Office humour

When it's friday night, and you're working till 11 at night, any form of humour is welcome.

And humour took it's funniest form today. A member of the newsroom is leaving today and here are some messages from our system which went round.

Serena was leaving (oh no, so fast?), and she planned an office treat for all of us...

At 1728 hours:

serena, we hope new york is good
but 5:29 and still no food
why leave us all in a bad mood?
(REPORTERS, K,)

At 1741 hours:

Goodbye, Serena dear,
We'll miss you around here,
The very best we all wish you,
& remember us while at NYU.
(BT, R,)

At 1922 hours:

here's another BT poet:
- rose r red, violets r blue
i missed my makan, what about u?
(BT, Q,)

At 1924 hours:

friday night you're writing a rhyme
how come you got so much time?
(CHAIRMAN, 30jul04 19:24)

(fyi, makan is a malay word when translated into English means food.)

finally, when the chairman asked why we had so much time, the poems stopped.
such a shame.
I am contemplating visions of a business newsroom turned poems publishing house...

Working and Growing Pains

Back to work. After three days of medical leave and moping about at home, i decided to be diligent and bravely trooped to work on Thusrday - despite having four days worth of MCs.
I was happily making plans to watch Zhang Yimou's latest House of Flying Daggers - apparently the most visually stunning film to date, i hear - in the lazy mid-afternoon... almost assured I could get off by latest 7pm that day.

But no. After being asked if I felt well enough to do a story, which was sweet, I was assigned an interview - which i secured as a BT exclusive story - and had to call to cancel plans of watching the film. Despite having *ahem* monthly pains on top of the remnants of the recent bout of illness, I made my way out and conducted the interview while internally desperately trying to combat those pesky physical pains.

I worked till 11pm last night to finish the story. It would have been more brilliant if I had time to weave in my subtle business humour, for eg. in recent stories I have done:
1. About a shoe retail company: 'X has taken a step further with their shoes, venturing into the Middle East'.
2. About a plastics-mould manufacturing company: 'Y has wasted no time moulding its future with its plastics'
3. About a soup company: 'the company is certainly far from landing itself in hot soup...'

But I decided against the last one. Figure it wouldn't go down very well.. plus I had no time to craft it into subtle perfection. So after banging that story out till 11pm, I went home slightly satisfied at having done a decent/large story despite being away from the office for awhile.
But alas, even such joy was deprived of me - for it seems heaven has shifted its focus to depriving me of joy in the recent week.

My newsmaker made a call to me this morning, rousing me from blissful slumber and demanded to know why the story was not published today. And to cut the story short, I came back to the newsroom and found out there was a mix-up or miscommunication between day and night editors and the story somehow got held over - despite being an exlusive. ie. my story would have been on front page if not for the oversight.
*sobs*
So now I am tweaking the story for tomorrow's publication, after which it would not be an exlusive any longer because the news is being announced today at a media launch..

And because I slept late last night, I came in late today to work - and missed a lunch treat by my ed. And then, I've got to go for this event at 7pm...which means I'll be working till 11pm again tonight - which means I have to cancel more plans.

On a brighter note, my long-awaited 21st bash is due tomorrow. It is with apprehension and anticipation that I approach the day I finally turn an official adult - not that I think that appointed transformation actually means that much anyway. For many years, whenever this time of the year approaches, my mind and body attunes itself to this annual cycle to 1. either fall ill just before a huge celebration or 2. get withdrawn and very thoughful/philosophical about life or 3. both. This year it seems to have done both pretty intensely - maybe because it is the 21st. I'm thinking this will probably be the last time I will ever throw a party of this scale for something as cliche as a birthday celebration so I might as well make the most out of it. But I think there is that point in everyone's life when you realise you can no longer push unwanted thoughts or fears to the back of your head and pretend they aren't there any longer. Real issues start to materialise to haunt you... What's the meaning of life? What am I doing here? Am I heading where I want to be? Am I happy?

Maybe that is the true transformation that takes place when you finally reach that official age.

Or maybe it's a moment of realisation that life is fucked up,
and you look back despairingly at the golden gates of childhood - which are now closed behind you forever.

Tomorrow shall be the day of reckoning and I shall wait in bated breath till the pronouement of my fate, while in actual truth, plain realities seep into consciousness for but a temporaral moment as once vivid thoughts fade into the depths of history and you shall never feel the same again...

