31ST AUGUST 2009

We have our own Stomp right here in school. They're real good!

There are a couple of jam bands as well. I'm utterly amazed by their mastery of the musical instruments. The bass. The drums. And they're only, what, 14? Or 15?

The kids are really talented, definitely. In their own way.





I hadn't been expecting notes, really. After all, it has only been 2 months since we met for the very first lesson. Anyway, this message here ticks my funny bone.

Actually, don't see my face like that. But actually, I can be quite a lioness.

WHERE I AM...

Occasionally, I threw a couple of them unceremoniously out of the class. Once or twice, I feel like going off in the middle of a lesson. Sometimes, I feel like vomiting blood. Other times, I am on the verge of tearing my hair out. The rest of the times, I am so tempted to just grab a chair and sit down and just let them do the talking instead. Administration work? Remedials? Make-up tests? They make climbing the Great Wall of China a walk in the park.



Nevertheless, they are not as bad as I first imagined. They may not have the brains; they may not have a lot of discipline; they may not necessarily have the cooperativeness or motivation; they may not have the best environment; they may not speak the most eloquent of languages. But they're definitely a lot more simpler. Real. Unpretentious.

They may not be the best - or among the better ones, for all that matters - which educators so often hope (secretly) for; but they're good enough. I can't say for the future; but right now, I don't envision myself leaving for "greener pastures" of better "reputations" or "standards".

Meaningful, is where I am right now.

Heck, one of my boys even has a court case in pending. They may not be comparable to others most of the time, but, that's the whole point; the crux of it all.

Isn't it?



Writer's note: Hopefully, I won't be reading this blog entry 2 or 3 years down the road and feel silly.

RUNNING

On 16th the Sunday, I finally ran after 2 months. As the distance which we planned to cover this time round would be twice as long as the usual route, I paced myself slowly for this first attempt. In the end, we clocked in 40 minutes. The younger brother says I'm the slowest runner he has ever seen. PUI!

On 21st the Friday, stung by the remark - and now armed with a sound gauging of my finesse - I upped the jogging pace. We clocked in 25 minutes.

This evening - 28th the Friday - we clocked in around 20 minutes.



Think I hit my ceiling today. About 3/4 into the route, I was feeling as lethargic as I usually do at the end of each run. I still had 1/4 to go; and I was already panting like a cat mercilessly thrown into a washing machine.

I had half a mind to quit; but I didn't want to. It'll be hard to get back the momentum; but more than that, it is akin to giving up. Giving up - more often than not - is not a very nice option; especially when one knows that this is not really the stretching point - yet.

I remember reading in a blog that someone said to a friend, with respect to running a marathon, "Move those legs, swing those arms, and always keep a smile on. You'll never know when a photographer would snap a picture of you. You don't want to end up looking grumpy."

On personal and deeper thoughts, the friend later improvised, something to the effect of, "Move those legs, swing those arms, always keep a smile on, and keep going. You'll never know when God would come and give you the breakthrough. Won't want to end up with a grumpy life story."



Same principle. Shoot me , but I would rather be caught jogging - however slow - rather than walking.

Ok. I take that back. Don't shoot me.



Anyway, I'm not really in the best of state to blog. Sleepy already. The brain feel too lazy to restructure these sentences to make it into a nice and smooth short article. The structure of this entry is short and choppy, I know. Off to bed soon!

Anyway, I don't feel like giving tuition tomorrow morning. Saturdays are so packed from early morning all the way into the night. Grrr... I am sooo tempted to cancel the tuition session tomorrow. Arggghhh, 加 油 and be faithful and work harder, girl!

SUBBY-SUBBY-BOM-PI-PI

Nothing beats...








... Cold Cut Trio + Italian/Honey oat + lettuce + tomato + cucumber + sweet onion sauce!

I'M LOVING IT!

YNWA

What? True what...

PRICKED FOR NOTHING

For the heavens-know-how-many-times, my finger got pricked for nothing. I hate having low haemoglobin. After all the waiting, completing the questionnaire, meeting the doctor, passing the minimal weight requirement (the doc told me to eat more because if I'm lighter by just one more kg, I would have made an unsuitable donor!), and finally, just when it's the FINAL stage, when the finishing line is sooo close, then BAM!

My donor's card? It has so many donation dates crossed out that one of my cards only have 8 real entries (a normal card can write in about 18 donation dates). I can't seem to get past the 9th donation (pissed! Because 9 is my favourite number!); I've been rejected twice consecutively already! I ALWAYS GET PRICKED FOR NOTHING. Grrr!

I hate it. No, it's not the fruitless waiting that's of concern. It's the fact that my finger got PRICKED for NOTHING. I don't know, but personally, I find the finger-pricking process MOST painful out of the whole donation procedure; followed by the injection of anesthetic. I HATE the lancet so much. Whoever said that it's just like an insects' bite? That's an outright lie.


