Snatches of Bliss and Are-You-Freaking-Out-Yet?

Quite Simply...

2006-02-14T21:11:00.000+11:00

I love that I can make you laugh
just by Elmer Fudding a bad '80s song.

But I love even more
that you never want to make me cry.

"It's the man's job" - Tony

2006-02-04T12:27:00.000+11:00

It's gonna be a slow year

2006-01-30T18:39:00.000+11:00

So it's the year of the dog.

In the heat of summer, we celebrated Chinese New Year. The Big Do at the Chinese restaurant of my choice turned out to be a success - not phenomenal because we had Singapore chill crabs served under our noses and then hastily taken away when they realised - after the 15th prodding - that it wasn't part of our order.

But boy are we coming back for the chilli crabs! Some day...

Apart from that and mahjong with a couple of friends on new year's eve, it hasn't been crazy fun. There were fireworks in Queanbeyan apparently, which is sweet for an ang-moh community to do.

HOWEVER, we did spend the first day of Chinese New Year buying things for the house. We are now proud virtual owners (the items haven't arrived yet) of a full-wool tan living room rug/carpet from Myer (got it at 20% discount) and a wonderful vacuum cleaner that scrubs, shampoos and vacuums ALL AT ONCE. Got the latter on 50% discount.

HUGELY boring news to everyone else, small little yee-has for me. Tony's just happy when the wife's happy.

I have to say that a spot of creativity came on Thursday when Tony brought home the company's $4,500 projector. We made plenty good with our big white living room wall that night.

Are we settling down and becoming one of those super-boring couples that work, cook, sleep and shop at the farmer's market on Saturday morning (which, by the way, we did - everything cost a fraction of the price at Coles/Woolies)? I think so. A part of me feels rather guilty and sheepish about it all. A part of me recognises that it's just one of those things for a while. And a part of me is rather relieved that life is turning out quite undramatic and easy.

I'm baaa~aaack...

2006-01-14T21:52:00.000+11:00

It's been too long. How have you been?

A part of me feels I should cover lost ground with everyone, and a part of me's thinking it's almost 10pm, I want to play Worms 2, and not that much has happened anyway. Besides, the last time I promised to retrace my steps on one of the most important occasions of my life (*cough* my WEDDING), I spectacularly didn't. I got all the pics ready to accompany the commentary but now that Tony's computer has minced all my files within an inch of their sorry lives, methinks I'll never get to it.

So it's now 2006, I still have my Christmas Letter to send out to close friends and I'm up to those whose names start with the letter E, and I've been at the New Job for a month tomorrow. My mother has come and gone and Tony and I had a rivetting conversation this morning about whether we should buy this $299 2-in-1 cleaning machine for our floor (shampoos and vacuums), or should we just live up the yuppy life and hire a cleaner once a fortnight.

(HAH! Managed to rehash the whole of last month most surreptitiously. )

We just got back from a wedding at a park we ALMOST wanted to hire for ours, until they advised us to get helpers in the morning of the wedding to sweep the area for needles. (Charming.) On our way in, someone cheerily remarked about how similar this wedding will be to ours, to which I reflexively shot back, "No it won't."

When will ANYONE ever learn not to compare weddings to the actual couple involved in the comparison. Gaaaah...

Someone at work worked out through his keen powers of observation (i.e. the rings on my 4th finger) that I am a Missus. Considering I'm obviously Chinese (flat all over) and my surname is as Brit as it gets, I thought that fact would be as clear as day. Apparently not.

Chinese New Year is around the corner and to spare myself from the Housewifery Competition that was Chinese New Year 2005, Tony and I have taken it upon ourselves to organise this year's at a restaurant near us. This has several advantages, namely no dirty dishes and no clamouring for accolades on every single dish. The others hate the distance but as Tony and I can walk there, we secretly really can't be stuffed.

Granted, if the food sucks and the parking is abominable, I will be blamed for the lousy choice. Still, I reckon that between the grief of being bullied as the newest Chinese wife/cook of the group, and being told that the restaurant I picked couldn't have been more appalling, I've decided to try out the latter option. If it's less painful than last year, I'll eat at restaurants every CNY until I grow a thick enough hide to wok it out at another intimate potluck with pushy Chinese housewives.

It's a brand new world, this wifery thing. But you knew that.

Moving Experience

2005-11-25T09:36:00.000+11:00

Me:
I had a weird dream last night.

Tony:
Oh?

Me:
Yeah. I dreamt I had a really tough time trying to put on my clothes.

Tony:
I dreamt that we ended up buying 2 houses by mistake.

Me:
I thought you never dream!

Tony:
I usually don't. But last night, I dreamt that we didn't view the house we were buying, and the first house was actually advertised quite cheap for a 4-bedroom. So when we got there today, it turns out it wasn't a house but a helicopter. And lots of grass.

Me:
You mean we bought a huge helicopter on a big lawn?

Tony:
Yup.

Me:
A 4-bedroom helicopter on a big lawn with lots of grass to mow?

Tony:
It wasn't a 4-bedroom helicopter, just an ordinary one. But I remember spending the rest of the dream trying to get out of the contract.

Me:
How about me! Was I in it? What did I say when I saw the chopper?

Tony:
You said, "It's so cute!"

------------------------------

We're moving today and we won't get the broadband fixed up until whenever. This might be my last post for a while. (Unless I decide to blog during office hours like I'm doing now.)

See you in the new house!

passed

2005-11-23T19:39:00.000+11:00

(michael schumacher)

as soon as he realised
that i now can legally drive
a car
our car

(juan... pablo montoya)

by my little lonesome
self

he has been
leaning over
ever so often... in a confidential manner
to cuddle me as he
proudly names
his wife
among

the greats

(kimi raikonnen)

Jangle-Jangle

2005-11-21T21:52:00.000+11:00

WE HAVE THEM! The keys to our very own townhouse have finally landed in our possession!

Couldn't stop smiling the minute the automatic garage door majestically lifted for our grand entrance. We have finally arrived, and we couldn't be happier.

Tony attempted a threshold-carrying-across stunt, which ended before it begun on account of The Giggles.

I have more cupboard space at the moment than I know what to do with.

Ditto for picture hooks.

And phone jacks.

The neighbours on the right have tiki torches and like to say the F word a lot.

They also have a water feature that trickles at a constant rate and makes you want to pee.

The possibilities are before us. We have arrived.

Breakfast

2005-11-21T16:38:00.000+11:00

Me:
(Noticing Tony's breakfast)
Ooooh!

Tony:
Hmmm?

Me:
What you're eating reminds me of a primary-school joke.

Tony:
What's that?

Me:
"What was Beethoven's favourite fruit?
BA-NA-NA-NAAAAA!"

Tony:
...

Me:
It was a primary school joke!

Tony:
I love you.

Permanence

2005-11-16T19:46:00.000+11:00

14 minutes till the World Cup Qualifier between Uruguay and Australia.

(I figured since Singapore has never come anywhere close to the World Cup, I shall live vicariously through Tony's country of origin.)

But first, a rather sobering realisation. Not all marriages may last.

I am at that age where everyone's getting married. I am spared the epidemic proportions because I've left all my friends (save Audrey who came here) in Singapore, so it's not like I really feel the herd instinct moving people along. Still, the latest catchup sessions invariably end up with who's marrying whom these days. And so it goes.

