Art

"Which book do you think I should get her?" AN asked, our arms full of potential Christmas gifts, as we browsed about MidValley's MPH.

"Jodi Picoult, Cecelia Ahern..." I rattled off a list of the usual people-pleasing authors.

"Do you read those?"

"No... the stuff I read, most people consider boring." I pounced upon Mendocino and Other Stories. "OMG, I didn't know Ann Packer had a new book (yes, I am aware now that Mendocino was one of her earlier works)!" I turned to AN, hugging the book to my chest for effect, "I love her stuff, she knows exactly how to put into words, the feeling, the emotions."

Because we were caretakers of each other's habits and expressions, weren't we, witnesses who didn't just see but who gave existence?

The next day dressed in some random model's bebe dress (size XS a tad tight - must have gained 5 lbs in Malaysia by now), I checked out the resultant photos on KJ's borrowed DSLR and realised the appeal of each picture depended on how well the emotion was captured.

We later killed some time at the Petronas Art Gallery whilst waiting for Di. Raja Shahriman's sketches and sculptures were dark and almost violent.

And then I thought about the amazing band I'd caught at Hard Rock Cafe, Penang, of the passion in the vocalists' voices.

And then it occured to me. "Art is what happens when you make emotions tangible," I marvelled to KJ. This rare nugget of profundity was completely lost on him. I got a grunt in reply.

Returning to the scene of the crime

On a random whim in the midst of a hectic day, IT drove us around my old neighbourhood. Everything seemed the same, but on closer look, was not. The peeling paint, the rusty gates had been renovated. I suppose with the spike in property prices, the original tenants had moved on to less pricy suburbs.

My former next door neighbour, Aunty Raji, had moved. TLY was working in Penang; ES in Canada. Similarly, the rest of my friends were pursuing their careers interstate or overseas. Ah Peng, the ancient kedai runcit owner had sold up and retired. The corner cafe Hot Chocolate, was remarkably enough, still thriving in spite of its insipid nominal drink.



My kindergarten, Villa Maria was still standing. "Was I a very serious kid?" I asked my mother, chancing upon a small photo of my childhood self like the others, unsmiling and pensive (see below), in her wallet. She shook her head.

I was Minnie Mouse for the school play. Turns out Mickey was in my high school all along. The extra foot and 200 pounds or so kind of threw me off for a while.



My former home had been bought over by the Rich Turd of a Neighbour Whose Multimillion Ringgit Monstrous Construction Inconvenienced Us Greatly. Apparently, the property (valued at MYR2 million in 2003) is now used as the domestic help's living quarters. The brown gate whose parameters I had often been forbidden to trespass was now gone, in lieu of a grey brick wall.

Why yes, Chinese DO eat everything

The smaller version of these looks really gross. Like an eyeball attached to a stick.


This is especially for KG. Geoducks (pronounced gwee-ducks) - another (apparently) tasty (not to mention expensive) abhorration of nature. Ignore deeply unappetising physicality.

Sights and sounds, City of Angels

"Twist and Shout" exhibition at the new Bangkok Art and Cultural Centre, BACC


Wat Po


Reclining Buddha




Mahboonkrong, the Sungei Wang of Thailand


Friendly kitty. Ended up being the inadvertent subject of several tourist shots.




Outside the Siam Paragon. Seriously, the place is turning into Orchard Road.






Legendary Bangkok jam


The Makkasan station of the new train line which joins to the airport. It starts next year, but as we'd arrived on a public holiday in honour of the King's birthday, we got a free test run.


Heliophobic flight attendant on the SkyBus who insisted on drawing the curtains. Or a corpse.

Jingle balls

KJ, X and I met up in Pavilion, KL. After a satisfactory dinner at Dragon-i and dessert at J-Co, we squeezed past masses of grotesquely expanding Malaysian throngs strolled about.

We stood at the main entrance of the exquisitely decorated mall to admire the Christmas sculptures.

Pretty, right?

Then KJ's eagle eyes spotted something things unusual.





We spent the next half an hour snapping rude photos.

At least we now have confirmation that Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, and Rudolph are male.

