Potluck Prep

I'll never never eat out again during festive occasions. Each time I forget and venture out, an unsatisfying meal ensues. We'll either cook and host dinner, or shamelessly appear in someone's kitchen to eat their food. It's potluck tonight and the man is contributing a beef stew and roast chicken.

I decided to help the man instead of letting the helper deal with it alone. Even though it's just two items on the menu, it's a fair bit of work on the stove, sink and oven. We popped in the concert dvd of Bruce Springsteen's 2009 gig (with The E Street Band) at Hyde Park and pulled out a bottle of easy champagne to occupy us while the man cooks and I wash.

The dishwasher hums quietly as we went about doing things in the kitchen. The beef stew was done yesterday and is now simmering for its final reduction on the stove. I didn't contribute anything to that chicken except to stuff it and sew up its ass. Those, I did really well. The chicken has been shoved into the oven, and the rest of the stuffing is being prepped as a side dish.

As the rain pours down in white sheets that blocks out the view of the horizon, the flat cools from the morning's heat. The air-conditioning is kept to the minimal and the temperature in the kitchen isn't too stiffling. The whistling and easy tunes of 'Working On A Dream' and 'Waitin' On A Sunny Day' fill the flat. Life is good.

2010 : Closed

The last day of another year.

At the end of it, there're plenty of musings, lots of things to smile about and no regrets. I've done all the inner reflection, and through the written angst and peace in July and August. 2011 will be topsy-turvy for me. Bring it on.

This blog is put up for the benefit of friends and some of the family that I actually like. I write what I choose to. This isn't sugar and spice. I select the angles to display in the public sphere. Nothing I say here is unmentionable to humans in face-to-face meets. Not everything I say in face-to-face meets is repeated here. You, who know me, know that. I have made some friends along the way. You people are gems. Much appreciated.

To the others, thank you for coming by. Communication is never over-rated. Constructive criticisms and lovely words, I appreciate your insights and I've been touched by your gestures of friendship, sometimes empathy, understanding and tolerance. An unexpected blessing.

To the rest, I don't blog for you or write what you want to read, but since I've chosen to put this out to be publicly accessible, you're not unwelcome. You're often intriguing.

Oh, this sounds like a goodbye-blogging post. It isn't. :) It's me saying thank you to y'all for reading the nonsense written these 5 years. Blogspot has been kind; I'm too lazy to shift to another domain. This will not become a photo blog because I take crap photos and blabber too much. So, I'll continue to write as I will in the new year.

To all, have a fruitful 2011. Make each day count, make the year a happy one. Whenever you can, steal moments for yourself. Breathe. I wish you well.

Shinji For Lunch

I've never been able to make it to lunch anywhere with anyone for years. It always has to be dinner, and at a later timing of after 8.15pm. These 3 weeks, I've had the time to fix up many leisurely lunch appointments, and do dinner at 7.30pm. *happy sigh

This is the first time I've made it to lunch at Shinji. It's still nice, but I always prefer the vibe of a dinner somehow, wherever. Lunch was good today, as usual. I like the traditional style of the food here. No newfangled strange combinations. A fitting end to 2010, so to speak.

By now, Chef Oshino remembers that I don't like wasabi in nigiri sushi. I prefer my sushi without it because I like the taste of the rice here as well. The texture of it and the flavors of the fish mesh well enough not to have other sharp tints interfering. I don't mind wasabi, but I'm very particular about it, and will rather not have it if it isn't done well, or god forbid, out of a tube. If I do indulge, it'll be just a touch on the sashimi with the tiniest drop of soy will suffice.

The chefs at Shinji accede to my request for a tinier-than-normal portion of rice for the sushi. Otherwise I can't fit in a decent amount of food in the stomach! So I haven't mustered up the courage to ask them to for a kombu onigiri. They might just smack me. Next time. I'll do that on the next visit.

Porridge For Brunch!

I'm clearly, striving towards eating porridge for every other meal that I've a major say in. Since ice has said so, and I usually try out her recommendations because we more or less hold similar opinions when it comes to food, it's off to Ah Chiang's Porridge (阿昌粥) for brunch.

