moody meanderings

I'm half seriously considering cancelling my vacation tomorrow. It is much too stressful trying to complete everything before leaving for a short break. And during the break, all I can think of is the pile of stuff awaiting my return. It doesn't help that I've chosen the month end to go away in order to take advantage of the national day holiday on Tuesday. And I know very well that I can't take next weekend off because of the monthly reports I have to prepare immediately following my return. I really wonder why I bother with vacations if they only add to the stress rather than relieve it!

I showed up at the office of the landlord's real estate agent (Kerry Properties) first thing Tuesday morning with the cash. We were sitting at the reception for half an hour before the agent, James, came to meet us only to say that he could neither accept my offer nor that of the other prospective tenant. We had to submit a bid for the flat instead. Clearly, he was playing some stupid game. He could barely control his temper with no provocation whatsoever, which to me, said that he had something to hide. Immediately following the meeting, he called my agent's manager to complain about her unprofessional behaviour (ie. relaying his verbal acceptance to her client) after raising his voice at her and slamming his fist on the table several times during the meeting! I had to calm him down each time and remind him that I was the client and the one ready to hand over the cash and sign on the dotted line. He also told the manager that he had accepted the other offer, obviously overlooking the "bid" he said both prospective tenants had to submit. Integrity and professionalism seems to be an alien concept to him.

So my dream flat turned out to be a nightmare.

Tired tonight. I should be at Salsa but my body has gone on strike. My eyelids refuse to stay open and I still of lots more work to do before I can leave for Vietnam Friday. Back to work now.

Last week, after my landlady called to say she'd made a mistake about the rent cut, I began my flat hunting. Not because of the retraction of rent cut but because I had already planned to move. After viewing nearly twenty units, I decided I really liked two. One was going for two thousand less than the other but was further from the city centre. This was the one I had my heart set on. I gave the real estate agent the go-ahead to put in an offer for the flat last Friday. She put in an offer at five hundred under what I was willing to pay, to leave room for a counter-offer. This morning, I was surprised to learn that the landlord accepted the offer. Naturally, I was thrilled. Later in the afternoon, they accepted the adjusted commencement date as well as agreed to an extended rent-free period. I was over the moon! Then I remembered that I had lost my cheque book, and immediately went online to order one. In the meantime, I offered to pay for the holding deposit via internet transfer for fear that the new cheque book may not arrive in time. The estate agent couldn't confirm if the company could accept this mode of payment because the staff at the landlord's agent's office was uncontactable all afternoon.

Tonight, I received a call from my agent who appeared a great deal distressed. I learned that the staff at the landlord's agent's office was now demanding a higher offer. Disregarding the fact that he already verbally accepted the offer this afternoon, he is now threatening to take a higher offer that just came in. Unconscionable! Total bastard!

We have now arranged for my agent to deliver the deposit in cash first thing tomorrow morning. I feel terribly terribly uneasy. I think I'm going to cry.

Two pieces of good news came through today. I got the apartment I was after for less than I was willing to pay and Hong Kong has been taken off the WHO "SARS-affected" list.

More later.

Yes, it is finally happening! We will have three and a half days' worth of sights and shopping. Too short but that's all the time I can spare. I can't wait!

Dance practice is coming along very nicely. I've learnt nearly the entire routine now. After only five sessions, I am pleased. We're working towards the Japan Salsa Congress in November, but at the rate we're going, we may be joining the troupe on stage as early as August. If you're curious about the routine, go to cn-salsa.com and check out Aslas under the "Artists" tab. I'll be a genie some day.

And no prizes for guessing where I ended up on Wednesday night. I'm such a sap. I was rewarded with three dances with him. Unusual. He must have read my mind.

Tired now. Didn't get to yoga or Sunday Salsa as planned. But I did get to cleaning the flat which was flooded from a heavy downpour. Stupid me didn't think to shut the windows before leaving for church!

Now I must sleep. I am exhausted.

I am mad. I am disappointed. I am sad. Yet, in some strange way, I am glad this is how it turned out. It is funny how things always work out for the best even if it doesn't feel true at the time. I won't even cry this time. In a few hours, I won't even remember what this post was about. Well okay, in a week.