Live from BKK

First day in BKK. Tired. Up since 6am. Carried suitcase on my head around because X wouldn't ask fellow sex tourists white people for directions. The place is amazing. Maybe it's due to my being stuck in a hick town for so long (though I now adore Gold Coast in its own way). Stuff seem even cheaper now thanks to the strong Aussie currency. Got waxed. Painful but only cost AUD25 for several turfs. They had textured tiles and a gilt-framed Renaissance poster on the ceiling for awkward moments when you can't look your beautician in the eye. Spent 3 hours straightening hair yesterday and am not allowed to shampoo for 3 days. Look somewhat like stereotypical Asian ghost. Hairdresser now has a bald spot and gained 10 kilos and is no longer cute; still remembers me (probably because he once asked me out). Everyone keeps talking to me in Thai.

2 more days before I'm home

I'll be spending the entire month of December in Malaysia (well, except probably five days in either Bali or Bangkok; we're still trying to decide). Looking forward to seeing everyone - new babies, grown up babies, grown up adults, family, friends and I'm even contemplating looking up ex-clients and teachers, if time permits.

This is Ray the blueheeler, 84 doggy years old. He has a limp and isn't allowed in pool. He's on diet, but tries getting his way with this gullible, injured expression when no scraps are thrown his way.


These are Old Bugger (R) and Older Bugger (L). The funniest, most irreverent people I've had the pleasure of meeting in a long time. Older Bugger had no qualms explaining swear words to mild-manner Shim from Hiroshima ("Janice, how would you explain wanker?" I responded with the appropriate hand gesture.). I arrived at the party bleeding on their floor, having accidentally scratched a femoral vein (it didn't hurt, I didn't notice). The night was hot and humid and we ended up in the pool in borrowed tees and undies, clinging to pool noodles, a doughnut float and Crikey, the croc. Half the guests were Japanese, so I felt free to announce, "I'm going home commando!", much to their bemusement.


Weird stuff Japanese people buy #988564397230. Jelly balls that swell in in water and feel good when squeezed (seriously, there's no other use). They had to reiterate several times, "Not dessert! Not dessert!"


Funky crab from 15 course Chinese dinner at Ming Palace in Broadbeach. It was yummy stuff. Between the 6 of us, there was something like 40% leftovers. It wasn't quite a free lunch dinner though; my faulty English-Mandarin (atrocious), Mandarin-English (so-so) interpreting skills (loosely used term) was required.


My TAA class. I wouldn't have choosen to make presentations on nerdy topics like Maintaining Indoor Plants and Diagnosis and Treatment of Sprains in front of any other 4 people.


JK is the Head Chef at Mike's Kitchen. His meticulous kitchen skills are an art in itself. I swear we were all entranced watching him turn fruit into tiny little evenly-sized cubes. His salad here was bee-yoo-tee-full. Truffle oil does bring out the flavour in everything. Like MSG, but classier and less reviled.


A mussel (OMG, I am so excited I can finally say Lala and actually be understood when I get back!). I'd never seen a live one, thanks to the notoriously efficient seagulls here. See the white lip sticking out? They move by pushing themselves using that. Fascinating to watch in motion.


Lunch at Kamikaze in the Robina Town Centre with Min Wye. I only wanted to take a picture of the gorgeous wall deco but his big fat head got in the way (I'M KIDDING). The food and service were terrible; I'm never going back. This creepy Chinese waitress spent the entire time hovering over our side dishes like a vulture. And our entree of tempura calamari arrived after our bland food.

Then there's you

A few songs frequenting my playlist.

1. Frightened Rabbit - The Twist
Get their albums. Amazing.

2. Tegan and Sara - Hell
Very musically inclined lesbian twins, anyone?


3. Greg Laswell - And Then You
This guy produces awesome stuff.

4. Phoenix - Run, Run, Run
Still can't believe they're French. Though my only other exposure to French music is their current First Lady's husky folk tunes.

5. The Raveonettes - Last Dance

6. Copeland - Coffee

The only thing scarier than this is if I have to sell Avon. Or insurance.

Picture stolen from Go Fug Yourself

OMG I think I've found the dress of my dreams. Gives me origami orgasms. That is such a tongue twister, no? Try saying it - origami orgasms, origami orgasms, origami orgasms.