But this past week, I've come to know about nuptials as new as mine that are under fire. One such revelation came from a blog. And while I know blogs only reflect a very limited scope of reality, it was still disconcerting to know that things can unravel so quickly, so soon. And while I am no stranger to the fall out when it does, it still leaves me quaking slightly now, only because they share a common milestone I've just entered into.

Before Tony and I entered into our marriage, we knew we weren't going to put together a prenup. We were of the same mind that marriage is permanent (even though divorces are "allowed") and we were determined to make sure there were no avenues open to us that would make divorce seem like the best option we could take, when things become hard. It's a huge undertaking, a phenomenal mental and emotional commitment to something Absolute and unwavering. But then again, your parents will always be your parents, your siblings will always be your siblings... so now that you've married someone and he's family, why shouldn't your spouse always be your spouse?

I write this without judgment or pride. I hope I write this without pride most of all. I think I've seen enough marriages crumble in my family history to know that it's no easy thing remaining devoted to each other like that. It's not enough that people simply exist with each other... I want to know 20/30/40/50 years down the road that Tony is still my husband in the truest sense of the word. That we continually give each other all we got. That we never stop considering one another because that way, both of us will be taken care of and loved. That we get it.

I've done really stupid, sinful things before but I really pray that I won't fail in 2 things - my marriage to Jesus, and my marriage to Tony. Okay, make that 3 things if and when children come in the picture.

Now to kick some Uruguay butt.

The couples are doing what they're doing...

2005-11-03T21:56:00.000+11:00

because suddenly, I'm hearing a lot about babies.

I've barely gotten used to the whole married thang. Being married is still a huge novelty for me... the fact that I've dedicated an entire blog to the whole process should be testament to how novel the idea is. To me. I was dancing down the steps to my front door this evening, still goofy after the splendid Singapore-style rain that came over Canberra (warm rain, torrential, and still 27 degrees!) when I caught myself in midstep, almost tripping over.

I'm MARRIED! I'M married! Whoooooaaaaaaa...

It's coming 11 months now, and still I catch my breath sometimes because it's such an awesome concept.

But apparently, my news is quite passé because people I know who have barely started as well, are now charging down Motherhood Lane as if having a whole other person growing inside of you is the most natural thing in the world. My neighbour's gone and given birth and will be moving to Queensland. Vivien, ex-nemesis-whatever, is expecting her first anytime now, barely a year after she got married. Charles is a FATHER. 'Nough said. (Although to be fair, he had a 2.5 year gap.) And now Irwin.

Irwin whom I had the hugest crush on when I was 15 years old, is going to be a dada.

Irwin, who still looks 21. Is going to be a father.

I'm overjoyed for him - and a tad frustrated I don't have his latest mobile number - but a part of me is just flabberghasted, and in total awe.

I know married people have babies. I know growing a family is part of the deal for most people. I know our new house has enough rooms for 2 children, with space enough for my mother still. I know that the entire time we were sussing out houses, my brain was running through practical stuff like

staircases = not that great for clumsy kids
tiled flooring = ice block of a crawling baby in Canberra winters
tiled flooring = good for wiping up drool, though

and Tony was thinking
courtyard = no grass to mow
courtyard = no grass for son to mow
courtyard = yay, no grass

But seriously, growing a human being is going to be a totally different ballgame. And having a third person in our marriage - no matter how nice, as my mother had put it - is going to change things majorly.

And I'm just not quite ready to share him yet.

Surveying the land

2005-10-31T22:35:00.000+11:00

I've been singing and dancing a lot today. Tony's quite amused. It's been absolutely gorgeous weather - hot and muggy, almost like Singapore. I know you guys are sweltering under the oppressive humidity but let me assure you that cold, dry weather for long stretches can be a downer too.

My hair feels black and glossy and worthy of Vidal Sassoon ads.

Daylight savings started again, which means it will take me a week to readjust my body clock. I managed to get off work early today as Tony and I needed to sort out the house loan with the bank. Not even Bonnie the Banker's blatant let's-talk-to-the-husband-because-the-wife's-a-bit-vague stunt dampen the glorious mood I was in. We left the bank at ten past 4 in the afternoon and decided it was too lovely an afternoon to spend driving back to the house and staying indoors.

We decided to suss out the new neighbourhood in search of a pool table.

That quest was a bit disappointing (couple of man-chimneys smoking up a storm over a stubbie, while cueing up and leering). We ended up having a stroll about, finishing with coffee at Gloria Jean's.

Gungahlin is the new Nappyville. Lots of cafes for latte-sipping yuppydom in its full glory. Lots of wailing children and couples our age. Lots of trendywear shops for corporate mamas and papas. We even strolled past a barbershop for kids, where 2 toddlers sat placidly in their kiddyride machine lookalike chairs, eyes firmly glued to the video game set on Demonstration as the hairdresser snipped away. The lucky mother was probably at Big W shopping, or checking out the Fernwood gym deals upstairs.

Tony half smirked. I positively beamed. At last, a bit of city life at my doorstep. A bit of ludicrous yuppydom within arm's length. A bit of recognisable home.

We spent the last half an hour sipping iced coffee and people-watching, just like what I used to do in the old days. Tony's a natural; he's observant and equipped. His Top Gun shades, cool demeanour and steely gaze are perfect for quiet commentary laced with sardonic humour. He painted a wonderful caricature behind me; a bloke's bloke looking painfully bored as his blonde date, decked in a zebra-print trenchcoat and knee high white patent leather boots, launched into a girly chitchat on her mobile for the third time in five minutes. When they walked past us on their exit, I noted the skinniest stilettos I've ever seen.

I hope, said I to Tony, that they live around here. They make such interesting subjects for people watching.

Yes, it was a beautiful day.

The problem with comparison

2005-10-28T16:50:00.000+10:00

When Tony and I got our offer accepted at the new place, we told ourselves we'll try not to look at property guides and display windows of realtors because we'd only be killing ourselves.

But the curiosity got too much when Tony's parents told us that the house next door has gone on sale. And suddenly, we needed to know what the Jones's were selling for.

Apparently, $21,500 more than what we offered on ours. And at first I did a "HAH!". And once I realised their EER is 3 while ours is 5, I did a double "HAH!". (EER stands for Energy Efficiency Ratio. For a hugely heater-dependent state like Canberra, a good EER is optimal. And the max you can go is 6.)

And then I saw the photos. And fell in love with the design of the house.

Our townhouse lies right smack in the middle of a row of terraces, so I had imagined that the layout of the insides (walls, etc) would be the same across the board. Not so. They had managed to lump 2 of the rooms (our alcove and the smallest room in the front) into one living space, which means they lose a study room but gain a lounge area. I can't even say their layout is a mirror image of ours, because it has walls where we don't and rooms where we don't. Their living area seems much smaller and they were only able to fit one nice long cushy couch. But they have very nice feature walls. And stainless steel kitchen furnishing. And the coolest Japanese sunken entertaining area with water feature in the courtyard at the back. And suddenly, I have a serious case of House Pride.

Or House Envy. I think the latter.

