Photolog: Melbourne CBD 1

Flinders Street Station

The free City Circle tram - takes you around most of the main areas

The Melbourne GPO - stands for General Post Office, but really is a nice, rather exclusive mall

X and I had dinner here, probably the first reasonably priced (and decent!) Malaysian meal in Australia. I am still traumatised by the AUD142 bill at Jazz Ria (for eats like Roti Canai and Fried Calamari etc!).

I had Beef Hokkien Mee AUD8). Absolutely scrumptious.

I can't believe this made it to Australia! I'm not sure if it's similar to the ubiquitous (and pathetic) Malaysian franchise though.

Chinatown here is heaps better than the crappy Brisbane one. Instead of the usual Made in China trinkets, the focus here was on glorious Asian food.

Southbank overlooking the Yarra River. Very hip place full of chi chi yuppies sipping overpriced soy-milk-no-whipped-cream-less-sugar-mochacinnos.

There's a Batman's Park and a whole Batman empire in Melbourne. I'm unsure of the origins of this fetish.

The perfect gift this Christmas...

"Did you say nothing? When you were asked what you wanted for your Birthday, Anniversary, Graduation or Christmas, don't you remember saying, 'NOTHING'? Well this time someone heard you, searched high and low and found this perfect gift!"

Have a blessed Christmas everyone!

The epitome of quaint, Canterbury, Victoria

X and I decided to spend Christmas in Melbourne, the legendary city I had heard so much of, from friends who studied there. We're spending the first couple of days at his childhood friend's place at Canterbury, about 20 minutes east of the city.

Our host's lovely place

The neighbourhood is extremely old fashioned, in a quaint, charming way. The houses are fashioned of timber and red brick, with ornate carvings on the awnings and picket fences. Gardens are full of pansies, roses, lavendar and other exotic flowers. Jacarandas and maple trees line the busy roads.
The outlets nearby mostly consist of cafes, antique shops (frequented by moneyed little old ladies) and for some odd reason, exclusive looking hair salons.

Canterbury Road

Random quaint house

Free public toilet - you have to pay to pee in Sydney.

Traditional hardware shop

The spoils for the day

Shopping malls are far and few on the Gold Coast. Most retail outlets are not housed in gigantic buildings, but instead neat little shoplots along main roads. This allows a certain sense of individuality and quaintness, though on summer days like these, I miss the air conditioning of indoor shopping.

Harbourtown is an outlet mall located in Biggera Waters, a 40 minute drive away from where we live. I'm not there as often as, so our excursion was a real treat.

The place is massive. Australian malls tend to be widely spread out, as opposed to the soaring Malaysian ones. I only have one decent pair of work pumps, so shoes were first on my agenda.

Nine West (I know they're copies of Loboutins!). They're a size 6 and a little loose, but the jelly cushions I stuffed in perfected the fit. Only AUD49! I know a certain someone *coughDicough* who spent MYR359 on her Nine West pumps is screaming now.

I've always liked the look of young people in plain white tees and jeans, with a skinny scarf slung around the neck. Plus heck, it was only AUD1.

As Girlfriend, it is my duty to upgrade X's wardrobe (that and I had to fulfill the obligatory Christmas present issue). We thought he could do with a nice pair of jeans. X is pretty thin for an Aussie and like me, often has trouble finding things that fit. We checked out Just Jeans and yd. before settling on these at City Beach.

We also stopped by Southport, Gold Coast's CBD to get some things. There's this fabulous secondhand bookshop, Reader's Delight. Kathy Kemp is the friendly and helpful lady who owns and runs the place. The book selection is extremely tasteful, as she personally selects everything based on her own experiences or recommendations from others. I got The Autograph Man by the ever reliable Zadie Smith, which proved to be a delightfully kooky experience. This was my most recent purchase. It's reading well, so far, in the vein of Michael Cunningham's Pulitzer winning The Hours.

Have wheels, get licence

While I was working in Malaysia, cab fares were reimbursed as part of our privileges. I didn't drive because no one trusted me with their vehicles, in spite of my licence (obtained through legitimate means - don't make any assumptions!). I also had other means of transport such as the light rail transport/ monorail (overcrowded and full of stinky people with B.O.) and the bus (cheap but takes forever).

All these I took for granted until I came here. Public transport is costly - distances between places are fairly large. The buses that run along the Gold Coast Highway are efficient and the drivers often (though not always) friendly and patient, as the system can be a bit confusing at first. I haven't a clue what cab fares cost, but I'm sure it's a heck lot more than what I'm accustomed to.

So we got me a car.

My dream cars include the Toyota Vios (older model - new model is hideous) and the current Honda Civic (I also like the Porsche Boxster and BMW 3 series, but let's get realistic here). So it's only natural I was a little hesitant with this Honda Prelude Coupe: Oh, I guess it's best that I make all the mistakes with a crappy car.

As it turns out, I've fallen in love with the 4 wheel steering, the electric sunroof, the ease with which it handles. The one and only complaint I do have is the failed air conditioning. In the current summer climate, where hair plasters to scalp and ice cream melts within seconds, my feeling is akin to a turkey, slow roasted in an oven.