Permit the bimbotic moment. I have been stressed out of my mind. The weather is hot. My brain function is inversely related to the rise of the mercury. I have an obscene flare of pimples on my forehead and rash patches on random, albeit conspicuous spots. X suggested scabies. I have been hoping to pass off my attempts to transfer the disease to him as affection. I have somehow developed a cowlick on the back of my head which no straightening iron/ hairdryer nor amount of product can rid. My body is turning against me.

I have to stand up in front my class this week to deliver 2 half hour presentations. Contrary to what my penchant for crass jokes and strong opinions might lead you to believe, I have always scored Introvert on every psychometric test. When I was 8, I turned down the opportunity to give a speech in front of the entire school (ie a thousand unforgiving, judging pairs of eyes). My mother said that was stupid of me. Well Ma, clearly things haven't changed.

And I'm flying back to Malaysia in a week! I still have yet to find my precious nephew any Barney-the-Purple-Dinosaur themed merchandise, having searched high and low everywhere. Also having to squeeze enough to clothes to accommodate occasions between a wedding (not mine) and backpacking around BKK (hello ping pong shows, kathoeys, noIdon'twantamassagetuktukorsexthanks and value for money).

I will embrace next week very gratefully indeed.

Update: I publicly declare my undying love for WKS, who will pull a sickie on his first week at his new job because I Am An Awesome Friend Worth Pulling Sickies For. We are going to have such an awesome time drunk and commiserating in Penang. Woohoo!

Up-update: I also kowtow to Jenny and Ian for playing hooky. May the tradition of Ponteng continue forever and ever!

Molding clay

I'm currently doing Certificate IV in Training and Assessment. Most Aussies know this as the quintessential TAA. Unlike Malaysia where any random idiot fresh graduate can walk into a government school to scar nurture the minds of future generations, Australian trainers are required to have a Bachelors degree in the subject taught and the TAA at minimum.

I'm not planning to go into teaching (what if my students think I have a fat ass when I turn to write on the board?), but the course will at length explain the many acronym-ed, obscure-termed and heavily regulated education industry, my knowledge of which is sketchy at best.

A geek at heart, I've always adored classroom situations. There's just something so fulfilling about passionate discussions on an academic dissertations. There's something about watching a man stand up in front, preach intellectually that makes him more handsome, taller, articulate.

Unlike most of the immigrants of my generation, I didn't move here via the student visa route. So really, it's my first experience in an Aussie classroom. And it was fun! As the focus of TAA beyond the usual boring theory stuff is more on the technique of teaching, the discussions centred on our experiences as learners.

Although lacking any actual skills, my forte lies in my ability to arrange my face into this Intent Listener expression. It's so good I managed to throw one of my (very experienced) workshop facilitators off earlier this week. So whilst I might be daydreaming about lunch, last Saturday or how my thong is Really Uncomfortable, I always appear a good student.

But I digress. I love learning. I've had teachers who have inspired me to be a better person, inspire an unexpected passion for a subject or just made me work harder if not for anything else, to reciprocate their zeal.

On the flip side, there are those who have humiliated me in front of the entire class (1996 - "Your father is useless"). Or those who have openly crushed my self esteem (2003 - "Don't be stupid - you'll never make it"). Or discriminated me on the basis of my size/ colour/ sex (2006 - We were diving so the cues weren't verbal and quotable). Or made baseless accusations against me (2001 - "I know you're trying to seduce the boys").

I'd been brainwashed into believing that the fault of failure always lies with the student. And my TAA trainer, bless him, insisted that the teacher carried much more weightage in this equation.

I'm not a trainer in an official sense, but my various careers have always required knowledge sharing/ coaching to some extent. And it's just so important when they look to you for help, to be kind. To not crush them with callous adjectives, to brush them off when the questions begin to grate, to not make them feel stupid for wanting to know more. This coming from having experienced both sides of the coin. I feel like attitude precedes technical knowledge really. At the end of the day, I no longer remember my differentiation and integration but I'll always remember how Cik Yuen stopped her lunches in favour of coaching a student not even from her class (my own Add Math teacher was the one accusing me of being a seductress. Snort. Yeah right). And I forget all those technical grammar terms, but I will never forget Puan Yong's constant encouragement and her empathy (not to mention the way she matched the colours of every accessory to her outfits and the 50,000 pairs of shoes she kept in the trunk of her Mercedes Benz). Or how in 1992, Miss Goh once said that every lie you tell leaves a black dot in your heart.