There's so much good food in Tiong Bahru Estate- the lack of parking space and tables at the food stalls prove it. Luckily we arrived at an odd timing where most people were done with breakfast and it was too early for lunch. Lots of parking lots and no crowd. What a good start to the day!

This shop has generated alot of hype definitely. It sits in a very quaint locale. I've never eaten at this shop. Maybe once, as a very young imp, but the memory is hazy. It could have been another porridge stall. I've heard about Ah Chiang, but it keeps slipping off the radar whenever I want porridge due to the sheer convenience of having it elsewhere. There're 2 more outlets at Hougang and Toa Payoh Lorong 6.

My bowl of fish and century egg porridge was satisfying. I like the taste and texture of Ah Chiang's century eggs, and had a plate all to myself. I stole a peek at the kitchen and they do still cook the porridge over charcoal. Sunny and not too blistering, it was nice to sit down for an unhurried brunch. Then we strolled over for coffee at Forty Hands where I managed to convince the barista not to pull so much foam for a flat white. Such a pleasant morning.

Ah Chiang's Porridge (阿昌粥)

Blk 65, Tiong Poh Road

#01-38 Tiong Bahru Estate

Singapore 160065

T: +65 6557 0084

Hanging Out In The East

[After the renovation of Bedok food center in 2016, the porridge stall still exists and is still good.]

I dug out the Salomons and wiped down the ball bearings. It's been a long long time since I skated. I used to skate on Sunday mornings. Then the travelling got crazy, the work hours got in the way and all I wanted to do on Sunday mornings was to sleep in or do other stuff, like brunch or getting out of a hangover.

The weather was perfect today. It remained blissfully overcast with nary a drop of rain. So I took a chance and scuttled off to East Coast Park for a bit. No marathon diversions or barricades, not much pedestrian traffic and very few bicycles lurking. It was so empty. BEST! Oh, the feel of the wind in the hair and face. A good 25km. It was such a rejuvenating workout!

Then I headed to the club to cool down with a long leisurely swim under a speckle of drizzle. The water was surprisingly warm-ish even though there hadn't been much of the sun all day. I changed out and was headed home when the friends insisted on going all the way to Bedok to eat porridge at this particular stall. I was like, why ah, so good meh? Isn't there porridge elsewhere? Since I was in the area and dinner didn't involve a mega meal, I didn't protest too much and hopped along with the friends.

Bedok isn't our 'hood, but we easily found the stall at the hawker centre- 欣美粥品 (Xin Mei Congee)! Done Cantonese chook style, that porridge is something. Such simple food, but utmost pleasure derived. Everyone chowed down and was pleased with what met their tastebuds. I'm definitely very happy with my bowl of fish slices and century eggs.

欣美粥品 (Xin Mei Congee)

Blk 207 New Upper Changi Road

#01-22 (Stall Number), next to Bedok bus interchange/MRT train station and Bedok Mall

Singapore 460207

Finding The Book

The friends have a trove of cooking books. They use it religiously, pick out and put together different recipes for a homecooked dinner. Nothing is too much or too difficult for them to churn out.

The man picked up the friend's copy of Heston Blumenthal's 'The Big Fat Duck's Cookbook' to browse. He hasn't read it before. So while waiting for dinner to be ready, he was merrily checking out the words and all. It's a beautiful book.

As he flipped, he was like, "These illustrations are very Dave McKean." He flipped to the front and went ahhhh. Of course. If you're a fan of his graphic novels, you'll be able to identify his trademark style in his illustrations anywhere.

I thought I'd get the man a book for Christmas. But I was thwarted because he said he didn't exactly fancy the recipes. Oh well. The illustrations are really gorgeous though. Would be quite nice to put it on the shelves and take it out to stare once in a while. Aiyah. Fail. I shall toddle down to the bookshops to check it out anyway. If they don't stock it, I'll turn to Amazon or something.

Samantha's Diary

This Christmas, I can't help giggling each time I remember the short story titled 'Samantha's Diary', written by Diana Wynne Jones for the compilation of Stories by Neil Gaiman and Al Sarrantonio.