So far, in my few solo expeditions, I have yet to kill/ maim anyone/ any marsupials. No one has given me the single finger salute/ honked at me. X actually thinks I drive okay - though occasionally, he pulls the clutch on me.
However, the problem is that I can't reverse parallel park. This, is not a practical skill simply because I would rather park far, far away and walk, than execute a complicated manoeuvre exacerbated by my lack of height.

Sadly, it's something I'll have to perform for my driving test. Malaysia does not have a reciprocatory agreement on transferable licences (small wonder since KL drivers are mostly insane). The tests here are a lot more stringent and I'm pretty sure the officers won't be bought off for MYR200, the standard bribe for JPJ officers in 2004.

My three month grace period will be up soon. I have about two weeks to complete the tests, failing which I'll be unable to drive. Fingers crossed!

Hair, hair, everywhere

I have waist length black hair. Typical young, Asian, female hair, really. Previously rebonded to tame its unruly tendency to poof up (think mild Afro) at the first sign of moisture. My previous visits to Australia were during the drier third quarter of the year, which had the effect of calming my crowning glory down, to a more acceptably neat state.

Thus my decision to forgo my annual four-hours-in-the-salon-with-stinky-chemicals-and-nasty-people-tugging-my-roots-out-with-flat-irons experience. In Malaysia, this rite of passage costs about MYR300 or so depending on hair length. In Australia... I shudder to think of the cost.

My first summer experience here has shown how the humidity can rival Malaysia. My hair is a mess - the lower half was chemically forced into straightness and is starting to develop split ends; the top half is in its naturally poofy state, with a slight wave beginning to show.

More than once, I succeeded in scaring myself in the mirror with the lights off.

I am extremely tempted to slice it all off in exchange for a low-maintenance bob. Another contributing factor would be the fact that I "shed like a dog", in the words of PD (who is selling us my first car!). X and I live in a nice clean house, with nice clean cream coloured carpet. The upkeep of this situation however, is becoming increasingly tiresome thanks to my continuous moulting. X, my dear, patient, kind man has not forced a hairnet upon me yet, but often follows me about with a vacuum. Occasionally, he gets nervous breakdowns when there are impending guests.

To chop or to not? Short hair does tend to make me look a lot younger than I really am (I am still frequently asked for proof of age). This would be disadvantageous in a work environment. My hair was my shield when I was an insecure adolescent and still is, on the odd Fat/ Ugly/ Bad Face Day. Sentimental value is harboured in dead proteins.

It'll depend on how the summer progresses along, I suppose.

The extra protein that came with the corn

The brown husk was an ominous sign. Upon pulling off the last piece, I saw Mr Caterpillar peep out between the corn silk and had a typically female reaction.

I screamed loudly (and shrilly) and dropped the corn.

In the end, I couldn't bear to squash him (plus it was just too disgusting to contemplate) so X dropped him out in the backyard so he could munch up the weeds.

Then turn into a beautiful butterfly.

Like. WOW. Or rather, ugh

This is bizarre. (I did not actively look it up. Really.)

Does anyone actually do this sort of thing?

I may not like the sandwich, but I sure ♥ the band

I have fallen in love with The Submarines. Most of my favourite artistes (Stars, Sigur Ros, Snow Patrol, Sia), coincidentally or not, fall within the Playlist S. My music is simply too varied for me actually make proper playlists, so I dump everything into alphabetised folders.

The story about this band is teeth-achingly cute. Girl (look how cute and wholesome and Swedish she looks!) meets boy (looks how dopey and devoted he looks!); they fall in ♥ and later break up. They soon find out the separation had inspired a whole host of songs of heartache about each other. They eventually reconcile, form The Submarines and happily enough, get married. I’m the biggest nuptial cynic around, but I hope they stay together forever and ever. And ever.

The creative differences between their debut album Declare A New State and their sophomore album Honeysuckle Weeks are noticeable after a couple of spins. The former is more subdued and tender, especially This Conversation, which brings to surface memories of previous heartache. You, Me and the Bourgeoisie was derived from the latter and used in the new iPod 3G commercial. On a whole, the lyrics are more assertive.

Plastic bottles, imported water
Cars we drive wherever we want to
Clothes we buy, it's sweatshop labor
Drugs from corporate enablers
We're not living the good life
Unless we're fighting the good fight
You and me just trying to get it right

If you like folksy, poppy, but not too mainstream stuff, this is for you. I’m pretty picky with music and find that most albums have one or two decent songs with the rest being filler crap. With this couple, I have yet to come across a piece that isn’t at least above average. I can hardly wait for their next album.

External audit the Turkmen way

Turkmenistan

Capital ---------- Ashgabat
Government --- Dictatorship
Currency ------- Turkmen manat (TMM)
Economy ------- Sales of Giant Wattled Turkeys, largely to America for festive purposes.

jenny says:
meh
i don't even know where turkmenistan is!

jan in gold coast says:
lol
thats where all the turkeys come from silly
the largest form of income is from america
for thanksgiving dinners
auditors have to go there to count turkeys
1 turkey
2 turkeys
3 turkeys
gobblegobblegobble

jenny says:
3 million turkeys!!
ok
done. now go touring.

Disclaimer: I'm obviously kidding. No offense to Turks on the remote likelihood of them chancing upon my blog.

Those innocent days

Last weekend, I met up with LL, whom I've actually known for about 16/17 years. Apparently, I once tried to strangle her for no apparent reason. I was indeed, rather difficult and odd as a child, not to mention extremely unattractive (think greasy skin and ill-fitting glasses - I shrunk the picture as not to traumatise startle you readers).

