moody meanderings

One of my friends is volunteering at a SARS ward. This is the same person whose friend recently died from the disease. I think it's laudable that he's willing to risk exposure to the virus that has the Hong Kong population numb with fear, to care for the sick. I only wish he had informed us of it before he showed up at Sunday morning worship. With so many healthcare workers afflicted with the disease, it makes me nervous to think what might happen if he inadvertently carried the virus with him to church! I can understand his reluctance to share that piece of information with his friends who may shun him. But the fact remains: he is a high risk individual and people he comes in contact with are at risk as well. They need to be aware of the risk. Oh well...

Lee Loncasty was laid to rest today. Some of us who wanted to be at the funeral but couldn't because we were too far away observed a moment of prayerful silence at 11.11am Sydney time. I am grateful for those who joined me. I'm sure her family is grateful as well for the thoughts and prayers of those who loved Lee.

I was at a partner briefing session that I organised this morning. Hong Kong people are generally not known for their punctuality, so it was a miracle that by five past nine, we had all our guests in the meeting room for a session that commenced promptly at nine. Which, in turn, meant that I was able to spend a quiet moment at nine eleven as planned, uninterrupted by late-comers.

Most people who knew Lee are devastated by her death because they knew her. They spent a good amount of time with her either in the recent or distant past, forming memories which make letting go so difficult. I, on the other hand, am devastated that I didn't get to know her. I worked with her for just over half a year and always remotely. The closest personal contact we ever had was by phone. I only know a fraction of her remarkable nature but never had the opportunity to experience her well-known hospitality, enthusiasm and passion fully. That, to me, is the real tragedy in all of this.

Caroline Randell, a long time friend of Lee's is one of the luckier ones, having shared a vacation in California with Lee, among other things. Caroline has built a web page to honour Lee's memory. It is a labour of love I recommend you visit.

So it is with a heavy heart that I bid a final farewell to a woman much admired and loved. Rest in peace, Lee.

The hangar was at one end of the jetty sheltered from the elements under a canopy of trees. My plane was in the hangar. On impulse, I agreed to take my sisters out for a spin. I'd never taken any passengers before and this made me apprehensive. Especially because I'd only ever flown in the day and always returned by sunset. It was just five now but the sun would set within the hour. "You'll be fine. It won't be too different from landing in the day" I assured myself, visualising the descent.

Three sisters piled into the back seat. It was a very tight squeeze. I wasn't sure the tiny engine could bear the weight of so many but I said nothing. I did not think there was enough time to make two trips. Besides, they were all so excited and I really didn't want to disappoint any of them. Within minutes, we were purring down the jetty which served as the runway. Three quarter way down the runway, it became clear that the plane was not picking up enough speed to be airborne. We were too heavy and in danger of plunging into the sea if I attempted a take-off.

I slowed and turned the plane around. My sisters didn't seem to notice anything was wrong until we turned. It was unavoidable. I had to disappoint one of my siblings. I suggested that my eldest sis, being the heaviest, wait for the next ride. If she was disappointed, she didn't show it. She gamely hopped off the plane. I was starting back towards the hangar when it occurred to me I should give her a ride back to the hangar. The sun was setting quickly as we dallied at the wrong end of the runway. They were making room for her in the back seat when I awoke.

I have neither flown a plane nor been in a small aircraft. Could this be a "Lee" effect? I just wish I had at least been airborne before consciousness dawned.

I woke up buzzing. It was the strangest feeling. Like I'd just had a mug of coffee in my sleep. My head was clear as soon as my eyes opened. I had a smile on my face. It was unnatural. I was ready to jump out of bed but stayed another half hour to enjoy the seductively dizzy sensation that seemed to have consumed me in my sleep. It was a warm, sunny Saturday morning. I was going to tidy and clean my flat. I could see it already. No cutting corners. I was going to clean with the enthusiasm only seen in women on tv commercials for household products. I would even wipe down surfaces with the bleach solution like I promised my family I'd do last week. I had the whole day ahead of me.

I rolled out of bed bursting with energy which surprised me even then. I began stripping the bedlinen and put them neatly away to be dropped off at the cleaners later that evening. In the bathroom, I admired my own reflection. There was none of the usual self-critical scrutiny or shying away. I knew immediately what I would wear to Salsa that evening.

Next on the list: vacuuming. I stepped out of the bathroom and caught sight of the laptop in the living room. I am a self-confessed net-addict and hard as I tried, my addiction got the better of me. I powered it on, went back to the business of assembling the vacuum cleaner before returning to the computer, this time to log on to the instant messenger. DG was online. No one else. I forced myself away from the computer and took to sucking up household dust like a woman possessed. My domesticity was briefly interrupted to respond to dg's instant message. When I was sure the flat was clean of loose particles of dust, I got to mopping, followed by a bleach wipe-down of surfaces. I even managed two loads of laundry, cleaned the fan, room partition louvres, and tossed a salad for lunch in between all of that. I have to add that the right music certainly helped to sustain the "cleaning madness" energy. My personal recommendations: any salsa caliente CD, Shakira's "Laundry Service", and "Best of Latin Jazz", to name a few.

