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Sure, you’re old. Put on a little weight, probably lost a little hair.

Ok, I saw you hogging ginseng and stuff on a poster in Chinatown.

But you’ll always own a special place in my heart.

Many happy returns!

It’s the year of the Tiger. Tigers and I are sort of missed connections. It’s not like I didn’t make the effort, there’s always something missing in the mix.

It’s supposed to be winter, but we’ve had really nice breaks of Spring like weather interspersed with depressing rainy weather, which is sort of a nice break. The cherry blossoms outside our house bloomed profusely, sending KF into some sort of sakura obsession – every time he sees them on the street he’s impressed all over again. To the point where he contemplates growing one in our spot on the sidewalk (aka pavement – there’s a hole for plants for each house. We currently have a flowerless, fuss free tree the previous owners planted). I tell him it’s trickey, we gotta pick the right variety, cos some of them grow really tall, some have nicer flowers, some have scraggly twigs, some have nicer shapes, but he’s at the anything-goes phase.

So off we went to a garden centre (aka plant nursery) to look for cherry/plum trees. We figure we’d just pick them by the blossoms, but they weren’t blooming. It seemed like only the nectarine trees were (!!), but the flowers were too small and the wrong colour – white. I wanted something dark pink or a soft red. They also have something called a pluot – a cross between a plum and an apricot, though it exhibits more plum characteristics (as opposed to the aprium which exhibits more apricot characteristics; it’s the whole Liger – Tigon thing all over again).

Anyway. We didn’t find what we were looking for. Maybe next year.

Is it me, or is it a normal occurrence? The post-holiday crash. In the void between and after the Christmas and New Years (and the accompanying festivities and holidays) caused by the combination of anticipation and miscellany that comes with family get-togethers.

This is the time of year when things really start shutting down at work, since everyone is pretty much off. In school, this would mark the end of one year and the uphill climb to the next level.

Everything chugs off the rails slowly in January and February, and then starts picking steam in March – plans are made and routes are set. April onwards, it’s full steam ahead (since Q1 was pretty much squandered) and everything rushes towards a dizzying tailspin towards Q4. By late November, it’s pretty much said and done. In December you’re pretty much goofing off, enjoying the finer weather (in the tropics) and shopping.

But there is that void. It will creep in after Christmas dinner, and really start to rear it’s ugly head on New Year’s Day. Cos the first working day of the year is always the hardest. At school, it was the day you show up in the new class, figure out when your new classroom was, get a feel for how tough the year was going to be, figure out who your desk buddy was going to be. I always went through that process with a lot of trepidation. I guess I wasn’t a very confident student. At least I was realistic. Ha.

At work, the first day is a sham. Everyone comes back from the holidays, appearing to be recharged when you know they’re tired as hell from maximising their holidays. They appear to be all action and back to regular programming but you know they’re annoyed as heck to be back at work. It’s like a game of chicken, we’re all just waiting for a sucker to give up first and admit it.

I’ve never been big on New Year’s resolutions. Perhaps that is the device used to stave that sense of beginning bewilderment.

It is interesting, that the Chinese regard the year as a mythical monster. The word for year refers to the monster – Nian. Perhaps the Nian would terrorise China for two weeks, because the New Year festivities last that long, and the whole point of the Chinese version of the New Year is to mark the passing or the surpassing, of the Nian.

I think the creature that the Chinese call Nian is really time. It shows up once a year like clockwork to haunt you, remind you that it’s alive. Freak the crap out of you because without you noticing, it slithered past you in the year. And you see it again, 365 days later, still the same dimwit you were, doing the same things, in the same place, status quo.

I guess that’s when the Nian should just put you out of your misery and bite your head off.

You know, if they told me that version of the story in school, maybe I’d have turned out a little more motivated. Instead all I heard was that sorry ass story about how the little people triumphed over the nasty Nian, with red everythings and firecrackers.

You know, for the people who invented the paper and the printing press, we sure tell lame stories.

Anyway. I will conquer my trepidation this time. I will grab 2010 by the horns. I will psych myself to face the Nian face on. I will live flagrantly, like I’m afraid to get my head bitten off.