I wouldn't do this any other time, but well, he's special. If you or someone you know in Hong Kong is looking for a good refrigerator, washer/dryer or a double-bed, or even better, all of the above, do me a favour and check these out first.

I like the apartment I'm currently living in. It is relatively spacious and the rooms don't feel like tombs the way most bedrooms in HK tend to feel. I love the surrounds which includes a large shopping mall next door, the MTR and dry cleaners, a pleasant path along the waterfront which I've walked all of three times. And best of all, my landlady is a saint. But I'm still looking to move.

My evening activities often mean I'm either too tired or too late to commute by MTR. Being so far from the city means I can't speed up my journey to work in the mornings should the need arise, as traffic on the road would make the journey longer than travelling by MTR. And the taxi fare is mounting. With what I'm paying on rent and taxi fares, I could easily get a place nearer the city. Last week, I invited my landlady to dinner with the intention of sounding her out about my intention to move. She took me out to dinner instead to persuade me to stay. She then dropped the rent by more than 20%, making it difficult for me to refuse. I refrained from jumping at the offer and felt like an ungrateful tenant. Today, she called to retract the rent cut, saying she'd make a gross mistake. So now I'm off apartment hunting without guilt!

Last Wednesday, the HK Salsa scene saw a new venue opening up. Obviously, being a Wednesday, it was in direct conflict with salsa god's venue at Ing. I had made no plans to visit the new venue, having implicitly pledged my allegiance to salsa god with my childish infatuation. However, he suggested that I visit the venue to "check it out" as it were. In other words, to spy on the competition. So I did.

The Grand Stage located on the top level of the Western Market is a grand venue. With the characteristic high ceiling of most heritage buildings from the colonial days, Western Market reminded me of Railway House in Sydney, only smaller. The floor was spacious beyond belief, with mirrors in a large recess area which some of us used as a studio to practise our shines. The place was decorated with what appeared to be Christmas trims -- red and gold baubles and bells on evergreen wreathes.

The evening started quietly with mostly guests of the organisers attending the basic lesson. The lesson itself was entertaining, conducted by the leader of my dance troupe. By middle of the evening, friends and well-wishers had arrived. Nearly forty in all. Still the hall seemed empty with many tables left vacant while the guests clustered around chairs closest to the dance floor. It was a very friendly atmosphere with most people knowing everyone else. I was probably the most unfamiliar face in the crowd. With the exception of about ten people who recognised me despite my glasses, few others recognised me from the other venues. Someone introduced me to a French chap who looked totally nonplussed when I pointed out that we'd been introduced on two prior occasions. One of the organisers, at the start of the evening, even encouraged me to learn the dance, assuring me that it was really fun and easy. It was amusing because I recognised him from many Saturday nights at the Regal. I decided to assume an alternate personality. I was Karina -- sweet, innocent, bespectacled nerd.

Most of the people I knew there were men I enjoyed dancing with. So it was no wonder that I sat out no more than five dances all night, including stuff I don't usually dance to. People who, up until that night, didn't know I existed, were noticing me. I found out from the troupe leader tonight that a group of them were talking about me. Troupe Leader warned that a few might even have intentions to hit on me. "Who's that girl" would have been appropriate musical accompaniment. I was having fun and coming into my own, although some people, thinking me new to the scene, assumed I was a student of Troupe Leader and therefore attributed my style to her.

With all this flattering attention, I find it ironic that I should be jumping through hoops to gain the attention of the one my heart is set on. It seems the things we want are often the things we can't have. So now I'm in a dilemma: to spend Wednesdays at Ing hoping (often in vain) for a dance with someone who hardly notices my presence; or at Grand Stage where nearly every man notices and waits to dance with me. I must be the only one who doesn't see the obvious choice.

What a colourful quote. I just heard this from a colleague.

It also reminded me of another quote from "The Fiddler on the Roof":

"A bird can love a fish, but where will they build their home?"

And then, of course, Nellie Furtado's,

"I'm like a bird, I'll only fly away. I don't know where my soul is, I don't know where my home is. And all I need for you to know is I'm like a bird..."

I think I relate best to the first quote. So often, instead of learning to fly, we try to bring down the eagle. To tame it. To train it to do our will, our way. But what if we learnt to let go of all the chains that bind us -- fear, worry, anger, anxiety, sadness, pride, greed, insecurity, etc. -- and let the winds carry us instead? What dizzying heights could we reach? Am I off my rocker? Perhaps. Fact is, my heart is soaring like an eagle today because someone learnt to fly with me and it was awesome!

