Archive | February, 2011

2 months on

28 Feb

59 days ago, I resolved to write a blog entry every day.  One a day.  Like a writing vitamin.

In the 59 days since I publicly declared this seemingly insurmountable project I’ve felt a myriad of emotions: hope, because I was daring to believe that I’d start something that I intended to finish; fear, because I didn’t know if I had the will to see this through as I am known to never finish my writing projects; panic, because there were days when I would stare at a blinking cursor for ages, with my hands poised over the keyboard, and inspiration would refuse to come and visit; frustration, because there were days when inspiration was there, I wanted to write, but the words would simply not come; pride, when I would reread my entries and I would feel amazed that I wrote what I did; and in this early stage, a sense of achievement, because I usually stop working on my New Year’s resolution by the end of January; and a sense of purpose, because I know that this writing exercise will allow me to prepare myself to realise a dream that I’ve always had, to write a book.  It might never be published, but I will write my book!

My mind feels more active now, because I’m forever squirrelling away ideas, saving notes about what to write about.  I’ve become a better observer of my surroundings, I’ve become a people-watcher.  I’ve been given the opportunity to appreciate how blessed I am, because when I write, I look back on my life, my childhood and my opportunities.  I am learning to express myself more.  I am discovering layers about myself that I had never really known were there.  I have learned to be more introspective and to think before I write and it translates to me being more careful about what I say, to think before I speak.  I have learned to appreciate the power of words, to respect the intractability of words that you release into the cosmos–what you send out, spoken or written can never be taken back.  It will always be part of your environment.  I have learned to value my nationality and my country.  I have begun to realise that because I am able to translate my thoughts and emotions into words, I have to power to change my world.

I am thankful for the people who thought of the Daily Post challenge.  Your idea made all the difference!

TV blurbs

27 Feb

I don’t usually like commercials, but I’ve just seen this on TV (quite literally, only a few moments ago!).  This is one of my favourite commercials, to date.  But it does beg the question:  Will she change her mind in, say, 10 years?

Abundance

27 Feb

Photocredit: Mangoes by Adventures of Tintin

Foxcroft and Ginger

26 Feb

My feet were killing me.  Absolutely killing me!  We were walking around Soho trying to find NY Deli, which, according to reviews had the best pastrami sandwiches this side of the Atlantic.  If I couldn’t go to Katz’ in New York at least London had NY Deli.  But we couldn’t find it.  So we decided to go to Gelupo on Archer Street.  I could already feel the cool comfort of their slightly overtall stools, I could already hear the quiet strains of jazz music floating in the air and I could already taste the straciatella and nutella gelato that I was going to get a scoop each of.  But we got to Gelupo and it was PACKED!  Gone were the days when we would pop in on a Saturday afternoon and the store would be quiet and we could taste all the gelato we wanted until we could decide which combination to get.  There were people at the counter and even more people in the food shop area.  So, Alan and I decided to walk to…somewhere else…anywhere else really.  Even Snog was packed (I think it’s become even more popular because it was mentionend in a newspaper article that Princess-to-be Kate Middleton loves Snog and wants to include it in the wedding luncheon menu, or something like that–Snog is a frozen yogurt place)!

So we decide to go to Foxcroft and Ginger.  Alan asked me where I’d read about the restaurant, and I said it was recommended by The London Foodie.  It wasn’t too hard to find (considering that my feet were in agony, it was a relatively quick walk from where we were).  It was where the Berwick Market was, on Berwick.  I didn’t stop to take a picture of the front of the shop because I was desperate for somewhere to sit.  We ordered a capuccino, a fizzy mandarin and ginger something or other (I forget the brand), a Chelsea bun (similar to a cinnamon roll, minus the sticky syrup) and sweet french toast.  After our order was taken and I was handed a glass and my drink, we were given this tiny canvas with our table number written on it.  I found it quite quirky (I couldn’t coo too much about it at the time because I desperately wanted somewhere to sit down!).  

We couldn’t find a spot on the main floor so we went downstairs into the basement to see if we could find somewhere else.  The place was packed too and I was this close to crying because I didn’t think my feet would survive another journey, plus we’d already paid for our food!  This lovely couple offered to share with us the table that they had (may they be blessed a thousandfold!).

After I had a chance to pour myself some of my drink and lift my weight off my poor feet, I began to take in the atmosphere, and hear the thump-thump of the music.  The place was packed but the atmosphere was very relaxed, it was exactly what I needed.  Alan’s capuccino arrived in this lovely china cup and saucer and this was when I noticed that every table had a container of demerara sugar for people to help themselves to.  I

My sweet french toast arrived next and it was HUGE!  There were about 3 slices of french toast slathered with cream, raspberry jam and yummy banana!  I loved it because it wasn’t overly sweet.  Alan’s Chelsea bun was the best though.  It had enough cinnamon sweetness without it being a danger to my blood glucose level.

We’re definitely going back!

The daily commute: An Epilogue

25 Feb

I am writing because I’m venting.  I was absolutely livid earlier on the train, but I managed to hold my anger in.  If thoughts could kill, one of the Chatty Ladies, who shall now and forever be known as Lady Tosser (pun VERY much intended!) would be dead and cremated right now.  I should rein in the anger really because people like that are not worth any felony, mental or otherwise (I say mental because Ate Edna, who was our bible study leader in VCF always used to remind us that if we thought ill of other people, we were already committing murder.  And I was certainly committing murder at the time.  I am mortified that I’ve allowed someone to get the better of me!).