Anyway, apparently, my iron level is always low. Iron is important because it forms an iron-rich protein (called haemoglobin), which main function is to transport oxygen. So, a person with low blood iron would have low haemoglobin in the red blood cells; which, in turn, would lead to a decreased amount of oxygen being transported by the blood to all parts of the body. The minimal cut-off for donation is 12.5g/dl.

Mine? I hit only 11.7g/dl on Sunday (my blood droplet doesn't sink to the bottom of the beaker of copper sulfate solution, and thus, a machine has to be used to give a digital reading of my haemoglobin level). Still, I feel a little glad though; because this reading is considered 'high' for me on any normal days. The lowest I've ever hit was 10.0g/dl. So, a reading of 11.7g/dl is like... Quite a sunny day already. A part of me is still quite disappointed, though, because I've been drinking Milo and taking evening jogs. I expected a pass, really.



Anyway, while I was at the doctor's yesterday afternoon to get an MC, I brought it up to his attention. I told him that my iron is always on the low side, and that at times, when I change from a sitting/squatting position to a standing position, I would experience giddiness/nausea/spinning room/dimmed or dark vision.

"The lowest reading I've had is 10.0g/dl. Is this normal? Is it just borderline low, or..." My voice trailed off. I deliberately left out the fact that I'm quite a heavy coffee drinker. I've a feeling that if he knows the number of cups per day, he would scream or something.

He paused for a moment. "It's not very low and neither is it borderline low. I would say, it's mild. Mildly anaemic. A normal person should have 12.0 - 12.5g/dl."

"So," I continued, "the on-and-off giddiness... It's not orthostatic hypotension?" I asked.

He blinked; surprised that I know the term. "Actually, it IS orthostatic hypotension." He wheeled his armchair and angled towards me face-to-face. "You see," he explained, "orthostatic hypotension can have different causes. Apparently, I would say that yours is because you're anaemic as a result of iron-deficiency".

"So, there's nothing wrong with my heart chambers? My heart is pumping fine?"

"I would say, yes. Once we rectify and bring up the haemoglobin level to normal, chances are the giddiness would cease too. Don't worry. And drink more water as well."

I heaved a sigh of relief inwardly. Fact is, a part of me worries whether is my heart pumping fine; which is why I contemplated whether to have a tilt-table test done. My mother has weak heart. One side (the left, I think) of her heart is not pumping efficiently; which is why she was warded earlier this or last year. This also explains why, of late, I've been rather proactive in exercising and evening jogs; because I want to be responsible for my own health and not regret not doing so years down the road.


Anyway, I now have 2 months' worth of Vitamin C (ascorbic acid) tablets, Vitamin B tablets, and ferrous gluconate tablets to finish. GOSH! I've never seen - or been prescribed with - such a big pack of medication before! And did I mention that I prefer organic things, and don't really support the use of Western medication? YUCKS!

HAPPENING

Yesterday was quite an eventful day. In the middle of a lesson, loud shattering of glass could be heard. All the classrooms are air-conditioned (kudos to the nearby construction works! Yeahhh!!!), so you can imagine how loud the shattering of glass was. Following which, a commotion started to gradually build up along the corridors. My kids were shocked. "Got glass break! Someone broke a window!" They exclaimed excitedly.

I opened the classroom doors and peeked outside. The sound appeared to have come from the neighbouring class. Plenty of students from that class were out along the corridor. Amidst the activities, snippets of chatters floated around. "... Punched the window panel!", "... Was angry...", "... Smashed it...". Frowning, I shifted my position to get a better view. Blood. Glass shrapnel. A boy walked past; blood streaming steadily down his left fist.

By then, back within the confinements of the 4 walls of my own classroom, my own kids were getting all excited. Students sitting on the other side of the classroom had gathered in front of the window panels. They were all peeping out in curiosity. I can't help but to smile inside. Suddenly, I felt like a mother hen looking after a bunch of kaypoh chickens (they're only 13-year-olds).

"Ok, class. Not your business. Everybody, get back to your seat. Stop looking. Close the window panels; the air-conditioning is escaping." I ordered, "Everybody, back to your seat."

The lesson resumed with no further interruptions. When the period ended, I walked past the neighbouring class and saw the broken window. I caught hold of a boy from that class while they were transiting for the next lesson and asked what happened earlier. "Don't know. Think he was angry or something. Think someone disturbed him or something. Then he punched the window."



I adjourned to the next class while wondering what had pissed the boy off to react in such anger. Punching a glass window panel! Imagine that! That must have hurt! And I can't imagine the fury behind it. It's either he was really angry and lost his cool; or that he's immature or impulsive.