At four, I received a phone call to watch "Johnny English" which I declined. One of the married-but-available men again! But nothing could put a damper on my hyper day.

Later that evening, as my friend and neighbour sat in my living room worrying over my physical and emotional health, I slipped into my favourite sheer DKNY blouse and matching black drapey pants. The three rhinestones on my bra sparkled as brightly as diamonds underneath the blouse. I was pleased with the effect. The look was finished with a dusting of powder, blusher and a light application of mascara. Stepping out of the bathroom, I received my first appreciative "wow!" for the evening.

My good humour remained the rest of the evening and so did my vamp confidence. I felt sexier than I've felt in a long time. It must have manifested on the dancefloor because I received numerous compliments ranging from "you're a really good dancer", to "your styling is great, very sexy", to "I want to sign up for your dance classes". The last was a joke from one of the dance instructors. The balls of my feet were on fire from almost non-stop dancing before the evening ended. Men I used to covet dancing with were noticing me for the first time. And some I'd met on previous occasions unknowingly re-introduced themselves to me. Even guy-on-hot-coals who only danced with me once after the incident at dg's studio lesson approached me for a turn. It was amusing and exhilarating.

He was there, too. Looking breathlessly dashing in a black fitted tee and jeans. I knew then that the buzz was really my hormones running ariot. I saw him as if seeing him for the first time. Gawd! He was handsome. I'd forgotten how striking he was at six feet four, dark with a hint of stubble on his jaw. He was leaning back against the bar, beer in hand, his lean body stretched to advantage. I could barely keep my hands off him. His scent was intoxicating. It was all I could do not to reach up on my toes to steal a kiss from those smiling lips.

We danced. I was nervous. I was inhibited. I was flamboyant. I was graceful. I was clumsy. I was trying too hard to strike a balance so he wouldn't notice the somersaults going on in my belly or the shadows of doubt in my mind. I was distracted. He pulled me close, my face against his chest. Did I mention his scent already? I closed my eyes and drank deeply his musky potion of eu de toilette and sweat. I was drunk on salsa divinity.

I will get over this infatuation some day. I promise.

I've been offline for two days and some of you might have worried for me in view of the SARS situation here and my Saturday agony. Well, not to worry. I'm still breathing. I just didn't bring my laptop home with me on Wednesday, it being Salsa night. And then I was ill yesterday with gastro-intestinal flu. I hardly slept a wink all Wednesday night on account of writhing from the spasms in my abdomen. It brought on several nightmares which I've thankfully forgotten now. I slept most of yesterday away to make up for it.

Wednesday Salsa just got worse. There were several new faces but none of the recent new ones showed up this week. Only three or four people were on the floor to pick up the steps. And only four or five regulars showed up for any length of time and one of them grabbed a handful of boobs while dancing with me. I was peeved but as usual, was too stunned and embarrassed to react to it at the time. The other regular was much too good a dancer to bother dancing with me even though I was only one of three females who weren't beginners. The other was Salsa Swan who flaunted her stuff nearly as soon as she arrived. No, she didn't. I'm just a little sore because she's a fabulous dancer. She actually appears to be quite unassuming. How do I know that since we've never exchanged a word? I guess a woman just knows. Also because she isn't flamboyant in her dance style. Or maybe it's just because dg seems to have taken to her and I can't see him being taken with a snob.

And of course, there was the divine one himself, who was too busy at the DJ console preparing a string of music for the dismal "crowd". As if putting in extra effort in the music selection was going to pull in the dancers from outside the club when it couldn't even get the ones in the club onto the dance floor! It was clear that he was keeping himself occupied to avoid dancing altogether, though why is totally beyond me. Could it be that he didn't want to dance with clumsy me? Or perhaps I was just getting in his way of dancing with Salsa Swan. I decided to leave early to make way for the reunion of the prince and his swan. I can be so prone to histrionics. I know.


And now onto some random observations...

One in four pregnancies terminate in miscarriages. This number might be higher as many early miscarriages often go completely unnoticed to the woman who wasn't aware she was pregnant to start with. A discouraging statistic for women trying for a child.

While SARS has made most Hong Kong residents more conscious of personal hygiene and personal space, there are still those who are completely clueless. This afternoon, I was physically accosted by a woman in her forties trying to trap a subject for her survey. She used her body like a barrier which she drove directly in front of me. I was quite alarmed by her audacity and could only glare at her in shock from the collision.

