Photolog: Australia Day

This year, Australia Day fell on the same day as Chinese New Year. Which was fortunate for me, as the latter isn't celebrated much here. The festive ambience (read: random shirtless people appearing in front of you waving the Australian flag) however, was present thanks to the national day celebrations.

X and I headed to Evandale Parklands near the Gold Coast Arts Centre to join in the fun. If one ignored the schizophrenic weather and the putrid smell of animal waste, it was quite all right.

The main attraction was the rodeo. The point of this appeared to be: 1) Horse A gets into the ring, throws tantrum and rider off. 2) Horse B gets in and Rider B removes strap from around Horse A's waist. 3) Horse A calms down and both horses return to the pen. 4) Everyone cheers.

Wood-chopping competition

Pony rides

On the left are chubby children shaking their hips; on the right are chubby adults playing drums.

Steam-powered saw going through a log

The abovementioned steam was produced by this antique.

This is a lathe. It shapes metal. I know, I hadn't heard of it before either. Blacksmith jargon.

There were foot races too. Some of the guys were really good. Like the roadrunner, sans beep! beep!

Pottery

Camel rides

Adorable (albeit stinky) piglets

Top 10 fashion faux pas

It must be the result of reading too many fashion magazines (I heart Australian libraries), but I woke up this morning inspired to spread my *cough* excellent fashion sense everywhere, thus saving everyone else from unnecessary eyesores.

10. Ill-fitting clothes : It seems to be a trend here, some permanent stage of denial which results in muffin tops and other unsightly bulges.

9. Badly-applied concealer : When I was an oily, acne-fied little thing in high school, there was this hot chick in our gang who thought she was above everyone else (Actually all of us thought we were - that's probably what brought us together). Imagine her humiliation when one day, when I publicly (but innocently) pointed out a large creamy patch on her chin, "Hey what's that on your face?" I wasn't being vindictive - it was so obvious I couldn't fathom it being concealer. I mean if anything, it magnified the spot.

8. Exposed underwear : Minus 100 points. Minus 50,000 points if it's a thong/ G-string. Also see below.

7. Baggy pants : Remember there was a state in the US that wanted to ban them? Well I suppose it's okay if it was specifically constructed (i.e. the waistband sits on the hips). But not if the wearer's underwear is on display for all and sundry. And what is it with people delibrately pulling it down even further? You know, the ones that waddle around because they can't walk due to the crotch of the garment holding their knees together.

6. The 80's beach look : Hawaiian shirts on men and floral muumuus. Absolutely awful. You have no idea how common it is here.

5. Blonde hair on Orientals : What is wrong with you people? Are you trying to look like Big Bird? We're already yellow-skinned and now you want yellow hair too?

Spot the real Big Bird!

4. Tight jeans on men : With the whole metrosexual movement going on, men are becoming SNAGs and the trend towards feminity seems to be taking on physical form too. The tight jeans thing is just so disturbing. I mean, there's a conspicuous bulge there, and you shouldn't look, but it's so in your face and it's screaming Look at me! Look at me! And you regret that you gave in.

3. Stretchable cotton button up shirts : I have no idea why anyone ever invented this. Not only do they wrinkle at the slightest movement, they're a pain in the arse to iron. And they look cheap.

2. Polyester suits : I really hate these. Wear them only if you don't believe in career advancement.

1. Fake designer fashion : Everytime I see someone toting a fake Louis Vuitton/ Coach/ Gucci/ Burberry bag, I cringe. It's even worse when they're donning those tee's with fake labels like Calbin Krein/ DNKY/ B&G plastered across the chest. Now this trend seems to be extending to second-tier brands like Guess and Esprit. I mean, have a little dignity, will you? If you can't afford it, just find something else. Fashion doesn't always have to be expensive. *hides Gorgio Armani sunnies*

Weight

I think I need to address this subject, simply because friends and family back home are freaking out about my weight.

Like most girls my age, I am concerned about my weight. However, I’m not obsessed. Most people I know are on some form of food intake restriction or another. I, on the other hand, am terrible with my own health. Diets and exercise require discipline and focus, both of which I lack. My relatively decent metabolism (which betrays me when I’m stressed nonetheless) allows my weight to increase by a couple of kilos, plateau, then promptly drop again. All this with no actual effort from me.