I arrived at the next class. While I was setting up my laptop and the projector, this little Malay boy came forward. "Cher", he grinned somewhat shyly, "this is for you." He said coyly and extended his hand forward. Held in between his fingers, is a lone little Styrofoam rose. So small; that it sits comfortably on my palm. Small. Cute. Pretty. And sweet. He smiled and looked away. "Cher, Cher! He says you're his girlfriend!" Some of the boys sitting in the front rows near the teachers' desk teased. I smiled. Not because of what the other boys were jeering about, but because... I don't know... A 14-year-old, well-behaved, cute little Malay boy giving me a small little red Styrofoam rose in all shyness. It's so simple. So simply beautiful and cute. What's there not to smile about?











I was telling DH the other day that I don't really like to receive flowers, even if they're roses. It's just too impractical. Not only are they expensive, but they also smell bad when they wilt and die (DH: "You're so unromantic!". Me: "Ok, let me rephrase. I'll only like it if a boyfriend gives me flowers. ONLY when it's given by the boyfriend then is it sweet and romantic. If not, I would prefer cash or vouchers any day!").

This small little lone rose, though, weighs heavily in my heart.



Today, after the last lesson, a fight nearly broke out between 2 boys along the corridor. A mutual classmate ran back to the classroom and told me "they're on the verge of fighting!". Luckily I had stayed behind in class today to pin up some articles on the noticeboard. I walked out into the corridors. By then, the 2 boys were getting belligerent; and both party can't seem to stop retaliating each other - which, of course, only exacerbated things. Seeing me approaching, Boy 1 took the opportunity to complain to me about this-and-that. Boy 2 cut in and defended himself. Boy 1 stopped his complaints and challenged Boy 2. Boy 2 retorted. Boy 1 retorted. Boy 2 puffed up his chest and threatened him to a fight. Boy 1 puffed up his chest too and lunged forward threateningly as well. I pulled Boy 2's back by his arms and order both of them (but more to Boy 1 - whom I recognize intuitively as the aggressor) to stop talking and keep quiet. Caught in emotions, both boys continued challenging each other. I stepped in physically between them to block them out of each others' view.



So happening. There is hardly a single day when it is boring or mundane.

We're educators. Entertainers. Disciplinarians. Counselors. Mentors. Advisers. Friends. Mediators. Spies. Photocopier-cum-printers troubleshooters. All rolled in one.

LAME IS GOOD

When asked for something descriptive, the word "lame" is among those that would pop up. Well, I don't deny; sometimes, I can be a little cold.



Anyway, this morning, I was relief-ing one of the sec 1NA classes. Apparently, this class is notorious for all the wrong reasons. I went in feeling apprehensive; and a part of me agonized at how unlucky it is to kena this class out of so many others.

I got the class to stand up and settle down - which took quite a while. Following which, I introduced myself. "Class, your subject teacher is not around today. I'm here to relieve this lesson. My name is Ms. P." I paused for a moment to gather their attention before continuing, "Good morning, class!"

They greeted back. I got them to settle down, and stated my rules and regulations. Since this is the last period before recess, I struck a deal with them. If they behave themselves, do their work, and not make too much noise, they would be dismissed for recess a couple of minutes earlier.

They cheered and roared. The deal went down quite well with them. Throughout the period, the noise level is considerably acceptable. Of course, excluding the repeated incidences when I had to get so-and-so to "go back to your seat!" or "come down from the table!" or "lower your volume over there!".

So, it was a pretty good relief period. All of a sudden, a boy who was seated among the front few rows asked a seemingly-innocuous question.

"Cher, do you have a high IQ?"

I looked at him, and the gears in my brain started churning. Is this some kind of a trick question? I eyed him suspiciously and weighed the odds. When you're unsure, saying "I don't know" is always the best way out.

"Not sure. Why?" I replied warily.

"Cher, I ask you ah. This is a bean," He pinched his thumb and index finger together to signify a bean, "and I place it on my palm. Then, I squash it between my palms. What is it called?" He asked.

Without skipping a beat, I replied (coolly, I hope!), "Soya bean (手压bean)."

Thank goodness I've an internal repository of lame jokes; you'll never know what will come in useful.

He looked impressed.

"Then, Cher, why does Superman fly with only one arm outstretched?"

"Cos he needs to change gear."

"Then, Cher, all the trees and plants in a forest have a cake, except for one. What is it?"

I couldn't guess.

"The answer is grass! 'Cos strawberry cake (草没蛋糕)!" He reply joyfully.

"Then, Cher, if a cake is sad, who encourages him?" He persisted.

"Pig," I replied, "because 猪鼓励蛋糕".

"Then, Cher, we have 3 animals: a lion, a tiger, and a pig. Which is the most fearsome among all?"

I couldn't answer this too.

"Pig!" He giggled, "You know why? The lion says, 'When I roar, everyone is scared." The tiger says, "When I roar, everyone is scared." But the pig says, "When I sneeze, everyone kena H1N1!"