Human beings are indeed social creatures. Even those of us who prefer to keep our feelings quite private. Since my posts following the untimely demise of Lee Loncasty, I have received email from her friends and family seeking solace in what news and articles they could find on her. Their email were a great comfort to me because of my need for collective grieving. It is hard to move on when you haven't this space for collective expression. So I will be "joining" Lee's family and friends as they gather together for her funeral on Tuesday, April 29, 11.11am (Sydney) for a moment of silent prayer. If you have come upon this page seeking consolation and a means to mourn and are too far away to physically attend the funeral as well, I invite you to join me in this "virtual funeral" session.

The wheel keeps turning. Life goes on and we pick up the pieces without missing a beat. That's how it was at the office. It was the business of moving forward. There was no time to stop, to ventilate, to mourn. Not at all in a disrespectful way of course. Mostly because very few people in the Hong Kong office have had any interaction with the Australian office, much less its Managing Director. And of the three of us who had the most contact with her, none of us talked about the accident or her death except in the context of picking up where she left off. It was too hard. I couldn't sit at my desk for lunch today as I usually do. I had to spend an hour with someone who could empathise with my struggle for equilibrium. I had to talk out of my system this sense of surrealism. I had to see Sara.

Am I crazy that I have to fight off the urge to send a "hi Lee" instant message to her msn id which, incidentally shows her status as online? Even now, her status which earlier this morning showed "Away" shows a steady green "online" icon that came on around noon. Do I expect her to respond as she did while she was alive? Will she tell me how weightless she feels in her celestial suspension? I almost wish it. Have I lost my mind completely? Why doesn't her status go into "Away" like it should when the computer is idle? Who is working at her computer keeping her msn constantly logged on and active at one in the morning? Why am I obsessing about her msn status?

The weather forecast predicted sunny skies so we were quite surprised that the sky was overcast as far as the horizon. The sea was very choppy as well which made it a challenge for an unlicensed skipper like me to steer us clear of crests in the water. Luckily we had three hours of sunshine even if my complexion doesn't seem to have benefitted from it.

Yesterday, as the reality of the tragic news began to sink in, I felt an overwhelming need to confide this news to someone. With most of my friends in Hong Kong away for Easter break, I was left with very few choices. Sara kindly offered for me to go over to her place but I didn't feel comfortable intruding on her and her husband whom I work with. More importantly, I did not want him to see me in tears. Some of the cast from the show were meeting for a bbq that afternoon but I didn't feel particularly social nor did I want to be at the house of the man who's been trying to get me out for drinks while his family is away for the holidays. And not wanting to intrude on a quiet weekend with his family, I decided not to call on my pastor. That left dg and boatman.

I recalled that dg once offered that I could call on him should I ever feel a need to talk. Even though our situation has changed since that one night, I felt sure his offer of friendship remained. I tried his mobile twice but to no avail. My frustration at having no one to turn to was mounting and the tears were harder to control now. I was feeling desperate and considered boat guy.

Boatguy started showing up three or four weeks ago when he attended his first evening service since it began last Fall. We hadn't met or had any significant communication since he took my family out on his boat in the Summer so it was good to catch up with him after service over some dinner. I knew even in the Summer that he had a soft spot for me but I never gave it further thought. Now he was returning to church and not just because of his desire to worship but to hear me sing. It worried me of course, because he was in a complicated relationship and that only meant he, too, was vulnerable. I called him anyway. I could not bear being alone in my contemplations of human mortality any longer.

He was kind. We didn't say much. I was grateful for the respectful space he accorded me. I spoke briefly of the tragedy on our way to his place. We sat quietly on his balcony taking in the holiday activities on the bay. Later, on his encouragement, I decided to go to Salsa to take my mind off my morbid reflections.

He was there. I did not see him immediately. Not until I was on the dance floor and saw his slim shadow in the music booth. I watched him dance even while I was on the floor myself. I envied the women he danced with. They looked graceful under his able lead. He looked like he was enjoying the dance. He didn't see me until much later. Or at least affected not to see me until I waved to him. When he finally came to speak to me, I was convinced I had offended him in some way. He asked me to dance. As much as I wanted to dance with him, I was full of misgivings. I felt clumsy with him the last few times we were on the floor. I felt disconnected from him, unable to comprehend the subtle nuances of his lead. It was frustrating for me and I knew it must frustrate him too even though he was too polite to say so. The dance, as I predicted, was a total disaster. I was an absolute she-bear in dance shoes but he comforted me with a smiling, "don't worry about it" response to my apology.

He took several other women down. One in particular whom he danced with more than anyone else in the entire room was a Salsa swan if there ever was one. I was embarassed at how clumsy and deadweight I must have felt in comparison to this lithe spinning form. I quickly forced the thought out of my head. I did not come here to feel sorry for myself. On the contrary, I needed to feel alive and uninhibited. I had to pretend he wasn't in the room. I focused my attention on a woman I became friendly with last Wednesday, and a man who hadn't been showing up at parties for weeks. She was pretty. I felt plain next to her but I didn't dwell on it. We amused ourselves mimicking the antics of a man on the dance floor I nicknamed, The Scream.