This encounter spurred me to look up the only primary school yearbook still within my possession, where I found fond memories (I got second place in the English Written Competition) and not-so-fond ones (pictures of two older boys who used to chase me around the school professing their love for me).

And then I found this - Caution: Reading the following paragraphs may induce involuntary gag reflexes. Note that I was only 11 when I wrote this, and 11 year olds in those days were very naive and innocent and sheltered (we learnt about reproduction theoretically at that age but had no idea of the practical use. I once brought it up during dinner and my poor father actually choked on his rice).

Friends, feng shui, Thai food and a hyperactive hamster-esque puppy

X and I had a hectic Saturday. His friend, Roselene is leaving for Canberra in a couple of months. So we met up for a farewell of sorts. I had my doubts before heading there - Roselene is a practising and well-established feng shui master, something my conservative Christian background finds hard to accept. People in Gold Coast (not to mention Sunshine Coast) are deeply into New Age-y things like clairvoyance, psychic powers, telekinesis etc. It's hard for me to take them seriously, but I've learnt to respect their beliefs and nod along.

Thankfully, her unit was tastefully minimalistic and lacked the stereotypical copper frog and money tree ornaments. All in all, she turned out to be a very lovely lady and I was sorry we wouldn't be seeing her anymore. Well, not for a while anyway.

We then headed to Broadbeach to meet the ever ambivalent couple, LL and RJ for dinner. LL had hoped to dine at Surfer's Paradise but with Schoolies Week on, we decided against it.

Incidentally, here are some lesser known terms, as explained by a Schoolie to X:

Foolies - Underaged schoolgoing who try to gatecrash Schoolies
Schoolies - Kids who have just finished high school
Toolies - Slightly older crashers
Groolies - Gatecrashers with a midlife crisis

We ended up at Boonchu Thai Food, which came highly recommended. I found it okay, but actually prefer Jitlada nearby Palm Beach.

My Chicken Tom Yam. They used breast meat (big no-no) and the Tom Yam soup could hardly be classified as spicy. LL's adorable, hyperactive terrier, Pearly ended sharing the meat.

X's Panang Curry Chicken was very tasty though. The lemongrass added fragrance to the spices.

LL's Chicken Clear Soup Noodle was a little bland for my liking.

RJ's Boonchu Chicken Rice, also the restaurant's signature dish, was very savoury.

We took a brief walk by the beach and ended things after drinks at Starbucks. I am relieved to report that the Green Tea Frappacino in Gold Coast is identical to the one in KL. And significantly cheaper too, at AUD5.30.

Size matters

Employment remains elusive, hence my sudden frugality. Thankfully, Gold Coast is full of op shops. I bought this skirt at the Salvos at Burleigh Heads for a measly AUD6.

Apart from my lacking income, another problem is size. I'm about 5 feet tall and an XS (US size 0 or UK size 6). This is pretty proportionate for someone my height. However, most people here (and anywhere else for that matter) tower over me (Last week, the guy at Australia Fair's Zaraffa Coffee failed to notice me standing behind the counter for five whole minutes. So embarrassing).

I'm generally quite happy with my own physicality, but it is terribly difficult to find fitting clothing. I'm pretty thankful for Valleygirl and TEMT, which cater for petites too. I can fit in stuff from Supre as well, but dislike their poor quality and generic style.

Shoes also pose a dilemma. The perfect fit would be US size 4.5 (European 35), but the only brand that carry these are all completely out of my reach. Most people here live in their flip flops, as do I, but I wonder what's going to happen should I wear out my work pumps in the future.

Though at this point, I have no idea when I'll get to exercise them at all.

Finally a serious post

Immigration is serious business. I don’t mean in a financial sense, but that too. You pay the Aussie government AUD2,000+ for an average visa (they raise the price quite frequently too). While my ex-colleagues were splashing their year end bonuses on Gucci watches and Dior saddlebags, I was paying off my processing fee.

But I digress. Asians in general, tend to be attracted to cities. I myself am no exception but have decided to let the heart preside over the head. Yet even in Gold Coast, we are abundant. This was especially apparent at a party I attended yesterday.

X was invited to a “work party” of sorts and brought me as a guest. We drove to Varsity Lakes, a new-ish community nearby Robina, its cramped roads and shiny new cookie-cutter residences reminiscent of upper middle class Subang Jaya.

The hosts, his employers were a lovely Taiwanese lady and her Chinese husband. As it turned out, the room was filled with Orientals. X was relieved to find company in the form of a cheerful Bogan, whose claim to fame involved a self-pierced nipple (“I blacked out, you know, and when I woke up, I thought, what the hell, might as well finish the job!”).

Everyone was really lovely and welcoming. A past time for immigrants here is guessing where the other party’s origins. Upon finding out I’m Malaysian, the Taiwanese and Chinese started testing my ability to speak Mandarin and Cantonese. I falteringly obliged, having grown used to (not to mention extremely fed up of) Sino-Malaysians doing the same.

It was exhausting. Most of them couldn’t speak English and if they did, their accents made it incoherent to my ears. I tried keeping up conversations in Chinese the best I could and eavesdropped on the Japanese chatter, picking out familiar words to guess the topic du jour.

