moody meanderings

Yesterday, the founding Pastor of my church was visiting with his wife from Buenos Aires and was invited to deliver the sermon. He was quite entertaining at first, with punchline jokes and all. But he took things just a bit far, in my opinion, when he mocked the Catholic church and its leaders in Hong Kong. He, of all people, should appreciate the "interdenominational" nature of our congregation, being the founding Pastor himself! Grrrr. I don't know what I was angrier about. His rude remark or the fact that the congregation laughed. I was glad that we were having our inaugural evening service that evening so I could make up for the lousy morning experience. Did I bother to tell him off? No, because the last self-righteous preacher who made a similar comment at a service I attended in San Francisco ten years ago told me I wasn't fit to debate with him as I hadn't studied theology!

Still on the same subject, this is the comment that has got me all fired up: "being a Catholic priest, he must regard himself as somewhat of a prophet". This was his response to a television interview with a Catholic priest at the funeral of Cardinal Wu, late head of the Catholic church of Hong Kong? Where is his compassion for Christ sake? Could he not deliver his message without insulting our brothers and sisters of other Christian traditions? Or was that his message? That it is alright to disparage other Christian traditions to make a point. Judging from the appreciative laughter from the congregation, I can only conclude that either 1) our congregation really thought it funny to mock the traditions of our Catholic brothers and sisters, or 2) they were sleeping through the sermon but laughed because a few bigots were laughing.

I've been told that if Shakespeare likes me, he'll take parts of my body between his teeth. I guess I wish he didn't like me so much now so I wouldn't have bites and scratches on my wrists and ankles. He's very jumpy because of his deafness and tunnel vision. He was hiding in a box next to the refrigerator and jumped out of the box and nearly out of his skin when I shut the refrigerator door. He then meowed and stretched out next to me. I stroked and scratched his neck for the first time since we met on Tuesday. He allowed the attention and was enjoying the tickle until he turned around and realised I wasn't his mistress and sprung suddenly away, but not before catching my wrist between his teeth and clawing my forearm for the fourth time. He then backed off and hissed threateningly. I've decided I'm not a cat person. Well, at least not a jumpy cat like Shakespeare.

1) early morning surprise
There's nothing like connecting with a new friend from across the oceans on an early Saturday morning. In a world of shallow digressions and obligatory politeness, it is refreshing to find a connection with a near stranger faraway.

2) sunshine through my bedroom window
The sky is threatening a shower but a stream of sunshine stole past the clouds to light up my window this morning.

3) hot chocolate on the house
I wanted a hot potato and leek soup for breakfast but that's really a lunch or dinner item, isn't it? So I opted for a blueberry crumble muffin instead. The lady behind the counter was so sweet, she offered me coffee on the house to make up for my disappointment. I said I don't drink coffee but thanks for the kind gesture. Not one to let a kindness slip, she asked if I drank hot chocolate. I did. She bagged it. Today is a good day to live.

I woke up rather late this morning and was dragging myself out of bed at eight. I'd had a late night working 'til two so I decided I deserved a slower pace this morning. I turned on my computer and skipped on to Hidden City to see how my friend was doing and to read all the "Good news" stories that other inspired souls had left in his comments box. Kevin was still silent but there were some great comments and links. Anyway, I decided to explore the links on his sidebar and there was an MP3 for "I Can See Clearly Now". I clicked it and turned the volume way up and started to dance as I got ready for work. What a way to wake up.

As I was dressing up, I remembered I had to bring my airticket to the office to get the validity extended (no luck with that). So I got it out of my drawer and tossed it onto my laptop so I wouldn't forget. Next thing I knew, the song played itself again. For some reason, that made me smile. It just felt like there was a message in that accidental replay.

I eventually got dressed and was out the door an hour later, nearly two later than my usual. As I stood at the street corner from my office waiting for the lights to change, I tilted my head back and another smile broke on my face as I saw "nothing but blue skies". I was happy. I had deadlines looming over my head and things threatening to go wrong around my upcoming seminars but those didn't matter. I was happy again.

