Chuck Fuck Marry

Another shisha session today at my beloved Turkish cafe. Flavor of the day- Peach Mint. Delicious, fruity sweet but not too sickeningly so and the mint helps to soothe the throat. Sometimes the tobacco inhaled will be too drying and exhausts your throat. During the 2 hours puffing away, my friends and I got bored. So, someone introduced a game to us. Chuck Fuck Marry

The rules of the game:

Name 3 people everyone is familiar with.
(Celebrities are a given. Common friends are fair game too.)

Out of this 3 people,
choose 1 you would Marry,
another 1 you would Fuck (just for the sake of it or simply because the person is too hot),
and the last 1 to Chuck(meaning dump it).

Have fun making up several lists and be surprised to hear some of the choices your friends will make. We made up a few lists with expected names. Angelina Jolie (duh) Brad Pitt Clive Owen Pierce Bosman Robert De Niro ( God. He is so hot, especially in his younger days. Swooning. ) Jessica Alba Even that guy from Transporter I, II, III. ( Yes, some of us have a thing for sexy bald guys.) And the list goes on..

So an example would be: 1.Robert De Niro- Marry 2.Sexy bald guy from Transporter- Fuck 3.Brad Pitt- Sorry baby. I'm going to Chuck you. I like the other 2 better and you come in behind them. We even made up a few lists consisting of some local celebrities. Allen Wu Rui En ( All agreed without hesitation she's the cool girl we'd all f---) Felicia Chin ( Chuck without a doubt. Talk about a ) The 7 newbie princesses are naturally included in the debate then. And some more lists of common friends or people we know. I'm not going to name names here. Don't be so freaked out, people. But a general pattern occurred here.. We would never choose to marry our ex-es. It just simply will not do. It ended right? So no looking back down that lane. The only way is forward. That fear of screwing up once again is deeply instilled within us. But we had a bloody good time making up the lists and dissing each others' choices. What!? I can't believe you think a bald guy... Note: The names of friends and outcomes of the game are advised to be kept confidential. Shall any harm belay you in the course of leaking the names and results out, you and solely you alone shall bear full responsibility. No compensations will be made to you.

List of Things to Do When Taking Care of GM

How to take care of one sick grandma(GM):

1. pack an overnight bag with lots of mandarin DVDs (or in any other dialects she understands) and some snacks for yourself.

2.hide all snacks or stash any other food high in sugar and sodium content far from the reach of GM.

3.convince GM to go through blood glucose and blood pressure measurements 3 times a day.

4.drink some water to rehydrate yourself.

5.convince GM to eat countless pills prescribed by doctors 7 times a day.

6.Rehydrate again. Caught GM eating chili soaked in dark soy sauce. Stopped her.

7.pamper and shower GM with affectionate hugs and words. Remember, she is the queen here.


I'm currently staying with my grandma for a few days. She's the woman who is sick and hates that fact. So, my brother and I are taking turns to stay with her to make sure she eats her pills and monitor her diet.

But guilt aside, try to make it as lively and light-hearted as possible. After all, what use is there if we are all solemn faced and dwelling only on the bad bits?

Just see what life throws at you and whether with a smile or not, you'll still have to deal with it.
So I say, why not with a smile?

Who Changed? You Or Me?

As I were in bed trying to get to sleep (but failed to), a number of my suppressed childhood memories came to me.

One that stood out in particular was the day I was really mad at my dad and threw a tantrum. This occurred during one of the Saturdays when I had to return to school for special (bullshit, more like it) Creative Writing classes for the elite students during my Primary 5 school year. My dad had agreed to send me to school after his morning meeting. So he kissed me goodbye on the cheeks that morning before he left for his short meeting and told me he would send me to school right on time. But of course, he never did.

Insert note here: In case some of you were not aware, it was true that I used to be one of those anxious students. You know the type- getting to classes at least ten minutes ahead of the appointed time, laying out the stationary on the desk, eagerly awaiting for the Oh Grand Master's arrival and salivating for the preaching (latest math formulas, literature essays to analyze..) to come. Yes, I was one of those anal ones.

Anyway, on that morning 20 minutes before class, I was already dressed for school, hair up in a neat tight ponytail, shoes clean and spotless and my bag packed with all the necessities to combat creative writing, and standing at the side of the road where my dad was supposed to pick me up at. Ten minutes before my class was starting, no sign of my dad nor his car. I dialed his cell. He didn't pick up. Ten minutes later when the class has already begun, still no sign of him nor his car. Damn.

I was freaking out by then and was dialing his cell incessantly. He finally picked up and told me he was reaching soon and to wait for him. I breathed out a loud sigh of relief. I continued standing my guard at the side of the road, ignoring all the taxis that slowed down upon approaching me.