The atmosphere was lively, but there was an apparent underlying sense of displacement and somehow, loss. Everyone reached for their beers too quickly, too frequently. Several flushed boozy red within half hour into the dinner. A girl to my left told me of her complicated visa woes and of several Malaysians working illegally on a farm in Caboolture. Another guy related his story of having to work 14 hour days, 7 days a week in Melbourne, for a miserable AUD1,100 monthly. X confided how several of these people were stuck in jobs or studying courses they confessed not to possess an affinity for, but had no choice if they wanted to remain in the country. Most of them were here on Working Holiday visas and were forcefully extending their stay with student visas. After that, they’d continue studying a hodge podge of cheap courses, renewing their visas whenever it expired.

This sort of strategy is obviously not a viable long term solution. “I have permanent residency,” I replied when asked about my own status. Their eyes glowed in misplaced admiration. And of course then someone asked when X and I were getting married (by the way, the answer to that question is, not in the foreseeable future).

On a road trip last year to Sydney, X and I stopped at Paramatta. The area was buzzing with life; yet the empty shop lots and Vietnamese in their ill-fitting dime store clothes, clutching their pathetic homemade sandwiches lent it an air of desolation. These people seemed so sad and out of place. “I never want to be like that,” I whispered to X, “what if I do? I’m sure when they first arrived, they had this great Australian Dream… look what they’ve turned into.”

He dismissed this, “They’re refugees. It’s different.”

Are we so different? I count my blessings how it so happens my mother tongue is similar to the national language. It so happens my career option is in demand, lending me the few extra points necessary to get my visa. I have X, who is willingly sheltering and feeding me, while I pick and fuss my way through job offers. I also have my family back home, who protected me from financial commitments at personal cost, so I currently still have sufficient savings to allow for weekly shopping (or at least window shopping) trips or indulge in cafes once in a while. All this no doubt part of some great divine plan. I am one very lucky girl.

Visa issues aside, moving to another country isn’t as simple as it seems. This extremely basic knowledge is often completely ignored. In my two year long journey here, you have no idea how many idiots I’ve encountered online (and sometimes offline) whose sole impressions of Australia comprise marsupials and a weird accent, having never even once stepped into the country. Yet they are determined to come over, naively assuming their being officer manager at some national company will allow them to find work of similar status, in spite of their broken English, xenophobia and restrictive culture. Reality check: Most will end up being kitchen hands or factory workers. Technical skills are what may keep their resumes looking pretty.

We have to undergo medical check ups to avoid taxing the Australian government with expensive diseases and defects. For their own sakes, the applicants should have their states of mind tested too.

So much for civics

The nearest shopping centre from Rainbow Bay is miles and miles away. So bizarre.

My very vanilla weekend

Last Sunday, I woke up with a start. The radio clock's red digits glowed 4:16. I turned to X. The force of my stare woke him up.

"What?"

"Are we still going to see the sunrise?"

We threw on yesterday's clothes and hurriedly crossed the highway to the beach, which is about a 5 minute walk away.

The thing about Queensland is, it's bright by 4am or so. So while the sun hadn't popped its head over the horizon, the sky was lit up enough for one to read the fine print on Chinese slimming products quite comfortably.

(I am so bad with similes, I know.)

After that, we went to the Sunday markets at Tweed Heads. I'd been to another weekend market nearby the Twin Towns before and thus had lowered my expectations of this one accordingly. To my delight, it turned out to be the largest yard sale ever. There were at least 60-70 stalls set up on a grassy field, selling produce, used clothes, toys and books, as well as other preloved (Jenny: Preloved now ready to be re-loved!) goods.

I loved it.

There is a disproportionate amount of old people at the markets.

X and I met up with his friend, LG and Nuk, as well as their newborn daughter. Pan Asian kids are awfully adorable (as I'm regularly reminded by friends determined to have X and I reproduce), as you can tell from the picture.

Future heartbreaker (everybody say "Awwwwwww")

X got some bananas and pumpkin while I picked up Down Under by Bill Bryson and Vernon God Little by DBC Pierre for a song. I am an avid (though picky) reader; with the amount of free time on hand, I devour words voraciously at the average speed of 400 pages in 2 days. In fact, I've finished the former already. I liked A Short History of Nearly Everything and The Life and Times of The Thunderbolt Kid a lot better. Bryson rambles an awful lot in this one. Nonetheless, I managed to get X to sing his hilariously mangled version of Waltzing Matilda.

Forgetting that spoons stir hot liquids much better
The swagman immersed his tool in his tea
And he sighed as he spied his willy boiling
Now I can’t bugger you, so will you bugger me?

We had lunch at the Palm Beach Surf Club, which turned out to be a disappointing affair, unanimously agreed. My steak and accompanying vegetables were dry and the foccacias ordered by the rest were stale. It was quite sad as X and I had our first date in Australia here back in 2006, when the roasts were cheap and juicy (Roast Night has moved from Thursday to Monday). Management problems, apparently. Even my vodka tasted strange.

It was pleasantly spent afternoon. We returned home contented to catch up on some sleep.

Di survives propaganda camp!