But dg came back for a second dance. I was torn. I did not want to return to clumsiness which was certain if I danced with him. Nor did I want to turn him down because he was dg afterall. He smiled impishly and offered, "maybe we'll be luckier the second time." I was doubtful but went along anyway.

I missed the first turn. Flustered, I babbled, "I can't dance with you anymore. I can't feel what you want me to do". Realising how insulting that must have sounded, I quickly added, "It isn't you. I just feel disconnected from you." Worse. Now he looked hurt. "That is so sad", he replied, his face still smiling.

There are more than a dozen other women he can dance with who aren't as much work as I am. It is more my loss than it is his. Why should it matter to him? I reminded myself. But I had blurted that last question out.

"Why should it matter to you?" I repeated coolly, trying to disguise my neuroses.

"I will pretend I didn't hear that". His smile faltered imperceptibly before his impish grin returned. Could my remark have really hurt him? It didn't seem possible yet his last words said otherwise. We didn't exchange another word after the dance which went much better than I'd expected. I waited to bid him goodnight before I left but he didn't pause in between songs. He was dancing with the Salsa Swan.

A friend sent this to me in an email. I don't know the original artist to attribute this to but it is absolutely brilliant.

Yesterday was a very difficult day. After the initial shock and tears were spent, I found myself struggling with many questions. I struggled especially, to understand why people with big hearts and an incredible love for life should lose theirs prematurely, while others wasted their own away, or threw them out the window like the actor, Leslie Cheung. I realise now that I was being unfairly harsh on the actor and idealistic with Lee. I was bitter and angry that I never got the chance to meet face-to-face, a woman I admired.

Lee was a mature and intelligent woman who understood very well the dangerous nature of her favourite sport. She knew the risks involved but she never allowed fear to get in the way of pursuing and enjoying her passion for free floating in the open sky. And although it might seem to many a tragic way to go, Lee died doing what she loved most. I can only hope for as much when my turn comes.

And today, as we celebrate the resurrection of our Lord, I rejoice with the assurance that God is triumphant even over death. Yet even amid that rejoicing, I will make a request that you pray for David Loncasty, her husband, who grieves her loss. And for the traumatised family of Robert Hollis, who witnessed their accident.

The Managing Director for our Australian operations died yesterday in a skydiving accident. I just received the news from my Asia Pacific MD.

I never met her but I feel the loss so terribly. We spoke on the phone and exchanged friendly msn messages periodically. She had a great zest for life and was in love with flying and skydiving. We often "chatted" about her passion for flying and her record breaking formation jumps. She sent me photos. I never met her but I loved her. My words and tears are inadequate for this occasion.

Go with God, Lee.

I was awakened at five thirty by a pain in my abdomen. Thinking it nothing more than the functions of an underworked digestive tract, I went to the bathroom. Consciousness seemed to awaken the menace in my belly. It throbbed as it grew into a fist at the bottom of my abodomen. I was breaking out into a cold flush, and icy needles were racing painfully up and down my back. I pushed the damp strands of hair away from my face as I tried to steady my gaze. That's when I realised my breath was short and quick like a fish out of water. At intervals, I would notice that I was not breathing after expelling a breath. It took sheer concentration to will my lungs to breathe. The effort made me dizzy. I was seeing black spots and my peripheral vision was gone. A wave of nausea overtook me but yesterday's fast offered nothing. I cleaned up quickly, deciding it best to lie down.

I sat at the edge of my bed and slowly lowered my damp body down. The fist in my abdomen protested violently. I returned to the bathroom hoping to expel it but my body was exhausted from the effort earlier. I rested my head on the edge of the sink, conscious of my ragged breath and trembling body. What were the symptoms of SARS? Shortness of breath, aching muscles, hot flushes alternating with cold chills....my mind was racing in circles. Please God, no. Painkiller. I latched on to that last thought and fighting through the fog of my exhausted mind, I tried to recall if I had any. I did. Something in my hiking pouch which I hoped were painkillers bought for a migraine in Beijing. I walked unsteadily to the sofa in the living room, grateful that my flat is small and found the pouch under a pile of stuff. I returned to bed and downed two tablets with the glass of water I keep by my bedside. I lay down and waited for the painkillers to do their thing. I did not have to wait long.

When I awoke, I was on a bus with a woman I haven't spoken to in a few years. After more than ten years of friendship, for reasons known only to herself, she severed our ties by not returning my email and phone messages. Yet here we were together again. We were on our way to meet Mickey, one of our travelling companions but we got off two stops too late. We were going to retrace our ride two stops but for some reason I didn't manage to get on the bus with her. I yelled out instructions to her as the bus pulled away and got on the next bus. I must have dozed off or been in a distracted reverie. By the time I thought to look out, I was home. I had to call him to let him know I wasn't meeting them. Only, what was his name again? I scrolled down the contact list on my phone. Ricky. That's it. But no, that wasn't who I was meeting. Nor did he know who I meant to meet.

