Saturday, December 22, 2007


Everyone knows that the best way of dealing with a mish mash of relatively unrelated issues is to checklist them and address it in point form. If you didn't, shame on you. It's certainly the best way if one is feeling/is lazy and not in the mood to write in coherent prose. As yours truly currently is.

Happy 6th Anniversary.

  1. Even though, it's three days past now, the actual day went by with nary a whimper due to the fact we both had work and I failed to call him before midnight on the actual day.
  2. Sean's still a real chum, thanks for having endured (and still enduring) my shit these past six years. I honestly doubt if it were anyone else, I'd still be attached. Play hard, work hard, love hard.
  3. In my defense to the seemingly callous behaviour in point 1, I did sms him in the morning on the way to work, though I realise it does not detract from the fact that I didn't call. Yes yes, I suck.


  1. Are bloody precious now.
  2. Ironically, we seem to spend the major part of it engaging in our favourite S activities: sex and sleep. But I have no qualms sleeping for three hours plus after sex. Come on afternoon naps are a luxury now.
  3. Also mean there's just one more day before Monday.


  1. Alright I still have a sweet tooth. I've had it ever since young when having dinner/lunch was often viewed as an annoying necessity but had no problems polishing off an entire box of after eight mints with great gusto. If I were a girl, I'd probably starve myself and stuff my self with salads just to spend those dreaded calories on desserts or anything sweet. Like the Sister does. But I'm not, so I still enjoy my meals with great gusto AND my desserts/sweets.
  2. D is for Desserts. D is also for Donuts. Which may or may not be a subset of desserts. You can have a donut anytime of the day. But then again I've never been particularly constrained by the societal restrictions of having desserts after a meal or for tea. I could have them for breakfast if I felt like it. Which I do. Well, sometimes.
  3. So anyway, I'd always seen/ heard about the horrendous queues which form for donuts, particularly those made by Donut Factory at Raffles City Shopping Center and decided to get some myself after a double scoop of New Zealand's Natural Ice Cream's very yummy Honey Hokey Pokey ice cream, just to see if it was really like all it was hyped up to be.
  4. I'd never really been one for fancy donuts when I was a kid. The plain old sugared donut was more than enough to keep me satisfied and for some strange peculiar reason I never ever ate one of those chocolate rice sprinkled donuts. For one, the chocolate looked cheap (more butter than actual chocolate) and second, I just like the crunch of the sugar crystals when biting into a good old fashioned donut.

  5. I bought a box of 12 donuts on impulse. Which like Sean commented loudly, is probably quite crazy considering there' s just my Dad and I left at home, the Sister and Mother having a whale of a time somewhere in Vietnam. And unlike me, my Dad doesn't have a sweet tooth. "At the rate you're eating, you're going to turn into a lard ball soon." The amicable Other Half pointed out. Which has some merit to it I guess, thin genes and a healthy metabolic rate won't last forever. But when the sweet tooth acts up, it must be satisfied. At all costs.

Reached home. Dad had 1. I polished off 4. I have to admit these donuts are addictive.

Monday, December 17, 2007


I haven't been blogging lately I know, just a little something called work and getting intimately acquainted with the growing stacks of files that would probably pose a health hazard if I attempt to stack them all together. It's sad when you come back the following morning and remember exactly which tea-smudged tab in a particular file you left off at the previous night. It's sadder when staying till eight in the office feels normal.

It's been a week and returning to an activity that once seemed to be an aspect of daily life, seems strange and stilted. If only because every time I sit down now, all that comes to mind is how to draft a particular affidavit or summons. The task of attempting to give expression to the vacuous thoughts that flit about the recesses of the mind, strained and artificial. Much like flogging the proverbial dead horse if you will. As if by flogging it harder, through focusing ones concentration on the matter at hand some miraculous creative spark would restore the carcass to its former glory.

There is much to be said of the expression that disuse prevents reuse. Some cobwebs can be cleared away, others leave their insidious mark, little infractions that draw ones focus and attention from an area of interest and corrode the attention it once commanded. So whether this spirited return is for good remains to be seen for it is subject to whimsical fancies as fickle as a summer storm.

Who? What? Why? Where? Perennial questions that mark long lazy afternoons over coffee or a prelude to a stormy showdown. Or perhaps just tactful manipulation, as we divert attention away from greyer areas and stir up eddies of intrigue to conceal what it is we so desperately want to hide. And you wonder how people wolf it down, behind those plastic smiles as they pass by, mobile mannequins, their minds a veritable hornet's nest of activity as they process and pick apart the information received from the daily discourse.