Di and I have the darndest conversations. Offline and online. I miss my crazy friends.

diee_w says: i just got back frm btn. btn = 5days of propaganda + brainwashing + physical torture
lol

(*) jan in gold coast says:wat's btn?

diee_w says:biro tatanegaraer...this 'kursus kenegaraan' thing

(*) jan in gold coast says:omg!

diee_w says:it's like a 'patriotism' camp

(*) jan in gold coast says:my neighbour was telling me abt "political unrest" in kl
is this wat they'r doing?r they training u for jihad now!dun do it di!u hv too much going on for u!

diee_w says:political unrest? what's that? we're so peaceful! *brainwashed*lol
which political unrest is this? is this still the whole race issue? or is it sth else? all those corruption suits? or maybe all those people dragged away under ISA?well, the msian political landscape is always a circus. same ol same ol i think. maybe getting a little more exciting *shrug*

(*) jan in gold coast says:lol
i hv no idea
she started talking to me abt her scottish history
guess wat!i drove!n no one died!

diee_w says:hahaha
did u bust a tyre again?well, at least everyone's alive. does 'no one' include your car? is it intact?

(*) jan in gold coast says:it's not even my car!lol
but yes it's intact
not x's sanity tho
but i drove alone that day

diee_w says:ah well
u win some u lose some
waitaminute
who was insane enough to let you drive alone in their car!

(*) jan in gold coast says:one of x's unsuspecting friends

diee_w says:oh no!lol

(*) jan in gold coast says:obviously someone without prior knowledge of my driving skills
"skills"

diee_w says:i suppose x didnt bother mentioning it either
anyway, how's it going!and where'd u drive to?

(*) jan in gold coast says:ummm frm the house to coolangatta
abt 15min one way
on the highway too!

diee_w says:oh ok

(*) jan in gold coast says:di i miss u. sigh

diee_w says:yea i miss you too

(*) jan in gold coast says:n shopping in kl
so depressing
clothes here r vr ugly
going thru the ugly season

diee_w says:now i dont hv a partner to ogle dan craig's 'well-stuffed' package in the new bond movie
noone else seems to be interested
ey? well, clothes here are pretty but way over my price range
so im not spending. at all. in fact, im trying to coerce my grandma into teaching me how to sew. im THAT fed up w prices

(*) jan in gold coast says:wow!even in kl?i think u can find some decent stuff thr
like those boutiques in bangsar
cats whiskers n the like

diee_w says:yea..but they're not really my taste. they're mostly pretty summer dresses. i'll just by scraps of cloth and make my own tops. i did that once before. good thing abt being tiny: trash can be treasure

(*) jan in gold coast says:lol
thats true
but sadly being tiny in oz is a pain
i found so many goodies in the op shops
but all size 12, 14 etc

diee_w says:hey! there are tiny ozzies!
like kylie minogue!oh yea
dont bother w op shops

(*) jan in gold coast says:kylie is one in a billion

diee_w says:unless they're in an asian area. then u might get some koreans/japs dumping away their stuff therebut then it'll be a little ah beng. its good for dress ups tho!i bought this flouncy lacy black skirt with pink fur trim
so awesome!lol

(*) jan in gold coast says:pink fur trim!lol

diee_w says:i knowww. HOT PINK fur trim

(*) jan in gold coast says:i bought a sixties style knee length polka dot skirt
swishy one
with lots of pleats in chiffon
aud6

diee_w says:cute
lol
great bargain
i am so super hungry

(*) jan in gold coast says:i miss cheap msian food!

diee_w says:staaarving..ugh. hahahayea i gathered

(*) jan in gold coast says:isnt it dinn dinn time at ur place?

diee_w says:yea soon
i think i'll go down and steal some food
the good thing abt btn: they served the best meals
AND they stuffed us 6 times a day
yeah

(*) jan in gold coast says:why didnt u spread rumours abt the food being tainted by pork?u wld created chaos

diee_w says:hahaha
well, i would, but the people serving were muslim
it would hv more weight if they were non-muslim
also, we were in kelantan

(*) jan in gold coast says:thr cld be an infidel hiding amongst u!

diee_w says:didnt i tell u the camp was in kelantan?

(*) jan in gold coast says:omg!!!
did u hv to wear a tudung?

diee_w says:yeah
of course!

(*) jan in gold coast says:u shd hv worn ur hot pink furry skirt

diee_w says:but its a btn thing, rather than a kelantan thing
yeah i should've..

(*) jan in gold coast says:n belly danced during talent time
shock them out of their skulls

diee_w says:
i didnt want to grab their attention
we had a perve facilitator

(*) jan in gold coast says:did u wanna grab sth else?wahahhahahaha

diee_w says:ahahahah shaddap
not his
no

(*) jan in gold coast says:oooh who else?

diee_w says:oh i have someone in mind..

(*) jan in gold coast says:u mean in hand

The rest of the conversation censored due to inappropriateness for this PG-rated blog. Please note that conversation has been edited for purposes of clarity (i.e. omission of excessive lol's, wahahhaha's etc).

The quest for Oriental culinary perfection

Having had absolutely inedible Beef Fried Flat Noodles (Ngau Yuk Chow Hor) in Toowong, I was ever more determined to find the perfect Chinese food. Friends and family back in KL laugh their heads off hearing this - as my mum puts it, "You didn't eat Chinese food when it was in cheap abundance back home and now you crave it?"

So X and I headed off on the weekend to Sunnybank, which per several friends, was THE real Chinatown (The Valley doesn't count) of Brisbane.