I suddenly felt an impulsive urge to throw a chair at him.

"Then, Cher, ask you ah. What is 1 + 1?"

This feels dangerous. I pondered it over carefully.

"I don't know. What?"

"Aiyo... Cher, you like this also dunno? 1 + 1 is 2 lah!" He laughed, "Cher, then what is 2 + 2?"

"No idea."

"4 lor. Then what is 4 + 4?"

I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head.

"8! Cher, so easy you also don't know! Stupid, eh!" He teased, and added as an afterthought, "Oh ya, what's my first question ah, Cher?"

"You asked whether my IQ is high a not." I replied with a poker face (to be fair, I nearly fell for it. I almost said, 'You asked me what is 1 + 1').









FOR ONCE, I'M PROUD TO BE LAME.

Lame-ness is a skill, I tell you!

TOWERED

Lately, my ego has been getting knocks.



Growing up around 2 brothers are not easy. Not only do they smell bad, speak their own language, talk loud, eat alot, and are crazy over football / DOTA / WOW / IT gadgets etc, the most hateful thing is: they tower over me. Yes, even the younger brother, who is 7 years my junior.

Whenever they feel like, they would simply stand right in front of me, puff up their chest, and look down at me. Literally. Look down at me. It feels intimidating. I feel all so puny. I feel as mighty as an ant. Disgusting feeling. I'm secretly lavishing over the idea of using the index finger to p!o!k!e! them in the offensive-looking chest. Puff lah, puff lah, puff your chest somemore? That has gotta hurt! Hohoho!



During lessons, too. It antagonizes terrors me how, more often than not, students are - if not taller than me - at least of the same height as me. There are, like, 3 TALL people in one of the classes; all of whom are males. Of course, as any typical schoolboys, they like to jump and coil up the string cord that is attached to the projector screen. They are simply AWESOME in jumping. The string cord would ALWAYS end up coiling around the projector screen at least 3 rounds. This is a mockery to me because (ahem!) teachers don't - and never will - stand on a chair just to uncoil the string cord so as to pull down a projector screen. No, no, I insist, not that I'm short. Teachers just don't do these kind of things; these kind of specialized jobs are always specially reserved for the tallest in class.

Yeah, right. Who am I kidding?



Anyway, just the other day, the 3 boys were teasing each other. Talk about opportune timing! As I walked into the class, the tallest of them all so happened to tuck the victim's pencil box neatly behind the PA system speaker. It was TOTALLY AMAZING! In my heart, I was like, "GOSH! WOW!!! Oh my goodness!!! HOW ON EARTH...!!! BRILLIANT!". It was picture-perfect! His jump was graceful and light. My eyes nearly popped out, and I nearly requested for an encore. That aside, I was utterly amused by their playful antics. What darlings. Those boys!



I've always thought that the only one kind thing with respect to this job is that my feet can be spared from being subjected to the often-understated tortures of wearing heels. Heels not only promote bad posture, and are also really bad for knees and ankles by creating extra pressure on them. I've always been thankful for the fact that I prance around in heels on only one day per week at most, which is, Saturday.

Well, as the saying goes, "There are two sides to every coin". Today, during one of the lessons, one girl (from the same class as the 3 TALLies) walked pass me. For reasons unknown, she suddenly announced happily (but a tad too gleeful for my liking), "老师，我跟你一样高！"

She's 15.







That sound just now?

Oh, it's just the sound of my ego shattering.

MILESTONES

This is outdated news, but...

I OFFICIALLY graduated 1.5 months ago!

I HATE balloons; AND this big net of balloons was hanging directly above the area where I was seated. ARRRGGGHHH! I nearly had a heart attack!

Temasek Poly Alumnus!
Gold. White. Gold.
Science. Business. Science.

On the fateful day, while getting down to the graduation venue from work (I took a half-day leave from practicum), an unpredicted wave of indescribable feelings - of which the origins are unknown - overwhelmed me. I was thinking, "Is this it?", "Am I really graduating?", "Have 3 years really passed?". I could hardly believe it. It almost feel surreal; something ethereal.



3 years ago, I was 19. Fresh out of polytechnic. Faced with a big responsibility and a big decision, I almost rejected the letter of acceptance into university. Majoring in Chemistry - a subject which I have totally no prior knowledge of. Coupled with an academic sponsorship bond; which means that there is a standard of academic performance to keep up to. It was a painful dilemma; a catch-22. Studying chemistry at varsity level without any chemistry background is already suicidal enough; what's more with an additional academic bond to measure up to. If I were to take up the challenge and accept the admission into university but end up doing badly, not hitting the academic requirements, get struck off the namelist, and the bond, terminated, the damages which I have to cough out would be unimaginable. My family would most definitely have to mortgage the house if it were to happen; and I would be in a sea of huge debt overnight.

