Random things

Whilst deciding which files will survive my laptop reformatting, I came across these little pieces of photographic nostalgia.

A view of the Gold Coast from the Q1 with KG.

Riga, from PVDB's trip.


Me and my two little munchkin friends, who are now married (!!!). Tioman in 2005. On the hellish bus ride to the jetty, I sat by an ulamah who screamed his head off because I wearing a sleeveless tee and three quarter pants. Seriously.


The same trip. Brocolli island in the distance as we do a G-rated moon.

On a 3 day, 2 night liveaboard on the Great Barrier Reef in 2006, earning my diving licence. Photo taken by X. Note ridiculously tall Dutch people in surrounds.

One of my most favourite photos ever. The lick was unexpected and very welcome. Singapore 2006 with KJ.

Sigh. The new wing of MidValley. I miss the gigantic centres of mass consumption. And European high street brands.

Pavilion, all shiny and new. Let's hope their management checks for reindeer testicles for this Christmas' decorations.

My French class on the last day of the last term.

The roost is currently ruled by Emperor Moe, as SK, our flatmate has returned to Slovenia. Moe is a bit of an arsehole, but we love him to bits anyway. He alternates between shredding my arm for no apparent reason to acting like a tempura prawn.

"Hi! I'm a cute kitty! Please disregard the fact I just scratched you, left fur all over your fingers so you couldn't use your iPod Touch, constantly interrupt you by sitting on whatever you're doing and then bit you... and feed me. And clean my poo."

"No? Imma seal! How can you resist a cute little furry seal?"

The plastic stick in my arm

Okay girls and boys, today we talk business: birth control. Whilst we will not speak of the act that necessitates the procedure, I shall talk you through my experience with Implanon.

After a bit of research, I decided upon it because:

a) It's the most cost effective: AUD290 for 3 years, with AUD130 reimbursed by Medicare.
b) No other steps necessary: Most oral contraceptives need to be taken daily, in a timely fashion.
c) Has 0.02% chance of failure.

I had a half hour consultation with a very nice doctor at the Gold Coast Women's Health Centre and had a surgery scheduled for the next Monday in spite of my doubts. The list of possible side effects is ridiculously long; I was in a happy place, physically and mentally and did not wish to rock that boat.

Come Monday, C came along dutifully for the obligatory hand holding. Whilst the implant itself is only about 4cm long, the applicator comes with a DO NOT BE ALARMED BY SIZE OF APPLICATOR warning.

I was duly alarmed.

The anaesthetic shot was quite painful. C's enthusiastic exclaimations of horror were most unhelpful. I cringed and looked the other way. Now, anaesthesia and I occasionally don't get along (i.e. Lasik surgery), so I was relieved to feel nothing during the actual insertion but C's firm grip on my left ankle.

Only after I got over the queasiness of having a foreign object in my body, did I permit C to describe in great detail, how the applicator looked probing around through my skin (really gross, huge and invasive - see bruise below).



Jan: Can I drive home?

Doctor: Of course!

Jan: ...

Doctor: ... I mean you can't do any cooking or housework for a week.

Jan: A month?

Doctor: I mean, a month. Right.

C: I'll take care of her. (He made me instant noodles for dinner.)

Anyhow it's been about six weeks or so now.

The little dot is the extent of my scarring

Pros

- Not preggers


Cons (all chronic - some days I'm totally fine)

- Weight gain: Yet to be quantified because I illogically enough, believe that knowing the actual number will realise the gain. But my shorts which could previously be removed sans unbuttoning is now tight. I do believe much of this is water retention though - the day to day fluctuation is simply too great to be actual fat.

- Joint pain: Mostly my left wrist, now extended to several fingers. One morning, I couldn't even squeeze the toothpaste out. Ibuprofen to the rescue!

- Headache: Only occured twice so far. But completely debilitating - I spent two whole days in bed.

- Acne: Slightly worse than before.

- Bleeding: This is the worst one. According to some forum posts, it's not uncommon for some women to experience it for the entire duration of the implantation. My doctor had assured me mine was unlikely to be bad, given my size and normal period cycle. WRONG. Like everything else, it comes and goes. But mostly stays. Now I just gaze wistfully at the ivory 300 threadcount Egyptian cottons. A girl still can dream.

Conclusion: I'm lazy; it was the right choice for me. Another common side effect is depression. Strangely enough, C claims that I'm a lot more cheerful now (though it's more likely due to the fact he met me when I was PMS-ing and heartbroken).

Nostalgia

It's strange how with this whirlwind of change around me, how constant my music is. How some selections have remained the same since high school, some perhaps dating back to an mp3-less childhood.

And the power a certain composition of notes have, to overwhelm me with memories. I am fairly selective about the selections (pun totally unintended) on my playlist, so every entry is a quiet little victory, often attached to an emotional event of some sort, sometimes personal, sometimes gleaned from of a soap opera character.

This Conversation by The Submarines, of the sad, tender parting between X and I, of when I quietly brought up the subject we had been avoiding all along.

Soft Rock Star by Metric, of trying times in a large soulless corporation, to whom I was nothing more than a replaceable drone. Telling myself that there was no need to "shine before swine".