In a nutshell, it's about a suitor courting Samantha during Christmas, in well, the old-fashioned way. It's not a tale of love. Not exactly. It's more than a laugh, of course. A satire. Read it to grin at hilarity of the situation/s.

"December 28, 2233

I SPENT A GLORIOUS morning at the Sales and came back with six bags of Wonderful Bargains, to find I have four parrots now. Plus one more partridge (and tree), two more pigeons and three more of those unspeakable hens. Housebot has ignored my attempt at programming as if I'd never tried. The patio is now a small forest full of droppings. The pigeons sit on the trees and the hens rush about below. Indoors are four scuttling partridges and four of those large rings on sticks where parrots are supposed to perch, not that they do. The red one has taken a liking to my bedroom. The green one flies about all the time, shouting swear words, and the multicoloured two perch anywhere so long as it isn't their official perches. I have put those in the closet because Housebot stops whenever it runs into one. I have ordered a twenty-kilo sack of Avian Feed (parrots), which is actually different from the others, and which the parrots mostly consume from saucers on the kitchen table. I walk about giving a mad laugh from time to time. I am inured. I am resigned. "

The story ends on January 3, 2234 with Samantha's apartment filled with swans, trampolines, a herd of cows and a fifth parcel of rings. It's rather entertaining.

St Stephen's Day

I think they really mean 'The 12 Days of Feasting'. But that's not the point. In the footsteps of Wenceslas (without the bitter cold), we strive to spread the cheer of the feast of St Stephen's at the hospice and the old folks' homes.

Earlier last month, the friends lovingly cured plenty of ham. Over the past 3 days, they roasted slabs of beef to be given away today. There was something about the hams. The girlfriend who did them definitely hit a good streak. This year, all her hams turned out so good! I didn't even have to eat it to know they were awesome. Look at the colors. Strangely no one baked any sweets. We turned to the hotels and bought logcakes off the racks with strict instructions to drastically reduce the amount of sugar for all.

I'm quite done with the food over the week, and am ready to puke at the mere thought of a big meal. I'm very happy to see other people taking bites of the food. I wasn't as happy when I was pulled to sing Christmas carols. I haven't gone caroling for years. And my friends win- they thrust scores into my hand, pointed to the alto portion and told me to sight-read it, since we're supposed to know most of the Christmas carols anyway. Oeh, being able to sing the melody doesn't mean I can sing in tune for my parts!

We obviously never rehearsed this. I'm so rusty at choral singing. Of course I went laughingly off-key at different stages for all the carols.

The Man's Ox Tongue For Christmas Lunch

I feel obliged to talk about the man's ox tongue. He's never done a dish of ox tongue before. That's only because the Aunt has always brought ox tongue to lunch. But for the past two years, the Aunt had trouble bringing cooked or frozen ox tongue into Singapore, and it was such a harrowing experience that she didn't want to do that anymore. The man proclaimed he would take over and committed to a a dish of ox tongue for his parents' Christmas lunch.

He was a little wary since it was something he hadn't tried. One tongue was spoilt because it was in the freezer for too long, and our new helper didn't know better and thawed it out in hot water. THAT MADE TONGUE GO DEADER THAN DEAD. I tell you, the man very nearly wept. Might as well. It gave him time to browse the recipes and re-traced steps of the curing that he didn't like. Of course we have a secret ingredient- potassium nitrate which isn't exactly easily available here.

A new tongue was bought and cured. He took another recipe for curing it in brine and changed it to suit his preferences. The tongue sat in the fridge for a week, and then soaked in clear artesian water for 24 hours to rid it of excessive salt.

This morning, he woke up at 6.30am to tend to his dearest piece of offal. He gently poached the tongue, and made a reduction sauce for it. From all accounts, the tongue was STUNNING. And mind you, these are relatives with the most discerning of tastebuds who were ready to criticize it as too oily, too salty or too whatever. But the first bites were greeted with silence, and then, more zealous forkfuls. You know.

Blessed Christmas!

May your Christmas and time through the year be filled with a table laden with all the goodness of feasts in the way you want it to be.