I was 19. It was a difficult choice to make. To bite the bullet and plunge in? But would I be biting off more than what I can chew?

I asked around the older people in the cell. The responses were diversely mixed; ranging from "NO WAY! How can you think of rejecting it?! There are so many people out there who would love to receive that letter of acceptance!" to "It's your call. If you feel confident enough to tackle it, go ahead. If you fail, it's ok. At least you tried."

ZW was a bit of both. He expressed his disbelief and exclamations of "Siao ah?!" in joking jest. That done, jokes aside, he advised me to consider it carefully. It was just silly to reject the offer. "You tried hard to get this, didn't you? You appealed to get in; and your appeal is successful. You got in! And this is exactly what you so desired, isn't it? You yourself said you have no wish to just stop at a diploma but to continue studying." I told him about my worries; the fears of not doing well enough academically, getting struck off the namelist, and having the bond terminated, resulting in a massive debt. "Well, gauge it yourself. Do you feel up to it? Anyway, you studied Biomedical Science in polytechnic, didn't you? What, then, is chemistry in comparison?" He laughed. I gave a weak smile, still somewhat unconvinced. "Ok, tell you what. Why not you just accept the offer first? Don't think of rejecting it, ok? Take things as they come; one step at a time. Once term starts, study the best you can. If you encounter any difficulties, let me know, ok? Perhaps I can get my elder sister to coach you. She studied Chemistry in JC, and she is from NJC. Deal?"

"Tell you ah, if you dare to reject the offer, I'll really KNOCK your head, I tell you!" He jokingly threatened.

That last sentence jolted me to my senses and, right there and then, it jump-started a somewhat finalized conviction. Because that sentence is something real and unpretentious. Because that sentence spells - clearly and plainly - the word c-a-r-e. Because I know, somewhere deep down in my heart, I would regret - heavily - rejecting the offer at least once in my lifetime.

Thanks, ZW, for offering to even enlist your sister's help. It really gave me tons of encouragement. Thanks, for offering to knock my head because it woke me up and propelled me forward.



Thanks, too, to XW; who was there, patiently. The times when I was sad. The times when tears overflowed. The times when I had no money to eat. The times of praying for the upcoming examinations. The times of asking for a list of the dates of the exam papers so that specific prayers can be made. The time - especially - that night by the River, when I nearly - very nearly - wanted to give up. I was so tired of everything, and wanted to quit school and start working. I was only in year 1 or year 2, but yet, suddenly, everything is not important anymore. Family. Work. Studies. University. Academic. Sponsorship bond. Damages. Finances. Who cares? What have always been important in my heart, suddenly, I couldn't care, anymore. That night, I asked a very important question, and you gave a very honest answer. It hurt, really, at that instant, it really did. I was shocked because, in my heart, I expected to hear the "oh-so-standard" answer - which did not come. Momentarily, a part of me grieved and resented you for that. For the mere cruelty of the act. For not telling me falsehood. The truth hurt, really. But it made me stronger, and it made my conviction even stronger as well. That, no matter what, I'm going to love - no matter what. That night, the truth hurt; but it freed - and strengthened me - at the same time. For that, I'm still grateful to you. But in the end? I didn't quit school. But. I quit the walk. It must have disappointed you so.



Thanks, for bringing me back. While I was out there for 6months, just as suddenly, you engaged me and extended an invitation; even though I was reluctant to at first. I tried to wriggle and slip off like a fish instead. Thanks, for not even once forcing me to make a decision but allowed me choices. I was lukewarm; unwilling to sacrifice "freedom"; reluctant to commit again; but I was given the space to decide, the grace to choose. Eventually, over time, I did. And because the choice is mine, it has now grown to become something personal; something me. Because the choice is mine, it has now come to a point whereby it is no longer just a decision - which is something factual. And as time goes by, we have differences and have gone through rough patches. But you know what? I'm glad we did.









Anyway, THE highlight of this post is:

TA-DAA!

These people are important, too. Very important. More than important.

At the end of the day, there is - still - no place like home.

LAGGED

Yesterday is a Saturday. It is also the only day which I finished a whole course of the daily antihistamine. I'm supposed to take 3 capsules daily. However, on normal weekdays, I'll only have 2 at most (usually one after work, one before bedtime).

So, yesterday, I was fully compliant to the medication prescription. The first pill was at 9am. Followed by 3pm. And finally, at 9pm again. By 6pm+, I was beginning to stone. The limbs felt so heavy; the brain was lagging. To make things worse, there was a higher-than-usual frequency of standing up and sitting down due to the graduation ceremony. Each time, I took increasingly longer time to respond because, you know, the limbs were heavy. And a graduating student went up to preach. Offhand, I can't recall what his message is; though, one thing I remember clearly: his Chinese is fluently fantastic (of course! He's a Taiwanese!).




