The start of another decade

NYE was always such a huge event for me. Drinks and dinner out with friends (or whichever douchebag I was dating then), usually at Bangsar, the climatic countdowns, the sweaty hugs from friends and strangers, the euphoria perhaps stemming more from the prospect of a new slate, than a year well spent.

The past couple of NYEs have been less than memorable, mostly spent on recovering from flights and trips. And given that I'm about to spend a 5 digit sum on my course next year, C and I had a rather low key celebration this year, living the house only to catch the rather uninspiring fireworks (The Spit, Marina Mirage, Surfers Paradise) on the Broadwater.

My last bowling session was an awkward episode 11 years ago (I flung the ball backwards). Hence the overreactions to my hitting anything at all. C was much more adept though, and scored a couple of strikes.

All of us at the table were mildly embarrassed by SC's antics.

A typical day on the Gold Coast - skater dude, beach-goer, fat person.

C left his lights on and needed me to jump start his car, which turned into an ordeal of sorts, given my car's history of chronic un-ignition-ness.

Big ass spider molt at the Botanical Gardens off Ashmore Road.

Non-duck.

It was turtles galore that day. Some guy made small chat, claiming it was his first turtle sighting. Having experienced this, I found it a little hard to believe.

Marsupials at the Coombabah Lakelands. We got surprisingly close. Should have brought food.

The duh roo, with his cocked ear.

Molted cicada shells; I'd never noticed them before, but they are indeed a dime a dozen.

A flea-free cat is a contented kitty.

For a chronic dose of cuteness

We live in Singapura

I may not be Singaporean, but we are pretty much the two only nationalities who can appreciate the awkward beauty of bahasa rojak.

Our first Christmas together and other stories

What the beach looks like when you manage to convince a beach-hater to go on a long walk with you. Next up: rainbows and unicorns!

Cheese and cumin sticks from RD's mum. Tastes strangely like murruku.

I took C out for dinner in very Hefner-esque, cheap boudoir restaurant. Mediocre food, but a nice night out anyway.

What a defeated cat looks, post-shower.

Nibblies at Aunty Lil and Uncle Kev's. The shortbread in the foreground was made by us.

Rosey (L) and Moo Moo (R).

KG was clearing out 3 tonnes of bricks and dead plant matter in the process of his renovations. It's amazing what a long and arduous process it was getting rid of the stuff.

Galileo's thermometer. Very fascinating. As the temperature rises, the baubles, filled with different fluids, fall. Each bauble is numerically tagged.

Our Christmas cards carefully balanced, where the cat would not get them. A flea-bitten cat is an angry Grinch.

Photo taken by C's dad, at his family home, where we spent Christmas.

This is Cat (aka Cool Cat, or Cattenborough). If he likes you, you get head nuzzles, kitty kisses and throaty miaows.

Christmas lunch - ham, turkey and roasted vegetables. Yums.

One of our favourite gifts, from C's folks - almost too cute to use.

The best Valentino quote ever

(best appreciated when said out loud in a bad Italian accent with lots of hand gestures)

When asked what advice he would pass on to young designers in Harpers Bazaar,

"... they take a piece of cloth, pin, pin, pin and they make a big pouf and to try to get rid of everything, they put a huge belt. No, no, no."

The immigrant's Christmas

For whenever a Malaysian politician spouts another embarrassing quotable, I become Chinese. And whenever we come across another FOB (fresh off boat) mainlander doing something mortifying in public (like sucking meat off KFC bones noisily), I am Malaysian. And for the purposes of avoiding yet another drunk come-on, I develop an Australian accent (Aussie women are fierce).

I've never felt like I fit in anywhere. I wasn't Christian enough in church. I wasn't Chinese enough to hang out with the Ah Bengs and Ah Lians. I wasn't good-looking or well to do enough to be part of the cool kids. I wasn't focussed enough to be a nerd. I wasn't conformist enough to blend in with my ex-colleagues. For much of my life, I flitted between social groups, tailoring my mannerisms to suit my companions du jour.

Similarly here, I remain not ________ enough to be with the ___________. Yet now I understand why the Gold Coast feels like home. We're a motley crue of everyone from everywhere, all in search of a more coastal lifestyle. Almost everyone I know here was born somewhere else. C's dad moved from the UK as a six and a half year. C was born 2,300 km away, in Tasmania. RD is Slovakian. SK is from Slovenia. SE grew up in South Africa and Sydney. KG spent the first half his life in Adelaide. X spent his childhood in the States and Sydney. TF and I grew up a suburb apart.

We are not united by culture, nor common language. Not religion, sometimes not even interests. Perhaps all we share, is the very act of upping and moving somewhere else. Of building a life for ourselves, unencumbered (or at least less encumbered) by our pasts. Of the freedom anonymity affords. And in this rootlessness, we are blessed to find love in our chosen families.

This Christmas, I am not attending any obligatory functions, nor buying presents because it is expected of me. Instead, I am carving out my own traditions and choosing to spend time with the few people I care about here.

And this Christmas finally feels like my own.

Dogs and cats

This caused C to tear. The video below is just off the cute spectrum.

We also showered the cat today. Fleas. He reacted surprisingly well and does not hate us, though we were taken aback by the decibels of the initial alarmed miaows.