We went over today to suss out the different layout and drool over the sunken Japanese gimmicky bit. It was uber modern, uber chic, and probably explained the price difference. Tony reasoned that had we seen this place at the price they were offering for, we would have moved on because we were looking for a 4 bedroom place at about the same price they were offering this one. I know he's hit the nail on the head, like always. But gosh, I loved the house. And all the furniture in it.

I think the main thing lies in the furniture. Kate and Mark lent us a book catchily entitled "Your mortage and how to pay it off in five years - by someone who did it in three." I was hugely sceptical at first, because the author paid off her first house in the late 1980s before this ridiculous boom in house prices hit Australia - and Canberra in particular. I mean, it's one thing to have a 17% interest on your house back in the 1980s... but if the house back then costs a paltry $151,000 to sit on 4 flipping hectares, we'd be able to pay off the entire house in 3 years easy. With money left over to buy a pony and 5 alpacas. (Something's gotta be done with the grass.)

But Tony, practical as ever, cooled my heckling and cackling by highlighting that even if the figures are way off in the book and we can't pay it off in 3 years or even 5, at least we can pick up a few tips. One of the tips was no big surprise - sacrifice.

The first time I went to Kate and Mark's rental home, I oohed and aahed over what they'd done to it. Everything matched. Their furniture matched. Their column oil heater matched the furniture. But more importantly, they have furniture. They have proper nooks and crannies and shelf space. They have a cosy nook with warm lighting and armchairs by the bookcase. They have bouquets of candles that - you guessed it - emit the most wonderful smells that manage to match everything else.

Tony's CDs are in a pile of boxes beside the television. The bunny-ears for our TV reception is everywhere it can be to get the best possible reception. It does not match our couches. Our couches match. Sort of. They are different shades of dark orange. Our carpet is blue. I never thought blue and orange were a great colour combi, because they're not. My el cheapo $20 Reject Shop shelf is the only other piece of furniture we have that allows display space. We have 3 photo frames bearing pictures of our wedding. None of them match (all were separate wedding gifts). I have a tablecloth that either matches the couches or the carpet. I try, but it's a challenge. I sigh at my dismal effort at home decoration. I fear Kate has it to a tee, and I simply ain't got the knack.

Or the budget.

The truth is, we've been saving up for a house since the day we got married. It feels like Tony's been saving up for a house since he was 3. Truthfully, with such a hefty student loan to pay off as a start to our marriage, our plans were to pay off my loan first and then put the rest of the savings into the house deposit. God's fab timing and providence as usual solved at least one of the issues for us, and so we started the journey towards owning a home much sooner than we anticipated. If it hadn't been for Tony's discipline and stewardship with his assets, I wouldn't even have the slightest chance of House Envy because I simply wouldn't be this close to owning property.

So yes, we don't have furniture that match and we lack shelf space. And we don't have some water feature in the backyard unless the neighbours hose us accidentally. But we have a lot more than we ever imagined for a long time - I have a lot more now than I ever imagined for a long time. This is good. Keep the candles.

Spicks and Specks

2005-10-22T10:13:00.000+10:00

Just had a lovely conversation over MSN with Sarah over the week. We've touched base again, thanks to my downloading wonderful MSN on the work computer. Lately, I find the increasing need to surround myself with more like-minded people during work hours.

The Two Most Frequently Asked Questions came up as a hot topic between us newlyweds.

How's married life?
When are you going to have babies?

Together, we brainstormed over the best way to counter such well-meaning conversation starters. Together, we shared our most frequently used comeback lines.

To question number 1, I found out that Tony's answer of "Married life is great, everyone should do it" was very similar to that of Sarah and E-gene's "Married life is great, we highly recommend it."

I also gave Sarah my ultimate buzz-off-will-you comeback to question number 2: "Stop discussing my uterus." We then came to the conclusion that while most people are very game with asking when we plan to have babies, any discussion of female body parts which are very much a part of the baby-having process becomes an absolute conversation stopper. It works a charm.

I don't think people realise how intrusive it gets when they decide that tick-tock-can't stop chatter is the way to go with newlyweds. Honestly, we don't need to be told that it gets harder to have babies when you're over 30.

------------------------

I'm really glad to be back in Canberra. I've spent this whole week rediscovering wedded bliss (watching bad TV I want to watch, with someone who's interesting to talk to) and taking long breaks from work. (Whole day on Monday, half day on Wednesday because the power got cut in the office.)

There's nothing like bad company for a week to make you really, really miss your husband.

------------------------

The house stuff is moving forward. We've basically gotten a new house inspection report that says everything is in good to very good condition, and the sellers' solicitor has finally replied to say that the changes we recommended in the contract are good to go.

We've also managed to find a couple in church who'd love to take over the lease for the Palmerston house once we move out. I'm thrilled to bits over this one. I'm a hugely sentimental sap at times, but because Palmerston is the first house Tony and I officially found and moved into as newlyweds, I'm finding it hard to let it go. The fact that it's going to be taken over by people we know is a huge plus, because that way we can invite ourselves over, walk around and go, "Aaaahhh... we used to live here!"

What I'm a little alarmed about is how everyone involved in the housing process talks only to Tony. I must really seem the rather financially daft future mistress of the house, methinks. Just 2 nights ago, Bonnie-from-the-bank called and left a message on OUR answering machine for "Mr Tony". I apparently dropped off the face of the house purchase process. The solicitor calls him, the housing agent calls him, the mortgage broker calls him. The only time they call me is to find out how to call him. Am starting to feel a little like the clueless bimbo wife who only knows how to spend the mulah on shoes, and leaves all the 'hard money stuff' to da man.

------------------------

Had a rather unsettling conversation with an old friend this past week. It had something to do with that weekend when I - here it comes - chucked a nana, and got all emotional about not having enough fun.

Seriously, if life imitated art - and if The Sims were art - I think I have a higher 'playful' quotient than Tony. My need for fun far outstrips his on occasion. I can literally feel my Fun bar start to go into the red if he doesn't suggest something different, pronto. I have also, on extreme occasions, stood around and waved my arms God-ward when desperate and feeling kooky.

Part of being opposites, I suppose. Part of living in suburbia. Part of living in a different part of the world that doesn't know the meaning of retail therapy. And perhaps, part of being married and settled into a routine.

The friend I was talking to meant well. She suggested I stopped apologising for needing to spend money on myself, and start asking for more equality in opinion regarding how money should be spent. (I am paraphrasing big time here.) Privately, I think she fears I'm being walked over and I'm not representing my needs adequately in the marriage. I also don't think it helps that I referred to the new house as "that stupid house" in frustration. Sucker of money and all the fun it can buy.

The truth is, it isn't that I don't go shopping on occasion and have a girly splurge... I just don't find the time to do it anymore. Australia's absolutely frustrating retail-wise, because the shops open when you're working and close when you're not. What is the logic in that? Weekends for us are spent cleaning the house and preparing for church etc, and I end up lying on my bed some Saturdays yelling at the husband as if it's his fault his country doesn't cater to my habits.

The other truth is that the husband really doesn't find joy doing some of the things I love doing (i.e. playing pool, shopping, going out on a whim in the middle of the night just because.) And while others might like to jump up and down and insist that isn't fair to me, I think it's fairer to say that my key problem is my total lack of real girlfriends.

And cheap petrol, with access to a car.

And Canberra not being Singapore.

