"Divorce is the new marriage."
I came across this at work. I understand that it was spoken tongue in cheek, a joke.
But I never appreciated those jokes about half-dogs, red and white things that say "ho ho ho OUCH", or injured blondes, either. Not funny.
After decades or maybe centuries of getting it wrong, I hope my generation can finally end this insanity with the conclusion that marriage is the new marriage. All right? Not the superficial commitment, or the "my-parents-are-getting-old-and-will-write-me-out-of-
their-wills-unless-I-produce-offspring-by-next-year" covenant or the "I like his biceps" decision. Marriage, with all its resident inconveniences, sacrifices, obligations ... and most of all, blessing. After all, look whose idea it was.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Friday, August 03, 2007
The end begins
I just told the "parking man" not to renew my parking pass after this month. It's begun: the change to the little, mundane bits of my life that the job switch will bring on.
I need to insert a little, unsolicited snippet of praise for the "parking man" here. (I know his name, but in case he's shy I won't mention it.) Before I knew of his existence, renewing my local council parking pass entailed going to the stationery shop around the corner one week before expiry, paying cash in advance, then walking there again a few days later to pick up the new pass.
Then I discovered the parking man. All I had to do was call him once, and from then on, I didn't even have to remember when my parking pass expired. I'd get a phone call every month as a reminder to have the required amount of cash in hand, and the next day he'd be at my office front desk with the new pass. With this small, simple service (at no extra charge), he's made my life more pleasant. And really, isn't that one of the best things we can say of a person?
I need to insert a little, unsolicited snippet of praise for the "parking man" here. (I know his name, but in case he's shy I won't mention it.) Before I knew of his existence, renewing my local council parking pass entailed going to the stationery shop around the corner one week before expiry, paying cash in advance, then walking there again a few days later to pick up the new pass.
Then I discovered the parking man. All I had to do was call him once, and from then on, I didn't even have to remember when my parking pass expired. I'd get a phone call every month as a reminder to have the required amount of cash in hand, and the next day he'd be at my office front desk with the new pass. With this small, simple service (at no extra charge), he's made my life more pleasant. And really, isn't that one of the best things we can say of a person?
Monday, July 23, 2007
Monday, July 09, 2007
I'm Not an "I'm Not a Plastic Bag" Buyer
It happened sometime on Saturday. I just realised that this bag has lost all of whatever appeal it ever held for me. I've found someone who'll buy it off me without it ever being in my hands; she'll pay me and go get it from the store.
Freed from the perilous grasp of pretentious capitalism. *Breathes a sigh of relief*
Freed from the perilous grasp of pretentious capitalism. *Breathes a sigh of relief*
Friday, July 06, 2007
Futile isn't worthwhile
earlier i went to visit some guy who has terminal cancer and he's only 29yr old
The above was part of what a friend said to me last night when we were chatting online.
Imagine waiting to die within such a short time-frame, knowing that unless a divine hand swoops in to breathe life and health back into you, it's curtains.
At times like this, the futility of my working long, long days at my present job seems all the more apparent. Just what is the long-term ROI in fashion publishing? Are the seconds, minutes and hours spent here gaining compound interest for eternity? Even in the here and now, it feels as if every evening I spend slogging at my desk or fast asleep at 9pm trying to recover from the previous week's slogging is time I didn't spend with precious people; time I'll never have again.
I need to make some adjustments so that even if death were to come tomorrow, I would be satisfied knowing that I lived today.
What is worthwhile?
A very popular British designer label launched its cotton shopper bag today. The bag is what I consider a marvellously intelligent marketing stunt. It's made of one the cheapest natural materials. The proprietary embroidery, spelling out an "environmental concern" message, plus the presence of a small logo gives the bearer an air of 1) ecological consciousness, which is the new cholesterol scare in terms of public attention; and 2) brand-display credibility, at a low price... something many Malaysians seem to crave.