On the way, we stopped at the IKEA at Logan for breakfast, which came recommended by X's friend. I lived across the largest IKEA in South East Asia for 5 years and had many happy meatball-related memories of the place. When we were poor students who couldn't afford to tete a tete at cafes, we'd sit around in cosy ambience of the showrooms, ignoring strange looks by legitimate customers.

It turned out to be Bogan Central. The place was crowded with red necks with about 15 children each and direct imports fighting for the $2 breakfast plates. It was horrible. X and I had the misfortune of lining up behind a tired-looking babysitter/ older sister straddled with two kids who couldn't stop running about. They refused to follow the queue and kept harassing everyone nearby. "They make me want to stab myself in the uterus", I whispered to X.

The food itself was nothing special. Milky scrambled eggs, greasy wieners and fatty bacon with tomato and oily hash browns. No wonder everyone there took up so much space. They probably ate this junk everyday!

After the unsatisfying meal, we wandered through the Marketplace to search for an elusive, uniquely shaped pillow X needs for his massage treatments. The quality of the items seemed even poorer than the ones back in Malaysia, which are generally relatively decent.

Disillusioned, we left for Sunnybank and stopped at Sunnybank Plaza. It had Chinese characters and heaps of Asians, so I guess we were at the right place. There was a massive crowd at a doorway, which turned out to be the entrance of Landmark Restaurant. I flipped through the menu, failing to notice the prices were for take away, and took a number.

My mum used to make an excellent vegetable soup, so I hunted for the ingredients at the local Asian market. Bought heaps of Indomie and some herbal soup mixes.

Indomie - most commonly seen at the airport customs, being pulled out of bags owned by sheepish Asian families

An hour later, our turn was up (yes, it was that crowded). The place was carpeted and chandeliered in the typical Chinese fashion (ubiquitous paintings of koi fish and bamboo included). There was a good mix of Chinese and non Chinese patrons. The dish du jour was dim sum, which I'm not too fond of. X got a plate of Siew Mai (steamed pork dumplings) as appetiser. We ordered Yeung Chow Fried Rice and Beef and Vegetable Flat Noodles.


This was absolutely scrumptious. The portion however, is not justified by the picture above. Even X was amazed at how large the serving was. It was sooooooo good. Shrimps, char siew (barbequed pork) bits and egg-y rice. We finished everything, doused liberally with soy sauce - I ♥ my sodium.



This looks good but failed to live up to expectations. I suspect the flavour was westernised. The beef was tender and the gravy was yummy, but the version of which I was after was the noodles stir fried. We pecked at the (admittedly tender) meat and left most of the noodles intact. Portion also ginormous.

Stuffed, we waddled out after paying the AUD40.80 bill. I tried to ignore the Malaysian in me screaming silently, You paid MYR100+ for street food?!! Are you nuts? That's enough to buy 25 plates of the stuff! This was later reiterated by every Malaysian I spoke to.

There were a few things I was unhappy about though:

a) The AUD4 "tea surcharge". What the heck is that? And why wasn't this fee explicitly displayed on the menu?

b) The lack of itemised billing. I wouldn't have known about the "tea surcharge" if I hadn't stood there (with about a hundred patrons behind me) and interrogated the cashier.

c) The wait staff's lacking communication skills. I tried speaking English. They didn't seem to understand. Then I tried Cantonese. Still non comprehendo. I tried Mandarin. It sorta went through but they still got our drinks wrong.

I suppose if I ever get a craving for Chinese food again, I'd return, though we'd avoid over-ordering this time. Hopefully in the mean time, we find somewhere cheaper and closer to home.

Under the Milky Way

We were on the road, on the way back from Cairns. The roads were dark, sparsely dotted by the occasional, dim streetlight. We hadn't passed any other vehicles for a while. X needed to take a pee break and turned left into a little alley.

It was pitch black. Being a sheltered city kid, this had far surpassed my usual comfort zone of shopping malls and manicured parks. "I can't even see my own fingers", I whined, waving my digits in a futile attempt at improving visibility. In the darkness, I could feel X rolling his eyes.

And then I looked up.

A dark velvet sky with brilliant, twinkling stars scattered across the sky. A dense, elongated core spreading out and gradually thinning out at the edges.

If I'd ever doubted the existence of God, this vanquished it wholly (pun not intended).

When I was in Malaysia, I listened to this to relive the moment.

Now I just tilt my head up to the night sky.

Whatever will they think of next?

I can think of several people I'd like to give this to.

Baby steps to learning routes

Last week, I decided to spend a day alone at Surfer's Paradise. I hadn't been there in a year and X was too busy juggling studies and work and assignments to take me there; I got on the bus instead.

As usual (I tend to get lost. A lot), I hopped onto the wrong bus which was headed to Pacific Fair instead. The driver patiently explained the intricacies of switching buses - something I've never had to do in KL, land of cheap cabs - whilst I nodded, feigning wisdom.

I hopped off at the mall to give X a kiss and popped back on to a connecting bus. It stopped at Broadbeach Mall. Having no idea how far it was from Surfer's (they all look the same!), I alighted and wandered about the decrepit place.

As I exited into the hot midday sun, I suddenly realised the Q1 seemed awfully far away.

The world's tallest residential tower. You have to pay some ridiculous sum of money to enter if you're not a resident.

