Pieces of conversation

He had a dream.
He cheerily tells me he had the weirdest dream about me the other night. He doesn't remember most of the dream. What he remembers is that I was a quadriplegic with prosthetic limbs. And he recalls vividly long after he awakes that I was on the ground on my torso and looking up at him.

The weirdest bit is that he had a dream with me in it.

Quite a different matter from he dreams of me. I wish.

Got difference meh?
I asked her if a friend of ours is still dating the Lebanese. She tells me the guy is Libyan. How did I get Lebanese?

My mind goes to another conversation some years ago about another woman dating this guy that everyone said was Algerian. Or maybe Nigerian. Same difference they said, when I persisted with asking so which was he.

I guess it's the same difference this time too.

Claws.
I whine to a fellow dancer friend that I am distressed I am not able to make lovely soft wave movements with my hands in my dance choreography. My fingers lock and my hands look like claws. I show her what I mean. And realise to my added horror that the joints on my fingers are knobbier than I remembered them.

Sigh. I make knobby claw-like movements with my hands these days.

Paul Ropp OD

I used to look forward to the Paul Ropp warehouse sale. That was when it used to be a big once-a-year event in September/October, with a smaller sale in April.

I would actually make a turnaround run to Bali just for these events.

Then the novelty started to wear off.

We actually passed up on the last warehouse sale in late January this year.

Now there is another in April. I am hesitant.

Because I suspect there will be another in a few short months. I might make that one. Or I might not.

I might have really overdosed on Paul Ropp.

It's a request *groan*

...he asked Mrs. Porteous' cousin to show him her breasts.

The request was denied, and Mrs. Porteous rebuked him for making it.

Request??

As in "oh pretty please may I have a peek at your perky tits?"

How about the drunk thug made lewd and crude remarks/gestures to cousin and wifey gave him the cussing of his life?

And while I am railing at choice of words preferred by our national paper, how about finishing court reports with "the maximum sentence for such and such offence is such and such" instead of the current line "so and so could have been jailed up to blah blah years or fined blah blah amount or caned blah blah times". What does could have been mean in this context? The sentence was too light?

Why is the paper so averse to using straightforward language? It is news reporting after all, not creative composition. Geez!

The twit in the dress shop

The dress shop happens to carry the bohemian style of clothes and accessories I adore - ethnic, peasant, beaded, lacy, patchwork, vintage. I enjoy browsing in there; happiness is when I find the item I absolutely must have even if I have no idea when or how I will use it. Other times, I just have to be content with having enjoyed poking around the cramped little store, but there was just nothing I really wanted.

Sadly, of late, the shop is manned by the most unacceptable twit of a salesgirl.

First she annoyed me by being right by my elbow the entire time, asking incessantly, "Anything special you are looking for?" In spite of my repeated answer of "No. I am just looking, thank you" she stayed right beside me.

When I told her I would enjoy browsing on my own, she actually said, "It is our policy to serve our customers very close."

Then she proceeded to give me this utter rubbish of sales spiels: "All the clothes are personally designed by my boss." Sigh. I so wanted to tell her the entire inventory came from places like Chatuchak; they may be handpicked by the boss, but they are certainly not personally designed.

I left the shop without buying anything that day.

I happened by the shop a few days later. Same twit was there. The moment I walked in, she walked right up to take her position by my side. As politely as I could manage, I told her to please leave me alone to look around by myself.

And she said, "Oh? You are still looking around?" Yes, in exactly that tone.

That's it. I left the store. And it crossed my mind that I should call up her boss to do something about the twit's style of customer service.

I did not act on my impulse. Instead, I resolved that I would not be in there again until the twit was removed by some other unhappy customer.

Well, I walked past the store again today. I still love the range of clothes in there. But it still came with the same insufferable twit who was busy pissing off another customer.

Maybe it is time to make that call to the boss...