Crash Into Me by Dave Matthews Band, of MF dictating my music choices, and correctly so, in between ice cream, waffles and chicken chop at Madam Kwans.

The Hole In Your Roof by Augie March, of standing under a pitch black sky, beholding the full glory of the Milky Way.

Edge of The Ocean by Ivy, of standing on Cape Byron, of being blown away by the blueness, the infinity of it all, of God's glory and the beauty of this world.

Babylon by Angus and Julia Stone, of long Melbourne tram rides, of St Kilda, of moody skies and of long, long conversations with KG, with my heart in Queensland all the while.

Kite by U2, of lying on a golf course under a stormy sky in Pangkor, my friends by my side, my 16 year old heart having been crushed the first time.

Dancing In The Moonlight by Toploader, of that fateful trip to Sydney, of leaping up and down on the hotel bed in sheer exuberance.

Elevator Love Letter by Stars, of all the times I worked late into the night, compensating for someone else's incompetence/ love of coffee or cigarette breaks/ feigned illness. I am very glad to be rid of Malaysian work ethic. Hopefully for good.

On beauty

Thandie Newton - the first time I realised that one did not need to possess blue eyes, blonde hair and pale skin to be considered physically lovely

I still remember the silly things I did in my quest for beauty, as prescribed by Cleo or Womans Weekly - mayonnaise in the hair for shine (stench, mess, Mother yelling Stop wasting my mayo), sunbathing on the balcony (severe sunburn), egg white on the face (stench). Pre-beauty magazines, I'd greatly envied Michelle Oh's toothy smile and her dimples and spent many afternoons with my pinky nails dug deep into my 8 year old cheeks (pain, futility). At 15, greatly despaired by my uncomplementary nose, I almost agreed to a friend selling his violin to fund a new one. I plastered my face with a variety of masks and creams, certain that someday I would find one which would peel off to reveal large, deep set eyes, a tiny nose and clear, rosy complexion. I got around the make up ban at school with tinted lip balm and cheek pinching. At some point, I counted 8 different types of shampoos on the edge of the bathtub, each only partially used, soon to be thrown away. I fantasised about growing another 7 inches taller, losing another few kilos and perfect shiny, waist length hair. I imagined a day when the pores on my pimple prone skin would vanish, as would the greasy shine.

My self esteem was not helped by the fact that I had impossibly good looking friends; our adolescent conversations involved reassuring each other that we were not fat, pretty and that of course, our crushes would eventually realise we were The One(s), a la He's Just Not That Into You. Alas, I now live with a man who dutifully calls it as it is. On the bright side, I know the bi-annual compliments offered are sincere.

Last weekend, I went to the Beergarden with YM and some friends. Having never really gotten into the whole clubbing scene, I enjoy these annual outings which often do nothing but reassure me of what I'm not missing. Since YM had gotten us free Nandos (a woeful reminder of my declining tolerance for spicy food) for dinner, I felt obliged to buy the drinks. The club was packed full of drunken, hormonal youth moving to the thumping beat.

As I patiently awaited the bar tender's ministrations, I observed a chubby man trying to get my attention.

"I'm sorry?" I yelled across the counter.

"...!" The (surprisingly decent) live band drowned out his words.

"What?"

"I said, you're f-ing hot!"

"Oh, thank you!" I looked at his much better-looking friend, who stood between us.

"You're gorgeous!" He seconded, either for moral support, or out of inebriation.

Maybe the mayonnaise helped after all.

The dilemma of a tiny analyst

Okay, so I've finally started work. The last 2 jobs I held before, truthfully speaking, were less than ideal. The first one too far and too much office politics going on, amongst other more pressing issues. The second could not contribute to my career goals.

For now at least, I'm quite happy with my job. I struggled the first week - for the first time in my spoilt little life, I had to use the Alarm function in my cellphone. I'm still not very good with directions or public transport, so for almost every single day that week, I was either late or too early. My feet were blistered from wearing heels all day. My body ached from lugging the laptop around.

After the initial shock, I settled into a comfortable routine. Wearing flats to work, before switching to my 4 inch heels. Leaving the laptop locked in the office. Giving myself at least 20 minutes to stroll to the train station. My colleagues have been awesome too. Non of that bitchy, gossipy, competitive nonsense I've had to put up with before. They're incredibly supportive and professional.

My one and only issue at the moment, is the fact that as a professional, I'm required to wear suits. Thankfully, shirts aren't necessary (how I loath ironing). But here comes the double whammy - inexpensive suits either look cheap or come in sizes too large for me; the ones that do fit, cost $500-600 a pop.

On my meagre (though adequate) salary, neither is an option.

I am so envious of this girl here. Why can't we have reasonably priced, mass produced, well made office clothing here too?

Thankfully, I was reminded about the existence of G2000 by an equally petite colleague. Unfortunately, this only occurred a day after this phone call from Hong Kong.

KG: Do you want anything from here?

Jan: No, thanks! Have a safe flight tomorrow.

SIGH.

So now I'm relying on BE's impeccable fashion sense to guide me through. (Most girls would run to their mothers for this sort of thing. Not me. My mother always buys everything in L for me, in some misguided optimism that I'm still growing.)