I am suddenly inspired to pull a My Name Is Earl, only instead of hunting down all the people I've wronged, I'd like to thank every person who has taught me something and tell them I'm doing alright.

Tumeric stains nails for ages

The bedlam of the past couple of weeks have been exacerbated by lack of quality sleep. In addition to having to babysit (long story best left out to preserve feelings), it's been work and seminars and workshops (another one on Monday, when this post will be published). Not to mention an awful lot of shopping for family and friends back home. My new Samsonite suitcase is already half full of souvenirs I can't not buy because returning home empty-handed is akin to filial un-piety (I curse our culture). I both fear and anticipate my return to KUL.

The highlight of the audit workshop at the Brisbane Hilton was the buffet lunch. That, and I made a new friend and learnt to never judge the proverbial book by its cover.

Random family photo. That's my brother, not me by the way.


Cupcakes at TF's baby shower. Shopping for boys is hard. You just keep drifting to the pink, ribbons and lace.


The bruises on my knees look almost like constellations.

99 more bottles to go...

This morning Lady Boss called and requested that I get milk on the way to work.

(We are a very unconventional workplace. Peacocks interrupt our meetings and clatter about on the roofs. The toilet is a good 5 minute trek on a dirt road, unless you want to use the toilet with no doors in which case GH will guard your modesty. My car is constantly muddy and dirty. Random stray dogs wander into the property and lounge about the steps. Wwoofers from various European countries appear every week - this week's girls are from the French Alps.

You get the idea.)

The milk (full cream, 2L) cost $4.85.

Later that day I told her about an upcoming tax and payroll seminar. Was it okay if I went?

She paid for it as a Christmas present.

It cost $485.

Oh the irony.

Of course I didn't ask her back for the milk money.

Deafness and dementia

Jan: It was sitting there, in the waiting lounge, in a chair. It had been waiting so long that mold had started to sprout all over it. Furry mold. And it was reading an old MAD magazine from 1993. And it waited and waited and finally! The neon EVACUATE light lit up and it cried out, "I can see the light! It's my turn, at last!" And-

X: I said, 'I did it with the Thera Cane'.

Jan: Oh. I thought you said, 'I did a furry crap'.

X: You're a demented bunny.

I want to live in a conch shell too

I so want to travel, like NOW.

December spent in Malaysia does not count.

Weekend down south

X had a massage thingamajig to attend, so we decided to spend the weekend in Sydney. We stayed at the Novotel on Brighton le Sands, which is this really cute, coastal, still kind of bogan suburb 15 minutes away from the airport.


For some weird reason, we were given two double beds. And somewhere along the evening, X's tampering with the remote cost him AUD14.95 when he 'accidentally' clicked on the porn. *cough*

So after leaving X at daycare the conference, I took the 478 on Bay St to the Rockdale station, where I got a train ticket from a grumpy old man to the City. Hungry, I headed straight to the infamous Marigold for dim sum (known as yum char here).




Yes, I sat all by my lonesome self in the midst of tables of chattering families, nibbling on my yam puffs and prawn chee cheong fun. Unfortunately, I've been nursing a temperamental tummy for a whole week now and that was all I could stomach. The dishes were yummy though.

I then wandered about Market City. The upper levels totally remind me of Sungai Wang. Hunted down some obligatory souvenirs for the colleagues (Smiggle pens) and cosmetics for Maternal Logic. Got myself orange, seafoam green and silver nail polish. The latter is shiny enough to rival bike reflectors, I kid you not. It is made in China though so I wonder if it contains some radioactive evil shit that will shrivel my nails and cause them to drop off.

I walked past all the famous Asian hairsalons (Kippo, Ginger etc) but they were crowded. At last I wound up in one that looked reasonably busy but could slot me in. I forget the name but it was Korean and they cheated me out of a hairwash. The lady snipped away and in 15 minutes, I emerged looking somewhat like a little boy with cleavage (it was the bra, I'll admit). Here, you judge. Just ignore the lady behind me who thought she'd pose along.