What I've learnt today

1. What PBT means.
2. What EBITA means.
3. Not to open a story with a company's name.
4. That I do enjoy writing things like this and can actually do so.
5. That holding protests in this country is illegal.
6. Protests are only legal after you've gained a permit to protest.
7. That some company lawsuits filed against journalists can be quite funny.
8. That the 'freedom of the press' is a highly nebulous concept.
9. That someone once said 'yes, there is press freedom in Singapore. But 'press' is used as a verb.'

What makes my blood boil

I have had a rough couple of days... mostly because going to work is like doing a job and learning a whole new degree at the same time. Each time a story is piled on me, I've had to learn all the new business terms that jump out of the page to greet me like some greek hieroglyphics. Some new terms I've learnt today includes price-earning ratios, net asset per value, net earnings per share, inventory turnover amongst the other bits which I shan't try too hard to recall now because I'm at home and can't be arsed to think about work any longer. Have learnt all about the markets, including reading cool price charts and learning more terms like buy volume, sell volume and the like.

On the very bright side, this work, surprisingly, doesn't bore me. I sometimes despair looking at these seemingly meaningless figures... but when you actually discover the whole mechanics of how these things work, meanings emerge that has a beauty of its own. I could never understand why in those films or tv series I've seen before, stock brokers and businessmen could get so excited about these figures but now I do see their light. While I have been happily living in my own arty/farty hippie world, real businesses are going on. Real processes that make the world function, produce the very things we need in our lives, are taking place oblivious to us. I guess I should count myself fortunate being able to appreciate both the business and arty dynamics of life. For now.

Which brings me to the subject of what makes my blood boil. I have had two knobs, who are actually quite endearing to me, patronise me today simply because 1. I'm a female... and 2. I do a film degree.

Case in point, I was having lunch today when I bumped into my ex-editor from another newspaper I worked for two years back. And after having a friendly exchange of greetings and insults, he started going on about how it's stupid that women magazines get female reporters to review bras, when bras are obviously worn for men's pleasure. He, of course, failed to recognise the awkward social situation of getting a men to review a bra, and the inherent male ego that will refrain himself from doing so even though in many cases, their perv nature is egging them to. That led to the conversation of females wearing tight clothes only so that other people can look at them and make them feel good about themselves. It didn't occur to my ex-ed that we women could be wearing what we wear for our own personal satisfaction, and not the satisfaction of others, both not being mutually exclusive. Then somehow it led to conversation about SG women being - wimpy.
Yes, spoilt and 'princess-y' was how he described us, not accounting that there are several different categories of women that exists in SG, and even so, that such a sweeping generalisation is supremely ironic of a hard-nosed, experienced editor.
He went on to describe how the malaysian female reporters in his newsroom are the more 'street-smart' ones that needed less hand-holding... coming to an almighty conclusion that SG women are the spoilt princesses, and Malaysian women are more street-smart.
Obviously that infuriated me.
Not having lived in the country for the last two years, I admit I wouldn't be as in-touch with the local scene as he has been - but still I'd like to think I know more about my fellow female citizens than that - well enough to defend our positions.
So I've started thinking about that question and have begun my own personal poll among friends and colleagues about their opinions on this matter.
And I'm gonna write up my own story about this - so any suggestions/comments/thoughts on this subject from any of you who've read this will be much appreciated!
Will leave that subject alone for the time being while I consolidate thoughts on that to construct a cohesive argument.

Tonight, I was talking to a friend who did an economics degree and is currently doing masters in the same thing. When he learnt I was working at BT, he immediately asked "What do you know about business", in of course, a very patronising tone. I proceeded to explain that not doing a business-related degree doesn't mean one doesn't know its concepts. The CEO I interviewed last week had mere three O level passes, did no fancy economics degree, and is operating a $30 million business, and expanding into the Middle East. But the friend started grilling me incessantly about terms he knew which he thought I didn't know, and then promptly accused my story, published today, for having sensational headlines about a company's drop in earnings. I explained it was hardly an unusual heading and cited a share price dip as an indication that it was a natural market reaction to the announcement of those results.
And then he remarked that the company's share prices dropped because of my headlines. Well, I thought, if my story actually had that much market power, shouldn't I be flattered! I proceeded to explain all the business terms he demanded before finally stopping because... I mean, who wants to talk figures after a hard day's work.
What irked him, really, I believe, was that he, an economics masters graduate, had to pit himself against a film studies undergrad.

