Mini me



Not me, but YL.

He's got tricks up his sleeves, this one, just like his Baba.  He has a twinkle in his eyes, ready to spring some surprises when you least expects it.  I'm just waiting for the day when he can talk well enough to play prank calls.  Watch out, Yiyi!

He keeps Popo and I in stiches at his antics - making faces, imitating our lines, sharing his exuberance, and generally having some good ole-fashioned pointless, childish fun.  Che Che (Sophie) finds it totally irritating, especially when it takes attention away from her. 

Aaaa...the good ole-fashioned sibling rivalry has arrived in its full splendour. 

Anyways, back to similarities with his Baba.



Funny faces: Check

 I want to go there, NOW!

Impatience: check.

When his favourite cartoon, Cars, is on, he grabs his toy cars/trains/planes and hunkers down on the sofa, getting ready for some entertainment.  He laughs and makes commentaries about the scenes.  He stays focused, and for 60 minutes, he forgets his mission in life, which is to annoy Che Che, Mamma and Popo. 

Just like his Baba when Top Gear comes on TV. 

 "Nooo, this is how you do it, Mamma!" 

Oh yes, this line is also very familiar...

Fashion stress

When I told my beautician back in Singapore that I was moving to Paris, a dreamy look immediately washed over her face, and the predictable gush of words came out, "Paris!! Oh how lucky!" with a gasp.

She did not notice the meek, embarrassed smile I gave her, but from her vacuous eyes, I guess she was already reveling in images of the Eiffel Tower in the background lit up like a giant Christmas tree at night, good-looking men in beret and women in Chanel and Louis Vuitton strolling along the Seine, admiring the grand facade of classical European edifices, baguettes floating around, and the sounds of ooolala!...punctuating conversations.

Stereotypes, but they are true.  You DO see men in beret walking about clutching their fresh baguettes, and you DO hear oolala! in its various incarnations all the time around you.  And what is MOST true is the devastatingly stylish women walking about on every street corner of Paris.  And the worst thing about that is that they seem to do it so effortlessly, as if they just woke up and threw on whatever they could find in their dirty laundry bag, and voila!  It is inimitable; it must be in the Parisian genes or something they put in the water supply. 

Once YL and I saw a woman in a serious, classy outfit wearing what seems to be a large pink shower cap having lunch in a reputable brasserie next to the Sorbonne (University of Paris).  She looked stylish.  If she had worn that back home, she would have been carted off to Tanjung Rambutan (THE sanitarium in Malaysia).   

So there is some amount of stress in terms of dressing.  Singaporeans and Malaysians are notorious for our laid-back, kampung style of dressing.  My time spent in Canada and YL's time in Australia did not help much in the subject either, as both countries are equally casual in their dressing (Birkenstock with socks! University sweaters! Hawaiian shorts!).  London attempted to educate us, but they were quite forgiving in that aspect.  Not here.  One can't help but feel self-conscious when surrounded by style personified.   

Even YL was inspired? pressured? to pull together a decent ensemble during his week-long visit.  He, of the stained-20-year-old-tees-and-holey-shorts-and-patched-up-Teva-sandals fame.  It is a mini miracle.  Maybe he will consider accessorizing with my shower cap? 

Two is fun

That's a big, fat lie. 

It is excruciatingly tiring. 

However, it should be Popo who should complain here.  She is the one who has to put up with the daily relentless whinging from Sophie about Ju bullying, hitting, snatching, screaming, and generally making a nuinsance of himself around her (oh, trust me, that boy gives lots of fodder for a post).  Ju also keeps Popo busy with wiping off smashed bananas from the sofa, cleaning strawberry stains on the cushions, cajoling him into and then later, out of the bath, and dreaming up of new recipes for his meals. 

Fortunately, Popo being Popo, it only takes 23 seconds for those two to charm her into forgetting her aches and anger.  They don't even have to try very hard. 

On the rare good days, Sophie indulges her brother in silly games and it is such a pleasure to watch them.  That's when two is fun. :)

 Singing a silly ditty together

Did we wreck enough havoc yet? 

It's peace and quiet for the rest of us while they enjoy their favourite snack of hard-boiled eggs

How can we make her go away?

We've got her wrapped around our tiny little fingers... 

(Almost) A New Beginning

There goes my bachelorette pad

Bienvenue a Paris!

After 2 months of living it up on my own, the kids and Popo have finally joined me in my new world. YL also dropped-in for a week or so, to help to settle the clan, and boy, was there was an endless stream of that. Even after the dust had settled and YL left this morning, I still could not take a decent picture of the apartment to show you, because, well, it is still a work-in-progress with boxes and junk scattered around.

The only decent thing in the apartment to show at the moment: Classic French windows overlooking the internal courtyard of the building

We spent the first few days zipping around Paris and its suburbs in a rented car, stocking up on food, household necessities, appliances and the odd piece of furniture.

The Doctor was already jittery about driving on the wrong side of the road for the first time in his life. And he has to do it in a city known for its fearless guerilla-drivers and convoluted street designs and confounding rules. Then he discovered that the car that his wife had rented for him is a manual stick shift. Five minutes after getting into the Vehicle of Doom, the SatNav announced "Take the third exit at the next roundabout". We looked up from shifting papers and fiddling with buttons and levers in the car. After the one brief moment it took for realisation to set in, two quivering voices yelled back, "But it's NOT ANY old roundabout!!" and we prepared for our imminent demise.

