My kind of Saturday.

My kind of Saturday.

The skies were clear and the sun was out. Our beach date would have been perfect if not for the Japanese tourist who dug her high heel into my ankle on the beach tram. For the last time, who wears heels to the beach?!






"First the beaches in India, then Guethary, and now Singapore," said B. At times it did feel like we were on Goa's Baga Beach, and the sunset reminded me of our stay at the romantic Sur La Mer. The only difference was Tanjong Beach's exceptionally dirty waters. We could feel oil on the seabed, had to swim our way through a seaweed fortress, and i couldn't see my toes! What happened to the clear waters?




But with salt on my skin and the wind in my hair as I watched the skies blush at sunset, dirty seawaters were the last thing on my mind. And as we dined in candlelight at km8, I felt like we were on a beach holiday.

The missing ingredient.

The missing ingredient.


poster from www.screeninglog.com

After months of chick flick drought, Ceci and I caught Vicky Cristina Barcelona last night, amidst a predominantly male audience. It was a tad odd, but we left it at the conclusion that they were either Woody Allen or Scarlett Johansson fans. The movie, though less cliche than the usual fare, was disappointingly bland as compared to previous Allen-Johansson pairings like Match Point and Scoop. At least to me.

The subject in Vicky Cristina Barcelona was love, a concept tackled and mishandled way too often in films. In this somewhat indie offering, Allen sought to explore the inexplicable and tricky subject, but offered no answers at the end of the movie, except for one poignant statement that replayed itself over and over in my head on the bus ride home.

Juan Antonio's psycho ex-wife, Maria Elena, told Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) that their marriage was perfect except for "the missing ingredient". The ingredient turned out to be Cristina, who became part of the tangled threesome, but I thought that the concept of "the missing ingredient" was quite applicable in non-threesome relationships as well.

A seemingly perfect love affair can combust. Quietly, suddenly, or over prolonged periods of hurt. It leaves nothing behind but the ebbing sparks and a sense of inexplicable loss, while the lovers contemplate what had exactly gone wrong.

A movie that answers a question with yet more questions. How about that.

Oh, the joy.

Oh, the joy.

1,675 words for a 1500-word essay, even when the morning rains foiled my studious plans to visit the library for reference books. Gracias, Google Scholar.

I've got loads to blog about, but I'll save the introspection for later. Don't think I can stomach the idea of writing so soon.

When blogging feels like skiving.

When blogging feels like skiving.

I'm slightly over a third through my 1500-word essay, but it's somewhat slipshod, and in serious need of editing and beefing up. Still, it's comforting to know that I am almost halfway through my list of 10. It's the term break, but even blogging seems like an indulgence and superficial use of my time.

Funny how watching Gossip Girl didn't... neither did roaming around City Hall with B nor the long phone call with my sister who's in Germany. Priorities, priorities, haha!

There's yet another project meeting tomorrow morning, which I've got a feeling would drag till the afternoon. Then Gitte's coming over for her piano lesson in the evening. And as Thursday is gonna be packed with back-to-back appointments - brunch with B, beach run with Lanxi and dinner/movie with Ceci - I'm gonna have to work doubly hard tomorrow night. Hopefully I'd be able to wake up on time to squeeze in a swim before the 11 a.m. meeting.

And now to try to get to sleep before midnight...

In Matcha lies the cure.

In Matcha lies the cure.

The realization of a 1500-word organizational communication essay rounds off my term break to-do list to a perfect 10. Between dates, project meetings and my beach routine, I've ridden on my writing roll over the weekend to churn out my travel writing assignment and an internship cover letter. That leaves me with 8.5 more assignments to tackle over the next seven days.

It is reminiscent of the crazy poly days, and I am oddly enjoying it. It's inexplicable how I feed off being consumed by a piece of writing. It zaps and restores my energy levels all at the same time, and I'm a sucker for this feeling.

The week before term break is almost always deadline haven, so between lessons and Japanese takeout, the babes and I had a bit of a breather mucking around with Erwin's new Woody Allen glasses.





Nothing like a spot of laughter to put things back into perspective.

That night, bitch and I caught up over some late-night frappuccinos at Starbucks.



For a few hours before I had to rush home for a midnight online meeting, I could push most thoughts of work to the back of my mind, and to enjoy my Green Tea Frappe. I've been stuck on the drink ever since Rai introduced it to me several weeks ago.