There's never a good time for goodbye. Nor is there a best way to do it when you're saying goodbye to someone you love. There is just no way to prepare for the heartache, emptiness, loss and desperation that comes with goodbye. No amount of practice can assuage the tears. I remember when I said my last farewell to my dad. Every syllable drove and twisted a stake in my heart. Even though I knew his dying was a kindness to him and to us all who watched him suffer bravely, it didn't make the parting any less painful or wretched. No, there's never a good time or a best way to say goodbye. Not even to the living. But sometimes that's all there is left to say.

I'll be taking care of Sara and Ulf's cat this weekend. Met Shakespeare for the first time tonight. He's partially deaf and has tunnel vision which gives him quite a strange head-twisting tick. Quite a laugh. Stevie Wonder, I've nicknamed him. Was skulking and slinking around like a thief. And when he drinks, his whole head nods vigorously so that the area around his water bowl is wet after his drink. This cat is definitely not short on personality. More later.

[postscript: deleted in case subject is reading and takes offense!]

Can't keep my eyes open. The flu has got me again.

Yeah baby, keep 'em coming. I could have my two thousandth visitor before the week is up! woohoo!!!

Now if only I could have half one-thousandth that number of marriage proposals *wink*

Here's my latest mirror project endeavour. On reflection (pardon the pun), it appears all my entries have deliberately been taken on warped or hazy surfaces. An accurate reflection of my own life it would seem.

Other entries include: granite; shower; faucet

Worship service was especially powerful today for several reasons. Sara, wife of a Swedish colleague, has just moved from Tokyo to Hong Kong with her husband and today joined me at church and choir. She has a beautiful voice and with her music background, easily picked up on all the songs that were new to her. What was special about her being there (which was wonderful in itself) was that she harmonised with me on the chorus of "Empower me". Sara is a gift to me. In my lowest moment, when all I needed was the comfort and warmth of physical touch, I felt the hug and the reassuring squeeze of a hand from Sara.

Empower me. Have you ever had a song keep playing in your head, almost like a desperate thought or cry or plea trying to break out of your unconscious? That's how it was with this song. On Friday afternoon, with this song singing in my head, I felt impelled to find the score for a song that had made me cry more than fifteen years ago. And when I found it on the internet (very much to my surprise) I brought it to Pastor Scott who encouraged me to sing it at this Sunday's service. That decision was not without obstacles. We didn't have the sheet music (what I found were only chords) nor did we have a CD that he and Enrico could learn from. More importantly, I wasn't sure if I could do it without making a spectacle of myself. But after an hour talking with Scott, we decided it best to see how I felt on Sunday while at the same time plan for it to happen. Now, not only is Scott intuitive, kind, and big-hearted, he is also an exceptionally gifted guitarist. Of the hour that I spent at his office, only ten minutes were spent on the song. The song was perfect.

I cried. Of course.

Also known as the "mooncake festival" and "lantern festival". Carnival at Victoria Park. [ftp server is on strike again so the pics will have to wait]

sometimes, when things at work get a little crazy, we just need someone to talk to, or someone to just sit quietly with, to momentarily take away all that built up tension. sometimes, we just need a comforting hug or a shoulder to cry on. sometimes...

no one's there.

Christopher Reeve is regaining some motor-sensory responses in his fingers and other parts of his body. He was the leader I chose to study during my Asiaworks Leadership Program for his indomitable spirit in the face of the greatest despair any living being could have the misfortune to face - quadriplegia. Go Superman!

Blogged too soon. Storm clouds have descended from the mountains to unleash their vengeance. Grrr...

YES! The sun is making determined efforts to break through the clouds. Already, I can see Kowloon across the harbour washed in glorious sunshine. The stubborn storm clouds continue to drift threateningly and even loosed its torrents for about thirty minutes this morning. But they're definitely retreating over the mountain behind me. It's almost sunny. It's a brand new day. Brand new week. There is HOPE yet.

Okay, okay. He called yesterday and was so irresistably sweet and thoughtful and that has had some effect on my mood as well. C'est la vie.

Oh oh, great poem posted today on Hiddencity. Must read! Your sides will split!

