. Or whether my husband is lying through his teeth. Again.

Anyways, here's to the last and hopefully satisfying Harry Poter book!

Dozing Off

Sophie loves her grapes, and nothing is going to come between them and her. Even sleep.