I used to resent it when the young marrieds in the church in Singapore suddenly swanned off to have their own rendezvous of newlyweds-only. I used to think that frustrating, selfish as heck, and cliquish. But I would love to have a clique like that to lean on now. Because honestly, single people don't feel like they can be close friends with us anymore and I find them leaving us out of stuff all the time now. Doesn't help that Canberra's idea of distance is anywhere north of Lake Burley Griffin - and we are far, far north of Lake Burley Griffin. Doesn't help that I didn't grow up in Australia either. These aren't real reasons not to form close friendships, but they sure make it trickier.

I just read this gorgeous, gorgeous book called Almost French. It's a autobiography of Sarah Turnbull, an Australian journalist who moved to France for a Frenchman she barely knew. There are whole paragraphs I read over and over because they struck such a chord with me. I KNOW what she's talking about. I feel it deep down and I identify completely with stuff she's gone through. The bewilderment. The frustration with a different culture. The loneliness with not having girlfriends you can trust.

"His own Australian-born children are studying to be lawyers and teachers. To them, Sydney is home. But for him, the choice is not so simple. ... His life is a constant dilemma: in Australia he feels Greek; in Greece he feels Australian.

'It's a bitter-sweet thing, knowing two cultures,' he sighs. 'Once you leave your birthplace nothing is ever the same.'"

"Such is the nature of expatriate life. 'Betwixt and between' was how one Paris-based American writer described having two homelands at a literary evening I attended. Stripped of romance, perhaps that's what being an expat is all about: a sense of not wholly belonging."

Tony told me he read somewhere that expatriates take about five years to get fully assimilated into a country.

Sarah Turnbull took six.

This is year number 2.

All better now

2005-10-03T13:49:00.000+10:00

Just in case you're wondering, I'm feeling a lot better.

We tangoed with the idea of driving to the Bay, but after last night's barbecue and all the shouting Rod's done for the Balmain Tigers (they won eventually), we decided to stay in and do the stuff Australians get up to on a long weekend. Namely, pulling weeds, sweeping dead leaves off the front porch, dealing with unwanted foliage.

After Saturday's minor explosion and waterworks display regarding Stupidity, Fun and the Irresponsible Couple, we took a couple of days to reflect what each of us thought about money, and how we deal with it. They say that money is the number one reason couples divorce. I think we're beginning to see how deeply the issue of money runs in the vein of marriage. As unromantic as it sounds, the way two people spend money in a relationship is about as crucial a topic as intimacy because it deals with Stuff. It deals with personal values. It deals with habits. It deals with expectations, ambitions and goals. It deals with discipline and the lack thereof. It deals with instant gratification, and sacrifice.

Between being saddled with a man who doesn't understand money and a man who does, I heartily opt for the latter. There are many values Tony holds with money that I've yet to understand and muster, but I fully appreciate because we're able to go a little further than I'd ever expected. And then there are values I've grown up with that help put the importance of money in a different perspective.

I guess we're onto a lifelong road of finding out the differences and making sure we take the best out of both our growing-up values. Toughie.

Trouble in Paradise

2005-10-01T08:54:00.000+10:00

There's something to be said about being the irresponsible couple.

They seem to have more fun. They don't blow their savings on big responsible houses. They go on holidays as and when they want to. They keep themselves entertained. They spend every ounce of their energy during holidays to party the living daylights out of themselves so that when it finally comes to the work week again, they come in feeling more exhausted than before - but they have bragging rights and a huge hangover. They take the plunge, splurge huge, and pay for it later. They have great holiday photos to show for it. They don't count the pennies lost later, because the fun outweighed the money a million to one.

And sometimes, just bloody sometimes, I want us to be that tad bit stupid and irresponsible.

It's the October long weekend. What the hell am I still doing in Canberra on a long weekend.

Apparently, I am supposed to use it to recover from the work week. DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M RECOVERING FROM THE WORK WEEK?

They put the TAX in Taxing

2005-09-24T22:41:00.000+10:00

I am married to someone who plans way ahead, and likes to get all the bases covered. It is for this reason alone that I found myself this afternoon with the unhappy challenge of putting together my tax return to meet the deadline in... October.

Apart from finding out inadvertantly how little I earned last year - or more correctly, how little I lived on as a student - the rest of the many pages in the Tax Pack turned surprisingly quick.

It was new territory, however, to declare myself as Spouse and Family. And with that, the many new levies I now have to be mindful of.

Nothing like the tax department to remind you how easily they can suck the joy out of family life.

4 hours in a pseudo-yuppie existence

2005-09-17T15:24:00.000+10:00

9:05 am
Phonecall made to Colin, the Friendly Real Estate Agent

9:06 am
Tony leaves phone message as Colin the Friendly Real Estate Agent fails to pick up his mobile.

9:45 am
Colin returns the call; Tony makes the offer.

10:30 am
Colin calls Velle in between eyebrow wax. Counter offers on behalf of owners and asks if we're willing to settle for a price in the middle of both offers. Velle says a tentative yes, and resumes other half of eyebrow shaping.

11:15 am
Velle text messages Colin, giving revised offer price while Tony sips mug of flat white.

1:00 pm
Colin calls to formally congratulate us on our first successful house purchase.

We're going to buy a house, people! Pictures to follow...

Tony in Adelaide

2005-09-14T19:31:00.000+10:00

Last night was the first night I've spent alone in Canberra since we got married.

That's not to say we haven't been apart since the wedding; there was the month I was in Singapore and the weekend I spent in Ballarat for work. Still, I was the one travelling those times, leaving Tony behind. It's actually quite different when you're the one staying at home while the mate's away. Somehow the house is a lot quieter, the bed a lot bigger.

More electric blanket for me, though. But I found myself this morning back on my side of the bed again.

9 months and already I have Married Habits. Goodness.

When it rains...

2005-09-11T16:00:00.000+10:00

... it also hails in Canberra.

And driving through hail with your windscreen wipers going crazy is not my idea of fun - especially on a Learner's Permit.

I don't suppose anyone really cares, but just in case you're wondering why on earth it's taken me yonks to get my license, here's it in a nutshell: it's the law in Canberra to have your Learner's for 6 months before you're allowed to take the final test and get your license. A little preventative policy there to rein in young 17-year-old lead-foots who can't wait to drive Daddy's car (and subsequently Daddy) around the bend.

Driving around with husband these few months has seen its ups and downs. I think Audrey got a whiff of what happens when tempers are short in the car.

When Tony was in America for two months, I got a lift from a young family every Sunday morning to church. The wife was learning to drive an automatic, and the understanding was that I remained absolutely quiet while she took her instructions from the husband. After 8 weeks of getting lifts to church and being privy to - and sometimes reluctantly involved in - the crazily heated spats that resulted from such a learning arrangement EVERY WEEK, I told myself to try NOT to lose it when learning from Tony while giving people lifts to church.

I held out in May and June and July and August. It's September and today I snapped because of something minor and irritating and sort of built-up. (It's really not worth explaining beyond that, because it's so stupid.) I apologised later in private, but a part of me is still upset. And then of course another part of me is upset for being this upset.

I'm immensely thankful to God that I can be highly articulate when incensed, and He's blessed me with a husband who listens very quietly. I rather wish I don't blow up so quickly or have a tongue that lashes so eloquently or have long legs that turn and stomp off so huffily - if that's even a word.