I think I've had too many sweeping generalisations for today. Why do people constantly chose to indulge in them. Am I not guilty of it myself, sometimes. We should all stop perpetuating the cult of stereotypes and generalisations. Not everything is always as you think it to be.

Never mix beer with spirits

Last night, I have officially reached new heights in pushing my alcohol limits. It has been awhile since I've clubbed back home and some of us trooped, or rather, scaled the 72nd floor New Asia Bar at Equinox, The Swissotel or what was previously known as Westin Stamford.

It was a pretty posh place - loads of ex-pats, nice cushion-y seats and soft lighting. I was quite amazed at what the view had to offer - never realising that I have not seen Sg from an aerial view before. I even felt midly proud of the view our country offered - vibrant city lights - organised, clean, energetic.
We proceeded to explore the place and to my dismay, the dance floor was too small. If it was slightly bigger, it would have been the perfect club I would say. It was the right atmosphere (not many annoying young squealing schoolgirls, nor primitive perv-looking men) and it played great music! (James, they played hey mama! last night and I thought of you.. you so should have been there with me)

But now on hindsight, I don't think the size of the dancefloor would have mattered much judging by how the night went for me. I can't exactly distinguish at which point in the night did I start losing it... I had a pint before I went to the club. And then vodka. And then, ten really foul shots (it was happy hour and it was ten shots for $35!) of which some tasted like a mix between Absynthe and Sambuca. I have no idea why I allowed myself to consume that many when I was never a shots kinda person anyway. More drinks followed... and I think it was just a celebratory high we were on that it didn't even occur to me what kind of effect it was gonna have on me. Last night now officially wins hands down as one of my most unglamorous and drunken nights ever and I solemnly swear I will never touch alcohol again for as long as I live - or as long as I can still remember this night as vividly as I do now.

I mean, vividly remember the parts before I was so intoxicated that I couldn't stand and had no recollection whatsoever of what exactly happened. Thank goodness for Wei who took care of me and sent me home. I blame the beer I had before I consumed the spirits, someone had told me before that mixing beer and spirits was never a good idea. And judging by last night, I can vouch for it. Although it probably had to do with the foul shots more than the beer... I will never know. And certainly will never ever attempt to find out again.

I vaguely recall dancing loads... and talking to this Danish bloke where I tried to hold a decent conversation about Lars von Trier, having studied some of his films and watched quite a lot more of them outside the course - the latest of course, being Dogville which I immensely enjoyed. All I remember is the Danish guy saying von Trier was a weird fellow and he was impressed that I knew about him. Citing The Idiots as an example, I cheekily claimed that it seems Danish people were weird and had funny ideas. (this was a very mild expression of what I genuinely felt about that film - perverse and unecessary) He just laughed and said it was 'only von Trier'. That is, if I actually recalled the conversation accurately.

Another part of the night I firmly recall was W dancing with her heterosexually-challenged friend Y. I was dancing with them and this conversation thus ensued.

W: "Y, aren't you happy....all these foreign men around?"
Y: "Of course! I can now take my pick..."
W: "What are you waiting for! Go for it!" (laughs)
Y: "Maybe later..."
And then,
(Y, indulging in flambouyant camp dancing with W and me)
W: (laughing) "Y...don't you feel like a slut now?"
Y: (in an affected, camp tone) "Darling..... I am a slut.

I can't remember at which point did I stop laughing at the hilarious conversation and started feeling sick. I suddenly had a head rush and tried sitting down to recover. Not sure if I puked then, but I was ushered to the toilet and what followed after that was a blur and hazy recollection of distant voices and events. I don't think the club was too impressed by me - if they knew my name, they would probably ban me from there forever for the amount of crap I spewed on their floor - the bouncers (or my friends, I cannot remember which) carried me out of there and we descended 72 floors to make it to a taxi, after which my friend drove my car which I left at her place, to send me home. I shall not go into further details to save myself from further embarrassment but you can probably tell it was certainly not a pretty night.

I awoke this morning to find two huge purple bruises on my kneecaps which W explained afterwards in a text was because 'you couldn't even stand up properly'. I am quite impressed with myself, actually making it for mass, even though I felt extremely sick. Went home after and promptly slept the whole day afterwards.

I now cannot believe I have to work tomorrow and file freaking three stories - two for tuesdays paper, and one for a supplement. Interviewing CEOs and going for press conferences announcing Financial Year results is not exactly the best of hangover cures.
So now I know, no mixing of alcohol. And no more shots for me for the rest of my life.
As my dear friend puts it, as I walked in for mass in a zombie-fied state this morning,

"I have no sympathies for you whatsoever."