I sang at church today. It always makes me feel good. It has been a while since my last solo. I was still nursing a tired throat from the long illness this morning but was determined to sing despite the weakness in my body and voice. Singing at church, especially leading the congregation through a solo piece that inspires their prayer and worship always gives me a sense of purpose in my otherwise seemingly purposeless life. Of course, having members of the congregation coming up to me after the service, telling me how grateful they were for the song, or how much it moved or inspired them, or asking me if I sing professionally is a bonus! :-)

Most of the international folks have finally returned from their summer holidays so service was quite full with a lot more kids than I remembered we had, and as a result, I was very much missed at last week's service and last Friday at our first home group meeting since the start of summer. I was touched by the concern in their voices as I hugged and kissed familiar friendly faces. After all the hugging and kissing and brief conversations, families began to re-group for their Sunday routine, while I retreated, unnoticed, to the elevator and out the building. I had nowhere to go. Did I want to take a walk in IKEA at Causeway Bay? I was already in the MTR station so I thought I'd just see if the mood caught me as we pulled up at the Causeway Bay station. It didn't. I thought perhaps I'd jump off at Taikoo station where there are three major malls to pass my time. That inclination didn't grab me either. I was going home. How depressing.

I've read that a lot more people are depressed and some to the point of suicide in the winter and I suppose the same can be said of the bleak rainy season as well. We had amber rainstorm warnings yesterday, while today it was landslides. Not a good sign.

By the time I was done with my meagre grocery shopping later in the afternoon, it was starting to get dark. The light drizzle that fell incessantly through the weekend had not abated. I recalled the graphic landslide warning flashing in the corner of the television screen and it made me laugh inwardly. The cartoon-like drawing made the danger seem like child's play. I walked slowly. I was in no hurry to get anywhere. No one was waiting for me. As I rode the escalator down, my eyes idly scanned the faces approaching in the opposite direction. An elderly couple standing side by side (ignoring the "stand to the right" rule) staring absent-mindedly ahead, a family with a young daughter in tow asking for some favour or other, another elderly couple. My eyes came to rest on a young couple further down the escalator. The young woman had her back to me, arms in a tight deadlock embrace around her partner's neck. She was practically hanging off him. Being silly, I thought to myself. He could lose his balance and tumble backwards down the escalator and they could both be badly hurt. Of course, it was more envy than concern that had me.

More families with children pranced past me as I strolled down the familiar column of shops. The Sunday family crowd was getting to me. I moved closer to the shop fronts to avoid seeing more reminders of what was becoming increasingly elusive to me. As I left the mall and crossed the street towards my building, an elderly couple overtook me, and then another elderly man overtook me on hurried steps, returning to his grandchildren with treats, I conjectured. Even the elderly folks have more purpose than I. The last trace of good feeling from this morning's service trickled away in the drizzle as I made my way back up to my empty apartment.

The weather can wreak such havoc on the psyche.

I'm tired of who I am. I'm tired of this existence. (Don't worry, I'm not about to end it.) Was just listening to the AsiaWorks LP12 audio CD that Al made for all of us in the program and was taken by a sudden bout of crying. So many thoughts and emotions washing over me all at once as I was transported back in time to June last year. One by one, cradled in loving arms, we let ourselves be acknowledged by our buddies and ourselves, acknowledging the many gifts that we are but often forget. I was strong. I was vulnerable. I was loved. And T was caressing my cheeks, his tears of love and joy mingled with mine. And I'm brought back to the present. And suddenly I miss him. I miss him like I haven't done since April. I miss how he knew me in all my craziness and fears and still loved me. I miss who I was then. Loving, gentle, trusting, soft, giving and passionate. And the tears keep falling. And how my heart aches for J, knowing what I must do now and wishing it all different. My thoughts are no longer coherent. All that's left is a pain and sadness so deep, I feel as if I'm drowning and I'm gripped with a fear so great, it is a fear made up of everything I haven't been, everything I am not and everything I'll never be. And none of it makes sense. But I feel it all so powerfully and so terribly and I feel the tears at the back of my eyes, the lump in my throat, in my chest and I know I haven't seen the end of it tonight.