By noon, we'd heard astounding first-person accounts of just how far things went out of control at the launch. Apparently, the queue went from the store entrance, over that whole floor of the mall, and apparently to the next floor. I still wonder how that's possible unless the queue reached the escalators and, finding nowhere else to go, the people at that point in the line decided to get some exercise while keeping their place, and marched on the spot up the down escalator. Then there was talk of mall security, riot police, rampaging shoppers offering black market prices on the spot to those lucky enough to leave with a bag, and stampeding aunties yelling about being deprived of their right to own such a statement piece of social consciousness.
I'd pre-ordered one of these bags because I thought they're cute and reasonably priced, and the perfect size to hold all the stuff I regularly lug around. Now I'm not so sure. I don't know if I want to be identified with something that inspires such ugly behaviour for all the wrong reasons. It's just a bag to me, but who knows what other connotations have been added to it by this morning's fiasco. Is this bag worthy to dangle off my arm?
he's just waiting to die within the month
The above was part of what a friend said to me last night when we were chatting online.
Imagine waiting to die within such a short time-frame, knowing that unless a divine hand swoops in to breathe life and health back into you, it's curtains.
At times like this, the futility of my working long, long days at my present job seems all the more apparent. Just what is the long-term ROI in fashion publishing? Are the seconds, minutes and hours spent here gaining compound interest for eternity? Even in the here and now, it feels as if every evening I spend slogging at my desk or fast asleep at 9pm trying to recover from the previous week's slogging is time I didn't spend with precious people; time I'll never have again.
I need to make some adjustments so that even if death were to come tomorrow, I would be satisfied knowing that I lived today.
What is worthwhile?
A very popular British designer label launched its cotton shopper bag today. The bag is what I consider a marvellously intelligent marketing stunt. It's made of one the cheapest natural materials. The proprietary embroidery, spelling out an "environmental concern" message, plus the presence of a small logo gives the bearer an air of 1) ecological consciousness, which is the new cholesterol scare in terms of public attention; and 2) brand-display credibility, at a low price... something many Malaysians seem to crave.
By noon, we'd heard astounding first-person accounts of just how far things went out of control at the launch. Apparently, the queue went from the store entrance, over that whole floor of the mall, and apparently to the next floor. I still wonder how that's possible unless the queue reached the escalators and, finding nowhere else to go, the people at that point in the line decided to get some exercise while keeping their place, and marched on the spot up the down escalator. Then there was talk of mall security, riot police, rampaging shoppers offering black market prices on the spot to those lucky enough to leave with a bag, and stampeding aunties yelling about being deprived of their right to own such a statement piece of social consciousness.
I'd pre-ordered one of these bags because I thought they're cute and reasonably priced, and the perfect size to hold all the stuff I regularly lug around. Now I'm not so sure. I don't know if I want to be identified with something that inspires such ugly behaviour for all the wrong reasons. It's just a bag to me, but who knows what other connotations have been added to it by this morning's fiasco. Is this bag worthy to dangle off my arm?
Thursday, June 28, 2007
A bizarre conversation
The following is true. Even the wildest flights of my imagination cannot have come up with what happened to me this morning. Names of individuals and organisations have been suppressed in the interests of privacy and legal protection. I hope you have a good laugh. I've already done all the crying.
I needed to phone Miss X, a former classmate who now works for my client.
I dialled her mobile number, and the following ensued.
Me [thinking]: Hmm, the last time I phoned her (which was way back... last week), her ring tone was 'Let There Be Love'. Now it's some Chinese song. Catchy, though. Maybe she felt like a change.
"Hello?" It's a man. It's a... man? All right, I can live with a man picking up a lady's phone.
"Hi, may I speak to X please?"
"I'm sorry, she's not in the office today."
Office? Didn't I dial her mobile? [Quickly check desk phone display] Yes, I did.
"Oh." [Frantic thinking.] "And... she left her phone with you?"
"What?"
"Her mobile. I dialled her mobile and got through to you. So she left her phone with you in the office?"
"No. I'm the finance manager."