May we never forget Christmas in our hearts and share our blessings wherever and however.

Red, Green, Silver And Gold

It must be a sign of age. I keep wanting to spend all these festive occasions quietly, not even with the friends. The man and I spend the other 363 days of the year with our friends. As much as we love them, we don't need to stick to one another's ass at Christmas.

Nowadays, I'm wary of social conversations because I don't seem to be as tactful as before. I might just blurt out true opinions that aren't exactly politically correct. It's a constant struggle sometimes, to stay cheery. By nature, I don't belong to any camp of optimism. We count our blessings and try not to get too depressed with the state of the world.

In what I do outside of the job, my faith is consistently renewed through heartfelt examples of human tales. I believe, cautiously so. Have I ever struggled with principles and morality? Hell, yes. For a long while. Life is never simple is it? There will be darkness and there will be dungeons. How long can peace last? How far can light reach? I've got a good balance now, but I'm not complacent about it. Each Christmas, I try to re-affirm my beliefs and renew that faith, although I admit, both get eroded with the passing of time.

Christmas Eve. We're here again. Have a good one, y'all.

A Lamp

It was just one of them random conversations. But the girlfriend remembered this nugget and insisted on dragging me down to Ikea to get a new lamp.

I love Ikea lamps. The super cheap but totally utilitarian one at home lasted for 3 years with only 2 changes of lightbulbs. It's just a little wobbly, but nothing a screwdriver, cables and superglue can't fix. So after having it wobble for months, I finally got around to setting it straight. It works alright.

Still, the girlfriend decided that she would get both of us a Christmas present- more for the man than anything, simply because he uses the lamp to read into the night. We've got tiny reading lights, but the lamp will work on most nights. It's more powerful! So she thinks the man's very poor thing because I don't want to give him a new lamp. Wahahahahaha.

With a single-minded focus, the girlfriend determinedly drove to Ikea to pick out this out for us. I told her wryly, "You know I'm the one who's gonna have to fix this right?" She gleefully nodded and retorted, "You'll enjoy that anyway!" Okay, true, that.

I'll let giggly-wobbly lamp stand for a bit. After Christmas and at the turn of the decade, I'll squat down and fix up this new pretty steel thing. It'll be almost fun. And I can expect no help from the man. Except a possible "very nicely done woman!" Chehh.

Big Tummy!

While a girlfriend and I quibbled over lamps, the other one swished around zen-like, picking out items she would need for her babies. I'm happy to see her walking around without too much difficulty.

She's been terrified about turning into a whale during the pregnancy. I've always teased her to say I'll draw her a whale in her third trimester. I haven't done so because she's nowhere like one! I'll draw her a curvy mermaid with a sexy tummy bump. Her increase in weight has all gone to the babies. With all that swimming, she's looking tanned and trim. And she's got color in her cheeks and lips. Very nice.

She let me rub her tummy and I hollered at the babies inside. Such fun! Does that make me want one? Hell, no. I want to see hers and pull their ears. Heeeee. I want play-time, and then return them to the parents at the end of the afternoon! Best.

She hasn't had the easiest of pregnancies and she's been through so much. It must be such a constant struggle to stay positive even though there's a ton of 'what ifs and hows' going through her mind. There's nothing more that I could wish for her this Christmas than to have a safe and smooth delivery in 2 months.

xxxooo

I'd Say It's Enough For Now

This purchase wraps up the whole lot of multiples in different colors and styles from Hermès. I'm a boring shopper. 

Done with the mad acquisition. I've been a closet nutcase this year, almost obsessively amassing the classics I like. There is absolutely no more space in the wardrobe. And dare I say there's nothing else I want from this sphere.

I love black the way I like no other color. Black anchors them all.

The Countdown to Christmas

I was a little disappointed that the schedule moved ahead by a month and I had to hit London in November. That reduced an intended 1-month break to 2 weeks. But in hindsight, I'm glad that was so because the cold front in London arrived a month earlier. When the first snow flew last December, I was sitting at Lantana Cafe having breakfast with the girlfriends. This year, the snow came alot earlier, shortly after I left. So it's perfect that we got the logistics for all humans, cargo and the Aunts' thingamajigs out of the way before the city is crippled by the snow.