Yet another successful story of a Facebook initiated friendship. I is happy.

Pivots

Have you ever thought about the times you made a life changing decision? Per the Myer Briggs Type Indicator (I'm currently reading Gifts Differing, best book ever), I'm an INFP, with judgment as my weakest point. Meaning I'm one of those people who tend to take a lot of crap before I put my foot down (read: doormat). My desire to be tactful and peacemaker has led me into a lot of undesirable situations, in which I felt compromised.

It's always taken a fair bit to really push me over the edge. Below are some turning points, times where the proverbial straw broke the equally proverbial horse, when...

... you insisted on moving with no consideration for my input.

... you termed my attempt at efficiency 'lazy'.

... you dismissed all my effort summarily.

... you blew me off without even a semi-decent excuse.

... you lied to my face for the final time.

... you left me alone in a foreign country.

... I graduated.

... you became an asshole during that NYE trip.

... you posted that slanderous note about me publicly.

... you overreacted when my foot slipped.

... you sniffed deeply into my hair during that movie.

(Points deliberately vague as many of these people remain a part of my life, only much less important than they could have been.)

Better

I came across these and intend to spend part of my Sunday on self-psychoanalysis. The shift to Melbourne and living with other people (I have only ever lived with my family and X, ever) has thrown me a little off the loop. Some self discipline needs to be exercised. Must... stop... buying stuff... (In the almost-three weeks I've been here, I've already doubled the amount of clothes/ shoes I brought over).

Become an Unforgettable Woman - 40 Fabulous Secrets
I know this one is a little too focussed on pleasing men, but overall, I think the sentiment is right, if a little Stepford-ish. I'm probably alone on this here, but I miss the era of feminity and chivalry (yes, coming from a reformed tomboy). Nowadays, it feels like girls are trying to become boys and boys are becoming girls, yet both retaining so much of the undesirable traits.

OMG, I am old-fashioned.

Characteristics of a Self-Actualizing Person
It's funny how you study Maslow's hierarchy of needs, yet it never really sinks in. And then I stumbled upon this and finally was able to put a name to that desire to achieve all these. There are definitely some things I need to work on. The nice thing about breaking up, but still being best friends with X (most self-actualized person known in existence) is, the feedback I get on How Good/ Bad a Girlfriend Was I? (Decent but plenty of room for improvement).

What I did today

I've been asked many times, what I spend all day doing in Melbourne. It's understandable, after all, I'm car-less, job-less, income-less and my housemates work/ study all day. And I have less than 5 friends here.

So today, I...

... walked to the Glen Iris post office to collect my parcel from the States, which is this gorgeous ring from Etsy. God bless X for giving me the nicest break up present ever. Though it'll cost me another $40 to resize it (message me if you know a decent and reasonable jeweller around!).



... walked down Toorak Rd, hoping to see the famed Toorak suburb. Sadly got tired halfway, wandered into a Mobil to get Coke and ask for directions and wound up being driven to Camberwell by a "not rich" 58 year old Russian man with a beautiful 2 year old son.

... strolled towards Kew for my appointment. Wound up there an hour early and had fish and chips under a tree.

... got my bits IPL-ed (first of 6-8 sessions). They really need to emphasise a little more on the pain factor. I only sensed danger when handed a squishy ball. It's akin to snapping an elastic band to your most sensitive areas, followed by a spark. I suppose it beats waxing for the next n years. "At least you know you're working towards something," my friendly therapist comforted me as I leaped into the air.

I suppose they dispense coffins from a very large vending machine.

... bought an evening dress and shiny green work top because I have insufficient work clothes and my second interview is due next week. I have no excuse for the evening dress. It was just too gorgeous.

Melbourne ahoy

So I arrived in Melbourne yesterday. SUNNY Melbourne, which displeased me, because I actually kind of fancy dreary weather. I might change my tune in time.

I teared up waving goodbye to X at OOL, much to the alarm of several nice ladies in the loo. The flight was punctual. I got no sleep, having sat beside The Most Talkative Lady Ever. Spent the next 1.5 hours or so listening about her wonderful life, her husband of 50.5 years, her perfect family, her perfect life, her travels to Europe. Per my calculations, she would be about 100 years old, give or take, but the woman still qualified as MILF, with long fluttering lashes and a slim figure honed by 40 mile runs every Sunday. Took the SkyBus to Southern Cross Station where AL got me. Dragged half my weight in luggage+laptop to her apartment on Franklin St. Wandered about the city. Mused out loud how much cheaper food is here. Sooky came by after work; we had Chinese for dinner before heading to her new place in Glen Iris, where I'm staying now. Spent the night talking and catching up (we haven't seen each other in 3 years). I'm forgotten how fun it is doing girly things, discussing upcoming shopping trips, trying on each other's stuff. Haven't had a decent girlfriend in ages; most of my Queensland friends are male.

I miss the beaches, the boys, the comfort of knowing exactly where every most things are, my car and being held to sleep. But I think I'll survive this.