Changes

As you may have noticed, I have once again revamped the look. Was getting annoyed that my blog wasn't coming up as it should be on most other computers. My selected Georgia font, for some strange reason, doesn't seem to be recognised on other browsers and ended up looking like some primary school font. Anyway, have decided to go with a somewhat minimalist look. Now that I've stopped messing about with the page's look hopefully I can turn my attention to writing more despite my busy working hours.
Have been thinking of getting my own domain space for the longest time ever... but constructing a page right from scratch, and the thought of having to learn/use Movable Type just scares me. Even with supplied templates, I had to make so many adjustments before the page was properly customized. Can you imagine if I had to do everything ? I shudder to think of it and I admire those who are capable of it!

My days at BT have started picking up. Here is my very first byline at BT, published Thursday. I think after a certain number of days, the article gets archived and is no longer available online. But anyway, it was just a straight story about a local company. Not exactly the most thrilling but I thought it was a good start.

I have made a somewhat unnerving discovery today. I have realised that actually do have a sense of business acumen. I've done Math and Economics at A level but you know whenever I have discussions with my film/arty mates, we always lament the unexciting nature of economics, business, math and the like - often asserting that we don't understand bollocks about them and could never manage to survive learning all that.

Today, I actually experienced a wave of excitement looking at the stock and share prices on our newsrooms' Bloomberg computer - which provides company informantion and all the stock prices in the world. I could actually understand it! The past week has been such a learning experience... picking up all these business terms were rather difficult at the start - not even mentioning the despair I felt being posted at a business paper when I'm a bloody film major. I did resolve however not form pre-conceptions and mindsets simply because I do a very different degree... and discovered that I actually enjoy doing business news. It definitely does have its boring bits (like constantly attending press conferences of companies announcing their financial-year reports) and difficulty (what the hell is sector underweight, free float and YTD % change!) but I have to say I have immense job satisfaction banging out those stories and challenging myself. In a perverse way, doing say, a film review, would be understandably easier for me. But simply because of the degree of ease, the satisfaction derived from doing that piece of work wouldn't be as great. As compared to a work I had to work much harder for.

I found myself wondering if I should have done an economics degree instead - it was one of my choices. But the moment I thought about that, I winced. I don't think anything would make me regret doing a film degree despite general mistaken preconceptions of it being a 'soft' degree. What I've learnt on this job in one week has probably made me understand more business and economics than what most of my economics counterparts learn in the same amount of time!
And you know what? The next time some up-his-own-arse-know-it-all person starts discussing technical business, economics or finance terms with me in a patronising manner (as do most people, since they assume such concepts are alien to us film students), I will be able to, and am going to kick some ass!

Screenshot - a momento of what it used to be. 

Revelation

I had a revelation today while on the roads coming home... what did I spot driving on the roads today: none other than an ORANGE version of my precious car!
Have been missing my car quite alot recently, especially since I have to share the car with my mother now that I'm back. And when i saw that orange EG (Honda pundits will understand the term) on the road it was like being 'struck by lightning' - as the cliche phrase we used to employ in our primary school composition assignments goes - and I swear I will own one of those some day.... soon. I was told Honda doesn't sell cars in orange (it is no surprise) so that car was spray painted... it even had cool blue glow-in-the-dark nozzle lights on the front bonnet... just like mine, except mine is blue but not glow-in-the-dark (sadly). The car was lowered and it's rims were simply beautiful... if i were driving, and not just on the passenger seat, i would have swung my car around to chase it and persuade the guy to sell his car to me. okay, maybe not that entirely dramatic... but I just may have done it. I have often been told orange is not a good colour to have on a car - unless it's something 'cute-sy'.. like the Beetle, or a Mini... so never did I imagine my car would look so good in orange. it was just that right shade of orange, as well. I am so impressed.

Okay, shall stop ranting about what I now officially call my 'attainable-dream car' (my unattainable-dream car being an orange lamborghini) and move on. I lament the lack of blogging-conducive hours - due to the recent travelling hype... and now, my recently started job.

