Hectic Weekend

I met up my new friend last Saturday in the hot mid-morning. After taking me around the place, we went for reflexology before having lunch. Then we got lured by some health check where I learnt I had low blood pressure (besides still being under-weight). Midway through the marketing, I rushed off for prayers. We left after Asar prayers and before long, the skies opened up big time. It was pouring cats and dogs, and we had difficulties navigating our way in the heavy, torrential rain.

Popped at my friend’s place and after the weather had improved, we left for my old mate’s place. Despite my protests earlier in the morning, she insisted that I had dinner there and in fact wanted me to sleep over. Had to decline as I had already made plans to go to Akak’s.

She, along with her husband and two boys, then sent me to the Aeon Centre. It was quite a drive from her side of town but at least it gave us the opportunity to chat and catch up. I was feeling knackered by the time I reached Akak’s but after a quick shower and prayers, decided I would still watch the Bolton-Arsenal match.

It wasn’t a good first half for Arsenal as they were reduced to 10 men and went down by two goals. I didn’t have a good feeling myself and was beginning to question my decision to watch the match. The second half didn’t start well either - Bolton were having a succession of corners and I was praying hard for Wenger to make his substitutions quickly.

Gallas reduced the deficit in the 62nd minute and five minutes later, van Persie converted his penalty shot into the Gunners’ second goal. I started breathing a bit easier then and actually felt my bad feeling evaporate away. And as usual, you can always count on Arsenal for last-minute come back. I was practically shouting and jumping when Fàbregas’ shot was deflected in at, yes, you guess it, the eleventh hour, or rather 90th minute. I actually thought it was his goal until the game score was updated and showed it was actually an own goal. Read about the match here, here, here, here and here.

Not Just For Appearances’ Sake

I am not one of those blessed with good looks. In fact, I was a little Ugly Betty growing up minus the braces with my horrible glasses, long braided hair parted in the middle, and my gawky, clumsy and awkward movements. And no, this entry is not about an ugly duckling turning into a swan.

Despite us having ordinary looks, Mummy would make a lot of noise about grooming, about looking smart and presentable. She hated to see her girls (that’s Akak and me) dressed sloppily - she frowned if we wore, God forbid, flip-flops, and even she knew baggy pants or tops looked simply horrible on anyone. Mummy also disliked seeing me wear jeans (but this is no longer an issue as I simply couldn’t stand wearing them either as the British weather gradually grew warmer). And while we are not natural born beauties, we can make an effort to look nice: heck, anyone can look nice either by masterful or skilful application of make-up (which I never quite master) and grooming. And any other ordinary person will come across as simply stunning if he/she also possesses good social etiquette, a kind heart, a charming smile and no malice.

I bought my first lipstick when I was in my final year at uni during winter sale. And as none of my classmates wore make-up (except for kohl that those inclined to hippy style and goth looks were heavily applying), the lipstick was stashed in my wardrobe and almost forgotten until graduation day when my aunt asked where my make-up kit was as she wanted to make me up. She was surprised to discover I didn’t possess any make-up apart from my lip balm and Olay fluid. So she did me up with her make-up (and as a result, I looked a mini-her on my graduation day).

Even then, it took me a while to get hooked on lipsticks. Mummy and Akak used to tease me if I left for work or shopping without any lipstick on because I looked, in their words, like a pale Chinese lass. And once I got used to buying lipsticks, I couldn’t seem to stop buying them. At one point, I had shocking, saucy brown lipstick in my possession. But that is all I ever invest in: lipsticks and lip-liners. No mascara, no nail colour, and until recently no face powder (I use talc instead). But I love all toiletries: shower gels, foam bath, body lotion, body butter, hand cream, body talc, fragrances etc, etc.

Mummy also believes strongly that we should dress decently, neatly and smartly. No daughter of hers is going to be seen with torn, tattered or shabby clothes. And I remember her saying if you can afford it, flaunt it. In this context, it means if you can afford designer and branded clothes, by all means, go ahead and buy them, because you deserve to and Because You’re Worth It. And while it is not wrong to buy clothes from the night market, why stoop that low and mistreat yourself if you can afford better than that? (Of course, if you can’t afford branded stuff, stick to unbranded stuff instead of wearing fake and being pretentious). So even in those casual university days where I observed the universal student dress-code (t-shirt, sweater or jacket and jeans, and pumps or Converse shoes as footwear), I made an effort to look like a casual, intelligent student. Besides, when you treat yourself and dress well, you feel good. How can you feel good when there are holes in your socks or inner wear, tote a fake Ferragamo or sport a fake Rolex?