When I started working life, I didn’t eat lunch or breakfast. I was assumed to possess some eating disorder or another. I suppose in a way, they were right. You see, I did all my tertiary studies via night classes. Most of which ended around 10pm. Therefore my entire schedule was upside down. I used to wake up at 1pm, go off for classes around 2pm or 5pm, then eat a massive dinner around 11pm before going to sleep around 3am. This was pretty much my schedule for three years.

Yes, I only ate once a day. Which actually worked really well for me. My acne disappeared, I completely stopped sweating and my digestion was excellent. But my single meal would be equivalent to two truck drivers’ dinners. I would have a main dish (like fried rice/ noodles), 4 peanut butter (or cheese) sandwiches, some form of dessert and other leftovers from the fridge. I was definitely not malnourished and never starved myself. Basically, I was only ever hungry during the night. I did snack all day on junk food.

I tried continuing this habit while working a full time job, but it was too difficult. I’d get home around 6pm or 7pm and fall asleep by 9pm or 10pm. Eating meals as large as that took too much time. I eventually developed the habit of balancing my meals out over the day.

I do the same now in Australia. When I’d first arrived in spring, it was relatively cool (about 20C or so, and further chilled by strong sea breezes). I’d eat 4 solid meals and munch on a packet of biscuits everyday. Miraculously, I did not balloon into “a house” (as X says I will). However before Christmas, we stayed with some friends who didn’t place much focus on meals in general. Snacking was frowned upon (they had young, impressionable kids) and over those 5 days, I’m pretty sure I lost a bit of weight (which duly returned upon Christmas as we were extremely over well fed).

Today, after being told the 5th or 6th time I looked “so skinny”, I weighed myself. I actually have some weird inferior complex with weighing machines (I had an awful ex who used to call me chubby even though I weighed only 41kg then) and mirrors (having been such a hideous child so I tend to avoid them as much as possible).

I’d gained 2kg.

Here lies the problem. How could I have possibly gained 2kg, yet still fit in my clothes fine and have people tell me I’ve lost weight?

Auditors - not a happy species

Underlined below are the signs of distress from my ex-colleagues. There was actually one more, whose message was "sick sick sick", but I guess she felt too ill to continue staying online.

Transport woes

I am doomed.

Last week, I failed my driving test. Gold Coast is a very spread out city and it's pretty impossible to move around without a vehicle. Worse still I interviewed with a very nice firm about 20 minutes away from home, which is INACCESSIBLE by public transport.

The only other alternative appears to be taking a bus to the train station, taking the train to the workplace suburb, then walking for 45 minutes to the office. (Cabs here cost a bomb. A big one)

I simply cannot walk that long in corporate wear and heels, lugging a laptop.

So on Monday, I booked for a driving lesson on Thursday. The instructor then called back at 9pm, asking to further postpone the lesson. I asked him politely if this was going to be a common occurrence. He very rudely said, "This is the first time, isn't it?" I agreed but pointed out that even Thursday was such a delay it was going to thwart my plans to get my licence by late January/ early February.

"Well, take it or leave it."

I left it, quite traumatised by the rude little turd.

So then this morning I call in to book lessons with other driving schools. A referred one did not ring back, so I chose another.

My new lessons were booked for the 28th and 29th of January. The guy apologetically told me that they were pretty busy and that was the earliest he could slot me in.

I then tried booking a test. The earliest I could get in was the 17th of February!

Now Gold Coast has a couple of test centres/ transport department branches. As per the nice man from the driving school, the ease in passing is as follows, in descending order of difficulty:

Southport (X says it's because that's where all the Asian people go. Asian drivers are synonymous with being insane)
Currumbin Creek (This is where I failed my test. The guy was insanely strict. And senile)
Bermuda Street, Helensvale and Logan (Pretty good with their passing rates)

So now, facing the possibility of employment, I am extremely worried. What on earth do I tell my potential employers?

Not to mention, how am I going to get to work?