My Hong Kong adventure was a fruitful one with fantastic shopping and eating - one of my happiest moments being when i stepped into HMV (in Hong Kong) and realised they had a summer sale that was selling some relatively decent titles at dirt cheap prices. Another one of my happier moments, probably my happiest, is discovering this delightful and lovely pair of shoes which cost me 1000 HK dollars initially and thank goodness after that, i realised it was on half price discount so it cost me 500 dollars in the end instead. I should have never walked into Lane Crawford along the streets of Central in HK and saw that pair of shoes - coz once i did, i couldn't let it go. It was just the softest, loveliest pair ever - and it looked exactly like ballet shoes, just that it was with a slight heel. And made from an even softer leather. I still have my old ballet shoes (I know, it is with embarrassment I am revealing this) and even though I've stopped ballet dancing agess ago (thank goodness - i swear the ballet was just a teenage thing all girls go through at some point), I've always felt sentimental for it. I have now officially declared that pair of shoes my most prized pair, definitely the most expensive i've had to date, and of course, the prettiest in the world.

Moving on from frivolous discussions of shoes, I have decided that I don't really like Hong Kong. I don't mean it in a bad way, as in, it's a horrible place or anything to that effect. In fact, it is a lovely place, with picturesque hills and deep harbours surrounding the city. But it is a place I would definitely not live in. It's like a greyer, dustier, oriental version of london that's less organised. or a greyer version of San Fran (loads of hills, inclines and declines). It looks much prettier at night, the beauty of which I absorbed when I took the Star Ferry across the sea to Kowloon island from HK island and saw the nightline dazzling with bright lights, juxtaposed with the calm sea. (pictures coming up) In the day, it was too hot, the people spoke too loudly and the streets were too dusty. I have not actually used my Mandarin speaking skills for the last three years of my life at least, but I have spoken more Chinese in those few days I were there than in the past three years of my life. And I don't think i've ever heard so much Chinese, in all its myriad of dialects, surrounding me in such intensity; it was a cacophony almost too much for me to bear. People generally talked too loud and had a low sense of hygiene... but I have probably been spoilt by the obsessive state of cleanliness many countries strive to achieve.

I had just got back on Sunday night, and started work once again as a journalist, immediately on Monday. Because of last summer's stint at ST's Channel i as a broadcast journalist, it has been two long years since I have done print journalism (then, for 7 months). My scribbling skills will now have to be called into question: can I conduct interviews and coherently take down notes at a speed sufficient not to be lost.. and also, I wonder if I am still capable of competently coming up with interesting questions and refreshing angles again? I guess I will find out tomorrow when I attend the press conference - my first assignment for The Business Times and that is also the reason why this post cannot continue longer. I have to get my rest... have a busy day (finally, thankfully!) tomorrow at work.

Lessons in Life

You know there are those moments in life you just feel like you've learnt a lesson that will go down in the histories of ultimate lessons to learn. I have those moments and whenever I have that general sense of immense stupidity for doing something that I shouldn't have done, I take a piece of paper and write down the words 'Lessons in Life', and start listing things that I should never ever do again in my life. I seem to recall accumulating those 'lessons in life' scraps of paper over the last few years... but I never seem to be able to keep them all in one place and must have misplaced several of them.

So here's what I've learnt from my journey home this time.
Lesson in Life #1: Never ever take KLM flights again.
Lesson in Life #2: Always weigh luggage before a flight, and adjust accordingly to airline.
Lesson in Life #3: Always have rainy day funds in a direct debit account to avoid having to pay unecessary charges.

Without going into too much unecessary detail, I had the officially most horrible flying experience whilst coming back. It all started when I left for the airport. the taxi driver who sent me there though not horrible, was incredibly impatient and kept blaming me for being a few minutes late, claiming he had to pick another client up at another terminal at half two, a mere one hour after he picked me. did he really expect to drive all the way to heathrow from central london in under an hour? throughout the bumpy journey, he kept making clicking noises with his mouth, tapping his wrinkled fingers on the steering wheel incessantly, and checking his watch impatiently while casting snide looks at me, as if blaming me, when it was obvious the digital clock on the dashboard told him the time without him having to glance at it. Also, he was blasting the radio at top volume, I'm not sure if it was done purposely to annoy me - but as a result of the bumpy ride and loud radio with not enough ventilation, I felt ready to vomit in his car. Don't think that'd be a pretty sight. The only plus side was the radio channel that was on was giving an ongoing commentary of the women's Wimbledon finals so I had the minimal pleasure of following the surprising upstaging of Serena Williams by 17 year old Sharapova.

