Archive for June, 2011

I bought this lovely thing today at a pen shop near my office which I’ve never been in for the last 7 years.

I bought it because my old Parker Frontier is missing it’s converter and I can’t draw ink from any of the two full bottles of ink I have sitting on my table top and is condemned to a lifetime of ink cartridges. The whole idea is that the new pen will sit in the office and drink from an inkwell while the Frontier will continue to live its rough and tumble life in my handbag in and out of Court.

But it’s soooo pretty that I want to take it out and all over to show all and sundry thereby committing pen adultery on my poor tortured Parker.

So the first thing I did when I stepped out of the shop was to call The Other Half [who bought me the Frontier pen after I lost my cheap one bought from Mustafa when I first started practice] and told him about my thoughts of committing pen adultery.

“Oh well. A pen is a personal choice,” he said.

But now that I am sitting here at my desk at the end of the day, looking at my old Frontier and remembering all of the scraps that we have gone through and how it has served me so well the last 2 years, I don’t really want to let it go either.


I think I’ll eventually end up buying a new converter for it anyway and maybe retire it to the office instead for a better life of signing letters and amending advices instead of the mad rush of a life of writing notes in Court, falling out of my handbag and leaking ink all over my fingers and attendance notes.

Real life should be as easily sorted out as owning two [equally] lovely pens concurrently.


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first words

While walking down the stairs to leave the house this morning, my son said his first word.

It wasn’t Papa. It most certainly wasn’t Mama.

He giggled and pointed and said, “Jojo!” at our cat who was snuggling up to The Other Half’s shoe at the doorway.


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carrying on

We have spent hours after work, numerous lunches, even all the little minutes in between, talking and wondering why.

But there are no answers, in the true Chekhov fashion. There isn’t even a beginning. There’s just what has happened, then the end of the story, and the silence and the nothing after that last full stop.

It is important to remember that in that silence and that blank space, it doesn’t end. Life moves on mysteriously, quietly, notwithstanding the questions, the doubts, and most certainly in spite of all that has happened.

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“My goodness! That’s a lot of teeth you have!!”

And later, “The problem with you is that you have more teeth than usual…but that’s a happy problem!”


It is also the first time I was made to wear superhero shades while doing dental work.

That said, he was a really nice guy. I’d probably go back again.

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What would it take for you to get my order right?

It’s skinny iced latte with no sugar.

But somehow, somewhere between the skinny and no sugar, something bad always happens.

I can assure you that I don’t need the sugar high. I am also a tad larger than I like to need the whole milk. Most of all, I like milk in my coffee but would still like the taste of the coffee, which both the whole milk and the sugar masks. There is really a difference between the pink carton of milk and the green carton of milk. They don’t make them in different colours for fun.

Then because I am quite nice about it [or only realise it when I get into the lift, by which time it would be far too troublesome to take the lift back down to rectify the error], I just drink it anyway, sometimes screwing up my system for the rest of the day.


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Telephone conversation between Mummy and Daddy at lunchtime today

She: Would you have any objections if I bought your daughter a 50-dollar water bottle?

He: WHAT?!?!?!

She: Let me explain. The cheap plastic one with a straw is so hard to manipulate that she will probably hurt her fingers doing it. The next in line is a Sigg one which costs 39-dollars. But it is like a sports water bottle and requires her to twist to open the sucker before drinking. So I will have to explain till the cows come home to her how to operate it and then after she opens it, I will have to teach her how to drink from it. The 50-dollar one, you press one button and the straw comes up. It is a thermos.

He: Why does she need a thermos?!

She: She doesn’t. It’s just the easiest for her to operate.

He: Can’t you decide?

She: I can’t. That’s why I called you.

He: I’ve never had a 50-dollar water bottle!!

She: Neither have I! It’s BPA-free. It keeps fresh for up to 10 hours. It says that it is child friendly, scratch-proof and unbreakable.

He: It bloody well better be for 50-dollars!

She: The question is whether I buy one for your son as well.

He: WTF…I suppose we should…

She: That’s 100-dollars then.

He: Argh.


And later when Mummy returned to the office

She: I just bought a 50-dollar water bottle for my daughter.

JW: Does it dispense water on it’s own?!

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The Chef mentioned to me on Sunday while we were at the Arts House for the cat photo exhibition that there is a French restaurant tucked away along Circular Road that is pretty good and has been there for a while.

Such travesty that we have a decent French restaurant right under our noses all these years that we never knew about. So on Monday, The Buddha and I trooped down to hunt for the place and to sample the lunch menu.

After walking down nearly the whole length of Circular Road in the unbearable afternoon heat, we finally spotted the restaurant on the opposite side of the road.

Stepping into the cool interior, the first person we saw was a large-built man standing at the cashier.

“Do you have a table for two for lunch?” I asked.

He looked up. His eyes flashed recognition. It registered in my head that I actually knew him from one of the joints I was waitressing at some time ago in the past. I even remember his name and that single date that he had asked me on to Tiong Bahru Plaza to watch Beowulf and then drinks at Coffee Bean after where I sustained a rather nasty insect bite on my left thigh, my disinterest and his subsequent fight over some other girl with another colleague, one evening outside Clementi stadium after work, his departure.

There was one micro-second of an awkward moment then he sat us down to a rather decent lunch tucked away in a corner of the restaurant. I was rather distracted through lunch, watching him work from the corner of my eye, remembering random bits and bobs of past happenings surfacing in my mind from that initial jolt, wondering about what’s happened to everyone else these days, everyone else who constituted the world for me at work those struggling law student days so long ago.

After food and coffee, The Buddha and I walked to the cashier at the front of the house and I offered my credit card for the lunch bill, noticing that he took a quick glance at the name on the card, a different name from my working name then so I can’t really be sure whether he knew I was who I was.

I signed the check with my working name from back then as I habitually do and we walked back out into the sunlight, away from the restaurant, away from him and the memories, back into my reality with the full realisation that you are really only young once and then things will never really ever be that way again.

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