The Roundabout of Life-and-Death (also known to tourists as the Arc de Triomph)

But once again, the Doctor demonstrated his heroic abilities to overcome any situation (except socialising - for that, he still cowers behind his wife) by successfully entering and emerging from the ultimate test of manlihood. He topped that by getting around Paris without a scratch or a bump on the car or his family. We shall conveniently forget those stalled engine incidents. They never happened.

That is not our car. But we feel for you, brother...

After that hectic week, we have now somewhat settled into a routine. Popo is getting used to the weather (i.e. weather inside the apartment), Sophie made some friends at school, and Ju had less knocks and bumps in the last few days which means he got used to the placement of the furniture in the apartment.

So, until Baba joins us in August, here's to a (almost) new beginning!

p/s Here's to another new beginning - a big warm wet WELCOME to cousin Kristabelle!

It's tough but it's life

Some friends have started to feel concern for my sanity here. Admitedly, my last few entries sounded rather pessimistic and bitter.

Let me clear things up: yes, things could have been much smoother, but they were not much tougher than I'd expected. It is part and parcel of the charms and challenges of living in a foreign country. And make no mistake, even having lived in 4 countries in 3 continents, France is the most foreign of them all.

They are in fact a very formal society, with specific etiquette for everything from greetings, to meals, to networking, to shopping, to...well, just take my word for it - everything. These things I can accept, because they add flavour and colour to the experience.

But some, no, most, ways of working here - whether at work, at home, or with the government - are simply too convoluted, too banally time-consuming and drowned in bureaucracy. I was not paid last month, and after 3 full days of calling 11 different people sitting in 4 different offices in France and abroad, we still don't know why. No one was willing to own the task, no one wants to admit that it was their job. When my manager wrote a scathing complaint email, one of the recepients retorted that "if you had written a more polite note, we would have rectified it immediately". So we gritted our teeth and begged them very nicely to do their job. There are more examples I can give, but let's keep it for another day.

And as any foreigner will tell you, you quickly learn to settle for things. A colleague here told me that she has tried, unsuccessfully, for 6 months to get someone to help her access the voicemail on her Blackberry. She gave up, and heck care if anyone bothers to leave her a voicemail. When my own Blackberry broke down after 3 days, I was elated that the IT guy was willing to talk to me; never mind that he knows nuts about the problem and tells me that the replacement will come in 2 weeks or maybe 6 months. I was simply praying that he would pick up the phone. The coveted reply "OK bring it here - I will have a look at it" brought me to tears. This would have NEVER happen if we were in Singapore. I would have hounded the guy to death and to get him to commit to a solution.

Hmm....the tone of this email is veering dangerously back to the pessimistic and bitter mode....

In a nutshell, what I lament is simply the inability to communicate with people around me. My independence is somewhat compromised. I lose some of my resourcefulness. Everyday reveals new and perhaps dangerous discoveries. There were 2 new posters put up at my apartment building a few days ago. It could have said "Get out now! The building will be demolished TODAY!" or it could have said "Spring jumble sale on Saturday!", I would never know better. Turns out it was to warn us about technicians coming to read our water meter and asking residents to be prepared to let them in. But you see, if I didn't know this and no one was home, I may end up with no water for the rest of the month. It is very possible in la belle France. So to parrot the Monty Pythons, I just have to always look on the bright side of things. And at least there's this bright thing to look at everyday to and from work.

International Day

Selamat datang (Welcome)

(It's my handiwork!)

The international school that Sophie will be joining later this month organised its annual International Day last weekend. The school is a veritable United Nations, with students from over 50 countries. Each country had a booth or room to introduce its culture, language, history, food, etc. to others. Every student will be issued a passport with one country listed on each page. After each visit, they had to answer a question or play a game to receive a stamp on the page. The idea is to get them to learn at least one thing about each country.

As I was desperate for a little change in my usual weekend routine, I very gladly volunteered to help out at the Malaysian booth. There are about 7-8 Malaysian families - mostly working for agencies affiliated with the government, such as UNESCO, Tourism Malaysia, the embassy, and Malaysian Airlines - with children attending the school.

I was eyeing those yummy kuih-kuih all afternoon

All ready for the tourists!

I must say I was impressed with the preparations that all the kakak (Malay for sister) and makcik (Malay for aunty) did for the event. We had a whole classroom to ourselves when others usually shared with 3-5 other countries. The classroom was transformed into a mini Tourism Malaysia office: its walls draped in sarong, traditional batik, baju kurung and baju melayu, its corners filled with glossy coffee table books on our natural wonders and eclectic mix of cultures, its tables groaning under the weight of currypuffs, muruku (Indian snack) and kuih-kuih (Malay for sweet & savoury snacks/treats). We put those Tourism Malaysia ads on a continuous loop on the AV projector so that by the end of the day, I could still hear Michelle Yeoh proclaiming "There's only one place I call home. Malaysia, Truly Asia" when I crawled into bed that night. The Malaysian ladies were so well-prepared, they even set up a table for the children to try their hand at batik painting.

Anak-anak Malaysia get first try at the batik-painting table

I didn't have the chance to take pictures during the event as there was a continuous stream of "tourists" to our room all day. Almost everyone were in their national costumes. It was certainly a feast for the eyes, as kimono's, hangbok's, saree's, qipao's, football tees (Brazil!) and an assortment of costumes were paraded all over the school.

These two from Uzbekistan were so unbelievably photogenic I had to stop to snap their pictures

This will be an interesting 2 years for Sophie...

It's true what they say about Paris

...that the streets are rigged with dog poop everywhere. Be warned.