Scary years

My guess is that I am the median age in this group of dance aunties. Everyone is 10 years on either side of me and it would be hard to figure out the exact age of any of us. There is real comfort in this observation - we are simply this group of "older women" leading an active lifestyle with folk dance.

Until.

Woman 1: I feel that the years 50 to 65 are very scary years. You notice the high mortality in this age group? Or else all kinds of ailments start at this time? But if you live past 65, you will live a good long life.

Me: Well, it's because in this age range, our bodies are going through a lot of changes.

Woman 1: How old are you?

Me: I turn 55 this year. And you?

Woman 1: 51.

Woman 1 to Woman 2: And how old are you?

Woman 2: I am much older. 73.

Now, this is all very scary because:

Woman 2 looks nothing close to 73. She can pass for 10 years younger, and a very good specimen even at 63.

Woman 1, at 51, looks older than me by maybe 3 to 5 years.

I just always assumed I look my age.

I look around me. I no longer know just how old the other women are. I don't even know how old I look.

I don't know why I find it scary when a person does not look her age in either direction. I just know I don't like being scared of something I can do nothing about. So I resolved I will stop talking about age with these women. So I can stop scaring myself. Haiz.

My life these days

I have settled nicely to not having to go to work. Many people are just not able to understand or are not willing to accept that I am really content with my life as is.

Sure, some things about work life I do miss. I miss taking care of the cheery and gracious people I met in the course of my work. I even actually miss the meaningless workplace gossip at times, puerile entertainment that it might have been.

But I do not miss any of the work regiment and I definitely do not miss the stress that comes with the territory.

I alocate three days in the week as me-time. This takes the form of dance sessions during which time I put aside vexations to immerse myself fully in the music and movement. I assign one day to doing the necessary household chores. The other free days are just that - free. Free to meet up with friends, catch a movie, read that book.

I am free to travel when the fancy strikes.

Free also to indulge my favourite cooking, which is making desserts. And, when I have something to put into writing, I update my blog.

Here's where my friends have plenty of well meaning intentions but not well thought-out advice.

You cook so well! I love your (insert favourite food)! Why don't you consider opening a restaurant?

You write so well! I enjoy reading your blog! Why don't you write a book?

Because, my friends, I don't want to get back to work in a restaurant or write a book. I don't even have anything to put into a book!. I want to just enjoy the freedom I have.

If I cooked for you, believe me, it was a labour of love.

When I update my blog, it's because I have something to share with you. (And while I am at it, I want you to know I know you do not read my blog.)

That's my life these days. I have no complaints. I am content.

March hafla by Belinda@Blujaz

(click on image for enlargement)

More on Blujaz happenings here.

Letting go

I felt it increasing over time. It's in her words and deeds. And stubbornly, I brushed aside my doubts and suspicions. Because I did not want to believe a friendship that lasted almost a lifetime has been a total sham.

But in the end, I had to face up to the ugly reality about our relationship. It is a lost cause, and I have already stayed the course, for old times' sake, for too long.

She harbours resentment towards me. In every thing and every way.

The sentiment has a name. It is called envy.

And against something as pervasive as envy, I have no defense.

So sadly, I let go of all hopes of salvaging a relationship I had treasured for too many years.

The Makeup Shop

For you ladies who want to wear a really special look for a really special event, or even for an improved everyday look, this is a really fun shop to check out.

The same goes for you guys too ;)

For love, money and holiday?

There has been an increase in the number of Singapore women arrested for drug smuggling. The profile emerges that they are in their 20s and 30s, single, are either unemployed or work in clerical, sales or service jobs. They have no prior criminal record.

These women are targeted by Nigerian drug smuggling rings to move narcotics across borders.

The modus operandi of the drug traffickers is to seduce the women with love, money and holidays.

Readers are less than kind in their comments directed at these women. Negative opinions run along the lines of stupid, ignorant, greedy.

What puzzles me about these women is - what's in it for them? Really.

Love? I wouldn't think there was enough time. Money? I don't think the sums involved are big enough. Holiday? I can't even see that as incentive.