That photo

I ♥ this photo. Whilst in KL, KJ and I hung out and did many random things over 2 days, including an impromptu photoshoot on the rooftop of Lot 10. This is my favourite and has received many compliments (more than any other picture that actually shows my face in it, sadly). In return, I feel obliged to pimp his ride. Seriously, I've known him for 7 years now and he has always been a good friend and an even better photographer. So for any event/ wedding shoots, contact him on his website to feed a struggling artist.

Introversion

It's funny how well this describes me. Which may come as a surprise.

Happy 1st anniversary to Australia and I

Today marks a whole year since I left an existence of 23.71 years in Malaysia. Of dependence and pampering and being absolutely spoilt.

In these 12 months, I've learnt a lot. Things I'd always taken for granted because Someone Else was always there to do it for me. While I can un-jam photocopiers (most models) in record time or discuss the finer points of modern literature, I had no basic urban survival skills whatsoever. And really, I think it was quite typical of people of my generation.

Below are some of my modest achievements.

*drum roll*

Cooking
Take-outs and decent restaurants were always within a 5 minute drive away (I lived within the vicinity of 6 malls). Why bother? Well here on the Coast, food is almost always a disappointment and/or disturbingly processed. While my repertoire consists of few dishes, I'm proud to say the Fried Rice and Vegetable Soup are edible. Plus I now bake stuff I actually consume; granted it's from a mix. Baby steps.

Driving
A year ago, I didn't have a clue which pedal was for what (no, really). Now I happily maneuovre the car without killing/ maiming people and creatures or even scratching the paint (barring a few incidences earlier in the year). I do occasionally forget the seatbelt or headlights at night. And not to mention, after 2 failures I finally passed the driving test! Granted I had to pimp my instructor though (if anyone on the Coast needs someone patient, gentle and good-natured with an excellent track record, leave your email address and I'll send you her details).

And! I now know how to fill petrol on my own. No explosions so far. Hurray! Though I've only just found out my car can't do diesel. It's a good thing that Unleaded has a prettier logo. Phew.

Not having people to run to for everything
I'm not discrediting X - he's been an absolute angel and super patient with the hapless/ clueless - but he has his own life and can't be there for me for everything. I've learnt I have some wonderful friends who make up for their physical absence with lots of calls, messages and thoughtful words. Or some of the locals who make effort to contact me every other day because really, migrating to a foreign country all by your lonesome can be a really awful experience if left unchecked (literally). Of course, my mummy updates me on the latest gossip and reminds me to move away from the beach every week (Maternal Logic #45690: "Girl, the tsunami might hit Australia anytime! Make sure you stay far, far away from the beach." "Ma, I'm 200 metres from the beach on the Gold COAST." "Well, move further in!")too.

Talking to strangers
Whilst I sloughed myself of some rather nasty people I'd never really felt 100% comfortable, but remained friends with (I came to Queensland knowing less than 5 people), I'm slowly expanding my social circle. Being a room full of strangers still makes me nervous, but I've stopped hiding in the toilet with mini panic attacks and can manage a little socialising. Some of them even stay in touch! Long lunch sessions are looking to be a regular possibility.

A little less brandwhoring
Moving from a big city to a town with about 25% of KL's population inevitably meant a downgrading of material goods. I hated shopping here - where were TopShop, Zara and all the high street shops? Whilst I'm still looking for that elusive Chanel backpack on eBay every now and then (I ended up buying a vintage Moschino backpack in the end), I've stopped lamenting the fact that 90% of the labels in my wardrobe are completely unrecognizable.

Standing up for myself
Being the typical subservient, (relatively) tolerant Asian female, I'd put up with a lot of BS in my life. Now, I'll call a bluff when I see it and not be overwhelmed with guilt for hurting the other party's feelings/ not saving face. Compared to the outspoken folks here though, I'm probably still at the pretty mild end of the spectrum.

The gray area
I had such a good life before; I saw used to see things in black and white. People and situations were always good or bad. Good to be embraced; bad to be lopped out of my picturesque life and to never be heard from again. Yet here I've made some decisions which I was heavily judged upon and the saying of Let he who does not sin cast the first rock has never held truer.

When I first arrived, a lovely Belgian lady told me, "If you can stay here for two years without going back home, you'll be fine. The first two years are always the hardest."

There are days I question what I'm doing here, but I can honestly say most of the time I'm really glad to be here.

Getting back 3.25 hours a day is nice

So most of you will be able to infer that I've switched jobs recently, though 'switched jobs' would be somewhat inaccurate. I left Old Job because there was too much politicking going on, without any plan in mind. Then 2 days later, I received an email from an acquaintance about a job she'd enquired on my behalf about 5 months ago. I'd completely forgotten about it and as it turns out, New Job and I are a pretty good match.

This time, I get out of bed around 8.15am. I shower the night before because in the humid spring weather, my hair gets super frizzy post-wash. I clean my teeth and face, put on make up (I suspect my new foundation is the cause of the recent outbreak breakout). Like Old Job, I wear whatever I want (New Boss has a tattoo and nose ring and has given me her blessing to dye my hair pink), but as we haven't moved into the official building and are working from her home, flip flops are permissible.