I got home, opened the door and walked into a hotel room. My other travelling companions were just rousing from bed. A man was using the potty in the corner of the room. He still had sleep in his eyes. He didn't know where Mickey was. That's right...Mickey, not Ricky. Neither did the other two women who were now sharing the potty he was still using. I noticed in passing that they slept together without knickers under their nightshirt. There was someone else in the room behind me. I turned to look. Ricky was sitting in the shadows. I sat down next to him on the couch. He said nothing. I felt his face soft against my neck. I tilted my head back to offer my sensitive curve. He breathed deeply, drinking my scent. My eyes flew open. I became self-conscious of my body odour from the cold sweat of this morning. I'm sorry. I must stink. I said or thought as I pulled away. His arm caught me around my waist pulling me back against his chest. He pushed the damp hair from my neck. The whisper of his breath against my ear was intoxicating. I closed my eyes again.

The next time I opened them, I was alone and back in my apartment.

I'm floating on your smile
drowning in your eyes
quivering from your touch
trembling from your sighs.
Riding waves of passion
racy, wild elation.
Breathing sweet sensation
of dizzy intoxication.
You got me dancing to your voice
reeling when you laugh
But baby, don't you worry
this really isn't love.
It's just an animal attraction,
chemical reaction,
a natural concoction
of so innocent seduction.
Now, won't you move in my direction
feel the interaction
succumb to the addiction
come, be my sweet distraction.

Most of my friends have left or are leaving for Bali. Susan and Tara left yesterday morning, Philippe last night and Johan early tomorrow. I guess it's the only relatively safe place in the region that isn't treating visitors from SARS afflicted countries like lepers. Sara and her husband were supposed to leave for Bali tomorrow as well but cancelled their trip on account of the SARS threat to their unborn child. We, Sara and I, went jewellery shopping tonight to make up for it. We didn't buy anything but the proximity to so many beautiful, colourful, glittery subterranean candies lifted our mood tremendously.


J called me this evening while we were making our way to the TST "Star" ferry terminal on our return to Central. He was just returning from a business trip to Taiwan and was calling from the other end of the Airport Express. He never fails to call me from the Airport Express. Except, of course, when he's not alone. In which case, he'd always call on the first available occasion. It still surprises me. I find it most endearing even if totally unfathomable. I can only put it down to the bond -- that sense of connection -- we both felt the first time we met by the dance floor. I will miss him dearly when he leaves later this year.

Who am I kidding? I miss him already.

Hong Kong is no doubt a cosmopolitan city. It is a cultural melting pot (pardon the cliche) with a lot of western influence from its British colonial days. Perhaps for this reason, Hong Kong's residents have for some time now often taken on western names in addition to their chinese names. Some do so to make it easier for their western employers and friends to address them. Some others take it on because it is the fashionable thing to do. And there are even those who change their western names periodically when they tire of the last. Whatever their reasons for adopting a western name, the names in themselves are often a source of amusement. The result of misguided creativity. Here's a sample of some of the more creative names I have come across in person or in documents during my eighteen months here:
Bon Bon
Boogie
Colour
Fanny
Janita
Kennis
Psyche
Rambo
Sky
Venus
Wrinky

I also found a page with an even more comprehensive list of Hong Kong monikers which provided great entertainment to me.

And going back to the subject of SARS mask, nearly eighty percent of Hong Kong residents are now wearing the mask in its myriad of styles and patterns. In addition to the trendy designs on these masks, some have taken to wearing these protective accessories in ways that couldn't possibly be protective. I've seen:
- N95 worn high on the forehead like a third eye
- hanging down the side of the face from one ear
- wrapped under the chin
- across the mouth while exposing the nose
- around the wrist the way young girls wear their scrunchies
- hanging from the crook of the elbow like a grace kelly purse

The masks on these individuals are probably as effective a protection as the treatment being administered to SARS patients is to their recovery.

And while we're on the subject of humour, though not from Hong Kong, this range of lipstick appears to be especially designed with lonely women in mind. I wonder if it tastes like the real thing.

Nine more deaths were reported in Hong Kong yesterday, three of whom were women in their early to mid thirties with no history of chronic disease. It is becoming clear that being young and healthy does not exempt one from the debilitating and fatal effects of the disease. Has the virus mutated into a more vicious strain? Has it become immuned to the drug treatments currently in use?

Among the fatalities was a dear friend of the music leader at my church. Last Sunday, as he sought for prayers for Peter who lay in critical condition, and his family also in intensive care, he was barely able to hold back his tears. And with death hitting so close to home, it is getting harder to mask my own fears behind SARS mask humour.

The lovely aromas from Pret-a-Manger called to me this morning. As I was already late getting in to the office, I walked directly to the counter to order my usual (if "usual" can be applied to a once a month occurence) blueberry crumble muffin.