When I finally reached the KLM counter I thought everything would be smooth-sailing but noooo apparently my luggage was too heavy. it was 34.7 kg - which is quite heavy - but to be fair when I fly Singapore Airlines, I get away with that. Even my friend who flies Emirates just told me that she got away with a 37 kg luggage. And to think Emirates flight is slightly cheaper than KLM! I got ordered to lighten my luggage by hook or crook, or pay up 127 GBP, despite my attempts at the pathetic-student-effort of pleading the case of having loads of books and being alone at the airport. The bitch at the counter had a heart of stone, though. And sent me away, nevertheless.

I rolled my trolley away contemplating hard as to what course of action I should take and finally decided to ring my mum. no answer. rang home. My dad picked up and half-reproached me for always having heavy luggages. in my defense, i claimed i never really had a problem before KLM. I asked for mum and he replied 'hrmph.. you think you call your mum, she'd offer any help? She wouldn't know what to do either.' haha... he was speaking some truth. In the end, he suggested me posting my stuff back to myself, or renting a locker at the airport to store it for summer. I hung up the phone in search of a post office, which I found, and this little cheerful pakistani man was serving customers. he told me I could ship things home but it'd cost loads and I'd have to find my own box. Find my own box? I was too dismayed. How am I gonna do that! Look in WH Smith, he advised. They usually have boxes there. So I trotted there, again lugging my heavy burdens in search of a box. I finally found one and after profusely thanking the chinese guy who served my request, looked for a corner to repack my stuff.

I was struggling with my boxes and luggages, bruising myself in the process with vain attempts to shift my luggage around, when this girl (well, she's in her twenties, if girl doesn't quite accurately describe her) asked me if i needed help. We started chatting and that was when I found out she got through on Emirates with 37 kg! She, however, had been waiting for more than a day, for a flight because it was cancelled the last minute, and had to go home last night, before coming back to the airport to find her flight delayed again. We were lamenting on the horrible plights we've landed ourselves in, amidst discussing how to obtain UK working visas. She kindly looked after my luggage while i made two more trips there and back from the KLM counter because this annoyingly good-looking guy at the counter refused to let me have 24.7 kg on my luggage. He said the most it could be was 22. I said, well, it's only 2 more kg can't you just let me through. And then he was like Where do you draw the line, then?

I was so exasperated. I went back to where the girl was, I just realised I never found out her name despite having quite an in depth conversation with her. I think her name is Joanne, simply because she feels like she could be a Joanne. Or Irene.
Anyway, I took some stuff out and tried to stuff it in my box. And returned to the counter where the bitch who served me first, served me again. She finally allowed my baggage on and then asked me in a condescending-sort-of-way What did you do with your excess baggage? I felt like curtly replying It's none of your fucking business you stubborn bitch but I think that would have been a tad overtly-dramatic. So I decided to be nice and attempted a pathetic smile and said I shipped it home. She looked confused and asked downstairs? I had no idea what was downstairs, she was just taking a shot - and felt tempted to say yeah, downstairs where a ship is waiting for me but I figured sarcasm wouldn't have gone down well. So instead I said at the post office (you idiot, I silently added, where else!)..

After checking in, I went to the post office where the friendly post-office guy (let's call him ali) served me again. He provided me brown tape and a pen and told me to pack up my box and write the address on it. I had no scissors or sharp material and couldn't cut the brown tape up... I asked this man sitting down on the floor next to me if he had a swiss knife of some sort, but he didn't. Then I realised I was at the airport, sharp objects are disallowed on planes anyway. So instead, he volunteered using his teeth to help me. He must have bitten off at least 10 strips of tape for me... his wife (I assume) was looking on amusingly. I finally packed the box and lifted it up on the counter. Ali smiled at me and asked, how did you cut the tape? I smiled and said teeth . He shook his head and said seriously, that's not very good. Teeth is important to us. We must take care of it.... you know! And then, he lowered his voice in a conspiratorial tone, I'll teach you a secret... You know how to cut the tape if you don't have scissors? He took a pen and poked a hole in the tape and slid it down, cutting it across like a penknife and said Use a pen... it works! Of course it worked, I must have been an idiot not realising that sooner. But no matter, it was just the way he said it that was really amusing. After charging me an astonishing 67 quid for sending my package home by sea, I realised I had gone over even my overdraft - which means i'll probably incur surcharges for going over my overdraft limit. The day was just not going very well. I had this immsense sense of waste I couldn't shake off - like I was stupidly spending and wasting all these money which could have been easily avoided. It was exactly like paying 24 pounds for two vitamin pills which your friend could have given you for free.