I leave the house around 8.30am. Any earlier is too early; any later, I get stuck in school traffic. I drive for about 25 minutes up a Valley. The road is very windy. My cornering skills are challenged every other minute or so. But it's an incredible drive - I see geese at the park and in the lakes. I see cows chewing and regurgitating and chewing and regurgitating and chewing and regurgitating and chewing and regurgitating in the fields. The camphor laurels create a soothing green canopy over the roads. I drive into flocks of pigeons/ gallahs and a magpie or two.

I turn off the main road up a very steep road and turn left to another one even steeper (I once took a walk down this road to clear my head. BIG MISTAKE. It took me forever to walk back up again, drenched in sweat.) I used to park in her yard but all the decorative boulders in her garden have kissed my bumper. Now I just park a little further up the road where the incline has tapered off.

Sake (like the wine) the dog barks at me. He was rescued from a pound and is still harbouring a fear of abuse. I look for my colleagues and we start on a new task. Wwoofers, mostly young European men, wander around the garden, tools in hand.

Lunch is done hovering over the laptop, chicken and avocado sandwich in hand. New Boss is certain my zits and eczema are caused by my less than healthy diet (Cadbury bars for breakfast!). She is determined to convert me to a vegetarian/ organic diet. I demur but she keeps cutting up fruit for me and I tend to munch anything within an arm's length radius.

This might be a losing battle on my part.

We work until 4.00pm, where the men deliver the kids home. There are three in all. Very cute little things. I awkwardly pet them and try not to trod on them when they crawl around on the floor.

I might stay back until 5.00 or 6.00pm, depending on the workload. I signed up for a three day workload but usually end up working half a day from home anyway. New Boss has requested I put in another day, something that will probably put a damper on my plans to learn French.

At the office today...

Direct Superior: *gestures* This is Jan, she's the most important person in this building.

Very Important Visitors: *peep into room* Hello.

Me: *waves* Hello! I'm the most important person in this building.

VIV: ......

Direct Superior: If you don't take it from me, you can take it from her.

Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!

It's official. I am ageing.

All these years, I'd taken my youth for granted, revelling in the frequency of being mistaken as a teen. Yet now, my former apple cheeks have sunken alarmingly, giving way to hollows beneath my cheekbones. I am frequently told I've lost weight, yet my scales remain inert. I actually have prominent dark eye circles now.

Then that morning whilst on the train, I was applying lipstick and something caught my eye. A reflection of -no, it couldn't be- a whisker on my chin!



Didn't those things only happen to unattractive old women with hunchbacks, warty aquiline noses and gnarled fingers? I carefully checked my own digits for any signs of arthritis.

As if that wasn't bad enough, when I arrived at the office TT observed, "You have white hair."

"Where? Pull it out, pull it out!" This couldn't be happening to me, of all people! Why, my dad only starting sprouting them at the ripe old age of 50-

Lo and behold.

My slacker days are over

This is a rather belated post as I didn’t have time to complete it, but I have finally found a job. Or rather, I have finally managed to secure employment after almost half a year of being on the dole. To be fair though, in that 5.5 months, I had to pack up all my things, say my farewells, fly to a different continent, unpack and settle into a life so different from the one I had grown used to. With little more than a fistful of friends and one boyfriend and my life savings, divided by two point five.

After spending the best month ever meeting up with friends and holidaying, I’d arrived mid-October. Australians generally go into holiday season mood around then. I too, remained somewhat festive and did not try too hard to hunt for employment. Sure, I tried out for some through the usual online venues – SEEK, MyCareer, CareerOne and some other more obscure ones. And I met up with two overly optimistic recruiters who cheerfully proclaimed that I was an ideal employee. Maybe they were sincere, but the following 5 months or so showed that employers did not feel the same way.

Before leaving Malaysia, I’d had several recruitment agents email me with offers. I wasn’t too concerned. I politely turned down their offers; I didn’t want to be tied down to a job location, scope and employers of which I wasn’t sure. Nevermind all the naysayers who kept reiterating the difficulty of starting out Down Under. It was certainly naïve of me. Because then the global financial crisis hit. And advertised work dropped. People were forced to take unpaid leave, or worse, retrenched. Casual work, a foreign concept to most Malaysians, is rather common here. It is what it sounds like – your boss will let you know as and when you’re needed. While casual work usually pays well (about AUD20-30 an hour), your hours are uncertain (and you don’t get any leave at all). And in the current climate, many have not been axed per se, but have had their hours reduced significantly.

My point is, it’s a pretty tough job market out there. Even in the most conducive conditions, immigrants (even Aussie grads) often face difficulty competing with the locals. It’s not so much the technicalities (though that does play a part too), but the cultural differences tend to divide us. Integration is a very big issue here, and for a very good reason too. Not to mention the inane “No Australian Experience” cliché. Most Aussies obtain their first job through referrals from friends and family, which is often not an option for most new arrivals. Of course I'm not saying everyone will have a hard time, but as a general rule of thumb, be prepared.

I spent my Christmas in Melbourne, a city I found I could more easily relate to, with its hustle, bustle and excellent shopping variety. After New Years Day, then began my real JobQuest.

