thinking outside the box

I was rummaging through our kitchen and accidentally knocked over a bottle of fish sauce, the pure kind with no added sugar. Naturally, the sauce splattered everywhere, and the kitchen reeked of dead fish. Oh, why did we have to be Vietnamese? My mum and sister weren't home to (help me) clean up, so I had to get on my hands and knees to wipe up the mess. My dad and the boys (Chino and Socks) just stood around watching - typical males. I'd love to end up with a guy who'd cook and clean. I'd be glad to be the breadwinner, as I don't mind being the one to wear the pants in a relationship. Or perhaps I haven't met anyone who could 'lead' me.

Speaking of cooking, when am I supposed to start learning these sorts of things? I asked my mum when she learned how to cook, and she replied, "since I was in sixth grade." Well, duh, that's because there was a war going on at the time, so she was thrown into the role of being a mother to her many siblings. If there was a war right now, I'm sure I'd magically morph into a responsible adult too. Mother wasn't impressed and told me to start praying for a good husband, one who would tolerate my laziness/clumsiness/uselessness. I told her that with this face, I wouldn't have any trouble finding a sucker to marry me. So she retracted her comment and recommended that I be a spinster, already showing her condolence to the unfortunate soul who was going to end up with me. I don't think my mother understands me; I have big dreams! I enlightened her about my dreams, and she advised me to wake up.

This is my last week at CBA. I'll hopefully be out of the corporate world for a while. After three years of being cooped up in an office, I'm sick of this routine, so I'm going to step out there and take a breath of fresh air. It all started with the usual emailing marathon that LN and I have at work. When you have that much time to email, you start to question what sort of profession you're in, or maybe we're just outstanding at multitasking. Our regular series of gibberish led to a serious discussion about where we were at and where we should be.

I'm an unconventional person, so don't expect me to stick with a typical 9-5 job for the rest of my life. I'm impatient, yet ambitious (deluded) - what a rare combination. You often hear about success stories of people with great accomplishments, who are well-established and who’ve moved onto writing How-To-Get-Rich books. These self-help books were published to educate and inspire us to think outside the box, but do they give us the balls to take that giant leap? I frequently wonder where I'd be in ten years' time - if I had made something out of my life or if I’d still be wondering where I'd be in another ten years.

you're beautiful

There’s this stranger (let’s call him RD) that I’ve seen four times in the past six months. The first time was on my way to work. I woke up at Wynyard station, and there he was - way too good-looking for that early in the morning. I even rubbed my eyes, thinking I might still be dreaming, but no, he was real. It would have been a fairy tale if he’d fallen equally in love with me, but he didn’t even notice me. Probably for the best, since I likely had drool on my face (from the nap, not from staring at the handsome guy). He seems to exist in some Hot Guy parallel universe because I hardly ever see him.

A few months later, I was on the train home from work with my best friend. We were playing this dumb game where we’d purposely sit in different carriages to see who would follow. I, being stubborn, stuck to my carriage, so we ended up sitting apart (which completely defeats the purpose of travelling together, right, LN?). She woke me when we got close to our stop, and there he was again - rushing past me. At this point, I started wondering if he was some kind of dream, considering he only seemed to show up when I woke up (okay, twice). To prove he was real, I said, “That’s him!” LN, totally lost, just said, “Him, who?” clearly not keeping track of all the guys I’ve stalked. I told her he was my future husband, and she agreed he had a rugged, manly look.

Last week, I caught the train from a different station, and there he was yet again. I noticed he was talking to someone I vaguely knew from years ago. So, naturally, I decided it was time to reconnect and went over to say hello. The guy I approached must have wondered why I was suddenly being so friendly, but unfortunately, he didn’t introduce me to RD. The train arrived soon after, and I ended up sitting just behind them (pure coincidence). I could overhear RD talking about software, programming, and other tech stuff (I have a soft spot for IT nerds). That was the 8:07 am train. I took that train again today, but he wasn’t there. I almost missed it because it took me an hour to get ready (yes, it takes that long to look presentable). I considered waiting for the later train, just in case, but figured no guy is worth being late for work.

I ended up being ten minutes late anyway because I stopped to grab a big breakfast from a takeaway shop. I’ve got my priorities straight.

books

One of the things I miss the most about primary school is the book club. You know, where you get to order books and have them delivered to you in class, with the order form slip inside. I remember how excited I got whenever the book orders came in. If I hadn't been so worried about my classmates' opinions of me, I would have sniffed fondly at the lovely pages. Nothing beats the smell of a new book!

I took delicate care of my precious books. You would never find creases in any of the pages; I would use a bookmark or memorise the pages rather than defile my books with dog ears. I used clear contact to cover all of my novels and often lent them out to friends who didn't take as much care. One of my books came back with a dried orange juice stain, and it almost made me teary. From then onwards, I put plastic covers over my books before lending them out (because, obviously, the clear contact wasn't enough protection).

I had a diary where I kept track of where my books were being loaned. I contemplated making library cards for everybody, but I didn't have a laminator and didn't want to border the line of scary and obsessive.

what happened to me?

The last bar of my petrol meter has been flashing for a few days. I haven't had the time (or money) to fill up. Petrol prices have skyrocketed, so it costs more to feed my car than to feed myself. Dad lectured me about my apparently empty tank, and my defense was that I've decided to live life on the edge. What's more exciting than testing the limit and seeing how far I could drive? I'm such a daredevil.

I recently bought DVD box sets: Veronica Mars, Dawson's Creek, Felicity, Gilmore Girls, The OC, and Smallville. I also have the complete series of Friends, but that's nothing to brag about. I mean, who else can say that they have a whole collection of teenage dramas like mine? I'm at least five years behind on TV, so it's time to catch up. As a teenager, while everyone else had their eyes glued to the television, I had my head buried in books. My parents were worried about me and barred me from reading after bedtime. So, I read under my blanket with a torch—subtlety had always been my specialty.

Libraries and bookstores were my sanctuary. While my family shopped, I sat in the bookstore and read as much as I could, enjoying the smell of the crisp pages and getting high on their scent. In primary school, I was the school's Library Monitor (much cooler than it sounds) and came to school early every morning to offer my assistance. I sacrificed an hour of my sleeping time to spend quality time with the books. Whenever new books came in, I was assigned to cover them with clear contact since I had proven to be the most qualified candidate. Now that I think of it, they probably only let me do it because no one else was dorky enough to even want that job. I was obsessed with the laminator; I could have made good use of it at home, but every moral fibre in my body stopped me from stealing it (my bag was too small to hide it in). So, what ever happened to that little bookworm?