After finally settling myself on my flight, I realised I must have gone through all that pain for a reason. After all, I have gained three valuable 'lessons in life' that I will never commit again. Also, I did make quite a number of friends - Joanne, who helped look after my luggage while I scurried across the airport trying to sort my luggage, the man with his wife who helped me chew off the tape, Ali the friendly post office guy... and later on, this guy called Michael who sat next to me on the plane whom I had quite an interesting conversation with.
I was pouring out my KLM woes to him when he told me he was allowed an extra 5 kg on top of his 22 kg luggage - which made me even more incredulous. But I comfort myself in thinking that they probably allowed him that because he didn't have a hand-carry luggage which I had. And then he said that he had been wanting to use this argument for ages and advised me to do so the next time. He said that we could say that we weigh much less than other people. I'm only 45 kg, tops. And another average man who goes on the flight is say, 80 kg. (some big-sized western men can go up to 120!) Why can't I have a luggage that's in excess, when some other man is going to be obviously adding much more load onto the plane than I am anyway?
Such a good argument. I can't fault it. I even pay the same price as a 120 kg-heavy man.
I can't wait to try this argument when I'm flying back to England. I will have my family to unload stuff on, if it fails. But I just want to try it for it's sake. I'm determined not to let KLM bitches step over me this time.
Alternatively, I am considering cancelling the return portion of my flight and going on some other airline which will obviously be much better. My long haul flight home didn't even have a personal tv screen where I usually enjoy my film marathons - instead I had to crane my neck to watch a common tv which was showing shit films like The Prince and Me I was too tired to stay awake for the good ones, like Starsky and Hutch but if i had my own screen, i would have watched that while I was awake. Instead of random weird programmes they force us to watch on the common screen.

I better stop here... I am aware I may sound like I've been complaining too much. But I have had a hard journey... it is probably justified. Congratulations if you have read thus far.. I know this has been a long entry... but lessons in life hardly come by easily.

To the blue skies and beyond

It has been awhile.
Apologies for not updating sooner - but life has continued its flurry of events and I have been living a rather nomadic existence recently - enhanced by the fact that I had just been to a hippie festival where it (as eve mentioned) made us feel we were like 'sheep' from all over the world slowly flocking and gathering to this one place, this farm, for a celebration of music. More details on that to follow, when I'm perhaps a little more settled in a particular place.

Am gonna fly home today and as usual, that flight is tinged with contemplation, self-reflexiveness and mixture of anticipation and regret, happiness and sadness. Everytime I take a flight it seems a chapter in my life has closed. No amount, or more accurately, nothing can re-open that chapter the way it has unfolded in my life. Yet the cliche life moves on proves its own truth and another chapter is awaiting to be opened.

I look forward to seeing my family and friends again, and of course, the most delightful food in the world. But sadly, also find myself wary of the coming summer spent in a place which often induces my disillusionment. If I had already felt rather displaced where I was born before I came here, it is even more pronounced the longer I live here. My happiness is only an extent when I return - I often find myself in discord with that environment. I probably have mentioned this several times - but I'm so much more in my element here.

I guess it's a feeling derived from a basic impulse of mine own to resist almagating into an indistinguishable mass. I hate it when everyone looks the same, or behaves in the same way. What makes it worse is when the community imposes that imagined identity on you and render you a duplicate of its system, even when you are blatantly not.

Contemplation aside, I probably have to get ready for my flight, which is 5-ish pm today. Will have to stop-over at Amsterdam, not that I'm complaining. The next 24 hours will be a much reflective period - I do quite appreciate the solitude and time alone while travelling. It will probably be a brief respite considering I'm going to Hong Kong within this week as well, and then start work immediately on the day after I'm back. So it seems the relentless flurry of events will not cease - not that I don't like it that way. I sometimes do have very vivid sporadic visions of me chilling in a big living room in a white minimalist decor, sitting on a deep orange plush chair with orange cushions; where in front of me is an incredible sound system and home cinema at my disposal, listening to my Glasto favourites, watching my recently purchased special edition of Once upon a Time in the West and sipping a hot cup of earl grey tea from a lovely mug. One day, perhaps, I shall build upon my vision. For the meantime, my house's living room will have to suffice. When I finally get there, of course.