It really is true what they say, that it's rough times when a husband teaches his wife how to drive. But I still think it's an excuse for rather bad Wife behaviour.

Pipe Dream gone rusty

2005-09-07T23:10:00.000+10:00

Saw the Mortgage Broker yesterday.
Offered him cheap-but-yummy brandless stripey chocolate biscuits.
Showed him the compound with the 4+2 bedroom house(s).

He thinks we can afford it, but we're not so sure; the bank will lend us oodles of money but truthfully, we think we missed by, like, $30,000.

Had a heart to heart yesterday about the Grand Scheme of things, and noted that we had pretty different ideals on housing. Australians, in general, put a lot of energy into their homes. They have a stronger complex about living space that us Singaporeans, having lived in pigeon holes for so long, really can't be bothered with. Tony's typically Australian need for "one master bedroom, one room per offspring, and a separate study" is quite a far cry from my "one family in one bedroom, one family in another" upbringing I've had. I guess Singaporeans tend to spend more dollars on accessories than actual real estate because he's all for the house and minimal decoration.

We'll find our way.

slept way, waaaay too late last night.

Stuffing... The Game of Life

2005-09-04T20:13:00.000+10:00

The last time Tony and I had dinner at the Jennings, we found out we had similar issues confronting us. As fellow newlyweds - they were the ones who got married two weeks before us - they too are confronted with the quandary I face. (I think Tony has a better idea of where he wants to put our money than I initially did.)

To stuff the house, or not to stuff the house... that was the question.

House prices in Canberra are ridiculous; considering the population size (330,000) and the amount of land we have (potentially a lot, if we get rid of the sheep velcroed on the countryside), we have ridiculous rent and housing prices. We are SECOND to Sydney. That's just stupid. Granted, we have the highest income per capita in the whole country... but that still doesn't justify crazy house prices.

Not while I'm living here anyway.

Kate mused that while there is immense pressure to start saving and house hunt before the 2.4 kids come, she's been told to stuff the house and go for the holiday. Tony, having been on his Great Pan America Baseball Adventure, is quite content to house hunt and stuff the holiday.

I haven't quite decided. I think the impetuous, romantic, adventurous side of me wants to travel the world with hubby and get some good photos outside of Singapore and Canberra. The sober, growingly-practical side of me has done the elementary math and knows that unless I intend to attend my children's graduation when I'm a geriatric, I need to get the house now so I can have babies within the decade.

Further exploration on the husband's home-grown home loan calculator has revealed more depressing statistics: as it is, with house prices the way they are, and future plans for mother to migrate, we can only start surviving on a single income while paying off a house loan AFTER 5 YEARS.

Which means I'll be 31-32 before I start a cloning shop in my mid-drift.

(Why single income, the Singaporean might ask. No Filipino maid here will work for AUD$300 a month, which means we cannot be a dual income family for about the first 7 years. Which might be a good thing. But there goes the holiday to Polynesia.)

I don't know if the Jennings are going to house hunt anytime soon, but we started dabbling a little last week and by yesterday, we were going around Gungahlin district with clipboard and home-designed fact sheets in hand, intimidating housing agents. It was actually fun, and rather romantic amidst the dust and the construction around us.

I know we already have a rather ghastly street name as our address, but there were a few here we knew we'd never live down. I mean, "Lizard Lane"??? I particularly enjoyed "Kopi Lane" because it had a Singaporean flavour. And then there was "1 Kangaroo Close". Don't think you can ever say that's UnAustralian.

We fell in love with about 4 houses out of the plethora we visited and each of them have their merits. The first one we visited on Friday, and has terrific resale value. Unfortunately, the house has a very open plan and most of the floor is tiled so I don't know how future-kid is gonna enjoy crawling around ankles in winter. (The image is comical now, but I suspect I won't be as amused later.)

The second one we fell absolutely in love with because it was big, apparently cheap, and had a fully bricked wood-fire barbeque/oven thing in the pergolla at the back! Upon closer inspection today however, we discovered it's also right next to the highway. (A competing housing agent gave a lively impression of a 10 tonne truck braking at the lights outside the house.)

Resale value is a curiosity, to say the least.

House number 3 is located in a new suburb called Harrison - which incidentally is next to an even newer suburb called Forde. Heh heh. House number 3 is brand new, promises to be super comfortable with high resale value... except we'd have to survive without public transport or broadband for at least a year, maybe longer.

House number 4 isn't built yet. But there's the land, there's the blueprint, and there's the possibility of getting it JUST RIGHT. House number 4, however, is situated in Whoop Whoop for now, although the city is a 15 minute drive away. A primary school and high school will be built in future; buses will run past, and the suburb is replete with its own pond, park, and the unmatched view of the mountains. But for now, it's a giant construction site.

So much to think about.

Sneak Peek

2005-08-28T17:11:00.000+10:00

After spotting a possible house deal, we decided to drop by upper Gungahlin (read: super ulu area) to have a look-see for ourselves.

It's eerily true, but Australia - or Canberra at least - is turning into another version of Singapore, as far as house prices go. The trend of packing in as many rooms as humanly possible into a smaller area, is also a parallel I've drawn. Hard-earned Aussie money doesn't seem to be able to buy much in the way of houses these days - house prices have doubled since 2 years ago. It's just been ridiculous.

I really don't see how we'd be able to afford anything nearer to the town centre. I'm thankful that I actually enjoy being a part of Whoop-Whoop ville, as far as the rest of Canberra's concerned.

Note to Singaporeans:
Whoop-Whoop = Super Ulu area.

Because the houses we were looking at today were all brand new, I think I've managed to inhale oodles of things that can only be bad for me. We viewed two different townhouses that have just been completed, and one across the street that was still under construction.

Here's a pic of the first one we had a look at:

Then we got brazen, and decided to check out a 4+2 bedroom corner unit that was selling at twice our budget.

And I had to fall in love with it.

We had seen this house many months ago, and Tony and commented aloud how perfect it'd be for us - if we had the money - because essentially it was 2 separate living areas on the same compound. Wouldn't it be nice, he had sighed, when it finally comes time for my mother to move to Australia, and she could live in the two bedroom granny flat that was replete with bathroom, toilet, full kitchen with dishwasher and gas cooking and heating - and our family would live in the four bedroom house.

We'd all live together, and yet have a house each. SUCH a pipe dream!

We know it's a huge investment and we're not sure if it's in any way within our grasp... but we feel pretty revved up now, I can tell you that.

Sigh, sigh, sigh....

A gentle stirring

2005-08-27T15:21:00.000+10:00

Yes, it's been a while since I've reported anything from the marriage front.

Apart from the highs and lows of work, coming home to Tony everyday pretty much epitomises the gorgeous peacefulness I get here in Canberra. Yes, there can be the potential to get bored, although I maintain that boredom is a state of mind totally brought on by the self.

Still, these eight-and-a-bit months have seen a pretty predictable pattern emerge; we work weekdays, grocery shop Saturday, meet the church on Thursday and Sunday, have people over for a meal every two weeks, go over to someone else's for a meal as and when, curl up in bed with the laptop and watch The West Wing series for recreation.

Given the frustration both of us have been facing at work for the first seven months of the year, the monotony has been strangely welcome. I get the occasional urge to buy something pretty and pretty expensive, but other than that, I've been a good girl and have saved all that cash.