The man behind the counter sang a breezy "Good morning!". I chirped my salutation and order in reply. I could tell he was in high spirits even behind his mask. It was infectious.

"Any coffee for you madam?"
"No, thank you."
"It's on the house", he continued to sing.
"I don't drink coffee."
"How about tea?" he lifted a brow.
"No, but I'll take a hot chocolate," I beamed at him as he immediately set off preparing my drink. As he did so, his colleague offered me nuggets of information about DJ Jay who isn't a DJ. He asked me for my name which I gave together with the money for the muffin. It was a good start to the day.

Not much to say today. It was normal in the most uneventful way. Spent most of my day researching the internet for an angle on Free Trade Agreements and their implications on businesses in Asia Pacific and their infrastructural strategy. Didn't find anything meaty at all. Mostly dry fact and progress reporting on details of the FTAs and GDP statistics.

Went to a ladies Salsa styling class tonight. The first of eight. I have no idea why I even bothered signing up for eight knowing I'm bound to miss a couple of lessons and better off paying session by session. Oh well, damage done. Just gotta make sure I do my best to attend all remaining seven sessions. DG wasn't impressed with the instructor's methodology, namely, starting without partner work and focusing on styling for complete beginners. He feels strongly about grounding a beginner in form, tempo and partner work. I agree with him to some extent. But I think there's something to be said for focusing on technique and simple styling from the start. I guess a happy middle always strikes a balance. Why on earth am I rabbiting on about Salsa instructional methodology I really can't say. But as is quite plain, DG is DG again. I wonder how long he can hold his gentleman's demeanour. It is quite becoming.

Of course.

He's a paradox. On the one hand, encouraging and inspiring me to greater self-confidence. On the other, brutally pointing out shortcomings beyond my control to no apparent purpose other than for his own amusement; and in doing, shattering an already fragile self-esteem. I shall not bow to such unprovoked bullying. Am I to be reduced to nothing more than ego food? No, I am a beautiful, intelligent, and passionate woman with as many flaws as the next man/woman and bold enough to love despite. I will not allow his insensitive and pointless remark to deprive me of sleep or primal gratification. Nor will I retaliate with the same mean spirit that possesses him.

I just received an email from a Paul Christensen, claiming to be the rightful author of this article which I wrongly attributed to Philip Nichol, promoter of the link. A quick check confirmed his claim. Unless he managed to hack the site (like the teenage April Fools prankster) and insert his byline on the page. In any case, Paul, who dubs me a "Jesus Freak", has updated the page with a more detailed list of all SARS fatalities and their history up to April 13. The bad news is that the age limit has dropped to 35 due to late admission/detection. The niggling question is: are the cases of late detection due to the inability to properly diagnose the disease early or simply a case of sick people avoiding healthcare facilities for fear of contracting the dreaded disease until it is too late? Or both as in the case of the man who laid a siege on himself in his own home. He was sent home after various tests declared him SARS-free and later was confirmed to have the disease. The poor man will never know if he was infected from the start or was infected at the hospital which sent him home, carrying and spreading the virus.

Two people I know of were literally moved to tears by my rendition of Via Dolorosa this morning. I nearly made a third. I wonder how I will keep myself together at Good Friday service. I was beside myself in tears yesterday when I practised the song at home....but He chose to walk that road out of His love for you and me...never fails to get me everytime. Thankfully, I didn't fall to pieces today. Without analysing it too much, I think my last minute decision to quietly talk-sing it like I was recounting a story first hand made all the difference. The effect was powerful. The congregation seemed meditative to the point of catatonia. No one budged from their seat for a while after. Then one by one, they proceeded to place their palms at the foot of the cross erected just for this holy week.

Some time back, one of the cast from "Fiddler" asked if I would help him learn Salsa. I agreed because he had a great body and a thick accent. I put up with forking out the extra HKD120 a week to dance at the Regal because he seemed so enthusiastic about picking up the dance. I learned later that he was turning to Salsa to rid himself of two of his many vices: smoke and drink. I applaud anyone who desires to give up their nicotine and alcohol addiction so I patiently tolerated the stubbed toes, twisted arms and what-nots to encourage him and help him gain his Salsa confidence.

Tonight, as I watched him dancing confidently with a tall girl, I beamed with pride at his achievements. He hasn't touched a cancer stick since the day he gave them up two months ago, he's cut down on his alcohol intake, and is able to take a new girl down to dance nearly an entire song without too many stops and starts. I was filled with pride.

And jealousy. Jealousy from the knowledge that he no longer needs me as a practice partner. Jealousy because thanks to me, he was making a move on another woman. I don't have to mention his other vice. I have outlived my purpose as his Salsa buddy, his give-up-the-vices cohort, and more. C'est la vie.

My refrigerator is sweating. It's the unusually high humidity and fog condensing onto every cool surface in my flat. Forget looking into the mirror today.


If you can't see this image, it is because it is waiting to be uploaded (thanks, Al).