I keep coming back to this really sad picture: these women are emotionally vulnerable because they have little self-esteem. When a man, any man, shows them a little attention, their minds and emotions are instantly scrambled so badly that they are no longer capable of rational thinking.

Surely only women who have no sense of self-worth will risk everything in return for empty promises of love, money and holidays?

Help me fill in the missing parts to this puzzle.

Growing old

Growing old has been on my mind of late.

It could be that our government has been busy making plans for us: active lifestyle, longer work years and, eventually, nursing homes here or across the causeway. I get particularly nervous when Singaporeans are told to reflect on how to adapt and adjust to this 'silver tsunami'.

A tsunami is a seismic sea wave; it leaves behind indescribable damage every place it hits. How exactly are we supposed to react to news of tsunamis be they tidal, economic or silver? With dread of course.

I was around old people a lot for many years in my younger days.

I played mahjong with a group of elderly women. This weekly social activity was what they looked forward to. When one of them fell terminally ill, we carried on the weekly game even at the hospital. I felt a happy sadness when it was mentioned at her memorial service how being able to carry on playing mahjong helped her through the darkest moments of end-stage illness.

When I had to put together a fashion show of cheongsams for the Chinese Women's Club, I made sure a particular older woman was in the show. She was really still beautifully regal and elegant, but we were fast losing her as a person to Alzheimer's. It was not easy working her into the show but it was made possible with the help of the other models. Her family video taped the show. And till today, I am happy knowing that a short film exists that shows this special woman - mother, grandmother, aunt, friend - when she looked beautiful one last time for her loved ones to admire.

I have to share my honest opinion about old people: they are a difficult lot to like. They can be cranky, grumpy and impossibly demanding one day, and sweet, caring and co-operative the next. And if you are taking care of them during their illness and end days, the experience can leave you physically exhausted and emotionally drained.

But when I think of what a difference those efforts have made to these people when they were with us, and what beautiful memories they left for their families and friends, I am happy I did what I did when I was able to.

These days, I am still around old people a lot.

And growing old has been on my mind a lot of late.

Because these days, I am practically one of them.

Art imitates Life?

Life imitates art more than art imitates life - Oscar Wilde

This is entertaining.

This is ... scary?

Not a joke anymore

It sounded like a joke back then.

The girlfriend is a proud naturalized American citizen for most of her adult life. America is where she made her life. America is where she raised her children. America is her life.

Then came the first rumblings of the financial meltdown in the last months of last year. The girlfriend spent one sleepless night thinking where to park her life savings. By the morning, she cleared out her savings with US banks and migrated everything to the State Bank of India. Now she can sleep nights again, she declared.

We all thought it was such a joke.

Now, the State Bank of India is more valuable than the Citigroup. And there is no end in sight of the ongoing financial carnage with the US banking institutions yet.

Now, the girlfriend's decision seemed so visionary and sound.

Now, the girlfriend's decision is neither flighty nor funny and definitely not a joke anymore.

February

was the month
- the holiday season finally ended. I can get back to a more normal pace of living.

- I had an epiphany: I have lousy friends. Having admitted to myself that some people are just not worth wasting time and effort on, I have now moved on. I appreciate my other friends even more. My equilibrium is restored.

- I first heard the expression "happy like bird" . Of all the uniquely Singaporean idioms, I love this the best :) "Happy like toad" comes a close second.

- I had an unexpected call from Mother one afternoon. Even more unexpected was that I was not the target of her verbal and emotional assault. This time, it was my brother. The one who lived with the parents for the last 7 years during which time they have had many confrontations of significant seismic proportions. There will be a few more aftershocks to come, then calm will return. Until the next confrontation. That's just life with Mother.

- my blog got spammed by commercial sites! I had to delete the spam comments one by single one. I now make it a practice to disable comments to older posts as a precaution against future attacks.

- I will start on making fun plans for the rest of the year.