Apparently, nobody cares what you sign on your credit card receipts. In my own experience, sometimes they do check your signature but you can still get away with stupidity. I once handed a credit card before I'd even signed on the back of it. The checkout girl pointed out the omission when she was verifying the signature on the receipt against the card. She returned the card to me. I signed on the back of it and handed it back to her, at which point she compared it with the receipt again and was satisfied that they matched.

John Hargrave has experimented with no less than twenty different pranks, some so outrageous you wouldn't believe it if not for the receipts he included in his article. I came upon his credit card prank via Al and it had me in stitches. No kidding! I was guffawing so hard I was afraid I would go into fits!

We started at Agave. The rain was keeping people away from Lan Kwai Fong but those of us who braved the weather were now huddled indoors. Still, the bar wasn't as packed as its usual Fridays. We had a table by the wall. The music was turned up and the latin rhythms was making conversation difficult. I abandoned my seat which one man in a group of three kept on knocking into. The first time he bumped and rocked my chair, he turned round to check that I was fine and extended a hand in apology to my date. The next few times after, he was no longer conscious of the incursions, even when I pulled my chair in, away from them and almost caused him to topple over. I left the seat and went round to his side of the table to make conversation easier. It also meant I could let my feet and body move freely to the arresting rhythms. It also gave more room to the three big men whom I now saw were holding giant sized goblets of margarita each. They didn't seem too steady on their legs.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out among them. Two men were struggling with each other's shirt collar. One of them caught his side on the chair and fell against the wall, emptying his goblet of margarita on me. Note that I was at least a metre away, which was how far the margarita travelled to get down my front. He quickly pulled us away from his seat and placed himself protectively between me and the fight. He motioned as if to go and assist the bar manager with the situation but the pint sized Nepalese manager had everything under control within minutes. He returned to his seat and resumed his story as if back from an interlude. It was hilarious.

His tale was about a stalker. Apparently a once business associate, she harboured more amorous delusions about their relationship. Her delusions and resulting paranoia made the business relationship nearly impossible. To cut a long story short, it was a messy severance of ties and since then, nearly a year now, she's been ringing him to let loose psychotic tirades, even tracking down his new numbers when he changed them. The story was his way of explaining the woman with the guarded tone who answered his cell phone earlier that evening.

Salsa rhythms started piping through the bar. We took to the narrow floor which had cleared out on account of the fight. The margaritas in my system were taking a hold of me. I was dancing with abandon. At the end of the dance, the bar broke into appreciative applause. I was embarassed and elated at the same time. A few more dances later, we decided to brave the rain and head for the EDGE which had a dance floor and live band. We danced for half an hour and left for tiramisu.

The restaurant was closing by the time we got there but he knew of another place that served dessert all night long. We headed for Post 97. We started with two champagnes instead. Within minutes, they were calling for last orders. So much for serving dessert all night! I assured him that I had had my dessert at home already -- strawberries dipped in Hershey's chocolate syrup -- so it didn't matter much to me. He took it as an invitation. And maybe it was. We left the restaurant.

It must have been only my fourth drink for the night but champagne has a way of going straight to my head. I was dizzy now. Dizzy but happy. We danced all night a cross of salsa-merengue-hiphop. We were getting all the attention wherever we went and I was languishing in it. And now I was staggering behind him into a taxi.

It must have been about three in the morning when his phone rang. "It's her." he said, sobering up. There was no number displayed. On impulse, I answered it in the most obnoxious high pitched voice in mandarin. Not a sound on the other end of the line. We giggled like kids making obscene phone calls and hung up.

It seemed funny then. Now, I'm not so sure it was a good idea to have provoked her. I've heard of psychotic women stalking their victims and threatening physical harm to any female unfortunate enough to be with the victim. She had already harassed a young woman working for him causing her to leave his employment. Did I just put myself in harm's way for a man I hardly knew? I hope not.