While I'm thankful not to have to wrestle with the crowds, on the other hand, if London had happened as planned on 1 December, then I'd have stayed there all the way till January, and that would have been a whole lot of grins. Oh well, one can't have it all so neatly wrapped up like a Christmas package. Still, I managed to do most of the things I wanted despite a shorter trip.

Snow is awesome when I'm skiing or snowboarding. Other than that, I'm not a fan of walking about in the snow. Looking at the chaos unfolding at Heathrow Airport, I can only commiserate. Gatwick, Stansted and London City are still more operational. Hmmmmm. Blame the direction of the wind I suppose. Some of the friends and family made it in and out of London smoothly last week. Hopefully, the others will be able to fly out of Heathrow in time for Christmas in Singapore, and elsewhere or fly home to London via other routes from work trips by Christmas Eve. They're not particularly enamored with the idea of a white Christmas for the past few years. We've got parties to go to, people! The fun can't happen without you! Crossing fingers that all goes well.

Dinner Across The Bridge

The friends were up for a drive across the Causeway for a zi char dinner. We had a craving for San Low's fried bee hoon. I'm no expert on bee hoon, but I simply love this version that's just so damn tasty. I wonder if they wash the wok at all. Hmmmm.

We don't bother with what's good and what's not across the Causeway, and we definitely don't go out of our way to find it. We're not foodies. We'll just stick to what we know and be done with it. Food's just food at the end of the day. If I like it, that's done. I don't need the best of everything. It's very tiring to talk to someone who keeps asking me if I've had this, had that, gone to this restaurant and that. It's quite off-putting. Your tastebuds aren't mine. What's best to me won't be deemed best in your books.

There was a ridiculous amount of dishes on the table! I seriously dig that deep fried squid and black pepper crayfish. Nobody fancied the crab here at all, so they took cereal prawns instead. They tried some wild boar stir-fry thingy. They said it tasted like venison. Well, it was probably tenderized to the pulp till there wasn't much difference in the taste of wild boar or venison when cooked this way.

We never quite remember the names of the roads or the address of San Low. We just go. The route via Woodlands is always so crowded. So we've come to prefer to hit Johor Bahru via Tuas. It's such a cheap thrill to successfully arrive at San Low each time. Heh. So this is another Christmas dinner that's awesome. No gift exchanges necessary. It's the company and time spent with one another that is always appreciated, and not just at Christmas.

We ate for 2 hours straight. Totally busted the calories. By the time we rolled out of Johor Bahru, we were stuffed to the brim. I couldn't even think about food for the next day, or the next. Thank goodness we had no huge meals planned with anyone for the next 48 hours.

The Chicken Stew

Out of the blue, we're bestowed with a fabulous Eurasian chicken stew, courtesy of a very gracious, generous and lovely lady. She's taught me much in the ways of fair business, friendship and warmth. The man and I wish to make time to visit more often besides at Christmas and her birthday! It's just very comfortable to sit and chat about everything and nothing in particular.

That delicious smell coming out of the foil was killing us! It was still warm and just right to be eaten. We had dinner scheduled, but we were determined to have a bite of that stew first! It wouldn't be right to stuff it in the fridge fresh! We were willing the lights to turn green in our favor all the way home. I kept thinking of it as a pie because of its crust!

"It's just a chicken stew", the lady said. Well, it's definitely more than just a chicken stew. It was a good one! We ate it with some pieces of brown bread. Homecooked goodness. Awesome. That gravy wasn't so much of gravy, but more like chicken soup. How perfect for a rainy evening.

The man's parents were somehow staying in for dinner. On a Friday night! They usually party harder than we do! They were just wondering what to cook when we came back with this surprise gift of a stew. They appreciated it too, and while we strolled to dinner, they polished off a good half with thick slabs of sourdough. I was most tickled that the man made a special phonecall home and left strict instructions for everyone not to finish the stew and to leave him a bit for breakfast the next morning. Heh.