That's Dr X to you, thank you

After about a year of back breaking effort, X finally graduated. The ceremony was held at the Gold Coast Arts Centre in Bundall, which exceeded our expectations.

After the ceremony, I brought a bunch of the balloons home. They're slowly languishing in the living room at the moment.



X paid AUD30 for each of us guests, but we only got finger food. The salmon wrap hors d'oeuvres were yummy. I was ravenous with hunger towards the end.

I snuck off to camwhore in the brightly lit loo. I got the dress and cardigan from the Geelong Westfield during the Boxing Day sales. My newly hacked off hair for once, behaved itself.

Everyone was dressed to the nines. There was a really good looking redhead at our table, whose flimsy dress threatened to expose her right boob everytime she moved. We were pretty disappointed that it stayed put after all.



This guy, I forget his name, was really funny. Aside from being a student, he's a talented balloon artist. He made a spider, alien, dragonfly, dog, weird hats etc.





This arrangement was designed specifically for parental misconstruction.



Aside from graduating with a Diploma in Remedial Massage, X was also awarded as the Dux of the School. Not ducks. D-U-X. No quacking jokes allowed. His speech was received with great enthusiasm in spite of its length. X had also spent the entire past two weeks hogging the computer attempting to create a video presentation, which was also met with great enthusiasm. God bless the ever-affable people of MSQ.

I am so proud of him.

A Star Wars spoof a day...

OMG. This is priceless. Watch it or I shall have to rescind my friendship with you. Or if I don't know you personally, I'll put a hex on you.

The return of four eyes

After 5 years of freedom from myopia, the spectacles have struck back. In spite of Lasik surgery, my eyes have "an inherited genetic tendency" to remain short-sighted. Tired of constantly squinting at signboards and fearing for an upcoming driving test, I was resigned to getting my eyes tested.

The results were bad to say the least. The optometrist was sympathetic but informed me regression of eyesight was a common issue.

So I got specs.

Prior to the surgery, I'd spent about 5 years in contact lenses. Teenage vanity then trumped the tiresome ritual of having to apply, endure, remove, clean and store tiny, fragile jelly-like contraptions EVERYDAY.

Now that I'm almost 24 and somewhat less insecure and having snagged my man am no longer required to go through the decorum of decoration, convenience is key. So those clumsy frames that I hadn't touched (sunglasses don't count) since I was 14 are back on again.

The irony is that then, I'd embraced contacts to avoid being classed as a nerd. Yet in Australia as the Asian partner of a white man, I was constantly being associated with uneducated village girls from third world countries. Hacking off my hair and donning spectacles has miraculously stopped inane comments like Do you speak English/ Oh wow, you speak English/ Do they have (insert twentieth century contraption) where you come from?. People actually speak normally to me now.

I'd also worried about returning to my former fugly-dom. Narcissism is not entirely dead. But it's funny how now that I'm freed of the need to be long haired (gone now), doe-eyed (four-eyed more like) shu nu, I'm more confident. I look at people in the eye and speak up, instead of leaving X to do all the talking (he's obviously more well versed in Aussie slang).

Boys may not make passes to girls with glasses (not true though - some random guy at the supermarket just told me I was "beautiful" today), but it's okay. I have the only boy I need and now no longer caring to conform to preconceived notions of others, I feel like I've really found myself again.

Photolog: Melbourne CBD 2 - Churches

Melbourne is abundant with European-style architecture. The churches here are tourist attractions in their own right, most being over a century old. I would have liked to take more snapshots of a few lesser known ones but my camera phone died on me.

This is St Patrick's cathedral.


My courage to photograph the insides was dampered by the bouncer usher who kept eyeing me suspiciously, aided by the disdainful families standing outside. How dare this lowly tourist, underdressed in tights and a sweaty hoodie enter this sacrilegious site! Nonetheless, I managed to sneak pass.


Next was the infamous St Paul's cathedral, its popularity fuelled by its vicinity to the Flinder's Street Station and possibly, Starbucks.

Captain Flinders - the bloke whom everything here appears to be named after.