I've just received a shocking email. Tim, the love I left behind in Singapore when I moved to HK, was mauled by a lion while traipsing the African safari on a job. I don't know the whole of it as his email was rather brief, except that he was on a photo job and in a strange moment, a lion attacked him. The most important thing is that he is alive and well though scratched and shaken. In fact, he seemed to have taken a rather philsophical view of the whole experience, calling it part of life's adventure. That is just so Tim. He got a modelling job as a result of it too. Funny thing is, they changed his name and profession. I guess "Tim" isn't exactly a macho name, neither is "freelance graphic designer-cum-artist-cum-training facilitator-cum-model-cum-lion chow".

June 7, 2003 postscript: got another email from Tim to say it was a joke. The modelling job was real. The story behind it was fabricated. DUH!

Yesterday was the Tuen Ng Festival celebration in Hong Kong. I recall being told, as a child, the legend of the festival as follows: Some wise minister of state jumped into the Mi-Lo River in despair when he lost favour with the king some many centuries b.c. His faithful friends and supporters raced into the river after him in canoes but were unable to save him. Fearing that his body would be devoured by fish, they threw rice dumplings into the river to keep the fish from his body. I may have remembered the legend wrong so here are two other versions to the legend I found on the web. Whatever the history, the legacy we've been left with is the dragon boat races and eating of dumplings.

So we spent an entire day out on Stanley yesterday, taking in the sun, sea and colourful dragon boat teams. We set out from the Yacht Club about eight in the morning but that wasn't early enough to get a good spot on the lines.

line up of dragon boats

a dramatic chopper rescue of a crew from a capsized boat

We found a spot for our boat at the farthest end of the lines from the beach. We were too far away to see the races but that wasn't the real reason most people were there anyway. We cheered what races we thought our friends were in but mostly, it was for the parties on the junks lined up along the spectator lines that drew the crowds. Some junks had wilder parties than others and those attracted the most party-crashers like us.

pleasure junks bedecked with spectators and sunseekers

We were there to eat their food, drink their booze and dance to their music. It was outrageous! We were hopping from boat to boat, stopping at Dirty Dicks and Microsoft before hopping onto a sampan (water taxi) to get to the other side of the lines for more party crashing. At some point, the party we crashed ran out of beer and some girls hollered to the guys on the next boat for some. The skipper readily handed over booze belonging to the folks that hired his boat. Most of his passengers were crashing the party next door anyway, so nobody seemed to mind. It was a totally festive affair all around with free booze, great music, gorgeous hunks, and babes in bikinis. I was a bikini-babe wannabe and was fitting in quite well until a tactless moron with the social graces of a two-year-old (I shan't name names) thought it a kindness to point out that I could stop holding in my tummy [note to self: do not board his junk next year].

I watched the setting sun from the top deck of one of the law firm junks rented by a friend's firm. High on beer, champagne, salt air and sea motion, I found myself rolling on the deck with a chap I picked up a few boats down from our own. He thought I was the sexiest-woman-with-a-personality he's ever met in Hong Kong. It was clearly an alcohol-induced lie but band-aid for a bruised ego nonetheless.

By sundown, most of the junks had left the lines so it was time to make our way to shore for more parties on dry land. As we made our way through Stanley Village, our group dissipated in the pressing crowds. I was left with guy from other junk. We decided to leave Stanley and make our way to Salsa at Ing. That was probably the dumbest decision because it was nearly impossible to salsa with sea legs on dry land. Still, I managed six dances without falling flat on my face (though I came close more than once).

All in, it was a fabulous way to spend a mid week holiday. I've even got some colour to show for it!

Personality tests can be so positively reinforcing. Found this one via HL and here's its verdict on me:

Dynamic
Active
Extroverted

You are quite willing to accept certain risks and to make a strong committment in exchange for interesting and varied work. Routine, in contrast, tends to have a paralyzing effect on you. What you like most is to be able to play an active role in events. In doing so, your initiative is highly pronounced.

Two going on three sessions of Salsa parties, two sessions of dance practice, one session French lessons, three sessions of yoga, one session of choir practice and worship -- all in a week on top of the regular day at work! My body is screaming from exertion and my eyes could certainly do with a few extra hours of darkness.

It's the 4th Salsa Championships tonight. I'm not competing. Not my cup of tea. But am certainly going to cheer on my peers daring enough to take the challenge. Even if I have to drag my aching body there!