It makes me so mad to even remember what she did.  Now, I will admit that our mistake was to place our bag on the seat across from us so that we could sit down in relative comfort.  The seat was empty and the seat USUALLY stays empty, hence the bag on the seat.

Anyway, Lady Tosser gets on the train, and without so much as a by your leave, tosses our bag to the side and sits down on the seat.  I was shocked!  And then I was livid.  I have never been so absolutely infuriated by an absolute stranger.  And they say the British are polite and civilised individuals.  There will always be exceptions and Lady Tosser is the absolute exception to this rule.  She never even looked at us!  She just settles herself down, opens her paper and just reads.  Like we weren’t there.  And sorry, I’m going to put the race card on the table, but did she ignore us because we were Asian and we weren’t worth talking to?!?

Argh!  It’s getting to me again.  I should not let rude, uncivilised neanderthals get to me.  SHE IS NOT WORTH IT!

The daily commute

25 Feb

My commute to work is nothing but entertaining.  Mind you there are days (most days really!) that I long for quiet, uneventful trips to the office.  Because I’m on public transport, that is almost never possible.  There’s always someone talking really loudly, there’s always an argument going on, and there are always bizarrely intractable people getting on and off public transport.

I woke up this morning feeling mildly better (I’m trying to avoid this cold that’s been threatening to invade my system for nearly a week now) this morning.  It was slightly overcast, but it wasn’t raining so that in itself was a blessing.  I managed to get ready (shower, hair—which takes at least 20 minutes to do now, after I had my haircut!–and make up–not that I slap on too much, mind, it’s just moisturizer, liquid foundation, eyeliner and lippy;  can’t be bothered to put on mascara as I am liable to smudge it anyways, plus there was this segment on the One Show that talked about eyelash lice—DISGUSTING, I KNOW!) fairly quickly.  The trek to the train station was fairly uneventful, save one or two last minute sidesteps because of irresponsible dog owners.

The train ride, which is usually something that I complain about, was unusually quiet.  Coughy Woman (I call her that because she coughs all the time and doesn’t even bother covering her mouth when she does) and her husband were not on the train this morning.  The Chatty Ladies (because they always sit together and DON’T stop talking) weren’t on the train either.  Make-Up Lady (she puts on all her make up on the train! the transformation is amazing once she’s finished!), who usually sits with the Chatty Ladies was all quiet and seemed to be all made-up this morning.  I guess she was missing the company of The Chatty Ladies.

So I get off the train, walk down the underpass to get to the bus stop where I get on a bus that takes me near the office.  And my quiet Friday is shattered, into a tiny million pieces as there is DRAMA on the bus.

Mr Man (I call him this because he stands up tall—well, not very tall as he’s shorter than me and I’m only 5 feet 2.5 inches, and yes, the half inch is important!—and looks down his crooked nose at everyone—although, it’s not really looking down if everyone is taller than him, eh?) has a hissyfit on the bus!  Bus driver stops at the bus stop behind another bus, that takes ages to start moving.  Mr Man walks up to the driver and demands to know when the bus is leaving (how he could miss the other bus in front of us is beyond me!).  Bus driver, and quite politely, I might add, says that he is unable to maneouver out of the bay because there is a bus in front of us.  Mr Man asks why the bus driver won’t honk his horn at the other bus.  Bus driver politely requests Mr Man to go back to his seat and said that he would go to speak to the driver of the other bus.  But as bus driver gets out of his seat, the bus in front of us moves out of the bay, enabling us to get out of the bus stop bay as well (in my head I was thinking, Hurrah!  Potentially uncomfortable situation averted! how wrong was I!)

Bus driver again tells Mr Man to go back to his seat.  And for some reason, that repeated requests sets Mr Man off.  He then starts accusing the bus driver of being ignorant, of being rude, of being ignorant, and says that it wasn’t the bus driver’s business whether he sat or stood.  Bus driver says that he can’t move the bus if Mr Man doesn’t sit.  So the ladies sitting in the back of the bus bravely jump into the conversation.  Ms American asks Mr Man to “please sit down sir!”  and Lady Grey Hair said that everything would be sorted out if Mr Man just sat down and we could travel.  I think Mr Man was a tad embarassed that his error in judgement was being pointed out so he started on the women (I think he must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed today!).  He was calling them busybody and he called them b****es!  I was quiet horrified!  The ladies were still very polite but the volume was quiet raised now.  I was horrified that Mr Man had such a potty mouth (it reflected what he thought about women, with the kind of words that he was using against these women who were only trying to help him see reason?).

And Mr Bus Driver, being a responsible bus driver, stops the bus at the next stop and walks up to the arguing trio and asks if there was a problem.  Mr Man starts on him again and starts calling him an ignorant idiot.  And the argument just explodes.  Mr Man just starts firing abuse left, right and centre!  Mr Bus Driver, and quite rightly so, asks Mr Man to leave the bus.  Mr Man does so but without stopping the swearing and the name calling.

And then all is quiet.  In my head I was going “Whew!  All this before 8:15 in the morning!”

Who says being on the commute is boring, hey?

EDSA 25 Years On

25 Feb

My memories of EDSA were pretty hazy because I was only just barely 10.  What I remember, I’ve tried to write in my blog post called EDSA Thoughts.

I just hope we all don’t forget what EDSA really means.

Photocredits:

EDSA 1986 – http://barriosiete.com/