I must admit I did dress sometimes inappropriately to work especially when we used to work on Saturdays. But I try to dress professionally on weekdays and I try to abide to the in-house dress code. I’m no prude or goody-goody but I can appreciate why a dress code is necessary and hence I cannot understand why people can’t obey it. Nor can I understand those who can’t make the effort to look nice to work. One of my colleagues used to dress in drab, dull-coloured garb and I remember telling my friend, ‘I have nothing against her but she goes out of her way to look plain.’ Because I pride myself for taking the time and effort in dressing up for work and looking nice and presentable, I don’t understand why others can’t do the same. Yes, there are times when I wish TheOrganisation adopts Dress-down Fridays but I understand that being a conservative organisation which deals with the public and other stakeholders, this may be a bit difficult to implement.

Having said all that, I must admit that there are days when I simply am not in the mood to work; simply can’t be bothered to go to work, much less make the effort; and sometimes simply not feeling well to dress up. And between you and me, I did walk around university in my rock-and-roll ripped jeans – much to the disapproval of my more conservative seniors.

Like I said before, this entry is not a Hans Christian Andersen fairytale story of an ugly duckling metamorphosing into a graceful swan turn true - but hey, even ugly ducklings can look nice if they make the effort to. And oh, I may need to take a re-look at my wardrobe as people (and Chinese gentlemen at that) still mistake me as a student (oh what a boost to my ego) and a Chinese despite donning the scarf as recently as last week!

Who Wants To Be A Superhero?

Apparently, the father of this chap wanted his son to be one, even before Stan Lee hosted the reality show.

I need a superhero to lift me up today because –
- Lewis Hamilton didn’t finish on the podium
- FedEx lost in the Pacific Life semi-finals
- Arsenal lost to Chelshit and is now third on the league (a week ago today, they were still number one. Grrr...)
- Liverpool didn’t help Arsenal’s cause when they lost to ManUre.

And to top it off, my left contact lens tore off this morning leaving me half-blind.

So be kind to me today please.

On another note, I would’ve won the best prize for super-taxpayer if there ever is one for completing and submitting my income tax online on Good Friday (I normally leave one fine April Friday lunchtime to do it). So I can go for retail therapy the next few Fridays (to cheer myself up, you see)!

Perspective

Is a half-full glass better than a half-empty glass (to me, it’s just a different way of looking at the same situation from a different point of view)? Is it always better to have something than not have it? Is it OK to feel like one is walking with two left feet in a relationship? Yes, it is better than one foot but it’s still not a pair of right foot and left foot.

I recently had a conversation with my mate, Mac, and for a brief while, I mulled over the questions above. He maintained that it’d be better for a couple to try work things out than to give up especially when there is a lot at stake: for married couples with children, there are the children to think of, the joint property, the talk that everyone would be having. For the unmarried couple, they’d have to weigh the respective family’s reputation and feelings, and yes, also the possibility of being the talk of the neighbourhood. Also who is to say that things would be better if they split?

While I agree with him to a certain extent, I argued that just as the disputing couple can’t foresee if things will improve, they can’t foresee either if things will not improve. And I said that while, yes, sometimes it’s better to have a little something than nothing at all, to cling on to hope and all that, it doesn’t work that way all the time.

I once read of a lady who was in a polygamous marriage – of her own will. She was the second wife. And while the husband tried to be fair to her, he set some conditions on her. For example, they couldn’t be seen together in public. They could go on shopping trips together but she must walk a few feet behind him (remember, they couldn’t be seen together, that was part of the deal). In short, he couldn’t acknowledge her as his legally wedded wife in public for reasons I can’t recall now: it could be to protect his reputation, or it could be to prevent the first wife from finding out. She was content and happy with the arrangement and accepted the terms. After all, she had her man, never mind that she had to share him or that she couldn’t admit it to the world.