I have murky water tinged with rust coming out of all the faucets in my flat and I can't bear to think how much rust is lining my digestive track. I usually run the water directly into the saucepan when boiling anything so I couldn't see how bad it was against the tefal coating. Until I used my white bowl. I suddenly had a sick feeling in my stomach. I guess I can blame the excess weight I've gained on the excessive iron in my body. So this morning, I had two contractors come separately to take a look at my plumbing.one of the contractors advised my landlady that he'll have to rip out the skirting along the dining room wall to get at the pipes and have them changed. This is going to mean a whole week with strange men working away in my flat while I'm at the office. He offered to cover up my meagre furniture with a cloth and advised that I lock my bedroom door while they worked during the day. Maybe I'm paranoid but I've seen so many pictures taken by cameras hidden in someone's house or public toilets that it's making me nervous about having unsupervised men freely accessing my flat. It will cost my landlady a handsome sum to change the pipes too but she appears resigned to it since I can't possibly live under these conditions. I'm not looking forward to the renovation even if the result would be clean water.

J has finally expressed to his girlfriend his desire to dance and she's anxious to accompany him. That should be good news to J but I can't say it was joy I detected in his tone. My immediate response to his news was physical. My heart squeezed and twisted before the rational, martyr wannabe stepped in and said, "Well then, take her dancing" in the best cheerleader voice I could muster. But my bravado faltered and I added a request that he avoid the spots I frequent. Perhaps I should have left that second bit out but the words were airborne before I could retract them. I don't know what I'm doing most of the time. And with the exception of the fiasco on Thursday, he's changed and that hasn't helped my emotional resolve much. All at once, he's sensitive, thoughtful and tolerant again and I'm standing on the edge, in danger of falling all over. I know I should make a clear stand and cut off all contact with him but letting go has never been easy. Does it have to be so dramatic? so extreme? I can almost hear T's impassioned plea echo from not so long ago. I can't see that we can remain platonic friends when our hearts keep reaching out to each other. And I hate this growing jealousy that's gnawing away at my insides. It doesn't make me feel proud of myself to covet her so.

Kevin blogged about this less than a week ago. Why is it so hard to let go? What am I afraid of? Maybe I'm afraid I'll never love like that again? But I've proven to myself time and again, that I have the capacity to give myself and love another again. Maybe I'm afraid that someone like him will not cross my path again. That fear is more real. I haven't had many relationships in my fifteen years of dating (yes, I was a late starter) and I've shared a deep connection with only two of them. But is that really important? I know many successful marriages that don't come with a deeply intimate emotional or spiritual or physical connection. Am I setting the bar too high? Could I let myself be happy with a simple man with simple desires and who delights in simple, predictable manly past-times? Why do I keep dreaming of a man whose smile reaches his eyes, who laughs like a playful child, who looks at me with adoring eyes? Why do I see us running in a field and rolling in the grass, making out shapes in the speckled sky? Why do I see us dancing on the streets, kissing in the mall, silhouetted by the sunset in a loving embrace? Why do I see us giggling while making wild passionate love in the kitchen, the shower, the bedroom? It certainly isn't because of the many Sweet Valley High series I was not allowed to read in my teenage years nor all the steamy novels I didn't care to read in my adolescent years. I guess I can only blame it on Hollywood's depiction of love, true love. I mean the censored Singapore version, of course. There'd be hell to pay if there were steamy scenes in the kitchen, shower or bedroom on public airtime! Whatever it is, I'm running out of time to make that happen. And holding on isn't helping. I NEED A DISTRACTION!!! By the way, if you know of any single men in Hong Kong that might fit the bill, feel free to toss a line, will ya? ;-)

Calmer now. The aftermath of yesterday's whirlwind included a fallen scaffolding in the city centre which injured several tram commuters. Streets were flooded and some commercial buildings and streetside shops as well. On tv, there was footage of students struggling with their umbrellas, people running unevenly from one stationary object to another, holding on for balance and support as they were buffeted by the strong winds which threatened to knock them off their feet. Destructive beauty. Which brings me to my current thought: Is everything beautiful ultimately destructive one way or another? Think of Helena of Troy, the face that sent a thousand ships to war. Or the destructive love of Anthony and Cleopatra, Romeo and Juliet. I'm getting sentimental and stupid again. Well, the typhoon has passed and we all pick up the pieces of our lives that it ravaged.