I covered about 4km in the next hour on foot.

This may not mean much to most people, but I don't exercise. At all. I spend my days doing things that require as little caloric expenditure as possible.

Surprisingly, the walk was pleasant. The wind almost ripped my tote off my shoulder though. I clutched that and the hem of my miniskirt protectively for most of the hour. I did that too in Malaysia, but that was to avoid the perverse labourers (who would wolf whistle and leer at anything female) from looking up my skirt.

But here, it was peaceful. Quiet. A nice suburb where the odd cyclist would pass me by. An art gallery worker smiled at me. A car patiently waited for me to cross the road (as opposed to speeding up to run me over).

It was a beautiful day - though I did get leg cramps after.

Macabre doll massacre chandelier

AG took me to West End, which reminded me of Newtown in Sydney. It had... character, I suppose. There were some nice boutiques though. We walked past the Lychee Lounge and this caught my eye.

[Photo credit to AG, since my Sony Ericsson went kaput on me.]

Fingal daytrip photolog

X and I spent our Sunday cruising along to New South Wales. We live pretty much at the border of the two states and it was a bright sunshiney day that begged for a mini-roadtrip.

We stopped at Fingal and bushwalked through the Fingal Beach Park (which smelt like cat piss and is home is wild turkeys). Being there just reaffirmed my belief that any photograph snapped randomly in this lucky country is postcard-worthy.

The overview

Fingal Lighthouse. Built in 1872. It was locked. Too bad - I'll bet the view would have been gorgeous.

On the headland overlooking the north side. X and I sunned ourselves like lazy lizards, bringing home souvenir sunburns.

Cook Island, which is a protected marine park. Apparently good for diving.

Weird rock formations. X says it's all volcanic lava.

First impressions of KL - not usually pretty

This is the funniest and truest post ever.

Myths of the Asian nymphs

In my time spent here since 2006, I have observed a strange but consistent phenomenon - the stereotyping of Asian females.

Would I call it racism? Well, a little bit yes. I suppose it's mostly out of ignorance and not malice though. Here are some common misconceptions and my bit of rambling to refute them.

Stereotype 1
Asian females can all get along
Now it's no huge secret that a lot of caucasian Australians date Asian women. And these men have a tendency to assume that the Thai, Indonesian, Malaysian and Taiwanese ladies can all get together and become F.R.I.E.N.D.S (so the men can get together to drink beer and talk about their sheds).

This is a very wrong assumption.

See, we might all originate from neighbouring countries, but our socioeconomic backgrounds can differ vastly. For example, the Thai might have been a 50 year old ping pong shooting dancer from Patpong (would you believe it, this girl once asked me if "all Asians can shoot stuff out of their bits"! I credited the Thais for that talent), the Indonesian a divorcee Harvard-educated lawyer, the Malaysian a former maid in her thirties and the Taiwanese a lesbian English student.

There may be inter-national grudges and the likelihood of everyone sharing a lingua franca is minimal. Chances of people from the same country clicking however, are a lot better.

Stereotype 2
Asian women can't drive properly
I'm not very qualified on this matter. I have been chauffeured my entire life by friends and family, hence possess the driving skills of a baboon on booze (Di has firsthand experience). But my mother, also known as the Moral Police and Backseat Driver has an excellent record (proving lousy driving skills are not hereditary nor genetic). I do also have a lot of girlfriends who can maneuvre vehicles smoothly, all well trained by the notorious traffic jams of the Klang Valley.

X has a theory on this one. Apparently, due to Asia's generally crappy driving conditions (Malaysian potholes/ Bangkok jams/ Vietnamese traffic etc), the people behind the wheel only have one thing in mind - survival. Therefore other rules are trivialised/ ignored and the policemen can always be bought off for MYR50 anyway.

Stereotype 3
Asian women are kitchen hoggers
I have lost count of the amount of times people have asked me what I'm "cooking for X". I usually assume a benign smile to distract them from the evil eye I'm casting. "Why would anyone assume we cook?" AG who lives in Brissy asked, "I mean, there's an abundance of cheap food in KL!"

My personal culinary repertoire is confined to instant noodles and fried egg. I have no idea how to make anything else edible. My last attempt was a chiffon cake with the consistency of wafer (which my godfather bravely gnawed and declared delicious).

People in my generation don't cook much. We're into hanging out at cafes/ dieting. If you hold a fulltime job in Asia, you wouldn't generally have enough time to whip up anything beyond microwaved pizza.

There are other stereotypes such as Asian women all no-speako-Engrish (AG tells me if I ever get in trouble, I should just say,"No England, no England!"), Asian females are SPGs, Asian women who are whores/ gold diggers etc. These assumptions are made by idiots who are not worth my time and should go throw themselves off a cliff hence will not be discussed.

Cliched as it may sound, hopefully someday I'll be more than just a yellow face.

Chatterbeads

AG wanted me to collect "something" to be passed to her when I arrived in Aussieland (I'm staying overnight with her in Brissy, yay!). So I met up with her lovely friend, Wai Yee and a necklace, a variation of the above, passed hands at an extremely reasonable sum.

I liked it so much I wanted one too. Wai Yee kindly accomodated to my fussy requests and made this. It's so pretty!