After errands and two pages of my travelogue, I met B for dinner and to catch Mamma Mia! on Friday.


poster from http://www.flickr.com/photos/divxplanet/2598031284/

I wouldn't have taken the "feel-good movie event of the year" phrase on the poster seriously if I hadn't seen the movie for myself. Despite the umpteen cheesy moments, the catchy tunes had the audience singing along, and clapping when the credits rolled. It was an unlikely movie-going experience.



"Are Singaporeans always like this in cinemas?" a clearly surprised B whispered sometime through the show. I wish!

After a semi-grueling Saturday morning meeting and a cholesterol-laden Carls' Jr lunch, I headed home for more travel writing and an energizing cat nap, before meeting a bunch of CS peeps for "cultural immersion" at Geylang Serai. Zak was our friendly tour guide of the day, and the most inspiring moment of the evening would have to be watching a whole kopitiam of Muslims breaking fast together.

I don't know if it was the lack of sleep, but Lanxi and I only managed 2/3 of our usual beach route, before calling it a day and heading back to the city for our sushi lunch. And a scoop of ice-cream, green tea flavor for me. If anything, at least I had substantial doses of antioxidants over the past few days to last me through the pile of work that awaits.

Flop.

So, change is really the only constant huh?

So, change is really the only constant huh?

Once in awhile, we're faced with situations that force us to reconsider and address what we thought was ingrained in us. It is enlightening as much as it is unsettling, so I like to think of it as part of my growing process.

On a different note, I couldn't help but wonder as I arranged the pictures - Am I busier than I think I am?



Just in - Pictures from B's birthday/housewarming barbecue on Saturday.




The Spottiswoode gang's annual mooncake gathering.


It was Tzin Ling's birthday, so what better way to celebrate on Mid-Autumn than with a birthday mooncake? We're innovative, not cheapskate.


Going to the beach's the only logical thing to do when the sun's out. Keeping in style with my newly embraced no-planning mantra (more about that in a separate post), I abandoned my plans to stream Gossip Girl and start on my travelogue, and instead packed up for an impromptu beach trip with Ken this afternoon.


Blue skies and relentless sunshine. And as I had just borrowed a copy of Sex and the City from the library, I thought I'd order a different cocktail and have a Cosmopolitan instead. Still prefer my favourite Mojito, though the Cosmo did lull me to sleep under the shade. I'm still sunburnt despite my attempts at minimal exposure. "Je suis rose," I told B when he called earlier. I am pink! But knowing my skin, it'll probably subside by tomorrow.

I had just about enough time to squeeze in a run before Gitte came for her piano lesson. Though the scorching evening sun left my throat parched halfway through, I unknowingly shaved a minute and a half off my usual timing (note to self: play Hootie and the Blowfish for a faster run).

The GST offset letter just came in the mail, like an early birthday present of sorts. Guess I can now afford to be a tad more lenient with my three-months-to-Bali saving plan. But along with the GST letter came an overdue statement update from my Europe jaunt. I've glanced through it briefly, and the offset package is far from balancing it out. I've thus chosen denial. Haha.

Nature's Prozac.

Nature's Prozac.

It has been quite a week.

Three parts late nights, four parts alcohol, equal parts of food and friends, and generous dashings of hustle and bustle. Seasoned generously with self-discovery, skepticism and liquid laughter.



B's birthday dinner at Sushi Tei on Friday night, followed by drinks at Villa Bar, and late-night sweets at the 2am Dessert Bar at Holland Village. And my final birthday gift box had:

1. Leather Macbook cover
2. Singlish dictionary
3. Bus and MRT guide
4. Myojo cup noodles
5. Maxim (not sure if it was a mistake!)

Sleep eluded me that night, and I was drained, to say the least, when I flopped into my own bed the next morning. I jerked awake a couple of hours, and made an impromptu decision to head to the beach with Erwin instead of barbecue-shopping at Carrefour with the Frenchies.



Contemplating life while nursing our cocktails on km8's deck chairs.




With nature at its most spectacular before our eyes, and a wedding party ongoing in the bar behind. Sometimes, the secret to all-too-elusive contentment lies in going back to the very basics of beached-out blissed.

The mornings may seem too long, the afternoons too hot, and the nights too cold and lonely. But there's something about the golden light at sunset that makes everything negative seem miniscule in comparison. Jem calls it the magic hour. Indeed.

And then it was back to the city for B's birthday barbecue, and my startling realization of just how many French people there are in Singapore.