But can you stand apart, to look down with disdain at the crowd from your exalted pedestal and say with utmost confidence and not a shred of reservation that you've never partaken in such activities? If so you must either be totally deranged with delusions of self-grandeur or be a saint in which this earthly plane is the wrong one for you. But for the rest of us mere mortals, this is a game that plays us as much as we play it. For by purporting to disseminate information to our advantage, we need to continue its propagation and the interaction with our counterparts' efforts is something we are often unable to predict, much less control.

But still we carry on this charade, this endless riposte, this need for self gratification, uncaring of the consequences that may follow. For as it has been said, deception is the sweetest mockery.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

The Price of.

Because it's 11.35 PM, I've just returned from a wedding dinner, the Sis is hogging the toilet and I have 20 more mins before I call it a night, including the time to be spent showering; everything shall be short snappy and concise. Like the standard research opinion on implied statutory easements to pass my shit over your land or any other issue for which research is required. Don't like it? Write your fucking blog.

Lunch with the Year 1- 3 L. Associates today.

Assoc 1 (Upon learning that next year's batch would be paid the prevailing market rate of $2000 for pupillage and $500 for PLC (if there's still going to be a plc for next year)):
What??! That's so unfair. We had to survive without money for ours.

Me: Yep, well we are the last batch who don't get paid for PLC and most firms already pay that amount. They should pay, we're quite broke.

Assoc 2: Well but it does make sense that they don't pay during PLC, you don't work, you don't get paid. Simple.

Assoc 1: Which is why it makes it so unfair that the next batch will be paid.

Assoc 3: They haven't been paying PLC allowances all this while and Pupillage allowance has always been [sum lower than 2k]. Where do you think they'll get the money from? Ah I think we can deduct this sum from this year's bonuses. *Makes shaving action with finger*

Assoc 2: No, you know what's really unfair? It's if the current pay structure remains the same and when you (points at Assoc 1) go to court for some summons or PTC and come up against some newly called rookie from BXB firm who knows almost nothing but who's being paid more than you. That's unfair.

Well but like I told the Blog Master after undergoing his enlightening 'career analysis' test, Big Bucks isn't the top priority, the working environment and people are to me, the most important consideration in a job. And in this regard, I think the Firm does well. Heck, I even have a nice spacious as of yet undecorated room (without a view but I'm not picky) that I share with A.

The work's still heavy, not unbearably so but certainly enough to keep one gainfully occupied for the official working hours if not for more. But it's really Own time own target for now, though I foresee spending more time in the office in the near future. Smell that bracing office air. Ahhrgh. Time to get a decent fan for proper ventilation past 8pm.

Sunday, December 9, 2007


Six persons. Four guys, two girls. Three couples. One straight, one bi, one gay. We ordered practically everything on the menu and went for seconds. I think the waiters were a little astounded. The banter was light and uncontrived though we were often assailed by Grace's perculiarly annoying habit of whipping out her camera and snapping mugshots of the food and people in various stages of repasting. Though her annecdote about how her boyfriend, Richmond, 'merlioned' the hor fun they were having for lunch all over her face and blouse while she was going on about some office event was highly amusing, in a gross kind of way.

I understand how it could have happened though. I spewed water all over aileen's windscreen when she was recounting how her classmates brought Yaoi to school to share with friends at the tender age of 13-14. Then it was off to Mox where Grace displayed more of her photography skills and trundled the unfortunate few all over the place just to get a perfect shot. We probably terrorised the patient staff there quite a bit with our requests for more chips.

Off to work again tomorrow. It's a mixed feeling but it'll be nice to get paid for a change and know that one can get off work relatively care-free without the need to worry about tiresome tutorials or having to prepare for some other senseless crap.

Thursday, December 6, 2007

Ho Hum

I'm suffering from LPS which stands for Last Paper Syndrome, not Lowly Piece of Shit though there are days when one feels like the latter. In a little over 13 hours, the last exam of my life will be over. No euphoric highs, no jubilant shouts of glee, certainly no nostalgic reminiscing. It seems strange how humans always want to celebrate the passing milestones in their life, to go out with the euphemistic bang.

With great fanfare it started, this prodigious embarkation on a 20 year long journey of formal education and with a whimper it dies. Like a pauper in an unmarked grave uncared and forgotten, this signpost in the journey of life will be passed by with nary a nod of recognition. It seems ironic yet it remains a fitting end. One day I'll look back with some nostalgia as we are wont to do, but not now.