From January until end March, I applied fervently for work online. I adjusted and readjusted my resume, according to the advice of recruiters, friends, a man from an online forum. I tailored my cover letters to suit the selection criteria of individual advertisements. I literally spent hours describing why I was “the best fit for the position”, “attracted you to work for our company”, “how your experiences and skills will help contribute to this role”. I filled in repetitive field after field. I developed headaches filling in online forms and writing long essays why I felt joining (insert company) would enhance my career (nevermind I had never even heard of it before). I begged friends, friends of friends, friends of friends of friends, acquaintances of uncles of friends, friends of family, random strangers I’d struck up conversations with (Thank you everyone! Sorry I was such a pain!). I even begged a good friend to have his dad pull some strings for me, something I am 100% ashamed of having to do. I grovelled. I whinged. I prayed to God every night, trying to keep faith in the dire circumstances. I spent countless sleepless nights, emerging after two hour naps to start my JobQuest at 6.30am on most days. Heck, I even applied for jobs I wouldn’t have touched with a ten foot pole under normal circumstances (to maintain some semblance of dignity, I won’t elaborate which ones). More than once, I sat on the couch and burst into tears, feeling like a worthless piece of crap for mooching off my boyfriend, for not being able to buy even the most menial luxuries. On good days, I would attend fruitless interview after interview after interview. Each one would raise my hopes a little, each praise of my being “well presented”, excellent communication skills and experience in a large corporation etc etc. And week after week, I would check my phone and emails obsessively, hoping and praying for the callbacks that never came. When all else failed, I even begged you, my readers, for leads. (Thank you to Pat and Eliss who responded!)

My self esteem was -187455676395930.02. The mirror reflected only failure.

There were friends, family, acquaintances who would cheer me on. Fellow migrants, in their varying accents (French, Belgian, Swedish, Chinese, Taiwanese, Pakistani, English, Singaporean, fellow Malaysians), would try helping me pass my resume around, cheer me on, tell me Don’t Give Up. Friends did the same, with the additional duties of counselling my sorry, self-pitying ass. Family too, especially my long-suffering mother tried buoying my sinking spirits. And then, there were some pretty awful people who showed their true colours. To the ones who jeered, said I was stupid for ever leaving my life behind, those who turned their backs on me, those whose offers to help were of the NATO (No Action Talk Only), well, whatever surface skimming, insincere relationship we had is really over.

And then I got The Call. Yes, the job was a referral, through the sister of a childhood friend. I cannot emphasize enough on the importance of networking. This will be difficult for many, who are perhaps more used to formalities, but you need to ask, ask, ask and beg if necessary. Saving face will not feed and house you. One must think of survival.

Finally, I want to emphasize why I wrote this post. During my lowest periods, I would search the web for others in similar circumstances, hoping for some sort of enlightenment. There were a few, but I didn’t really come across anything explicitly addressing this issue. Nonetheless, the subtleties gleaned from other Malaysians (and Singaporeans) abroad did offer some hope.

If you’re looking for work,

1. Ask everyone. I really do mean EVERYONE. Don’t be pushy, but express the seriousness of your intentions clearly.

2. Go to online forums and make friends. Actually make friends with everybody. Obviously, job hunting will be on your agenda, but just remember no one likes being used.

3. Different countries have different venues for jobseeking. Find out what they are.

4. If necessary, take some bridging courses with local universities.

5. Don’t sit around on your ass at home all day feeling sorry for yourself. I did that for 2 weeks and snapped out of it after getting a very long lecture from a friend. If you’re not going to bother putting in effort, don’t expect a job to land in your lap. No one owes you any favours.

6. If you get really depressed, go out, hang out with a friend or take a drive. I can’t emphasize how important it is to keep positive. I probably lost quite a couple of opportunities because my mentality then was Go ahead, waste my time. I know you’re not going to hire me anyway. We all know the preference is given to the Australian candidate. While this may be true, your moroseness may be interpreted as a lack of self confidence.

7. Pray. Trust me, it works.

8. And lastly, like everyone says, Don’t Give Up. Somewhere out there, there will be a role waiting to be filled by you. All in good time.

Every morning, I

... wake up at 6.30am to X’s face. I take a quick shower and get dressed, put on my make up. I grab the car keys and if I remember, my lunch. If X is free, he’ll send me. If not, I leave 10 minutes earlier at 6.50am, drive down the M1 highway at 100km/h. I turn left at Exit 82 and go through a whole series of roundabouts. I park my car at the first level because the basement is always full by the time I get there.

I get into the 7.25am train. Usually I try to get a seat in the corner of the carriage so I can rest my feet on the bar of the seats perpendicular to mine. There’s also fewer seats there in comparison, reducing the chances of my sitting in the vicinity of People Who Talk Loudly On Their Phones and People Who Board With Their Friends and Can’t Shut Up. Fat People Who Choose to Sit Beside You Because You’re Small Therefore They Are Able to Rest Their Bulk on Your Seat Too are unavoidable.

I try to shut my eyes for the next 1 hour 7 minutes.

At 8.32am, I arrive at South Bank station in Brisbane. I’m really fond of the place in general, but lack the time to admire its lush landscapes and artificial riverside lagoon. I hurry up three flights of stairs to get to the South Bank Busway. Sometimes I take the lift.