On a sidenote, I'm almost completely recovered from the rashes! I'm planning to prematurely stop taking the pills from tomorrow onwards (There are 3 more days worth of pills left over). Hope the rashes won't come back again the instant the antihistamine pill therapy is stopped. Goodbye, drowsiness!

ANTI-HISTAMINE AND CALAMINE

"Very strong," She cautioned, placing heavy emphasise on the word 'very' before continuing, "So, do space it out, say, 6 hours apart. It's really very strong."

I blinked at the lady behind the pharmacy counter. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I was at the polyclinic to get my unexplained, sudden bout of blotchy skin rash diagnosed. I blinked at the lady behind the counter. What? It's only an anti-histamine drug, isn't it? How strong can it get? It can't possibly be stronger than codeine in cough syrups, can it? I thought and gave the label a cursory glance. "Hydroxyzine." Hmmm... Now, that sounds familiar. Ahhh... Dr. H. Ko. He must have taught it during the Pharmacology course in second year of polytechnic.

I took the medication and thanked the pharmacist. The medication constitutes 7 days' worth of Hydoxyzine and a bottle of calamine lotion. Reached home at 5pm+. Ate a quick, early dinner. Went online. Popped a pill of Hydroxyzine. Went offline. Dubbed some calamine lotion onto the affected skin regions. Then. I slept like a baby.

This morning, I woke up still feeling very drowsy. Man, when she said 'strong', she REALLY meant it. This is worse than any cough syrup. It felt like a Dementor has jumped out of the Harry Potter series and is sucking off my life energy. I changed and dragged myself to school. Totally sapless; my eyes could barely open. I ended up missing the morning assembly (I'm pretty sure that's against the school rules!) to catch some eye-shut.

Aware of the mighty sedative prowess of the Hydroxyzine pills now, I laid off the medication for the whole of today. At 4pm, I finally popped my first dosage of the day. By 4.30pm, I was already off to dreamland, and woke up at 7pm (Yes, good morning! I just woke up an hour ago). I was TOTALLY and COMPLETELY knocked out; it seriously feels like I've slept for 12hours straight instead of a mere 2.5.



Anyway, the good news is: the pills are working wonders! Ever since the anti-histamine medication, the hives-like rashes are now almost gone; though on closer inspection, small random "pimples" can still be spotted cruising through the arms and legs. The good thing is, it doesn't look like it's serious enough to leave scars. So, things are looking fine! All that's left is for the small lil' pimply bumps to subside totally, and I'll be normal again! *WOOT!*



P.S. The doctor suspects the sudden, unexplained outbreak of rashes could either be due to stress, or an allergic reaction to an irritant(s)/allergen(s) in the environment. This is bad, because there is no way of fingering out the culprit(s); so there is no way of knowing what exactly on earth is it that I'm allergic to! AND this is the FIRST time breaking out in rashes like this. Arrgggh...

IF MY FATHER IS THE PRESIDENT...

... I would eat up all the sotongs in this world. No kidding.

BLOTCHY

As of this late evening, the skin suddenly turned blotchy and small little "pimples" broke out with varying intensity. It started off with the upper legs. The bumpy swells went down after a while. NOW it's the arms' turn; and it's swelling like anything. Miniature volcanoes.

It's blotchy but not itchy though. THIS IS SO WEIRD!



Don't ask what went wrong or what I ate or what I did or what I touched or what am I allergic to. The only things I'm allergic to are: the sun (I hate to suntan!), and water (because I can't swim to save my life). Yes, I CAN'T swim. I can barely float. Stop snickering, you prats.









Poor skin.

DANCES

I'm ALWAYS amazed by their powerful dance. Awww...





One of the many many many nice songs of theirs: "Loving You".




New single released on 1st July: "Stand By You"!

NO TITLE

东方神起/ Tohoshinki / TVXQ / DBSK has filed a lawsuit against its label company in late July. Well, not all 5 actually, but 3 of them are. (In case you've been living in Mars, DBSK a quintet music group, and is one of the hottest and famous in South Korea. The oldest is born in 1986, the youngest 1988. Their forte is in their admirable skills in harmonizing of voices and beautiful acapellas; as well as power-packed dances. Famous in SEA, but especially active in South Korea and Japan. They are the first foreign artiste group to TOP the Oricon Charts [think of it as the Billboard Charts of Japan] 6 times)

Oh well, the cause of the problems appear to be the contract and the clauses.
1) their contract spans over a period of 13 years (Military Service excluding),
2) they are only entitled to ONE week of holiday (read: rest) per year
3) they sleep 3 - 4 hours everyday, and
4) the company gets a big pie of 80% - 90% of their income (the remaining works out to be about 1% - 5% per member)

All these are what I read from various sources and papers. One sure fact, though, is that a lawsuit has indeed been filed. They debuted in 26th December 2003; which means that it is only 5 or 6 years into their 13-years contract.