And so as it always turns out, once a state of equilibrium is more or less reached, something else comes into the picture to stir it up again.

Am NOT pregnant, in case you're wondering... but last night, Tony had a look at the AllHomes website and found a two-bedroom townhouse that we could actually afford to buy with what we earn now.

It's new (only a year old), within walking distance of the newest upcoming town centre and the bus interchange, and we calculated that the bank loan we'd have to take up would cost only $100 more than our current rent per month, to pay off. If we threw my income at it and lived within Tony's means, we'd pay off the mortgage in four years!

But what if we started a family before then?

We'd buy another house, rent out the first house so the tenants could pay off our mortgage, and start paying off the newer house over 30 years instead of squashing it into 6-9 years on my income. If I were to lose my income because of child-rearing, we'd have to think about this more closely... but it actually might just work.

Suddenly, the world of housing, investments, and all things complicated became that much more palpable.

We're still mulling over this one, but it's all very exciting...

8 Months

2005-08-18T21:34:00.000+10:00

Me:
I love you, my husband-of-two-third-year.

Tony:
I love you, my wife-of-similar-timeframe.

The Nicest Thing

2005-08-03T10:53:00.000+10:00

One of the nicest things my mother-in-law said to us, was that she really hopes Allison and Geoff will be as happy as Tony and I are with each other.

That really, really made my day.

Meet Dr. Practical

2005-07-21T20:59:00.000+10:00

Tony: I don't think there's just one person for everyone.

Me: You don't?

Tony: Yeah... Sharon (van Reyk) and I had a chat about this once. There must be at least... I dunno... six other people in the world you could be with, because people are getting married all the time, right?

Me: Uh huh...

Tony: You know, because if there's only one person in the whole world for you, then it'd be difficult to get married and all that...

Me: ...

Tony: What's wrong?

Me: Nothing. I just wanna thump the other 5 women right about now.

Snoots R Us

2005-07-10T21:07:00.000+10:00

I just got back from a gloriously chi-chi afternoon with 4 other ladies of better breeding than I, and together we had afternoon tea, a la Bree Van De Kamp.

I miss having a big(ger) city lifestyle. I really enjoyed this afternoon. I suggested we meet more regularly and start playing cards. Let Life imitate Wonderful TV Show.

I miss dressing up and playing grown-up. I'm too busy trying to be grown-up lately. I'm also trying to Fight the Frump. I know it's a pride issue, but one of the last things I want to do is let myself go, Aussie-style.

And become The Dag-Hag.

Quite difficult, when I'm reminded weekly how the beauty of the inside is what really counts at the end of the day.

3-point Turn

2005-07-05T21:21:00.000+10:00

Point One
While it took me about 15 minutes to get used to the instructor's car this morning and find the biting point on the clutch all over again, I managed to park decently, reverse decently, and do a 3-point turn all by myself thanks to the craziness that ensued on Sunday.

Feeling less ineffectual, but still not wholly liking driving that much although it seems it's all I talk about these days.

I'm turning into one of them!
Albeit 6 years too late!

Point Two
I reread what I wrote yesterday about Sunday's driving, and realise that Tony might look like an insensitive cow. He isn't, he wasn't, and if anything were truer, he was nothing but patience and gentleness throughout the time I was freaking out and dripping all over the steering wheel like... well... a girl.

Tonight, we settled yet another heap of finances. I know blogging about it must be terribly boring for you to read - and I can assure you that it's terribly boring to me as well. But here's the wonderful, heart-warming, absolutely gorgeous bit...

We were in the kitchen and I was talking to Tony about what I had mentioned earlier; I felt we were rushing along trying to get things done before the first half of this year and yet ironically there are couples out there who haven't even so much as written a will much less bought insurance.

Tony looked at me in all seriousness and told me a huge reason he's "rushing everything", is that if anything should happen to him now while I'm still not even a confirmed Australian PR, he wants to know that I will be well taken care of.

Now I know some of you out there have very definite ideas about what sexy is. But I'm telling you girls, THAT is probably one of the sexiest things anyone has ever said to me.

Point Three
As of this week, we're hoping to start eradicating my debt in a major way. And I can't tell you how wonderful that feels.

I start work tomorrow morning, so keep on praying and I'll keep you posted.

A verbal montage of Yesterday

2005-07-04T11:00:00.000+10:00

Get into car, adjust seat, start engine, get into first gear, release handbrake, roll down the hill.

Neighbours' children tossing an oval ball wrapped with a dead pig.
Little girl walking obtuse dog.
Other neighbour walking big obtuse dog.

Car rolling downhill. Brake lights turn on. Ground to a halt as dog owners disentangle dogs, children continue playing and my car is in the middle of this.

I'm an L plater and no one is making this easier for me.

Manage to negotiate out of Great Valley of Ignorance. Make a U Turn, start to move uphill. Changing gears. Ball hits back of car. Car stalls on hill. I think I hit a small child with the back of my car while moving forward. Don't ask me how.

Start to make hillstart. Of course I roll backwards. I imagine that I'm gonna hit stupid kids and stupid dogs. Because by this juncture, I'm thoroughly stressed out and don't have the time to cool down and get perspective.

Drive on Northbourne Avenue. Husband casually tells me to pull over into petrol station. Small confusion. Car stalls again in the middle of nowhere. I've had it, I get out and order him to drive.

I burst into tears. From the time we leave the petrol station to the time we get on the highway, I am a Drip.

We pull into the carpark finally. The husband apologises but I am not comforted.

I get into church looking miserable. I can't sing the first 4 hymns.

I try again after worship. I reverse nicely. Nothing happens until he tells me to follow Marcel's car. Then he tells me later on that I have to turn left and do a sharp U-turn using a small corner, because I missed the turning. I tell him I was following Marcel. It turns out Marcel usually goes straight and I was supposed to turn right somewhere else.

So I try to do a sharp U-turn. And of course I don't make it. I end up doing a 3-point turn on a slightly slopey area even though I haven't learnt how to do it yet.

I park at the building where we have bible class, on the dirt that is now mostly mud. I quell the growing anger.

I take the time in bible class to recover. The lesson was dynamic. We make plans after class to have Laksa down the street with another family. I try to drive again.

Because I parked on a down slope and don't want to end up running into the Irish Club across the next carpark, I reverse. Then I straighten the car on the dirt and aim to drive straight then turn right. Husband tells me to turn left, get onto the concrete, then turn a sharp right, cutting across a 2-way street.

There is a big pot hole on my right. I get on the concrete. I see other cars backing up behind me.

The 2-way street is ridiculously busy for a Sunday afternoon.

I look to the right until it's clear, then I look to the left and it's clear, and then I look right one last time, look left again and pull out, and then the Husband says "Brake now!" but I'm already in the middle of the narrow two-way street while an idiot in a red car is heading toward me on my right, driving TOO QUICKLY in a small suburb street.

I scream. I turn the car. I make it to the other side. I let the car trundle to a halt as I pull over. I am definitely shaken.

I don't hear words like "It's not your fault." "You did well under the circumstances."

Most of all, I don't hear words like "It's okay. You're safe now. Nothing happened. It's all right. You're scared. Would you like me to drive."