I usually get on the 174 or 175. Although the buses have their own schedules, they’re often unpunctual. I tap my gocard and sit down. The area which we are headed to is rather multicultural so there are many Odorous People on the bus. It’s not a racist statement, because these people come from many different countries, But what many of they do have in common is this invasive, pervasive stench, which has the uncanny ability to linger long after the offender has gone. I can’t tell if it’s from their diet or if their culture only permits monthly showers or they apply some sort of rancid lotion as part of their beauty routines.

I hold my breath.

I usually arrive at work about 8.50am or so. I work, I do my thing, I socialise with my colleagues, whom I am rapidly growing fond of. I enjoy the little privileges of being able to leave my milk in the fridge and having my own desk and my own little niche to fill. Auditing has left me with nomadic tendencies, so I haven’t graduated to the stage of leaving my jacket or shoes at the office yet. I did leave my pen, but the mysterious office Pen Thief got it. I check my emails, process the requests etc.

Lunch break is half an hour. Sometimes I get take away and have it at the pantry, or walk around eating while I window shop.

I leave work at 5pm sharp, with the only one exception where I stayed until 11.30pm clearing up my predecessor’s mess. I run across the road and pray the bus won’t be late, that there won’t be tourists on the way, boarding the wrong bus and wasting the driver’s time with questions. If I’m lucky, I get to South Bank in time to catch the 5.23pm express train to Gold Coast. If not, I take the 5.36pm or 6.04pm ones, thereby effectively delaying my return home.

The trains home are usually packed. Though packed here, is a relative term. It’s nothing like the LRTs in KL kind of packed (i.e. sardines in a can), but let’s just say I have the options of either standing for 45 minutes until Coomera (where half of them get off) or sitting on the carpeted floor, looking somewhat undignified in my office clothes and high heels.

I choose the latter. Usually, I can’t sleep so I’ll read my latest (temporary) acquisition from the library.

I reach Robina between 6.30pm to 7.10pm. If X doesn’t pick me up, I drive home, going through the aforementioned roundabouts in reversed sequence.

I get home around 7pm – 7.30pm.

Missing Manglish

It's strange how being away from home affects me. Whilst in KL, I often got mistaken as a tourist, simply because my inflection wasn't apparent. Lately though, I'd go heavy on it at every opportunity (read: when meeting AG and Min Wye). Friends marvel how I've contracted a Malaysian accent in spite of my current location.

What constitutes a Malaysian accent? To me, it's the additonal affixtures at the end of the sentence. The occasional reversal of sentence structure. The substitution of words/ phrases in a different language/ dialect when you can't think of it in whatever tongue you were speaking in (You ingat I siow ah? - Do you think I'm crazy?). The accents shifts to accommodate your audience. People in my close social circles are mainly English speaking, with most of them overseas-educated. As a result, I've picked up a little bit of everything from everywhere.

I'd never given too much thought to my own speech but here, it's been pointed out at least once a week I have an American accent. People even go as far as, "Were you raised in the States?" It's especially amusing since I've never stepped foot in the country. Fellow Malaysians tell me it's pretty common, since we were all raised on a diet of American television. Toh-may-toh, not toh-mah-toh.

My personal theory is, that all Malaysians have a inbuilt colloquialism quota. When you're surrounded by your own kind, you tend to speak at your most natural. In my case, that would be English with the odd Malay/ Hokkien/ Tamil word thrown in. And maybe some wans and lahs too. However, X still can't digest anything more than a little bad grammar. He and my mother are slowly beginning to understand each other, but it goes without saying our communication remains slang-free.

Therefore I'm completely fertile with pent up colloquialisms by the time I do meet people who understand sentences like Dun want lah, so ma fan or So sien talking to this guy, bodoh sial. The latent slangs rise from every cell in my body and exude from my pores.

And then I fire.

A rose by any other name

"I'd recommend you omit your visa status, your date of birth and anything that shows you were in Malaysia", a lady at the Job Network services told me. "Remove anything that shows you're Asian."

She was perhaps politically incorrect, but her heart was in the right place. And her point of view was reiterated again and again. X's friend couldn't fathom my jobhunting dilemma. A nice man on the British forums offered to look over my CV and told me his wife, a Singaporean faced the same problem.

What I would do is remove the education in Malaysia, the hobbies and interests section. Also let me say my wife is a Phd from Singapore/Malaysia and we noticed the difference when she used my surname versus her own and removed reference from Singapore and emphasised her UK Masters and PHD from cambridge. One client even initially asked the agency if she could speak english (despite obvious tertiary qualifications from the UK). So don't take it personally, its not ethically right what they do but you need a job and for the sake of moral high ground the end justifies the means.

Jan: Can I use your surname?
X: No. We have to be married.
Jan: Can we get married?
X: No.

Now I know my pseudonym (you didn't really think Jan Banks is my actual name, did you?) depicts a person of Anglo-Saxon heritage, but it's actually an anagram and a teenage nickname.