I do not need these tears. There's too much at stake work-wise for me to get emotional at this time. I don't even know if I'm angry or sad or frustrated or whatever. He just spent hours today plowing through my archives looking for what? something to pick a fight with? He was upset that I'd posted his pictures that he completely missed the reason I did it. He sent me a curt note to remove it. I did so immediately and informed him that it was done. That was not enough for him. What more did he want? An apology? He expressed that he would have appreciated it if I had informed him. Good heavens!! I was falling in love for crying out loud! Was I going to ask his permission? I apologised. His parting words: "seems to me that we're not compatible". Since when were we evaluating our compatibility??? And on what has he based his sudden, unsolicited conclusion? The histrionic rants and ramblings on my pages? My unwillingness to speak with him after his reaction to the photos I posted? Do I even care? I don't need these tears. I don't need to be hurt so.

As a rule, I used never to date younger men. I always held that a younger man would require more emotional maintenance. They're more impatient, aggressive, and less inclined to just let be. Friends called me "picky" and advised me to be more open. But it appears I was right afterall. There is no joy in being right. I have no time for tears. Damn him! DAMN ALL BLOODY MEN TO HELL!!! I just need to cry now.

Pause a moment in honour of all those who died in the fall of the WTC Twin towers. Especially those who gave up their lives to save lives.

God of all things, today we honour the memory of all those who died needlessly and those who offered up their lives to save others. Comfort your people, especially those who grieve for their loved ones and bring them hope of the peace that you will one day restore to our sundered world. Grant wisdom and humility in all of us that we might not seek to destroy those that do not see eye to eye with us. Stay the cries for war and amplify the whispers of peace in our hearts. Amen.

On the way home earlier this afternoon, the trains were packed with office sorts. Not an unusual evening rush-hour sight, but this was three in the afternoon. I was hoping to find a seat for the long ride home as I was a little light headed and drowsy from the medication but I was in no such luck until three stations away from my stop.

Typhoon signal eight was hoisted at two this afternoon. The business centre was closed by one-thirty. Instead of rushing for the MTR home like the rest of the locals were doing, I decided to get some lunch first. J called and we decided to have lunch at the Trattoria in his building. The air was unexpectedly calm with only a slight drizzle when I left the office to meet J across the street. This was the proverbial calm before the storm. By the time I got home just after three, the winds had picked up and was whipping my laptop case hard against my leg and threatening to fold my umbrella one moment and the next trying to take off with it. I was expecting to sleep like a babe when I got home but have you noticed how sleep becomes elusive just when you decide you'll make time for it? So here I am again with my laptop served on my breakfast tray in bed, ignoring the rattling noise my window is making and the rumbling from my door. Already, five people have been injured in the storm so I'm staying indoors however tempting it is to step out into the beauty of the storm.

Last night on the news, we saw the coming of a tropical cyclone, Hagupit, which looked like it was heading north west of Hong Kong. Typhoon signal one was hoisted and the Met office didn't expect to hoist a higher typhoon warning. Three hours after the news broadcast, the typhoon changed its northerly course to head south towards Hong Kong. This morning, I watched in awe as the 50 sq ft banner hanging from the Mall was ripped off its fastenings and flapping wildly in the wind to the same rhythm as the swaying trees across the street. As I joined the rest of the city making its way to the office, I noticed a frail-looking old man struggling against the gusty winds shielding his face with a newspaper that was plastered to his face. His trousers straining against the wind revealed skeletal legs beneath and it looked as if he would be blown off in the wind if he didn't get behind a building soon. I continued on unsteady legs towards the shelter of the MTR.

This just in: Typhoon Signal 8 will be issued within two hours. Time to get home. A staff of the business centre just popped her head in to inform us of the impending warning. This could be my first Typhoon experience afterall!

after two weeks of glorious sunshine, the heavens is unleashing its tyranny again. I suppose it is only fair that we get some of our share of the typhoon weather that we've thus far managed to escape while the rest of the region is devastated beyond recognition. I enjoy the rain on occasion. Especially when I'm already planning to stay indoors, tucked under the covers with a breakfast tray serving a laptop for dinner. Rewind...serving a laptop for dinner. Yep, I'm working from home again, nursing the throat infection that's become a full blown flu today. My colleagues were ever the sympathetic boys. One exclaimed in dismay when he walked in to find me at my desk this morning, coughing. Then, Sam came in later in the afternoon and didn't conceal his disappointment at leaving a noisy workplace to come to an infected one. And when I finally announced at two that I was getting out of their air, another guy applauded my decision. Of course, they all meant it in good fun, but how about some TLC for the sick huh?