This picture does no justice to the stained glass found inside. Sadly, this spot is extremely popular with other camera-toting foreigners and it's pretty difficult to get a decent picture without someone inadvertently standing in the middle of it. Point proven below.

No theme parks, but...

X and I were hitching a ride on his sister, K's car to her place in Gippsland. After about 3 hours, she turned off the highway, drove through an unremarkable suburb and began driving through miles of country road. Not that Australian country roads are anything like the rural, potholed ones of Malaysia, but it was so... in the middle of nowhere.

We passed bush, trees, fields, cows and llamas. Everything looked the same to me. No buildings but the odd shed. I couldn't fathom how K had managed to live in such remoteness. Every 30 minutes or so, we might pass another vehicle. People were such a rare species there, they never passed up the chance to say hi/ wave at each other. I checked the cellphone coverage (the representative claimed that 3 had "96% coverage").

No network access.

She turned into a couple more non-descriptive lanes before stopping the car by the roadside. I clambered out reluctantly, certain I would be attacked by the Giant Stealth Mosquitos that had plagued me through Christmas at Bannockburn. (Aussie bugs are venomously potent. Or maybe I simply didn't have that protective layer of ang moh fuzz that keeps most people here bite-free). "Are we lost?"

Note the swelling on my left leg. It itched, it swelled, it oozed pus. "Will you still love me if I have JE?!" I wailed to X. He wisely nodded.

K simply pointed to the sign.

"BIG TREE"

Trust Australians to comb through acres and acres of untamed forestation, find a tall piece of vegetation hundreds of miles far away from civilization, put up a sign and expect it to become an attraction . Then again passing through all this nothingness (though admittedly the greenery is very soothing to the eye), it was probably the most exciting thing to happen in a while.

We walked down a clearing and found this.



A big tree. To its credit, a really big one.

The Mayans' secret weapon in fattening hence killing off the rest of civilization so they can take over the world

It's funny because I didn't actually fancy chocolate that much before. I mean, chocolate products were okay but actual chocolate (picture ubiquitous Cadbury bar) wasn't something I looked forward to. You remember that joke about the grandma who offers a young man some nuts and it later turns out she's sucked all the chocolate coating off them beforehand? Well, I'm like the reverse version - I used to eat the nuts, then throw out the chocolate.

But you don't move to a different continent without some tweaking of the tastebuds. I'm now on some form of chocolate everyday - Quick mixed into milk in the mornings, chocolate chip biscuits all day long, a variety of chocolate bars etc. And I had the most fantastic chocolate muffin in Melbourne, at the airport of all places.

However, I was told by my Christmas hostess of the divine Koko Black. She raved about it. She brought out a map and circled the area twice in pen. She even brought out a brochure to show me!

I wonder if she's deriving some sort of royalty/ commission/ benefit from this.

Nonetheless, she's quite the food snob (hence an excellent cook) so X and I headed to the Royal Arcade on Bourke Street. The shop is the most ostentatious one on the left.


It's quite prettily decorated. In keeping with the dark chocolate theme, the floral wallpaper was brown and gold; the chairs dark leather and the floor polished wood. It's pretty cramped though. I tried taking a better picture, but it was impossible to do so surreptitiously.


I had an Iced Chocolate (AUD6.50); X chose an Iced Chocolate Mocha (AUD6.50) and we shared a plate of Cake and Biscuits (AUD5), which came with some chocolate mousse. Everything was very good but really rich. And just a couple of hours before, X and I had The Second Best Pizza Ever (Best is in Kuranda, hidden beside the ship restaurant) at the Queen Victoria Market. AUD5 for half a large pizza only sweetened the deal.

But I digress. The point is, we were stuffed. And these Iced Chocolates were pretty solid stuff. Chocolate fudge, full cream milk, 2 scoops of ice cream (vanilla and chocolate), topped with chocolate shavings. After a couple of sips, I pushed my glass over to X.

We couldn't touch any food for many, many hours after. I know that this is probably how authentic Iced Chocolate should be, but I found myself missing Dome's version suddenly.

The deed is done

I finally did it. Upon the touchdown of our flight from Tullamarine and our return home, I picked up the kitchen scissors and hacked off my almost waist length hair.