What a beautiful Christmas present. Thank you, B. We is now have happy stomachs.

Sips Of The Bowmore Gold

Of The Bowmore Trilogy, the man and I love the Gold best. We don't do very well as collectors of any sort of whisky. We won't be able to keep our hands off it. We love it too much. We know this bottle of Gold will definitely be unsealed and opened one day. But we just never got around to doing it.

For some reason, the stars and the moon and all cosmos were aligned today, and we met the friends. It wasn't exactly arranged or planned. It wasn't anyone's birthday nor anniversary. Nobody quit their jobs (except me- I'll celebrate next Feb), no one died, no one had a baby, no one got pregnant; no one's getting married or divorced; nobody won anything at the casino. Zilch. There was no occasion. It was just a cool rainy afternoon where the pitter patter of the rain was almost hypnotic. It was all very spontaneous. There would not be a better time than now to open the precious bottle and sip from it.

And the bears. Don't even ask me why there're bears in the photos. They just pop up, you know. They just do, out from nowhere. Always. Of course.

The man and I never intended to savor this bottle alone. It should be done with the FaerieFolk. No point hoarding. Sharing a bottle magnifies the appreciation of an exquisite single malt. So it came to pass that at sunset, we nosed the Gold and sipped the liquid that gave us fleeting moments of a fruity paradise.

Nails, No Color

I've avoided having acrylic extensions added to the nails. The nails are hardy enough to withstand alot of whacking. When the improved version using gel came along, I succumbed. It was so much more convenient to layer gel on top instead of the usual varnish. I don't have to wait for it dry, and neither does it chip. It's perfect.

Having had gel plastered on the nails for almost 5 years, the natural nail beds have finally worn down thin and brittle. Parkour and swimming aren't the best activities to keep the nails intact. So they tear rather easily now. Something needs to be done about it. I refuse to keep gluing tips and adding gel coats to keep the torn parts together. That's not a long-term solution.

Since I've royally spoilt my nails for vanity's sake, I should look into treating them better. The toenails are on their way to full recovery. I haven't put any color on them for months. Likewise, I made a hard decision to clear the nails of color, made the final repairs to the torn pieces and the last new set of gel on them. I can't leave them bare because the natural nails are now too thin and peeling very badly. It might just hurt. So this is the best solution for the now. As they grow, I won't do in-fills anymore. They'll look kinda ugly for 3 months, but at least the new nails will grow out strong while the weak tips get filed away.

Might as well. *shrug* At least I don't have to be so gu niang when I do parkour now. I need to rehearse intensively on 3 piano pieces for the next 2 weeks. Bald nails are wonderful. No whites to be seen. I had to round the sides to get rid of the torn bits. The nail therapist was a little shocked by my decision. "Now? Why don't you wait till after the festive season? I've never seen your nails naked at Christmas for the past 15 years!" Girlfriends, I bet you've never seen my nails this way this short for years now! Nice or not? Kekekekekke.

So girls, if you're not prepared to deal with brittle and peeling nails, don't pile gel on them. Don't even start, no matter how gorgeous they look. It's one thing to admire them in their plastic glory. It's quite another to wince at what lies beneath. The aftermath isn't at all pretty to deal with.

The Fourth Portrait

The girlfriend picked The Fourth Portrait as the film to catch for the week. I had no idea what the film was about and merrily just went along with her choice. I didn't read the movie poster or google any information about its plot, producer or screenwriter. Obviously, I wouldn't be familiar with any of the actors either. At worst, it would be a sappy romance flick and I roll my eyes till I flip over in the seat. *ducks from being smacked

It was very nice to stroll into an uncrowded cinema on a weekday afternoon. There were many older folks already seated, and talking very loudly in Hokkien. I wonder if it was the timing or the genre of the film. For a moment, I slid really deep into my seat and wondered what on earth the girlfriend had gotten us into. The mind conjured up these images of the old YangTze cinema in Chinatown with sleazy old folks, wads of toilet paper, umbrellas and eeeky smells.