And there's just no rest for the wicked. I was barely able to keep my face off my desk this morning and decided to take the afternoon off so I can take my sleep-inducing prescriptions. I had already skipped the first dose to avoid crumpling like a sack of potatoes under my desk. But when I got home this afternoon, took my medication and hopped into bed with my laptop, I found that the sleep effects from yesterday didn't kick in today. So I worked away, waiting for sleep to take me but one and a half hours later, I was still alert. I forced myself to lie back and have a shut-eye but it was no good. Fifteen minutes later, I gave up. Too much effort trying to get to sleep when there's so much more work to be done by today.

And J has been so full of concern these past couple of days, reminding me to take care of myself and have some chicken soup (the thought makes me smile). It is nice to have that sort of concern and attention even if it is a direct result of his having read me a week ago. And I'm only guessing that reading me is causing the change though I can't ever be sure about anything anymore. I don't expect anything else has changed nor will anything change in the foreseeable future. There are still many awkward silences to fill, polite niceties to get out of the way and cautious teasing to create a sense of normalcy. But all in all, it is definitely a much more pleasant experience than having my head bitten off for no apparent reason.

Time to get some real dinner on the stove.

Still lethargic from the virus so I'm working from home today. Trying to be a responsible employee and not spread the virus to the rest of the office. I'm debating if I should go to the doctor's which is just across the street from where I live. I have no discipline with taking the prescription so it seems rather pointless to go.

In the meantime, I'm taking advantage of the time at home to do more laundry. Two week's worth of laundry! I've done three rounds of wash this weekend already. This is the fourth. The machine is protesting loudly, causing such a racket as it jumps and girates violently around the kitchen. I can't figure how to stop it from moving from its place between the refrigerator and kitchen counter. I'll admit I'm not exactly the homely sort. Is there a rubber stop that will hold it in place? It has even displaced the ladder that was leaning against the fridge!

So I was at the studio by four yesterday afternoon. The photographer had requested that I be there at three thirty but I didn't finish my music lesson until quarter past three and I wasn't going to rush Enrico who has been so kind to provide me with free lessons was I? When I got to the studio, the guys were just having themselves their afternoon bowl of noodles! The set was not ready, my wardrobe had not been pressed and I my head was pounding in spite of the two Motrins I took just before I left the flat. So *pop* went two more Panadols.

While the team busied themselves putting up the set, I went about putting on my own make-up as the make-up artist and hairstylist could not make it to the studio. I was done in ten minutes but the photographer was still slurping the last of his noodles. As he was leaving the room to supervise his studio team, he asked not at all apologetically for me to iron my wardrobe since I was already done with my make-up. I stared back half defiantly, half derisively before his tone took on a softer quality. Not wanting to appear unreasonable, I went about pressing my clothes which had been sitting at the studio waiting to be pressed since one that afternoon.

The shoot finally began at five-thirty, an hour and a half after I arrived, and ended at a quarter past midnight. Beginning with the corporate look, a popular stock photo.


Apparently, the corporate look doesn't allow for loose strands of hair, even baby strands. I got tired of fixing my hair after every two shots so in the absence of hairpins, I tried fastening the renegade strands with paper clips.


Just over three hours later, we were finally done with the corporate shots, and I could let my hair down for the casual looks. But first, I had to locate and remove the paper clips in my hair and it wasn't easy.

I was at a photo shoot today. I was doing a favour for a young photographer just starting his business in Hong Kong after his recent return from the US. He didn't mention that the shoot was going to take more than eight hours! I was already tired from a developing throat infection but finishing after midnight tonight has me completely worn. But I just had to get online to post some of the pics taken at the shoot by the photographer's assistant who is obviously not as skilled with the equipment as his employer.

Hmmmm...unfortunately, the server isn't responding so I can't upload the pictures. Maybe in the morning then.