I got home tonight and found everything in my flat coated with a thin film of dew. My windows are shut except for the one in the bathroom and kitchen. It is misty tonight and the whole estate is shrouded in the weightless moisture that has managed to creep into my apartment. What hard work it will make of cleaning day tomorrow.

I'm home fairly early on a Friday night because I'm sick and tired of receiving advances from married men. This one doesn't need any encouragement to touch me in inappropriate places. He keeps grabbing my hands in his even though I keep pulling them right back. Do I really have to get downright nasty and rude? I am pissy. I'll blame it on my cycle.

In the past year, the Hong Kong government has been trying to clean up the city for the sake of tourism. Campaign posters and tv commercials warned that those caught littering, spitting, doggie-pooing, etc., were liable to pay a penalty of HKD600. (That'll certainly put a dent in the deviant's pocket so he never soils the city's image again!).
In the past week, following numerous allegations that the government could have done more to contain the SARS outbreak, the HKSAR administration launched a tv commercial featuring a young woman animatedly demonstrating how to make a bleach solution ("1 part bleach to 99 part water") to disinfect the home. She made disinfecting every square inch surface of the house and the items within look like a delightful experience.

Last night, when I got home after midnight, I noticed a small red pail containing a bottle of bleach, a cleaning cloth and a pair of gloves sitting atop the lobby security counter. The security guard behind the counter gestured to a sheet of paper next to the pail and mumbled something incoherent behind her mask. I examined the sheet and worked out that it was the list of units in my apartment block. It looked like every box had a signature against its unit number. I pointed mine out. It was blank. Her eyes smiled pleased that she'd made herself understood as she gestured for me to take possession of the pail and its contents. I dutifully took mine home. Now, all I need is the woman in the commercial to clean my flat.

Two days and several email later, the "Fashionable Asians Wear Fancy Masks" article by Donna De Marco, ran in yesterday's edition of the Washington Times. Hong Kong's street fashion receives international acclaim and in the words of DG, I'm "famous the world over"!!!

I wonder if any of my readers happen to be from D.C. I'd love to receive a copy of the clip.

I received an email from a reporter for a major US daily today asking for more information about the SARS mask fashion. It seems her keyword search for "fashionable SARS masks" led her to my page. How exciting. Looks like fashion-conscious Hong Kong might get the international attention it deserves for its ability to turn even a crisis into a fashion statement for profit. Who else would have thought to turn the whole SARS crisis into a thriving enterprise?!

It is appalling, however, that street vendors have taken to touting imitations of the N95 masks as the real deal, putting at risk individuals who might genuinely depend on the protective qualities of the N95 in their line of work. With so many health care workers already stricken with the disease, I wouldn't want to imagine what would happen if health care workers decided to bring additional stock of masks from home to supplement their supplies at the hospitals. In the past week, there has been a growing number of transient hawkers displaying their cache of masks along footbridges, underpasses, street corners and alleyways, preying on the anxieties of the Hong Kong public.

A week ago, I was hopeful that the hysteria and paranoia resulting from the apparent increase in number of SARS cases would start to ease in a couple of weeks. My hopes were completely dashed since the HKSAR administration launched a series of tv commercials with lines like the one I posted yesterday. Not only should friends not hug and kiss anymore, they are strongly urged not to shake hands. My colleague admitted without regret that he hasn't hugged nor kissed his children since paranoia was let loose on the city two weeks ago.

And last Friday night, while tramping through the unusually quiet streets of Central with Susan and Tara, I sighted a couple walking towards us sporting an N95 each. They were waving to someone in our group but drew no response. When our group finally came mask to face with them, Tara finally made out who they were. She made the introductions and when the shaking of hands was dispensed with, the woman whipped out a bottle of disinfectant gel from her purse, offered it to her co-worker and in unison, proceeded to disinfect their hands right in front of us! All good manners eliminated with the germs.

The good news is, there is a growing number of people tiring of this virtual imprisonment. I'm seeing more face in the city in the past two days. J and some of his colleagues have returned to their desks because of the inconvenience of working away from the office. And....Saturday night Salsa has been re-instated this weekend.

There is hope yet.

I must have missed eight months of the year because I just saw Jacky Cheung singing "Lost Christmas" on TVB Pearl. No, not the one who killed himself jumping off a hotel onto a busy sidewalk in the middle of evening rush hour.

Avoid shaking hands. Just say "hi" and wave "goodbye".

The latest TVC campaigns from the Health Department to combat the dreaded SARS which has taken on a life disproportionate to its microscopic size.


Some jokes I get, some jokes I don't. I'll admit I'm not the brightest joke afficionado. But tell me, is it ever funny to tell a woman over IM that you had a rotten time with her after your first time together? If it is, I've completely missed it.