So really, is it worth to be married that way than not be married at all? Of course, the choice was hers and I should respect her choice. But I can’t imagine being content with that had it been me instead in that situation.

With this in mind, I told Mac that I didn’t really agree with him that having a little something is better than nothing at all. Because sometimes it means compromising your standards as well as settling for second best.

Anger Management

I was feeling angry and hurt last weekend because someone’s plans affected me. As a result, I had to endure some inconveniences, not to mention all those wasted time and efforts. I felt let down and disappointed by this and seethed every time I thought back about it. For surely I deserve better and I don’t understand why no one bothered to tell me their plans, especially when their plans very well affected me – even though I was not part of their plans.

When asked, I admitted that I was indeed mad, hurt and disappointed. Had I known of their plans, I would’ve altered my own plans instead of wasting hours of my time. Even if I was not part of the plan, why couldn’t anyone let me know instead of treating me like I didn’t matter or a nonentity. I could’ve adjusted my plans and I wouldn’t spoil their plans anyway. I don’t care if others want to make plans - it’s their right – but I wish they’d stop to consider that other people may be affected like I was. And because I was angry, I couldn’t help thinking of all the unfulfilled promises and when I did that, I felt let down again and again.

I was just so angry that when I finally reached home on Saturday evening, I turned off my mobile phone. I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone and because I was upset, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. Had I answered any call, I’d probably end up saying the wrong things and make things worse.

I thought I was recovering well until I received the text yesterday evening and I started seething all over again.

I do hope things will get resolved soon. I don’t think it was unreasonable or unwarranted of me to feel hurt, to expect an explanation (an apology would be nice too), to feel that I deserve some understanding and consideration. Please pray for me that things will work out and while they may not return to normal immediately, that at least people will realise that I have feelings too. And I deserve to be treated better.

In the interim, maybe I should consider enrolling in Anger Management therapy.

Stunned Stunt

This could be a funny account of a real-life experience, if only it’s not also embarrassing and a bit scary.

It happened yesterday morning. My colleague and I were hunched over my computer when I felt a desperate need to take a break. So I hurried over to the washroom and went into the second cubicle (the first was occupied), despite knowing that the latch was broken since Monday. I slid the bar across to lock the cubicle and even then I remember thinking, ‘What if I can’t slide the bar to open the door later?’ only to have my inner voice say, ‘We’ll worry about that later.’

And oh yes, I mean, oh no, that was exactly what happened: I couldn’t slide the bar to open the door. I tried to calm myself and looked around to see what I could do. Then I called out to the person in the first cubicle (I was beginning to wonder if there really was anyone in there for it was quiet – no sound of water coming from the water hose, no tissue pulled and no flush heard – unless of course she was daydreaming (?!) or reading some magazine in there) and shortly after she answered my call. I explained to her that I was trapped in my cubicle and that I was going to attempt climbing over into the third cubicle (which was a sit-down rather than a squat-down cubicle) to save myself for I saw no other escape route. She said she was almost done but to my surprise, she left the washroom. And I was hoping she’d help give me a hand.

Thankfully it was the peak time for washroom visits and bladder-clearing and three other mates stepped in. I explained my predicament again and told them my idea of escape. One suggested calling a chap to come over; another suggested trying to work the door open with a screwdriver (not sure where she could find one). I told them I’d just try out my plan first and if I failed, by all means, seek help!

So I stepped on the tap on the right side of the cubicle on one foot and swung over my other foot onto the tissue holder on the left side of the cubicle and gingerly tested if it could bear my weight (the plastic cover that holds the tissue in place in that very cubicle was acting up on Friday and kept snapping itself open), all the while pushing myself against the right wall to balance myself.

I had to try this at least three times because the gap between the cubicle wall (thank God there was a gap at all and thank God I decided to wear trousers yesterday) and the ceiling was not large and even if I managed to hoist myself up, I’d have to crouch on the ledge (and do a Bend It Like Beckham and a body Twist And Shout) while I hang on for dear life, catch my breath and plot my next move. My mates offered advices, suggestions and words of encouragement and finally, I managed to somehow swing myself over and lay unmoving horizontally on the ledge (I had lined the ledge with tissue papers so as not to dirty myself and clothes). I had by then removed my shoes and handed them over to a mate for safekeeping.