Hope they'll not disband. It'll be such a waste; they're way too talented.



Anyway, very sad 啦.

OCCUPATIONAL HAZARDS

There's this thing about "occupational hazards": they more or less become a consistent habit - an integral part of you.



Sometimes, on days when there are lessons with The Class, I would cross my arms while waiting for them to quieten down. As a result, nowadays, crossing the arms - even while walking - is becoming a frequent (albeit subconscious) pose of mine.

I was baking the other day; and ALL cooks have this unhygienic ubiquitous habit of dipping their finger in and sampling their food. So, as I was saying, I was using the mixer that day. Satisfied that the cake mix had been mixed nicely and thoroughly, I stopped the mixer machine and scrapped the thick content off the mixing whisks using a scrapper. The cake mix was thick and gelatinous; slowly and sinfully dripping off the spatula in heavy chunks. Instinctively, I swiped my index finger swiftly off the surface of the spatula, and brought it to my mouth. Then, I realized as an afterthought, "SHUCKS! This cake mix is not yet cooked! With raw eggs, sour cream, chocolate cake mix, chocolate pudding powder, oil and etc! YUCKS!!! I might as well eat a dough!"



Occupational hazards.

So, anyway, I was chatting with a fellow colleague the other day who happened to be teaching English.

"Oei, English teacher," I called out to the cubicle in front of me.

"What?" His voice drifted over.

"How do you spell 'content page?' Is it spelt as 'content page' or 'contentS page'?" I asked.

"Content - without the 'S'." Came the reply.

"Ok, thanks."

"And, by the way, it is pronounced as 'CONtent'," he added, "and not 'conTENT'. Wrong emphasise."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry, 啦 Cher. Apart from using 'mah', 'leh', 'lor', 'ah', and 'lah', Singaporeans also have this tendency to place the emphasise on the wrong syllabus, don't we? That's why we call it 'Singlish', isn't it?" I teased.

"Not only that. Placing the wrong emphasise results in different meanings as well. ConTENT refers to the feeling of happiness, being CONTENTED; whereas CONtent refers to the subject matter, the constitution." He continued.

"Yeah, it's the same with the word 'subject', isn't it? And different words can have different pronunciations, too, isn't it? For example, the word "bow". Bow as in "bowing down", and bow as in the 'bow of a ship', or 'bows and arrows'."

"Yeah, that's right. Very good. So, now, come on; repeat after me: 'CONtent'. On the count of three: one, two, three!"

I kicked the partition in front of me and asked him to shut up.



Can't stand talking to English teachers or English majors. They can irritate the banana out of you if they so choose to.

(update: 11th August 2009, 3.25pm) P.S. Oh yeah, and Mass Communication majors, too. Haha.

FLUSHING TOILETS

Some months back, a couple of coursemates and I were having "high-tea" after lesson. We were chilling out at Ya Kun at Jurong Point.

We were chatting about some random stuffs which I can't recall when, suddenly, PL (our "chauffeur" of the day) blurted out, "You know, have you any idea how important TOILET COVERS are? What are they used for?" He asked.

I frowned and think hard. Now, this is kind of a good question. Momentarily, a faint image of a person sitting on a toilet cover, shaking legs, and reading newspaper floated into my mind.

"Sit down and read newspaper!" I suggested hopefully.

"Your head. Actually, do you know that each time we flush the toilet bowl, the impact of the flush pump is so great that the molecules/particles of the contents in the toilet bowl would rise up into the air? That's what the toilet cover is for: to cover the toilet seat and prevent the tiny, minuscule particles from "flying out"! I read this from an article. And do you know that if the toilet bowl is left open while flushing, the rush of particle molecules is powerful enough to reach up to a height of 6 storeys?"

"That is like an atomic bomb! A mini nuclear bomb! AND IN A TOILET CUBICLE!"

"Yes! Precisely so! So now you know the grave importance of toilet covers?"



Nuclear bomb. I pictured a mushroom cloud of particles exploding and bombarding within the confinement of a small toilet cubicle. The too-small-to-be-seen-with-the-naked-eyes particles of human waste. Invisible, disgusting enemies; millions and millions of them. I imagined myself at Expo Hall 8, standing and queuing in line for eons to use the ladies; all the time with 4 or 5 toilet bowls being constantly flushed - with the toilet covers opened.

I shuddered.



Flushing toilets and visiting the ladies will never be the same again.



P.S. The content of this post is a tad geeky and science-y, I know. Hey, this is what you get when the company you're hanging out with is a bunch of NIE trainees, with 4 of them teaching Chemistry as the main subject. *WOOT!*

TIME OF THE YEAR AGAIN

Last year, I didn't.

So, it has been 2 years since I last sang this song...



Here I go... Again!



"COW ON ME, SINGAPORE
COW ON ME, SINGAPORE..."