By now, I'm well over the sheer strangeness of this conversation. I'm enjoying the departure from ordinary phone conversations so much, if it were a show I'd have bought front-row tickets.
"All right. I'm trying to get in touch with X over the booklet my magazine is doing with her client for August. May I know how I can reach her?"
"I'll transfer you to Y. Y should be able to talk to you about this."
"No, really, I've been dealing with X directly regarding this booklet and I'd rather speak to her in person. May I know how to reach her?"
"No, no, she's attending a conference all day. I'll transfer you to Y. You can talk to Y."
"OK, thanks."
I hear mumbling and murmuring in the background of the "Who is it?" "Regarding what?" "Call from where?" sort. Another male voice comes on.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is this Y?"
"Yeah, speaking. Who are you?"
Well. Hello. "I'm calling from [magazine name]. I've been trying to get in touch with XX [I include the surname for greater credibility, because by now I realise this is getting really bizarre] regarding the B mobile phone booklet you're doing with us. I understand I can talk to you about it?"
"Yeah, yeah. So what is it you want to know?"
"X has approved the whole booklet and we're about to send it to print. We just noticed that while your logo on the front cover is blue, the one on the back cover is white. I'd like to check if this is really what you want, or you'd prefer that we change the back logo to blue."
"What logo is it?"
"[Mobile phone brand]."
"What's that in blue?"
"Your logo."
"What logo?"
"[Mobile phone brand]. We were given a specific CMYK colour to use."
"Oh, I see, OK, OK. I can send our logo to you, no problem."
"It's all right. We have your logo. Just let me know if you want it in your signature blue or white for the back cover."
"What blue is that?"
"The blue you provided."
"Actually what has X approved?"
"The booklet. The [mobile phone brand] booklet you're doing in collaboration with [magazine name]."
"For [health supplement megastore]?"
By now, I am utterly lost for words. This is autopilot in the truest sense of the word.
"[With as little exasperation as I can manage] No! For [mobile phone brand]."
"Oh. Actually I don't know what this is about. We are not [mobile phone brand]. We're not doing any booklet."
I have Reached My Limit.
"May I clarify that I have been trying to get in touch with Ms X, I dialled her mobile number, got through to your colleague, mentioned [mobile phone brand] and [magazine title], was assured that you would be able to help me, was transferred to you..."
"Yes, yes."
"... and you aren't even at the right company?"
"Yeah. I think you have the wrong number. We are not doing any booklet with your magazine."
Click.
I needed to phone Miss X, a former classmate who now works for my client.
I dialled her mobile number, and the following ensued.
Me [thinking]: Hmm, the last time I phoned her (which was way back... last week), her ring tone was 'Let There Be Love'. Now it's some Chinese song. Catchy, though. Maybe she felt like a change.
"Hello?" It's a man. It's a... man? All right, I can live with a man picking up a lady's phone.
"Hi, may I speak to X please?"
"I'm sorry, she's not in the office today."
Office? Didn't I dial her mobile? [Quickly check desk phone display] Yes, I did.
"Oh." [Frantic thinking.] "And... she left her phone with you?"
"What?"
"Her mobile. I dialled her mobile and got through to you. So she left her phone with you in the office?"
"No. I'm the finance manager."
By now, I'm well over the sheer strangeness of this conversation. I'm enjoying the departure from ordinary phone conversations so much, if it were a show I'd have bought front-row tickets.
"All right. I'm trying to get in touch with X over the booklet my magazine is doing with her client for August. May I know how I can reach her?"
"I'll transfer you to Y. Y should be able to talk to you about this."
"No, really, I've been dealing with X directly regarding this booklet and I'd rather speak to her in person. May I know how to reach her?"
"No, no, she's attending a conference all day. I'll transfer you to Y. You can talk to Y."
"OK, thanks."
I hear mumbling and murmuring in the background of the "Who is it?" "Regarding what?" "Call from where?" sort. Another male voice comes on.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is this Y?"