As the film progressed, I was swept up in the life of the little boy. Luckily there were subtitles. Otherwise, I'd really be quite lost. There were so many social issues encapsulated in the story that it was sobering. Brilliantly timed and inserted amongst the frames, the simple lines uttered by the characters revealed the whole plot and what laid beneath. I really enjoyed it, and was quite put out to have it finish at the 2-hour mark. It wasn't too slow; almost riveting, in fact.

I let out a palpable wail at the ending. WTF. I don't like the endings of arthouse films! I'm shallow like that. I like my endings neatly wrapped up in a death, or something. You know, like how the B-grade movies do it?

Afternoon Tea With The Girls

We sprawled in the chairs at Chihuly Lounge for a languid afternoon. I was there for the tea, and the company. I didn't know what to make of their 'special' Christmas food or the all-white desserts because both didn't totally appeal. Overkill of egg white used in the desserts. Eiooowww. I think I prefer its traditional afternoon tea on the weekdays. But the drinks were good, as always.

It was comforting to catch up with the girls after such a long while. I must have not seen them for 3 months! I've missed our chats and the laughter at the crazy lines we spout. I didn't have to try very hard not to talk about work. It wasn't even anywhere in my thoughts. But as 5.20pm crept up, texts beeped on the phone about work matters. Like, bloody hell. It was a foooking Saturday. If it was that urgent, you damn well say it earlier, but as of Friday 6pm, no, nobody thought to say anything. I was like, fuck you, and you and you. (the 'you' doesn't refer to the sender of the texts)

Okay, never mind. At least there were lovely tea and company to rein me in so that I didn't exactly explode into smithereens. I could still enjoy my tea before going home to log on to the work email to type out the content methodically and in a rather detached manner. Remember, even if shit hits the fan and splatters on the wall, it's NONE of my business. So I'll take a chill pill (for the month) and shrug it off.

A little girl reminded us that Christmas, is about hugging bears, kissing them and throwing them about. It's also about grinning at humans without too much thoughts of wanting to strangle them. As usual, the little girl didn't exactly talk to us till the end of the afternoon. Then she willingly came to pull our hands and wanted our attention; excitedly chattered and showed us what she wanted Ed the Bear to do.

And Christmas, is precisely that. I needed a little girl to make me smile with her innocence and stir up notions of what this month should be about, and in one afternoon, my mind shifted the priorities and issues in the head to make the most of the sort of emotions dictating the tone of the month.

Happy That The Day Draws Near

There isn't a need for Christmas presents or farewell gifts to the office. It's never required nor encouraged. But I've always wanted to do small tokens just because I've received so much kindness from the colleagues. I've done so, for 4 years. This year, I will not bother.

I've done a round of gifts during Chinese New Year and after the end of each event. Now, at Christmas, knowing how bloody gossipy the entire organisation is, I don't want sincere gifts to be deemed as subversive in any way or worse, cause latent trouble to the recipients. Topping up the candy jar in the office is good enough, I hope.

I can't wait to begin clearing my leave. There will be a very quick January to finish up the handover and lend whatever hands and legs I can to the team, then it'll be over. Truth be told, as the day draws nigh, the sense of relief increases, and I'm never more sure that this decision is right for me.

I dislike this growing infestation of rumor-mongering, cubicle whispers and general '鸡婆ness' in the office. Where's the fucking professionalism? I'm feeling a little resentful right now because I can't fathom why I was made to attend a WorkPlan FY2011 discussion that is none of my business really, forced to eat the lunch that I said I didn't want right from the start, made to share in a cake that I didn't care for, and got called to be part of a group photo that I wasn't enthusiastic about. I'm leaving! I don't need to pretend that I'm sad about it. I refuse to play the game. Okay, I can understand why, but I'm petulant, can? You can call me ungracious.

The moping's all completed months ago. I'm happy to be out of the picture. Spare me the politicking. I just want to do the job, finish it up properly, repay all favors shown and slip away, dammit. My love affair with the office is over- in the way that there is tremendous reluctance to rescind my leave in December to sort out work projects. Don't think they want this attitude-me to be around, plus I'd have to justify to HR why they need to pay me cash in-lieu of leave. You know what, I'm buying that air-ticket now.