REPEATEDLY

We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.

- Aristotle

OPM AND ANNIVERSARY

Friday's OPM and Sunday's anniversary!


Friday (31st Aug 2009) - 9pm - 5am

KO-ed at McDonald, Chinatown while waiting for the first train.

Sunday (2nd Aug 2009): 7.45am - 330pm

Munching on breakfast while queuing in line! (Psst... After collecting this special delivery from the "deliveryman" downstairs, I accidentally knee-ed a brother squarely in his left butt cheek on my way back to the queue. ACCIDENTALLY, I emphasize! Was swinging my right leg over the knee-high barricade... Then... BAM! The poor brother swung around with a shocked expression that practically reads, "Did someone just touch my butt?" Sooo paiseh!)

Food is not allowed into the SIS. Hence, Dot and I kept the food in somewhere totally safe and hidden from the eagle-eyed security - our stomach. Smart.

Whowhowho?

Peek-a-boo!

Man of glory.

Scorching weather, no kidding!

Tired! Off to dreamland!

FINALLY...

... BOUGHT IT!!!

Listening to the new album now. =)

LAUGHED

REALISM

Thanks to the younger brother, the Too Much Chocolate Cake is now down to the final 3 pieces, which is quite a feat actually; because there was initially, like, 40+ pieces? And all these are gone within 1 week!

Anyway, while digging into the chocolaty cake just now, the younger brother asked me to bake a second batch. I jokingly asked whether does it really tastes good and whether does he really like it. He replied yes, and asked me to go and sell it at my current workplace. Duh.


________________________________________________________________________________


Anyway, a funny thought drifted into my mind just now. Sans social/economical/societal expectations and harsh reality of life, would I be doing what I am doing now? Would I have dared to go after my innate interests?

I've always liked cooking (sans washing up, please). The intriguing way how different herbs, spices, flavours, seasonings blend together and compliment each other amuses me. It blows my mind away, the way how some seemingly unlikely food ingredients - when mixed together - conjure up something that is unexpectedly pleasant to the taste buds. It awes me, the way how sometimes, the most unsuspecting ingredient turns out to be the key ingredient that sets a good dish a cut above the rest. I still remember how skeptical I was to find pear listed as one of the ingredients to making Bulgogi Chicken. Till today, this particular recipe is still what I swear by when it comes to Bulgogi.

Most importantly, it delights me to see people eating and enjoying the food which I prepared from scratch. To the person who did the cooking, there is hardly any greater gift of pleasure and satisfaction than this.

I've always liked having someone fussing over my hair. I like the feeling of having someone attending to my trims. Having someone fussing over my hair or layering my hair or trimming my ends or just simply spraying aerosols of hairspray makes me feel like a queen being pampered. So, I always feel downright happy going to the hairdressers'. It practically cheers me up (weird, I know). And because of this, I have an interest in hairstyling. I won't mind paying to attend haircutting or hairstyling courses in some hairstyling academy. Because I feel downright happy having my hair done. Because, I know, somewhere out there exist strange people like me.

I've always liked to write (sans writers' block, that is). I like the smooth flow of well-articulated articles. A writer. A reporter. A journalist. Whatever. That was my first and serious ambition. I was only 13 at that time, and I wanted to be a reporter working for 8 Days or Lime. Hey! I get to WRITE, I get to FLY, and I get to meet FAMOUS people like Backstreet Boys or Take That or Hanson or Brad Pitt or David Beckham! *cue girlish screams*



Nope, not that I dread or dislike doing what I'm doing now. In fact, I enjoy it! But sometimes, I wonder how would things have turned out if I had gone after these interests. Would the interests be sustained in the long run? Of would it fizzle and die out? Because of the interest inside, would I be someone phenomenal and skilled in the craft? Or would I be just good enough to get by and make ends meet? Would these interests be practical? Or would I have, one day, regret the choice? Would I - someday - be a phenomenal and skilled chef, hairstylist, or writer? Or would these interests be good enough just as hobbies or pastimes, but not as a career?



Geez! Which-came-first-chicken-or-egg questions!

RESURRECTED

3.30am: Left Riverwalk

3.50am: Concussed at McDonald, Chinatown

4.30am: Woke up

5.00am: Concussed

5.15am: McDonald's Fish Fillet burger

5.25am: Concussed

5.50am: Woke up by a McD staff who told us, "Cannot sleep here".

5.50 - 6.00am: Half concussed, half conscious

6.09am: On board first train

6.45am: Home sweet home



12.20pm: RESURRECTED!



I'm alive now!

The tuition at 10am? Postponed to tonight.



P.S. The late night/early morning Fish Fillet burger is so utterly sinful! Getting fat soon!

P.S.S. I REALLY am usually in dreamland by 12am and not appearing offline 啦... Anyway, well, yeah, the key word is "usually".