I've been terribly stressed out lately feeling myself stretched in all directions from my numerous job roles. I've even become delusional on the job! Whenever I have something really important I have to do, I repeat to myself obsessively, "I must do ... today. I must do... today". And sometimes, I find that when I repeat this often enough to myself but get distracted by a phonecall or something else that takes my attention away just as I'm doing it, my mind tricks me into believing that I've already completed the task. This happened last night with an email I promised my boss I'd send out last night. In the morning, the first thought that greeted me was the echoing reminder. I heaved a sigh of relief when I remembered I had already sent the email. But as I tried to recall the specific moment when the email was sent, I realised to my horror that I had no clear recollection of the task! *gasp* That made me jump straight out of bed, which is not usually how I get up in the morning. I was in the office in less than an hour of my waking.

So after that early morning panic attack, it was nice to receive stuff that made me smile. The first of which was a flattering email from an insomniac friend-I've-never-met on the other side of the world. The next came from Al who is such a great links miner. Today, he led me to this really cute David Jones flash animation which all you insomniacs should check out. Is this what's keeping you awake at night? Teeheehee!! Jones also captures the very fragile nature of new love so wonderfully in an award winning strip titled Teetering.

I've danced with a number of different partners since I started going to salsa nights at Club Ing. Among these are some really odd sorts which I will describe here:
1. old but hopeful rod
Rod's a really friendly Australian pilot in his 50s who moves with such tiny foot shuffles, I find it hard to tell if he's stepping forward or back. But he's quite an enthusiast and often leads me into some really funky and difficult moves. He's also quite cheeky when he dances, often twirling me and pulling me close against his body. I took it all in good fun at first because salsa is afterall, a cheeky and sexy dance. But lately, since he got my number of me a week ago, he's called to check up on how I am, invited me to tennis, to salsa at Madison's and the movies. Errr...thanks but no thanks. Apparently, he's got a family in Oz!

2. horny gary
Now, this young chinese chap looks really shy and even speaks in a soft voice. He is not a bad dancer but has a habit of pulling his partner reallyreally close. Close enough to feel his enthusiasm if you know what I mean!

3. fawning sunny
Sunny doesn't speak much English but was determined to have more than his fair share of dancing with me and getting lesson tips while at it. In fact, he was so eager to practise the same moves over and over and in his excitement, crushed my pinkie during a turn. I stopped abruptly and suggested leaving the floor. He was undeterred and tried to make conversation and in his halting english jumped up from his seat in the midst of our conversation begging that I never leave Hong Kong, please.

4. rock n rollin' salsero
This young chap dances salsa like he's dancing rock n roll or jive, arms swinging and swaying, dragging the poor woman along with him because she can't make out from all that swinging what he intends to lead her to do. I bruised my wrist and finger joints thanks to him.

I guess that's what makes dancing so much fun. You never can tell just what kind of partner you'll get for the next dance.

Courtesy of Al, I came upon this article and realise to my immense mortification that I am such a Bob! Right down to the fridge door opening, hammering the pedestrian crossing button and snooze abuse!

There will be good days and there will be bad.
Sometimes we just dwell on the bad longer than we should or need to. It cannot be denied that there is something very seductive about pathos. Much artistic endeavour of note have sprung out of this most creative of emotions. Sometimes we wear our suffering and pain proudly like brownie pins as if to say, "Look at me, I'm worse off than the rest of the world so my achievements must be that much more marvellous and remarkable". I don't think there is anything wrong in occasionally wallowing in self-pity as long as we're still in "control" of the whole experience. The danger comes when we let ourselves sink so deep that we completely lose sight of possibilities to the point of being dysfunctional. I'm not there yet. Nor do I plan to get there even if it often seems that way.

Read Mary T's post today if you feel like things are never gonna look up.

It is always good to be busy when the busy-ness takes your mind off stuff you're better off not thinking about.
I have an eight city marketing roadshow coming up in a month's time. Personally, I think that's a tad too ambitious considering that I've not even received a definitive "green light" from our French PTBs yet. On top of that, I'm busy preparing the induction program for a new sales colleague who joins us starting tomorrow. And then there's another colleague who is being transferred from his secondment back to his home-base and whose transfer arrangements and contract I've had the dubious pleasure of working on. He's really a good person at heart but a male prima donna through and through. A thorough pain in the backside. And lastly, there's a pre-sales guy that we're trying to hire and with that comes the tedious task of preparing the offer, drafting the contract, etc., etc. Also spent some time paying overdue bills and doing months and months worth of filing. Boring boring stuff but the mundane-ness of it all has been very effective in taking my mind off this gnawing jealousy which the weekend has now failed miserably to offer. So I've been busy. And since I juggle three distinct job responsibilities (*sigh* the perils of taking a job for the sake of having a job), it means I'm busier three times over.