Wai Yee's blog, which displays her sparkly goods are regularly featured on Little Accompaniments,which in turn was written up on in The Star. Read the article here

The unsuccessful attempted sighting of Migaloo

For our third year anniversary, X took me for whale watching. The jetty was located in SeaWorld Resort. The humpback whale passes Australia every year during their migration for mating and breeding purposes. The pods travel about 12,000 km annually. These whales have an average lifespan of 70-80 years, but the oldest one known was 95 years old. The age of the whales is gauged from the rings of their earwax (yeah, I thought they were kidding too).

There were about 30+ people onboard, comprising a mish mash of Asian tourists and locals. The captain admitted that the mention of Japan's involvement in whaling is omitted due to a you-scratch-my-back-I-scratch-yours agreement with their tour agencies.

The crew were incredibly friendly and well informed. My conversations with the captain and skipper were significant to me - they were the first Australian strangers (apart from X's friends) I'd ever had proper conversations with (Hello, how are you/ Hi, can I help you/ That'll be AUD16.90 thanks and come-ons don't count).

The captain was a jolly man, who clearly held a passion for his job and the mammals. "Have you ever accidentally hit one?" I asked, as we were actively roaming over the waters in the general direction of blowholes and tail flips.

"About two weeks back, we bumped into one and it was like, Dooonggggg!!! We might have given him a bit of a headache", he laughed and further explained on a good day, the whales would rub themselves against the ship to scratch off some barnacles. For some strange reason, this reminded me of the kraken attack from Pirates of the Carribean 2.

The skipper was a stout man. Being rather petite myself, I'd noticed that due to some lack of self confidence/ macho complex, short men tend to strike up conversations with me. He'd kept asking me about myself, especially about the means with which I entered the country. It later turned out that he had a Japanese girlfriend whom he was hoping to start a life with. Having put up with three years of long distance affections, I was able to empathise and gave him some pointers.

We spent about three and half hours onboard. During the duration, two people puked their brains out from seasickness. The rest of us shivered from the wind and unnaturally cool weather. The churling sea rocked the boat side to side and I'd tripped and sustained an impressive spot of carpetburn covering most of my right knee. In the past 3 days I've spent in Gold Coast, I've acquired more bruises/ scratches/ burns then I had in the past probably 5 years in Malaysia.

We didn't actually see much whale - just the odd spurt of water and tail flip (I humoured myself by waiting for fat Australians to hang out at the bow of ship and yelling, "Migaloo, 12 o'clock!"). Two years back, when X and I were driving by the 75 Mile Beach on Fraser Island, we saw two whales breaching while mating just 70 feet from shore, so it was kind of hard to top that. The crew offered everyone a discount coupon for their next trip in compensation. X and I took one, but I doubt we'll be going anytime soon.

I might wear kneepads if we do then.

X + I = ♥

People are always curious how X and I met; especially considering how unlike the other 90% of my friends, I did not further my studies in Australia.

If I'm not in the mood, I go, "Match.com."

But really, X and I met while travelling three years ago, in Penang. I had a three day window between classes and decided to spend it hanging out with KJ.

The bus had stopped at some unfamiliar station. Both of us were clueless as to our whereabouts. The other passengers quickly filed along and soon, we were the only ones left by the curb.

"Let's ask the white guy", KJ suggested.

I rolled my eyes. "He's probably more lost than us."

The white guy ambled over. "You guys know how to get to Georgetown?"

We shrugged and decidedly hopped onto the first mini bus that passed by. It thankfully, took us to town and having Googled up some possible accommodation, we soon figured out where to head.

The white guy tagged along.

In spite of the annoying way he kept e-nun-ci-a-ting e-ve-ry word slowly to me (he thought I couldn't understand English; I thought he was retarded - a vicious cycle ensued), we stayed in touch. X was making the usual tour of South East Asia - Thailand, Cambodia, Laos etc. We sent each other infrequent emails and agreed to meet up when he would make a stopover in Malaysia (his flight departed from Singapore).

It should be noted that I'm not one for impromptu dates with total strangers (Mummy taught me well). I've known most of the people in my social circles for at least two years with the longest dating back to kindy days; I take ages to form close relationships with others.

But I trusted him.

I still have no idea why. And I've never questioned that trust. Not even once.

Thus began our long distance, three year journey. We travelled to see each other, spending a total of 2 months in Australia, 3 weeks in Thailand and about 2 weeks in Malaysia (where he shocked met my conservative parents). In the course of that time, I graduated and started life as a corporate climber whilst X left a stable, comfy job to pursue his own dream. Our lifestyles changed. I think as people, we changed too, slowly moulding each other in our daily trans-pacific conversations.

Our initial plans were dashed when I found out Malaysians aren't eligible for the Working Holiday Visa. The only other options were long and tedious. We considered the obvious, but I realised I would lose all self respect if I had to rely on someone else to get me there. Compromised relationships are evil rarely end on a good note.

Then began another long, teeth-extractingly painful journey of life as an auditor to fulfill the visa criteria. More on that later but in a nutshell, I was an unhappy bunny for the entire duration.

These did occur to me during weaker moments

And now I'm here, starting a new life together with the man of my dreams. After three long years, of promising how we'd spend the next New Year Eve together, we finally will.

Happy 3rd Anniversary, sweetheart. May our strange beginning lead to weird and wonderful days together. I love you!