who nose

Job hunting in a tough market is a real mood killer; it can seriously mess with your self-esteem as you navigate the interview gauntlet. I waited anxiously for a callback from DA, and it felt like the longest week of my life, as if I were running a marathon in high heels.

My anxiety levels skyrocketed, leading to a rapid decline in appetite. I've been eating less but snacking more, developing an embarrassing craving for pork rolls - something I used to despise. My taste buds have gone rogue, and I've devoured countless Ferrero Rochers and Mamee noodles. At one point, I pondered how wrong it would be to die from sheer gluttony. After all, it is one of the seven deadly sins for a reason.

In my incoherent state, I devised a plan to sit at home, gorge on all the glorious food my heart desired, and slowly succumb to indulgence. Picture me sprawled on the most luxurious couch imaginable, living the ultimate couch potato fantasy. But fearing ridicule, I eventually dragged myself out of my pyjamas and abandoned this pathetic dream. Just then, reality called - literally. My phone rang with news of a second interview appointment with DA.

I met with the GM, a laid-back guy with a dry sense of humour and hat hair. Instead of a stuffy boardroom interview, he took me to a nearby café for a casual chat. Interviews are one of my strong suits, so I wasn't nervous. We had a comfortable conversation as I sipped my peach iced tea, while my potential boss assessed my ability to impress within an hour. Between discussions on Database Marketing and Opportunity Optimisation, he asked if I was Eurasian. I made him laugh by crediting his misperception to my dark eyeliner and inheriting my mother’s high-bridged nose.

God is truly gracious to me, blessing me with employment in such dire economic conditions. Who knows when the recession will end, other than God? It's comforting to know that His plan is perfect, even when we don't understand it yet...

jd, the wokstar

Perhaps it’s my Vietnamese upbringing that has convinced me that cooking for the home is part of a woman’s role. Now, feminists, please put your posters down. I’m not suggesting that every woman should cook. Personally, I’ve always imagined my husband coming home from work, excited for the dinner I’ve prepared for him. Our beautiful children would set the table, one playing the piano while the other gently plucks the violin strings.  

Fortunately, I’ve met a man who sees things this way too. Perhaps his fantasy doesn’t quite extend to the perfectly behaved, musically gifted offspring, but I know he appreciates a woman who enjoys cooking. The funny thing is, while I pictured myself becoming a wife who cooked, I was actually completely uninterested in cooking. The thought of clumsy me handling sharp knives and open flames was slightly terrifying. I had no business being in a kitchen and assumed I’d learn when the time came.

When I moved into my own place, the time finally came. I soon discovered that cooking was one of the most rewarding hobbies I’d ever picked up. Not only did it satisfy me creatively, but it also brought joy to my better half. Cooking for two is much more enjoyable (and economical) when there’s someone to share it with. The best part about cooking is seeing the happiness in his eyes as he tastes something I’ve made. I totally wok his world!