Catching up on since last I posted, I spent one of the best nights at Club Ing on Wednesday. The place was packed as is becoming the norm now and for some reason that neither Susan (a friend of a church friend who is now my salsa party buddy) nor I could fathom, we were dancing and dancing so much that our feet ached and we were seriously sweating a workout. We ended up dancing until midnight which says alot for Susan who had left by ten thirty the first couple of times she was there because she wasn't asked to dance much. Susan's really cool and after only one session at the Beginners, she joined the Improver's class on my encouragement. She's a real natural and its great to have female company to hang out with and who shares a common passion.

Went to a dinner on Friday night. It was supposed to be a formal "black tie" occasion at the top of the HSBC tower, organised by some lady called Margaret. But most people just went in their office wear wiht a bit of accessories. I had on a backless top and pant ensemble which was so sheer my knickers showed (I realised it when Sam arched his eyebrows appreciatively) and I had to go home just to change to a pair of skin-toned knickers.

I was invited by a business associate who was trying to do me a kindness by getting me into social events. Unfortunately for me, most of the people at the dinner were couples. Margaret, the organiser, had an interesting way of pairing people off so that the guests were forced to socialise with someone new. The men picked a name from a glass bowl and the woman whose name he picked was his "date" for the night. Not a bad idea if only the single men were given single women names to pick from. As it turned out, the single men ended up with somebody's wife or girlfriend and single women with somebody's husband or boyfriend.

My "date" John, proved to be a bit of a looney. He joked about telling his girlfriend to snort when she laughed and how she had a stain on her teeth which he didn't tell her about. I laughed. It was funny. But as the evening progressed, he became increasingly distracted with what her "date" might be saying or doing. Our conversation invariably returned to the couple at the next table and he joked that he'd pop over to let his girlfriend's date know that he was watching him, doing the V-thing with his fingers to his eyes. I laughed uncomfortably as he left our table. I didn't care to see if he carried his crazed idea of a joke out but found out later from her unfortunate "date" himself that John had gone over to signal his vigilance not once, not twice but three times! sheeesh!

During dinner, I spotted a woman who looked so familiar but I just couldn't place her name nor figure where I knew her from. I just knew that I knew her from Singapore. So in between courses, I approached her and suddenly it came to me -- she was a former colleague at the advertising agency I used to work at ten years ago. It was a strange coincidence especially because at a previous social event which was the charity ball in May, I'd met another colleague from the same company. Small world indeed. Later, as everyone was leaving, Alison persuaded me to join her group for after dinner drinks at a club called One-fifth. A really classy joint located at the ground floor of J's apartment building. The anti-social in me didn't really want to spend the rest of the evening and morning with more people I didn't know but I went anyway because I knew I had to ignore my anti-social tendencies. So I spent my early Saturday morning hanging out with a bunch of people celebrating a birthday and with the date of my dinner date's girlfriend flirting with me while his very drunk girlfriend was distracted out of her mind by her very dashing ex-boyfriend whose birthday we were there to celebrate. What a circus.

And last night, Susan and I checked out salsa night at Madison's in Pacific Place, where we danced until one-thirty in the morning to a 'live' latin band.

So my social calendar wasn't completely empty this week like it usually is but it still didn't provide the much needed distraction I was looking for to prepare for this coming week when J returns from his vacation. He will call and I must fight my wanting again and I'm tired of it all.

I'm tired. T is finally taking a risk in the name of love and I'm happy for him. And I'm sad at the same time because it reminds me of my emptiness. There's no one for me to risk all for and I'm tired of wanting and hoping all the time and mostly in vain. Tired of aching. I'm tired of being understanding and supportive. I'm tired of giving 'til it hurts. Tired of being emotionally dependent. I'm tired of being tough and capable. Tired of knowing the right thing to do but having not the will to do it. Sick and tired of my independence.

And I try to seek comfort in the words of a friend I never met: "there is always a new day, with new hope and promise". Hope comes, but this time, it comes slowly.