The nicest parts of Sydney really, aren't the touristy Opera House/ Darling Harbour/ Harbour Bridge etc (overrated), nor the shopping malls and not even the Chinesey parts where obscure, too-sweet drinks with funny squiggly characters can be found. I discovered the lovely Eastern suburbs hidden between the main streets and Kings Cross. I wouldn't really recommend walking there at night, but I spent several hours on Saturday just wandering about, admiring the intricate lattice of the balconies, the charmingly peeling paintwork and the leafy trees and pavements purple-lined with jacaranda flowers.








See why you shouldn't wander there at night?





My attempt to swim failed as the heated pool is only open until 6pm. I did get to milk my new white bikini (never toss your wet bikini into your beachbag with your evil, evil, but so beautiful green Marc by MJ wallet in it) for all it was worth though. Note to self: Walk around in swimwear around the mall in Gold Coast and nobody notices; do the same in a hotel in Sydney and everyone will stare.

We had dinner at Mezes, which is attached to the lobby of the hotel. It's mainly Mediterranean food. The restaurant was bustling so it was a good thing X made reservations. Our waitress was this incredibly exotic thing with the most gorgeous eyes ever.


My Chai Latter Vanilla which is The Most Awesome Beverage Ever. I took one away again for breakfast. Had I not been completely stuffed from the yummy Seafood Linguine (see below), I'd have had another.


This is unbelievably good. Even better than my boss' mummy's Jewish meatball spaghetti, which is saying something.

NB: Stop calling me your boss! I am not your boss.
Jan: Yes boss.


I convinced X to get the Filet Mignon which was superb. (Top to bottom) Carrot shavings, feta block, filet mignon wrapped in bacon, vegetable filo pastry, pesto *drool*

Even more exquisite was the bill, which totalled AUD54.70 for both of us. This sort of thing on the Coast would have set us back AUD80, at least and probably not been half as good. I would have to say, this is only the second truly positive restaurant experience in Australia I've had, the first being The Balcony in Byron Bay (though they're starting to suck too).

I end our little trip with a picture of men in tights. Poor Batman (whose mask was held together with duct tape at the back) got humped by some idiot drunk. These guys were sporting enough to strike a pose anyway.



We spent Sunday in Manly, which would have probably been a nice place but it rained and poured cats, dogs, goats and dinosaurs and X and I just spent most of the time at the Ivanhoe having lunch. Well, I spent about 20 minutes in the loo which wouldn't flush, which made me flush when I exited, only to face an annoyed pregnant lady who had probably only been waiting forever. Awkward.

It's a good thing I was stoned last weekend

So X and I celebrated four years of endurance courtship last weekend.

The night before:

X: Get dressed up tomorrow, we're doing something special okay?
Jan: Are we going to the Irish dance?
X: What Irish dance?

We went to the Irish dance. X is like the most predictable person on earth I have ESP.

I had extremely low expectations as the Gold Coast standard of art can be likened to its inhabitants' love of outlet stores and fast food. But it turned out to be pretty fun. It was like watching the Mamma Mia. Terribly campy and corny and the storyline made no sense whatsoever (good triumphs over evil with lots of tap dancing and singing in garish polyester; evil people look like durians; choreography is done according to the hirsuteness of one's chest), and the cast were mostly terribly unattractive. But once you got over that, their passion was infectious and soon I was hooting and clapping along. Unfortunately, cameras aren't permitted at the venue hence the lack of photographic evidence.

I do however, have a picture of a drunk lady in a sumo fatsuit at the ATM on Chevron Island. Oh, the randomness.

Bangkok Thai restaurant seemed to be the only decent venue open at 10pm. The waitresses rolled their eyes, but the food was decent (I hope they didn't spit in our food) and I could hardly bear to use the elegant lotus-shaped serviette.


We drove to Beechmont, which is like, in the middle of NOWHERE and came across people flying. Of course, I fell asleep in the car.


I really miss doing this.


Lahey's Canungra Tramway Tunnel. I found Asian people in Canungra! How unbelievable is that? Not in the tunnel, but at the petrol station. We are truly ubiquitous.