The result was surprisingly refreshing. All my life, I've had Ah Beng hairdressers reiterate that my head is "too big" to pull off a short bob, that long hair is the only option there is, should I want to maintain some semblance of attractiveness.

I have to admit it choked me up a little, to see my ponytail no longer attached to my head. Hair for women after all, is an emotional thing.



However there was still a problem. Due to the bluntness of the blades (and the haste of its handler), an enormous chunk behind my head had been lopped off, with rather distasteful results. I hurried to the nearest hair salon for damage control. My hairdresser was most horrified/ amused to learn of the origins of the accident.

After a couple of days, I've learnt to appreciate how much more convenient my shorter do is to maintain. My fringe can now neatly fit behind my ears and no longer sticks to my lips when the wind blows. I use less shampoo and conditioner. I can wash my hair in the evening and have it dry before bedtime. I'm shedding a lot less too, making X's life a lot easier.

And thankfully, I look no younger than I usually do.

I may not be patriotic, but at least I'm honest

I am a city girl. Pure and simple. Not quite born and bred, as I’d moved to Kuala Lumpur as a two year old, but almost. My growing years were spent in a strict (we got caned at least every alternate day), partially private school in town. During free periods, usually when our teachers were on their annual maternity leaves, a couple of us would sneak out from the back gate to roam about the sleazy streets nearby, once even adjourning to a mall about 5km away on the pretext of helping a classmate to collect an assignment. At the start of my adolescence, my friends and I would dress to the nines (read: hooker get ups complete with 5 inch heels), take a cab to Bukit Bintang and sip our overpriced iced chocolates between bites of gourmet pot pies. Of course, these were only afforded through skipped school meals and occasional hand outs.

Even when I shifted from Damansara Heights to Petaling Jaya, our initially quiet neighbourhood soon turned out to fertile ground for retail outlets. At last count, we were surrounded by the ever growing 1 Utama, The Curve, Ikea, Ikano, Tesco (it’s actually no cheaper than Cold Storage, but presents such illusion with its garish façade, attracting people who have no concept of contraceptives or civics) and the creepy Cineleisure.

Therefore moving to Gold Coast was a bit of a shock to my system. Where every need imaginable had been fulfilled by a 20 minute stroll, tops, my purchasing options were now severely limited. There are really only two proper shopping malls here – Pacific Fair, the largest one and Australia Fair. Their outlets are boring and insipid, the items uninspiring and common. That, and I actually have to drive there.

The average Aussie perceives Malaysia to be a backward, third world hole in the ground, with tree house-dwelling inhabitants in loincloths with the odd self-bombing terrorist. Irrationally enough, whenever they give me that It must be such a drastic change for you opener, all I can think of is: How dare you! We have Topshop in Malaysia! And Zara! And Delicious, which serves yummier Australian cuisine than Australia! Occasionally when I’m feeling less than charitable, I also think: Not that you would be able to fit their clothes!

(If you're Australian and happen to be reading this, I apologise. It's basically how you feel when Americans assume your country is an open zoo full of kangaroos, koala bears and convict descendants roaming about.)

If I’m feeling extra outspoken, I’d say: “You’ve never been to Malaysia, have you?”, before launching into a monologue about how wonderfully modern we are, how our toilets have sensors and marble tops and ambience lighting and are supplied with serviettes to dry our hands on, how we have the best shopping malls ever, how everything is air-conditioned.

Yet when someone praises my country, I’d immediately attack our constitutional racism and sexism, our ridiculously long work hours due to poor labour laws, our mentally retarded politicians and how the only good thing about the country really, is cheap and tasty take out food and widely proliferating pirated DVDs.

I suppose in many ways, you can take the girl out of Malaysia, but you can’t take Malaysia out of the girl. I believe I'm not the only Malaysian to feel this way, else we wouldn't be no. 7 on the list of Australian immigrants. We have people leaving the country for greener pastures everyday. There are about 93,000 Malaysians in Australia alone.

Until all those issues I have against the country are resolved/ become irrelevant to me, I wouldn’t opt to return.