I cannot imagine pulling into a supermarket parking lot after this and trying to park. I get out of the car and say "I cannot do this." He gets out of the car and says "You CAN do this." We swop sides. He's angry. I'm furious.

We reach the supermarket and park. I don't get out of the car. I don't want to have lunch. I don't want to make nice. I don't want to answer questions about the incident. I don't want to break down and cry in front of others. I want to sit in the car until my nerves are back under my skin. I want to know that I don't absolutely suck as a learner driver. I want the world to apologise to me for stupid red cars that come around corners way too fast. I want Australia to apologise to me for having a crap public transportation system.

I try to nail this somehow as the Husband's fault. I know that I can't. I get even more furious inside that I'm scared and I can't control how I feel at this point. I hate driving. The very core of me hates driving. Absolutely abhors it. I hate driving. I hate people who know how to drive. I hate manual cars and think they're the product of the devil.

We eventually go inside to look for the other family. Of course we don't find them. We end up in Laksa House by ourselves and order anything but Laksa. I reluctantly joined the husband in prayer for the food, but I can't say amen. I am still scared shitless and absolutely furious. I cry throughout the meal which tastes too much of tomato.

We call the other family which have already gone home. We tell them we'd join them for mahjong even though the last thing I want to do at this juncture is Talk About It. He drives to their place. We park in their driveway which is on a slope. I curse Canberra for not being flat like Singapore.

I breakdown and cry yet another time. And I tell him what I had wanted to hear from him all along. And he tells me why he got angry with me earlier. Apparently he got narky with me because one of the things I'd said at the supermarket was I didn't want to meet the others because I was embarrassed. He told me he got angry that this was a pride issue for me. I stare at my soaked 3-ply tissue in disbelief.

The hostess finally steps out the door and tilts her chin as if to say, "Are you coming in or not!" So we pull our acts together and make up and go in. And I know I still love my husband to the moon because he had never stopped being gentle even though I'd pretty much wailed at him 3 times today and cried throughout lunch and made him look like an ogre in a Chinese restaurant.

I check my reflection and comment that I look like shit. He tells me I never look like shit.

I tell the hostess briefly what happened outside the church driveway with the red car. She makes sympathetic noises and a cup of tea for me. We mahjong for 2 and a half hours. We think I won.

As the husband and I make plans to leave, we talk about the hosts' crazy driveway, and how the traffic on their corner is crazy. Cars constantly charge up and down the curve because it's a long road in a quiet suburb.

I tell Tony quietly that I'll try and drive from here back to our place, which is a half hour drive away. I ask that he reverses the car out of the hellish driveway first and then I'll drive the rest of the way back.

The hostess comments that he should actually make me negotiate the driveway because I need the practice. I envision flicking mahjong tiles at her head.

I drive us back to Palmerston without event. Through Northbourne Avenue. Onto Gungahlin Drive. Traffic is heavy but I manage it well. The car doesn't stall. We arrive home safe.

He tells me I've done a good job on that last leg. The last of the fury leaves my body.
I realise my eyes have been hurting the whole day.

And I still hate driving. I've never liked it.
I've only had 8 lessons, after all...

One of the Boring Bits

2005-07-02T19:58:00.000+10:00

We have a little wooden filing cabinet (just 2 drawers) in the study. Tony's had it for years, but has always kept his things elsewhere. His filing system used to exist primarily in his massive brain, his papers scattered abroad, far and wide.

Well guess what. Now that we're married, the filing system in his brain has suddenly become defunct. Because now I need to know where everything else is kept too. Same goes for my papers, which used to be stored in very specific folders ALL OVER THE STUDY.

So today, we filed everything under a systematic order we both understand. We even made those filing tabs and labelled all the folders. It was immensely tedious and boring but we did dig up some very old stuff on both sides, and did a bit of show and tell. We also found out his baptism date wasn't 12 Sept 1983 like we thought, but 17 Sept 1984.

I really don't like talking about money and serious issues like insurance and tax on most days, but oddly enough, today's filing was my initiative. I don't know if this signals a turn on my side; if I'm beginning to get comfortable with this side of marriage... but taking a hard look at what we have and what we've planned for the rest of our lives was frankly very reassuring.

Packing them away in a filing cabinet, and putting InDesign-designed labels on everything also went a long way in satisfying the closet anal-retentive side of me.

I had a little chat with someone today about how Tony and I have been busy these few months essentially getting the house and money stuff in order... and she told me that she's been married exactly 12.5 years today, and she and her husband have never written a will. They have three children.

And it struck me right then how every couple is so different. Because for these past six months, I've been functioning under the belief that I was being a real slackard of a wife as far as talking about finances go. That if we hadn't sorted this out by the sixth month into marriage, we were really dragging our feet on this. I think I even believed that every modern newlywed had sorted this stuff out even before they got married. And I don't know why Tony rushes these things, but I was trying to run along beside him to nail these issues once.and.for.all.

And then I find out that couples live almost 13 years and 3 children later without so much as a will deciding who was gonna have their children should they both get hit by lightning (or a truck) tomorrow.

Perspective. Wonderful Comfort. I feel less ineffectual and childish now.

I'm glad we did the filing today.

It's Mrs MARKETINGMANAGER Velle to you

2005-06-29T23:49:00.000+10:00

I AM OFF THE EMPLOYMENT-CAMPAIGNING MARKET!

It is official. I have accepted what I'd initially referred to as the Purple Dinosaur Job ("I love you, You love me...") It successfully marries two of my many loves - singing, and Integrated Marketing Communication.

To put it all in a nutshell, I'll be working for a nonprofit organisation that plants choirs all over Australia. I've been told some travelling will be involved (some 28 choirs went to Gallipoli this year to sing at the 90th anniversary of all that fighting). I also get to do something I never really thought I'd do - de-snobberise the entire classical concept of Choirs. All their choirs consist of people who might have been told at a tender young age that They Cannot Sing, They Bray. There are no auditions; shower singers are most welcomed and trained. Tone-deafness is accepted and ultimately corrected, and the loudest message of all is that Singing Is For Everyone, so Stop Saying It Isn't.

Initially, I was uncomfortable with the concept. I'd been fighting to be part of the Best Choir for years in Singapore. We LIVED to crow over the choirs that lost (although we hid the gloating with an air of superior restraint, professionalism and - dare I say it?!! - Sportsmanship.) I am STILL proud to have been part of the elusive ACJC choir, and I STILL poke fun at VJC and their darling maestro. Auditions were tough, many were left behind, and those that made it felt like 'A' Grade Virtuosos.

But I also remember how I was yelled at heaps when I couldn't live up to the moment; when fatigue literally left me crying because I'd sing from 8am to 10pm on Saturdays in 3 different choirs "because I had the voice"; when I was left on the outside pretty much looking in because I wasn't pretty/cooperative/pitch-perfect. And I remember how Madam had her favourites. How all of them did. And how all of them were really complete snobs, because that was "part of the craft".

Yeah, whatever.

Look, I've always known I didn't suck at singing, but what is also lesser known is how I champion the croaker. I find it touching that people who are absolutely tone-deaf in church also sing the heartiest. One might argue they sing LOUDLY precisely because they ARE tone-deaf, but there's this guy in the Canberra church called Kevin and he loves, loves, loves singing. And he throws the song leader off at times because he's super-loud, but I find myself grinning when he does, because I've long had sulky kids in bible class with mealy mouths who think it's beneath them to sing to God. At age FIVE. It's REFRESHING to see a man with white hair displaying less cynicism than a five year old, I'll tell you that.