"Yeah, speaking. Who are you?"
Well. Hello. "I'm calling from [magazine name]. I've been trying to get in touch with XX [I include the surname for greater credibility, because by now I realise this is getting really bizarre] regarding the B mobile phone booklet you're doing with us. I understand I can talk to you about it?"
"Yeah, yeah. So what is it you want to know?"
"X has approved the whole booklet and we're about to send it to print. We just noticed that while your logo on the front cover is blue, the one on the back cover is white. I'd like to check if this is really what you want, or you'd prefer that we change the back logo to blue."
"What logo is it?"
"[Mobile phone brand]."
"What's that in blue?"
"Your logo."
"What logo?"
"[Mobile phone brand]. We were given a specific CMYK colour to use."
"Oh, I see, OK, OK. I can send our logo to you, no problem."
"It's all right. We have your logo. Just let me know if you want it in your signature blue or white for the back cover."
"What blue is that?"
"The blue you provided."
"Actually what has X approved?"
"The booklet. The [mobile phone brand] booklet you're doing in collaboration with [magazine name]."
"For [health supplement megastore]?"
By now, I am utterly lost for words. This is autopilot in the truest sense of the word.
"[With as little exasperation as I can manage] No! For [mobile phone brand]."
"Oh. Actually I don't know what this is about. We are not [mobile phone brand]. We're not doing any booklet."
I have Reached My Limit.
"May I clarify that I have been trying to get in touch with Ms X, I dialled her mobile number, got through to your colleague, mentioned [mobile phone brand] and [magazine title], was assured that you would be able to help me, was transferred to you..."
"Yes, yes."
"... and you aren't even at the right company?"
"Yeah. I think you have the wrong number. We are not doing any booklet with your magazine."
Click.
Friday, June 08, 2007
You make my heart go...
Love, you make me danceI may look like a fool
But with you, I'm a king
Love, you make me sing
I may sound like a toad
But with you, I'm on wing
Love, you make me laugh
And love, you make me cry
Because you make me live.
This is especially for Keon and Khai Veun. I am SO HAPPY for you, my dear cousin and future cousin-in-law! I'm enjoying every moment I get to share your journey with you. Love you both!
Oh. Just for the record, both Bu Keon and Khai Veun can sing and dance well. The poem is for you two, it's not meant to be by you two. Thought I should clear that up before I'm accused of defaming you on my blog.
Image from Stock.Xchnge
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Always with me
Image from Stock.Xchng. If you're the photographer who captured this image, please leave a comment with your details so I can credit you.
You alone are my hiding place
You alone are my song and my strength
Permit me to come and worship
With my offering of thanks
You are witness to the depths of my heart
And your love is never far from my soul
In every loss, in every defeat
I know you are always with me.
A rather direct translation of one of my favourite songs.
Because there's simply no one else.
Original Bahasa Indonesia lyrics:
S'lalu Bersamaku
Words and music: Sydney Mohede
Performed by GMB
Hanya Kau tempat ku berlindung
Hanya Engkau laguku dan kekuatanku
Ijinkanlah ku datang menyembah
Membawa syukurku
Sedalamnya hatiku Kau pun tahu
Dan kasihMu tak jauh dalam jiwaku
Di dalam kesesakan
Di dalam kemenangan
Ku tahu Engkau s'lalu bersamaku
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Waiting
Jilly Pepper at Bangkok Suvarnabhumi Airport, April 2007Sometimes, this is how I feel.
I know I'm waiting.
It's a longer wait than I'd prefer.
I'm going home.
Eventually.
But first, there's that suffocating plane ride with the bad food, difficult people and backache-inducing chairs.
Life. I'm on my way home, but sometimes it seems I'll be stuck in the waiting lounge forever. Waiting to do those bigger things I've been promised. Not wanting to dwell on past enjoyments and achievements, and continually looking ahead to the bounty that I know awaits me there.
And in the meantime, trying to make the most of the fact that this is where I am for now.
Monday, May 28, 2007
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