As far as preparations for the papers are concerned or rather the lack thereof, LPS didn't change things much, if only serving to reinforce the pervasive miasma of slackness that was never really dispelled for this exam. Went out with Annie for coffee and a little impromptu shopping, something we haven't done for ages, walking the entire length of Orchard Road from Plaza Sing to Forum, buying CDs from HMV and dinner at the same old Turkish place, Anatolya, where we laughed and gossiped so many years ago. All in all, a day of doing things we'd done so often, so long ago and it was pleasant.

I've become a lot more impatient lately, having stumbled on the online manga site, One Manga, with its free voluminous scans of scanlators' works of the different popular manga series, I gave in to curiosity and embarked on a marathon session of Naruto. Which just keeps getting better and better. Then having finished the series to its current chapter, boredom rapidly set in because we all know studying/reading notes is like wading through pee after having tasted the ambrosia; so I devoured more series, Bleach, Claymore, Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles, D Gray Man and the highly amusing Full Metal Alchemist.

666 Satan (which no, isn't an occult offering but the name of a cute manga by Kishimoto Seishi, the younger twin brother of Kishimoto Masashi, author of the immensely popular Naruto.) is currently the latest target. It's quite amusing really, how their drawing styles are really similar and there are common elements in the plot. Still it remains an entertaining read, though of course nothing seems able to beat Naruto in terms of sheer suspense.

Jio in 666 Satan. Looks familiar? :)

So as you can see, studying for this exam has been rather non-existent, even if one does attach very generous definitions to the term 'studying'. 'Relaxed, intermittent reading' would be a more apt description to sum up the state of preparations and amount of effort input into this last enterprise. Listening to that glorious piece by Clarke, The Prince of Denmark's March from the newly bought Unforgettable Wedding Classics cd, it just makes one feel like marching down the aisle I swear.

Ah well, at least I do get to meet Sean at long last on Sat. Oh and does anyone want to buy a (normal) wii, I found a shop selling modded ones that play english as well as Jap (Read Naruto Shippuden games on Wii) games for a cool $560. Crap. Now excuse me while I attempt to speed read the remaining 6 chapters of this dreary subject.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007


The difference was striking. One was tall and vibrant,its dome shaped crown blessed with lush green leaves in abundance. The other standing in stark contrast beside it was its exact twin in height and shape but where the other was covered in rich greenery and foliage, this one was threadbare; the few remaining leaves on its branches brown and crisp, a cruel parody of nature.

Where the first was obviously in its prime, the thick emerald foliage and numerous pearly white flowers releasing their thick cloying perfume testament to its vibrancy; the other was bare, its diaphanous web of branches reaching out to the heavens as if in desperate supplication for mercy, the muddy dried leaves pointing earthwards, drooping but not dropping.

Life standing beside death, the manifestation so obvious, it nearly seems surreal. But death and life is a never ending cycle. Unbroken for all time regardless what religions might have one believe. A fact as ancient as the universe.

The wind blows strongly now, the swaying rustling leaves, the waving branches, a hypnotic mesmerising dance and the chorus, a strange yet soothing melody. The dead tree remains as impassive as ever, its immobile silhouette strangely disconcerting against the backdrop of sashaying trees. The leaves barely move, so still they are, it is as if they had been glued there. A statue amongst birds.

To that question, so long ago. You broke your Promise, I broke my Resolve. The branches are akin to our resolve, the leaves our inherent weaknesses but what makes us human, alive. Winds of opportunity and change come, rustle the leaves and our branches of resolve bend and wave to the temptation.

What should I be to you? Human, vibrant and alive, the flawed yet pleasingly natural individual or the dead dry thing, impassive, immobile and indifferent? I stare out.

Oblivious to its surroundings, the skeletal tree stands out still as it always will, bare, dry, dead.

Sunday, December 2, 2007

A Day in the Diary of Juliet Ang.

Juliet Ang. 35. Modern, Single, Forever-Young.

Dear Diary,

I should stop starting with ‘dear diary’ if only because it makes me sound like a flighty 14 year old schoolgirl confiding in her secret best friend all the dark, deep secrets and private thoughts that she can’t bear to reveal, not even to her best friend in life. Things that carry little import but have the potential to greatly mortify, like how you think your best friend’s boyfriend is so hot and how Tracia thinks she’s God’s gift to men but has a face like an over-ripe squash. But old habits die hard and at 35, remaining 14 in some aspects isn’t too bad after all. I feel the wrinkles coming. Shudder.