A week ago, what seemed like a rambling chat led to a wild and reckless evening. It was one of the best spontaneous evenings I've had this year and I'd hoped I wasn't the only one hogging those sentiments. Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing because my question was met with one flippant answer accompanied by a chuckling emoticon, after another. It isn't like I expected to hear a glowing compliment. I would have appreciated an honest reply even if it wasn't what I wanted to hear. Is that really asking too much?

Maybe ignorance truly is bliss, afterall.

I had a busy busy weekend but am too exhausted to post in any detail at the moment. I'll do that when I have time to sort through the pics from the bbq this afternoon. Too bad I have no pics to show for the hike on Lantau yesterday but certainly have some from Friday night's birthweek celebration with Susan and Tara.

Rant: why on earth are married men so attracted to me??? Even when I've declared, "not a married man, thank you!", they still take my hand or caress my cheeks or do something equally inappropriate!

If my site stats are anything to go by, fashion SARS masks are the rage. In particular, people are going kitty-krazy for Hello Kitty masks. Here's a sampling of keyword searches that have contributed to the unusual spike in my otherwise quiet site stats:

"buy decorated surgical masks"
"burberry sars mask"
"sars masks fashion"
"sars face mask fashion"
"'hello kitty' mask + sars"
"hello kitty surgical mask"
"hello kitty respiratory mask"

To reward the efforts of the SARS mask fashion researchers, check out this link (courtesy of Al)

With the WHO travel advisory set against some more seriously SARS afflicted cities as Hong Kong is, a number of its residents have fled or are considering fleeing the city as well. One of my friends packed his family off to Perth ahead of their original Easter vacation date. He asserts that his decision was based on the news that schools will remain shut until the Easter holidays.

In the meantime, at the bank where J works, all staff with company issued laptops were sent home on Wednesday allowing them to work from home for a week. Many more companies have done the same. At the same time, their desk-bound colleagues are left behind to the mercy of the larger-than-life murderous virus. Perhaps individuals employed in administrative and secretarial duties are deemed to be less susceptible to the disease?

And even closer to my heart, Saturday Salsa at Regal has been cancelled tomorrow.

Maskless individuals receive more negative attention than robbers taking advantage of the anonymity the ubiquitous mask provides. A friend of a friend was robbed two nights ago by such a one sporting a baseball cap, bat and mask.

If only more from the media would put the outbreak back into perspective as Philip Nichol has done in this article. Perhaps then, Hong Kong might tide this already economically trying times better than it's doing now. And I don't have to be deprived of a visual feast and maybe even another flight of fancy with my dance god.

Yesterday's prank spawned mass panic buying of household essentials and groceries among gullible Hong Kong residents. A friend who was at Wellcome, one of the large retail chains, yesterday observed that many of the shelves were emptied of their merchandise while store staff had to keep would-be shoppers from entering their premises. As if there isn't enough panic already with the incidence of SARS showing no signs of relenting.

This SARS thing is really changing the face of everything. For starters, the population of Hong Kong has been transformed to Ninja warriors. The ubiquitous face mask now comes in various shapes, designs and colours. There's the "Hello Kitty" variety for the cartoon fashion fiends of Hong Kong females, the Burberry's design for the fashion slaves, floral prints for those who just had to buy the latest on the fashion enterprise. I think I might start a fashion statement of my own by drawing some funky prints on my masks arrived today from a dear friend in Singapore. I don't see myself wearing it for the moment but if I'm going wear a mask, it will be decorated.

How the tables have turned. Today, health officials were criticised for going unmasked in a public place. Two top health officials of HK were photographed deep in discussion regarding the SARS crisis without proper protection. At the same time, police officers were urged by their senior officers not to wear masks as they only serve to exacerbate the paranoid fear that has gripped the territory's population.

And to add to the already tense situation surrounding the quarrantine of an entire residential building, rumours were going around that Hong Kong was going into complete isolation by barring all flights in and out of the territory. Of course, that was just someone's twisted idea of an April Fool's prank. Aside from this, April Fool's Day passed without much event. Having said that, I should mention the April Fool's prank that wasn't.

I was IM-ing with a colleague in France seeking some French translation to help me make my French colleagues understand what I'm asking for. Here's an exerpt:

kazzakaz says:
what do you call a company stamp in french?
Christophe TEK (Axway) says:
don't laugh but it's called "tampon"
kazzakaz says:
i can't stop laughing
Christophe TEK (Axway) says:
tampon de la societe
kazzakaz says:
that's an april fool's joke i'm sure
Christophe TEK (Axway) says:
nono!!
Christophe TEK (Axway) says:
really!

Then he went off to give me the dictionary definitions of that word.

Don't you just love April? I do. It is the month I was born. It also marks many changes...a new business quarter, a change of clime, new season with lovely colours to go with it. Not to mention, I started the month fulfilling a fantasy of six months early this morning and it was much more than I dared imagine. Had me grinning a good part of the day. Yes, April is a good month to live. Spring babies, April love, April showers....it's all happening in April!