That can’t be a bad way to live.

You’ve heard it too.

Rudolph, the red nose reindeer. *reindeer*
Had a very shiney nose. *nose*
And if you ever saw him. *saw him*
You would even say it glows. *it glows*
All of the other reindeers. *reindeers*
Used to laugh and call him names. *call him names*
They never let poor Rudolph. *poor Rudolph*
Join in any reindeer games.

Then one foggy Christmas eve,
Santa came and said,
Rudolph with your nose so bright
Won’t you drive my sleigh tonight?

Then how the reindeer loved him
And they shouted out with glee
Rudolph the red nosed reindeer
You’ll go down in HIS-TO-REEE!!!

Tell me that isn’t reindeer bullying and/or discrimination! Not to mention that disgusting ingratiating behaviour displayed after Rudolph makes good.

So why do we make kids sing it like it’s cute?!

Edit: 25 Dec 2:19am PST

It would seem that I felt this way enough to talk about it in 2003. Great. Not only do I recycle my ideas, I am incapable of looking past it. Not very imaginative, nor mentally mature.

At least it can’t get any worse. Perhaps I will have a good year next year. It will be the Year of the Tiger. Have never really had any luck with that lot. But you know what they say, those dudes only crouch. My kind, we hide. When it comes to camouflage, we win. Take that, striped kitties!

It’s wet, it’s cold, it’s not even officially winter yet.

We’ve been a little busy. I guess as the year rushes toward its inevitable conclusion, the unfortunate coincidence which is the holidays and the misguided notion that you should spend it with the extended family (aka tradition) will rear it’s ugly head. Slowly but surely.

It’s one thing to enjoy the company of your extended family. The other thing, we call “obligation” to traipse around egos.

Call me sentimental, and don’t hold my weakness for being unable to call bullshit on occasions like this against me. When I get around to freeing myself from these bonds, I get to call myself brave and wear it around like a badge Until then, I guess.

Found a new way to really maximise a good recipe. Like tenderising a steak, you gotta beat it over and over again – like having it four times a week. Ha! That’ll teach you, arteries!!!

So I decided to go take a peek out into the night sky. Apparently the Leonid shower is taking place. I suppose I should’ve given it a little longer, but I got bored.

I saw a little streaky one, so mission accomplished.

Not all wishes are fulfilled, though. As evidenced by the snoring I still hear.

My friends (the both of you),

Fret not. I realise I exercise my privilege to whine more frivolously than others exercise their right to multiply and find a happiness only the most giving of us are born with. I apologise for the alarm, if any.

But for a stubborn herd instinct, probably created to ensure the survival of a species, I am satisfied with my smartass decision which I so smugly display atop a finely stacked deck of cards. Annoyingly, the instinct to survive is a tough sucker to rid, kind of like Malware. And the image of people I thought I knew, knocked up and happy, makes for a seriously disturbing vision. Akin to a giant fat toddler stepping on my fine pyramid of cards with its heavy, milk enriched chunker they call a foot.

But that’s what you get for (a) being human and (b) smugly displaying your insecurities, which I attribute to (a).

I wish it were the highly intellectual, rational or moral reasons you guys give me the benefit of the doubt for that are the basis of my decision, but sadly in my case they are just afterthought, really. I wish there was some struggle between light and dark, good and bad, right and wrong. But alas. I got kind of peckish and finished a bag of M&Ms instead.

Perhaps I should’ve written it differently. Or perhaps it was really bugging me more than I realise. All I really wanted to say was, I wish I was different growing up. I wish I hit on a couple of boys. Oh and by the way, everyone’s pregnant. Did they pop something in the water?

So fret not for me, Singapura. The truth is I never grew up.

Well, I now leave you guys with a picture of a bird and a bee. Don’t worry, they’re SFW*.

Luv,

me

* Safe For Work. As opposed to many other pictures of the birds and the bees, which are NSFW.