After the weekly Yoga session at X gym (which was incredibly invigorating as usual), I met Megan and Catherine for lunch at Y. The set lunches as usual were simply divine. It’s been almost 2 months since we last met up (jetting about for work has been exhausting) but I daresay they’ve changed slightly. Meg freshly botoxed, the crow feet conspicuously absent and her glacial face looking more plastic than ever. SKII she declared authoritatively when Cat and I complimented her on her youthful complexion. To which we exchanged a knowing glance, silly woman went overboard as usual, as Meg smiled, a faint upturn of the lips on an otherwise expressionless face. She’d make a fantastic mannequin.

Cat, dear old Cat, still jolly and a little boisterous but certainly looking a little more rotund. A little binge eating after the end of that disastrous relationship with Robert no doubt. She doesn’t like to talk about it but the occasional tremor in her voice when she involuntarily recalls some memory with him, her sentence dying off in mid air are signs enough. Not that it can be helped, I probably gained 3 kg after Jack left. Meeting the girls is always fun though it can take on a competitive air, each proffering some accomplishment as testament to the successful modern woman image.

Three single successful women, not always successful with men, who’ve been friends since 14, often feel the need for a yardstick to measure up with. If only to ascertain that we’ve not fallen behind. We’re friends and yet we compete, fall behind and we’ll console the poor woman, extend genuine offers of help yet be secretly smug that we, for now, are ahead in this never-ending race. So it was with great aplomb that Meg told us she had acquired, not one, not two but THREE Manolo Blahnik shoes which cost no less than $1200 apiece. His shoes are gorgeous, sleek works of art with killer heels that defy gravity, for which the wearer pays a painful price.

And while we congratulated her on her pricey acquisitions, we did warn her about the price she’d need to pay, after all at 35, we’re hardly the stiletto heeled Xenas of the boardroom anymore. Shoes with heels shorter than my paring knife are now the preferred battle gear for office, though as Meg noted, a night out with Manolo Blahnik just feels empowering and ritzy. “You become a different woman in those heels.” Something Cat and I can attest to.

Cat revealed that she had been promoted again, seems like her ability to deliver prompt results and whip recalcitrant subordinates into shape paid off again. “It just means I’ve sold more of my life to the job.” She moaned. But we could tell that she was secretly pleased. Plus it would help her in getting over that useless two-timing sod. Not to be outdone, I let on that I’d been seeing someone for almost 6 weeks now and had just gotten together.

Upon which they flooded me with questions. Who was he? How old was he? How did we meet? What’s he working as? How far have we gone? Prudish as it may sound, I was a little pleased with the attention. Alright, more than a little. After all, when you’re a successful, single woman at 35 and money is no longer an issue, companionship and the thought of having another person waiting for you at the end of the day suddenly seem a lot more important than they did 10 years back, when Power to Me and career progression were the driving forces.

So I answered, enough to titillate but not too much to be shamelessly flaunting, the kind that leaves others resentful and bitter. I’d met Keith at a housewarming party. He’s 32, impishly cute yet mature. Working as an assistant Financial controller in Z. Dated for a month and just got together recently. He’s incredibly romantic. How far, how far? They prodded.

The usual. We’ve already slept together once. Squeals. How was he? Oh not incredibly skilled but a warm and sensitive lover. And attentive, yes, incredibly attentive. Then at this point I had to demur and politely evade further probing from a very enthusiastic Meg as I noticed Cat was starting to look a little morose, eyes hazing over, the first telltale warning signs of doom and gloom.

We finished our tiramisu mostly in thoughtful silence. The rest of the afternoon was spent indulging in our favourite activity, shopping, though I had to plead fatigue after a light dinner of salad and soup at Q. Keith wants to bring me out for drinks at City Space tonight and I need to change out and dump the bags even if he is picking me up. Though I didn’t tell them that obviously, no point making Cat more miserable.

Alright, time for a quick nap before I freshen up and decide what to wear. That Givenchy gown or the JPG LBD. Decisions decisions. Oh and I’m supposed to arrange tea with Aaron, haven’t seen that man for almost a year. Probably been getting a lot of bum fun in his own words. But he’s such a dear and so hilariously risqué. Better catch that nap now.


Saturday, December 1, 2007


The soft patter of scurrying rodents busy at their tasks echo throughout the hallway, the persistent sound of water dripping from some unseen crevice, the only disturbances in this great darkened hallway. The soaring archs so far up, they are consumed by the inky darkness which seems an inherent part of the ceiling. Dark and forbidding, the heavens themselves devoid of even the frail light issuing forth like tentative snakes from the flickering torches below.

And yet I hear them now, whispers in the wind. The sighs, songs and cries of the long departed, the cobbled stones on which I stand, surrendering these ancient memories, even as they disperse and disappear into the gloom. Glad to be free from their prison of stone, to have found one to share a brief moment of companionship with as they travel onwards, forlorn and forgotten.