All I Want For Now

Ah, be careful what you wish for, they say. Sure enough, I got hit with the mother of all sore throats on Monday, sooner than you can say "serves you right". After getting a sickie, I still soldiered on to finish my story (coz I didn't think they would agree to publish my sickie in the space where the article was meant to be).

Now the cough is all but gone. But hey, I'm not taking any chances, so I'm staying clear of high-stress activities, such as braving the start of Mango's absurdly crowded sale, where you have to queue to even get in.

Hmm...Since when I start getting my wishes? How nice if these wishes came true as well:

- I wish we can go off to the Hunter again in October. Springtime in Sydney is just gorgeous. And few things make you go wow like a sheltering night sky littered with a gazillion stars.

- I wish my favourite restaurant didn't have to close down this July. It's such a labour of love, the home of so many memories and laughs. But the food business is a brutal business, and critical acclaim is not enough to pay rent.

Go eat some baked eggplant for me while you can, Ash.

- I wish I could be less caffeine-dependent. What can I say, waking up early isn't one of my strong points.

- I wish Boy, who was ill waaaay before me, and whose cough is still going from strength to strength, can recover soon and go eat fried kuay teow with me again.

When Domestic Goddess met Shoe Queen

If two is better than one, is three better than two? We had Sunday yumcha with SK and her husband and baby, at the lovely Tea House in the CBD. A nice reward for my having done the Stanchart run last night:)

The conversation circled around diapers (how expensive), flat-hunting (which district is best) and in-laws (ahem...). It was not so long ago when SK and I were younger and carefree-er, sipping champagne in hip bars and talking about boys, shoes, work and boys. Nothing smelly, or concrete, or troublesome.

Then baby came along. For someone who's used to seeing one's name in the papers all the time, not working makes her constantly worry about turning into "a useless housewife''. Her hair has become a little messy, but she seems much more... fulfilled. She has taken on an air of self-assurance and is less jumpy. Perhaps being a mom makes one realise there are more important things in life than bylines and shoes.

As for me, it's been real quiet at work, coz most people are off having vacations, so the busy-ness level went from 10 to zero. I don't know which is worse: being seriously overworked (like the week before) or having painfully little to do.

Am craving the buttery, garlicky escargot rissotto from Menotti's. Have some for me if you're in the area.

P/S I want to fall sick. No, really. There's a flu bug going around, and many people, including Boy, were down this week, coughing and sniffing.

I guess it's really a matter of time before I get ill. It's coming, it's coming... So bring it on, man! Let's get it over and done with asap - instead of taking cover and dreading it.

Brave Enough To Love

Once in a while, you come across a piece of writing that re-affirms your belief in the power of words to touch hearts...

From the book Boys Will Put You On A Pedestal (So They Can Look Up Your Skirt), by Phillip Van Munching:

"Cynicism is a belief in... nothing. You've already met cynics, I'm sure: they are those people who tell you they see thing how they really are, and that things really are rotten.

They believe that no one is sincere, and that everyone has secret, selfish reasons for the things they do. They'll tell you that everything is rigged against you, and no one means what they say.

The world according to the cynic, is a cold and cruel place... . People who are cynical, or jaded, make their own lives cold because they lack courage. It takes courage to believe in things; sometimes things will disappoint you, sometimes people will let you down.

To have faith is to risk having your heart broken, and the cynic isn't will to take that risk."

Do Not Tumble

I don't quite understand facials. Why pay the equivalent of several tubes of face wash, for a stranger to scrub and knead your face? Don't you trust yourself to give it a decent clean?

Ah, today I went for one, after a break of nearly a year. And it dawned on me that facials are not about face washing at all. They are about princessdom. To lie there without moving a muscle, listen to soft music and have your tired body slowly and tenderly tended back to its glowing state.

God knows I needed the break. After all, it's been a real rough week. I've been working from a.m. to a.m. trying to finish a hellishly long feature. It started out as kind of fun, but after a while, it got lonely and depressing.

Feels like I been stretched and tumbled and wringed through the washing cycle. Thank goodness, it's almost the finish line. (Joy!) After the said facial and a huge sashimi meal, things are looking better.

We found - OK, we read about in the Business Times - a Japanese restaurant of astonishing quality in the old Meridien at Changi Village. It's housed in an ultra mod space (think Hotel W), is strangely named Ryan's but serves excellent Japanese menu stalwarts. Who would imagine that sleepy Changi Village can yield such a gem?

Hey, I wouldn't mind doing a long feature on Japanese restaurants in way-out locations...