As if heeding a chemical call in the air, my friends are, one at a time, slowly but surely, succumbing to the infliction known as pregnancy. It’s freaking ridiculous to see the number of babies and pregnant ex-classmates on Facebook. And of course, the million-dollar (these days, indeed) question rears its ugly head again. Am I missing out? Will I regret not reproducing?

I’ll admit that now I’m not as revolted by the idea than I am just unwilling to bear responsibility for another living thing. I like that I can just up and leave anytime I want. I like that I don’t have to worry about diapers and changing and nappies and night feeds. I love that I don’t have to work very hard. Yes, it would be nice to have a mini-me. But it’s a nice to have, not a need to have. At this point, perhaps I put my biological clock on snooze so many times it’s not going to ring anymore. I can live with that.

Just like all those years ago I declared I can live without continuing piano lessons. Some days I wish I can play something. Some days I wish I didn’t have to turn on iTunes for music. Most days though, I’m fine without it. My friends with kids tell me triumphantly that it’s different when it’s your kid. There’s something magical. It turns your life around, you’ll be happy. It’s natures way of dealing with post-purchase dissonance: instinct. No species will survive without instinct to multiply and ensure survival.

But it doesn’t stop me from thinking how I’d bring a kid up if I had one. (It often convinces me that I really shouldn’t, seeing how I took some 20something years to appreciate my childhood, and the even more severe lack of patience I have compared to my folks.) Theories swirl. I compare it to how I was as a kid. What I would do differently.

I will be the first to admit I led a semi-charmed childhood. No major complaints there. But I do wish I was more self-assured. I wish I was confident enough to disregard anyone else who didn’t matter. I wish I knew who really mattered. I wish I took myself less seriously. I wish I was confident of myself enough to have been more straight forward. I wish I was more steadfast. I wish I was more honest. I wish I knew myself better.

I wish I had said something to the bloke who sat next to me while we watched Back To The Future II. I wish I’d asked about him all those years later.

I wish I’d said something to the fat fella who gave me a clump of little blue rosettes. I wish I said something to the small-eyed classmate. I wish I could’ve called it quits with That Kid on my own terms. I wish I didn’t have to rely on The Geezer for growing up, but I suppose since I wasted my youth on him we’re even. I wish I took a stand with The Fanboy.

Ah well. What would growing up be, if it wasn’t rubbish to begin with?

So until I get hit in the face with an epiphany, the world’s best counter-argument or a heavy-handed case of hormones, I guess this status quo is what I am satisfied with.

We’re heading into Autumn, and the days will start getting shorter. Can’t say I’m looking forward to that, but with all things in life, what you don’t like gives definition to what you do. So. I suppose I’ll get to look forward to Spring again.

Early this afternoon I was in the kitchen thinking about lunch when I heard some pretty loud squawking coming from what seemed like my backyard. That’s a pretty loud bird, I thought, and didn’t think too much of it. Off and on I’d hear a bird or two in the day, so it wasn’t anything that special. But when the squawking went on for more than 5 minutes, it really began to annoy me. Where the heck was that bird, and why is it so loud?

That’s when I spotted a large bird on the Yucca tree in my backyard. It was kind awkwardly big for that tree, and it didn’t look like the usual birdies that invade our backyard. It looked. Serious.

That’s about when I realised it was some sort of hawk or eagle or something, and started yelling at KF like I found money – there’s an eagle in our backyard there’s an eagle in our backyard!!

We stare at it for a few minutes from my workroom downstairs. I still hear squawking, but it’s not moving it’s mouth. Where is the incessant squawking coming from? We follow the hawk’s gaze and realise it’s actually watching out for her whiney, insecure and terrified baby hawk who’s perched on a tree in our neighbour’s backyard. The baby bird squawked some more, and mommy bird just watched on, probably rolling her eyes at his exaggerated claims of how difficult the flightpath was.

Anyway, after what seemed like forever, baby bird finally shut up, braced itself for a split second, and flew off southwards. Mommy bird gave him a headstart, and flew off protectively after him after 20 seconds.

Ah nature in action, in my urban backyard.

Thanks for sharing the time of your life.