A freaking half an hour later, there I was, hyperventilating in anger by the side of the road. I was so angry that I ran back home and there, my poor mother attempted to curb my tears and rage.

My dad finally reached 45 minutes after my class had begun and my mother had to practically drag me to the car to get me to go to school. I did not want to show up to class an hour late, so I reasoned that I would report sick. But they refused to hear of it. They both belonged to the school of thought- better late than never.

I did showed up in class later with a few crumpled Kleenexes in my hands,wet eyes and a very red nose. To my mortification, the ang mo teacher did not reprimand me and instead sat me down to continue a very enjoyable lesson on visualizing your story characters.

From this point on, I'm not going to go into one of those expected soppy Mum, Dad. Thank you for this demonstration of sturdiness in character and from that day on, I did turned out to be one of those morally upright citizens and displayed perseverance regardless and going on to reap the goodness from all these. Because this is not really true. I did not turned out that way.

Instead, fast forward to the present day.

Today, I was supposed to meet a friend at 10am but changed it to 11am. I woke up at 10.30am,called my friend to change the lunch appointment to 1pm. At 1pm, I was still trying to decide what to wear. After several outfit changes and finally one deemed appropriate, I met my lunch date at 2.20pm.

So, the irony of our lives.

After the internal comparison of me when I was a child (super uptight, punctual twat) and the present me (Super laid back, unruffled, late twat), it occurred to me that anybody can change. For better or worse. A drastic or mild change. It all just takes time.

Give anybody ten years. Observe their habits and learn their beliefs and values. Plot out the gradual changes over a span of ten years, and you'll realise that all these gradual changes eventually add up. The person you once thought you knew so intimately has transform into someone else, or a stranger. Someone you used to smugly believe you know everything about had, to your horrified surprise and dismay, transformed into one of those people you could not stand.

Or is it just you who has changed instead?

Maybe, just maybe.

Ten years down the road or better yet, give it five years. One of those days, you'll look in the mirror and maybe you'll go who is that I see?

Sulking and Crying

Everyone has a temper right?
A side to them they are not readily going to gush to their friends and family about right?

I'm ashamed to say so, but I'm going to admit on record now I'm actually not as angelic and tolerant as how I want people to believe and think of me as. My attempts at portraying a calm and composed front usually do not betrayed the fact that underneath the thinly-veiled surface, were all these roaring cacophony of thoughts and conflicting emotions ringing constantly within my head.

Sometimes, I think I'm going crazy. So I do what I can to help myself.

I sulk.

I love sulking.

Sulking is like second nature to me at times. And I only allowed it to show behind the safety of my closed doors. I pout my lips, bite it till it's swollen, tension puckering my forehead, do a little stomping exercise with my feet and sometimes grumbled to my stuffed bears. I don't do the throwing of things around act, as the cleaning up is really too much of a hassle to do later. (I can never comprehend people who throw plates around and then have to go to Takashimaya to get a new set.)

Sometimes, I'll burst into tears even. I can't help it.I have to vent it out somehow right?

Plus, I swear my tear ducts seemed to be lacking an off button now. Somehow, one way or another, the tears just start welling up and I try so hard to stop them by thinking about puppies or the hundred uses for Vaseline, the 100% pure petroleum jelly (1.apply on minor cuts or burns 2.use to tame flyaway hair 3.tame unruly eyebrows 4...). But they always come eventually, even if I stop them midway after a tear or two had glided down my cheeks, they returned to me later in the night.

And it's ridiculous now.

For no apparent reason, I felt like crying and yelling when I was biting into my Top chocolate bar the other day. I had to suck it up and focused all my attention on the crunchy bits of my choc bar and tried to memorize the exact shape so that if you get me to replicate it now, I am able to sketch it out for you immediately. It finally stopped after I convinced myself that throwing a fit in the parking lot of my school is just going to gain me the reputation of a nutty recluse who yelled at her choc bar and stomped on it later.

So, I walked myself over to Little India and sat down in one of those dirty greasy unnamed Indian coffee shops and ordered a cup of tea. Amongst the blustering crowd and loud incomprehensible Hindi music in the background, I finally found calm and quiet in myself. The nice Indian man with his indecipherable accent at the counter even taught me what a vadai was and how to cook and eat it.

So, I was thinking. Maybe this is the new cure for my temper and emotional turmoils?


Dear friends, please note that these are not frequent occurrences. I have not be able to lay a finger on the exact cause but am feeling better since the last incident. So there is no cause for you to feel alarmed that I am displaying schizophrenic-like behavior here.