My initial plan was to find my footing on the water closet but it was too far down. Thankfully the tissue holder in the third cubicle was also on the right side of the cubicle so I carefully jumped lightly down (how do you jump lightly down anyway?) and quickly placed another foot on the closed lid of the toilet.

And I was safe and back on the ground, albeit a bit shaken, embarrassed (how would I explain to my ‘knight’ who came marching to rescue me of how I got into the mess in the first place?) and somewhat stunned that I managed to do such acrobatic moves. Yes, for a while, I felt like a Catwoman, Spiderwoman and Superwoman (not a Bat Girl though) all rolled into one.

I can so be a stuntgirl now!

San Hero

The guns were smoking alright. Arsenal had achieved what no other English side has managed: beat Milan at San Siro. So the boys in red and white beat the men in red and black, thanks to Fàbregas and a late icing-on-the-cake goal by Adebayor. Need I say more? Read more about it here, here and here. Heck, even the locals applauded Arsenal. Milanese have always been chic and cultured.

My Fàbregas is no fibreglass.

Get well soon Eduardo. We miss you.

Dirty Dozen

My ‘Dirrty’ habits and less-than-appealing characteristics:

1. I bite/chew my nails sometimes. There are times when I do it unconsciously, like when I’m watching footie, nervous and agitated.
2. I have an unhealthy craving for junk food. What can I say, I’m a ‘junkie’. I try to eat healthily now but still have a stock of instant noodles stashed in my larder.
3. I don’t brush my hair all that regularly. I prefer to think it gives me a just-out-of-bed tousled look.
4. I crack my knuckles. I used to do this a lot when I was growing up and this drove Mummy Crazy.
5. I am stubborn and hard-headed. I want my own way and I Want it That Way.
6. I throw tantrums at times. I sulk and I pout and sometimes stomp my feet (oh dearie me). Yes, I know I’m no longer a child but I can’t seem to stop behaving like one at times (blame my parents for still treating me like one).
7. I used to be a spendthrift. I’m a bit more careful now that I earn my own money and know how difficult it is. There are times when I still lose control and spend impulsively (and recklessly) though. And just like those on crash diets, I feel guilty after this momentary lapse of judgement ... until the next sale beckons.
8. I lose my temper easily. Aye, I’m a quick-tempered and hot-tempered (and hot-blooded) chick.
9. I am impatient. I walk up and down escalators if it saves some time and I can’t stand morons who stand on both sides of the escalators. Ever heard of keeping to your left to allow others to pass?
10. I swear quite a lot. I curse like a sailor and swear like a trooper. I invent new swear words when I watch footie, the most recent being when I watched Arsenal host the Villains (I was so annoyed with Arsenal’s performance that I switched the tube off 1.5 minutes into extra time – and hence missed Bendtner’s goal).
11. I’m a pro at procrastinating. I have Facebook requests dating back weeks. In the end, I ignored some of them, when I could have ignored them a lot sooner.
12. I can be very undisciplined. I know I have and want to keep fit and yet I constantly have to battle with myself and the temptations of the bed.

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I spent last weekend exercising. My first workout was to clean micasa and keep it spick and span on Saturday morning. I stretched and I bent and cleaned every corner possible (well, except for the window sills, the windows and the ceilings...). Then I went for retail therapy (but my plans for a massage were dashed as the centre was close for renovation). So I walked the length and breadth the shopping complex and I put my card through some swiping and err, while I should have exercised some restraint, I got a wee bit carried away with my purchases.

That evening saw me sprawled on the couch, my hair unbrushed, exercising my vocal cords by spewing swear words at the Gunners, losing my temper every now and then. Alas, my nails were short otherwise I’d be chewing them too.

On Sunday Morning, I fought against my desire to remain in bed and finally dragged myself up and out for a morning walk. I walked less distance this time – only 3.86 km or 4836 steps. I also went all domesticated and washed the kitchen curtains and sew the hem of my trousers. And I reversed my morning walk efforts by gorging on Pringles later.

And because I’m a procrastinating pro, I’m only posting this today instead of yesterday.

Get well soon Eduardo.