Even Kal Penn (Kumar of Harold and Kumar, and the guy from House M.D.'s team) faced the same problem. Nevermind he was actually brought up in the States. From Wikipedia, Penn says that he chose the stage name Kal Penn (from Kalpen Suresh Modi) as a lark: “Almost as a joke to prove friends wrong, and half as an attempt to see if what I was told would work (that anglicized names appeal more to a white-dominated industry), I put ‘Kal Penn’ on my resume and photos." His audition callbacks rose by 50 percent. Penn has stated that he prefers his birth name and uses "Kal Penn" only for professional purposes.

A recruiter I met last week put it into perspective for me. Due to the increasing number of international students flooding the Aussie uni market, universities have become lax about letting them all get their degrees. Word of mouth is good for business, yes? 87% of the local accounting grads can't even string an English sentence together, and as a result, are unable to effectively execute their duties. "They graduate expecting to find a job and get their PR's and end up working in restaurants and retail.

"Employers look at your CV, they're not going to speak to you, they're going to set it aside. So you have to not give them any chance to eliminate you."

What angers me more is the number of colleges unethically set up as immigration offices. It is not uncommon to find these places crowded full of non-English speaking immigrants who are there just to get a visa. They ruin the image of actual bona fide students and workers who are able and willing to work. Is this an elitist view? Probably. But the way I see it, if you choose to move to a foreign country, you have to learn to integrate and contribute. If you're going to segregate yourself and not even bother picking up the local lingo, then what are you doing here? You are the representative of your culture and country. Many people here (Australians and otherwise) are most likely to encounter less than 5 Malaysians in their lifetime (unless their line of work happens to deal with heaps of us) and whatever impression I give them now, will form their entire view of Malaysia as a country. And mind you, the Australian media does not paint a very pretty picture of my motherland.

Speaking of names, I have a long overdue rant. I'm not actually very fond of my real name. I can't understand why my parents chose such an awkward, unabbreviate-able misnomer for me. Why couldn't I be named something like Ai Ling or Mei Ling or Li Na etc etc? Nooo.... they found the strangest sounding possible title and decided (too late) that they couldn't quite live with it. And end up calling me Jan instead.

And the worst part is, Jan is not part of my birth certificate/ passport. My extremely pro-Chinese father refused to anglicize my name because "Chinese people should have Chinese names and have Chinese babies in China."

I am 99.9% certain I am the only person on planet Earth with my name. My research is backed up by hours of egosurfing. For that, I am grateful. I wouldn't want anyone else to go through a childhood full of confectionary and nut-related nicknames either.

Anyone know anyone else hiring?

It's almost been here 5 months and I have still not been able to obtain work. I've had to reiterate to many well-meaning friends the same things over and over again and am getting RSI from so much repetition. So here's an FAQ.

1. Are you working yet?
No.

2. How many jobs have you applied for?
About 150 or more. It increases on a daily basis, depending on my level of self-pity that day.

3. Why can't you get a job? You've got the qualifications and experience!
Beats me. They usually reject me on the basis of "no Australian experience". Of course, there's also the minor inconvenience of the economic downturn coinciding with my arrival.

4. Why don't you get a part-time job?
This is a long one. You can't just get part time jobs. You have to have specific qualifications and experience. Especially with Gold Coast. Below is a non exhaustive list of certifications matched to the commonly suggested positions.
a) Waitress - RSA (Responsible Service of Alcohol)
b) Nanny - Blue Card (to indicate you're not a paedophile or something)
c) Administrative positions - though not 100% necessary, they prefer people with Certificate III
d) Retail - Relevant local experience

5. Why don't you just get the certifications then?
Hello. I am poor okay (which is why you should *cough* feel compelled to peruse my ads!). Unlike all the other Asian chicks who are well-funded by rich mat sallehs, mine's very much working class.

6. What about Mc Donald's?
Fast food chains in Australia generally do not hire adults. Reason being, they will be legally compelled to pay us higher (albeit minimum) wages. Whyever would they do that with an abundance of snotty, rude little teens to run the show? It is unfortunate how my youthful looks are unable to reap me any benefits in this one.

7. Move to a different state?
I've already started applying. Unfortunately most employers won't even consider my applications as my current mailing address is in Gold Coast. Even though I did mention relocating won't be an issue though it will be because I will miss X to bits and cry myself to sleep every night.

8. Ask around?
I have been endlessly nagging everyone I know (and hardly know) on this issue. Unfortunately, some of the people I am closest to fail to realise how this is really stressing me out. However, I discovered I have about 50 odd readers who are currently in Australia. Is anyone willing and able to help?

9. Go back to Malaysia?
This will be like, a last, last, last resort. I used to work for one of the highest paying companies there and was deeply unhappy with the working culture. Unfortunately, I had little choice then - if I'd moved on to somewhere smaller, I'd be taking a pay cut of 40% or more.

10. What are your options?
I don't know. At the moment, X is sub-contracting for a massage centre and earns enough to keep us sheltered and fed. I still have enough savings to last a few more months. I'm not eligible for welfare for another 1.5 years. But it's awful living so frugally. I mean, I'm not even that materialistic, but I've spent the last couple of years before this living very happily and comfortably without having to give much thought to money. If you've read my old entries, you've probably noticed my laissez-faire attitude towards personal finances. I've got a few close friends in Singapore who are urging me to give the republic a shot.

I'm giving it some thought.