I'm Mrs Velle who Used to Sing Hoity-Toity... and Madam, I'm setting out to free the masses.

Prepatellar Bursitis

2005-06-20T22:47:00.000+10:00

Usually when I get back home from work, I walk into the living room to be greeted by a rather gleeful looking husband who's halfway through yet another rivetting episode of Doctor Who.

So imagine my surprise when I walked in today, to see him standing rather stiltedly, propped by the arm of the couch. Doctor Who is running in the background along with the usual screaming damsel, but he's not watching it so it must be serious.

My surprise turns into slight alarm when he tells me the following:
1) He can't bend his right knee
2) Actually, it kinda hurts when he's sitting down as well
3) It's rather difficult to walk
4) His right foot feels colder than his left "and sort of tingly"

Apparently, it started this morning at about 10am while he was attending a conference (or a "love-in", as he likes to call it) and he noticed his knee was starting to feel sore. He didn't realise how bad it was until he had to walk down the stairs for the first tea break, and then getting back home on the bus was a bit of a challenge.

Thing is, I only got back from work at 6.15pm; he was back home before 4 because of the conference, and was sitting around waiting for me till then. (That man ah, I tell you...) I don't know whether it was stubbornness, denial, or just his overall aversion to "fussing" over himself that told him he'd wait till I got home before he told me, but he didn't call once. I think he might have sat there and willed his knee to get better, but it didn't of course.

The initial plan was that the financial planner would come over at our place at half past six for a consultation, but that got blown out the window pretty quick when it became apparent that Tony needed more immediate attention. The financial planner came on time (it was too late to call him and cancel) and the poor dude arrived just in time to drive us to Calvary hospital.

So yes, Tony has whatever I wrote as the subject heading. I suspect it comes from many moons of being a goalie at indoor soccer championships. He's on a case of strong antibiotics now and he's presently in bed having a rest, but even that has its little dramas.

For someone who quite loathes being fussed over, this ailment is something of a bane beyond just the physical agony. First, we discussed if I should go into work tomorrow (I wanted to take at least the morning off just in case he got worse, and he didn't want me to fuss.) Then he realises that he can't get in and out of chairs without shots of pain, and that even walking is hard work. Then comes changing into sleeping gear and the simple chore of wearing a pair of socks that suddenly becomes so agonisingly delicate and painful.

The thing is, he's a man who's in his prime. So sitting around and being helpless just isn't the done thing. While I was writing the second paragraph of this entry, I heard him shuffling about and realised he had gotten out of the sofa (when he should be resting and taking full opportunity of my wife/maid services while he still has them). I got out of the study, went into the living room, only to spy him hunching over a Mars bar in the kitchen, half in discomfort and half in total delirious contentment that he made it to the kitchen By Himself.

That's until a fleck of chocolate landed on the floor. Can he reach the floor to pick it up before it melts, in his condition? No. What does he do? He stands there with his mouth still full of incriminating chocolate, and points pathetically at the floor till I come over. I laughed so hard, the neighbours must have wanted to kill me.

For better, for worse, right? I think we just had a glimpse of how intimate two people have to be in a marriage, where privacy on so many levels has to be stripped in order to get things done. Meanwhile, having had a taste of dependence on another person, he now empathises a bit more with why old people stereotypically get grouchier.

Pray for him, if you can.

Minding Money

2005-06-14T21:58:00.000+10:00

You know what I love and detest about being married? Having horribly adult choices land on my lap when I'm not quite prepared for it. These six months have jolted me into carrying out sensible adult decisions I can scarcely make sense of. I think the only coherent decision I've really made thus far is deciding to marry Tony. The rest of it is coming hard and fast and is all looking rather blurry.

Suddenly, I have to think about writing a will, sitting down with the family solicitor (!!!), talking to Tony's accountant, and inviting the financial planner over for a chat. If you really know me, you know numbers are not my forte and by that extension, talking about money actually intimidates the living daylights out of me. It is highly ironic that my mother is a financial adviser, because I don't share her love of discussing money.

I am acutely aware that I possess a large Ostrich head (which is actually still small and rather flat) and I'd sooner dig a deep hole and shove it riiiiight in than really talk about stocks and shares and how to avoid tax and combine my superannuation funds. I think I've only been used to handling my minute, koochie-fied POSB/Commonwealth account with $$$ that vaccilate between a few hundred dollars and $0.32. I left the inner workings of insurance and CPF whatevers and all that jazz with my mother for the few years I worked, secretly putting off the day when every money detail had to be handled by me. I've always known I was a fairly sheltered single woman in my early twenties - I think a lot of my peers (save the few more conscientious ones) tend to be fairly sheltered as well.

Thank GOD I married Tony.

My problem, I think, is that I've always lived to stretch the dollar and now that I have to think farther than the mere end of the month, I am resistant, petrified, and clueless as a kangaroo caught in headlights. What the heck do I do with all this information the husband keeps throwing at me!!! It's daunting enough as it is figuring out Australian laws on taxation and trying not to get a cardiac arrest or denounce the government everytime they rudely take out some exorbitant figure from your pocket to pave a road. Now add to the mix the straddling of two countries and all its money laws, and it just takes the wind out of me.

You might be thinking, "Well DUH, didn't you talk about this BEFORE you got married?" Yes we did, smarty-pants. Did I understand it then? Probably thought I did. Could we have done things better before we got married? Prepared me a little better, being as phobic about finances as I am? Possibly, yes. But could we have discussed it at greater length at the time? Probably not. Nothing like actually DOING it to make you realise what a lot of hooey talk is.

I'll say the same thing here as I did when someone reproached me for not pre-empting stuff like this - there is NO SUCH THING as being completely prepared for a marriage. Really. You can discuss which side of the bed you sleep on, how you plan to combine your assets, how you want to split up the bills, when you want to buy a house, how many children you want to have, how much money you should ethically spend on clothes when the other party hates shopping... You can talk and write it all down on paper and build a gantt chart and a spreadsheet and congratulate yourself on being SO organised, but it's only until you live in the same house and actually sit there and write your first will that asks you about children you haven't even spawned yet... that you realise how little you'd prepared before you got married.

It blows my mind away, just exactly what I got myself into.

But I love it because that's what it's all about. I'm having fun, chickies...

Noo nee nooo

2005-06-13T18:10:00.000+10:00

We just spent a mind-boggling 4 hours trying to nail down what we should do about buying a DVD recorder/hard drive.

I won't bore you with the mind-numbing details, except to say it all started because the Grand Prix got wiped out when we taped it last night. We have an LG video recorder that serves us well (4 Doctor Who episodes, 1 CSI and 1 Desperate Housewives episode per week), but then it started taping this awful buzzing sound over our recordings so you could hardly figure out what was going on (unless it was the Grand Prix, which is mostly visual anyway).

We went to Big W on Sunday to get a tape cleaner; got one from Philips. Went back home and opened the box. Bottle was empty. Went back to Big W to get a swap. Went back home and cleaned the VCR. Set the VCR to tape the Grand Prix at 2am so we could watch it today. Rewound the tape this morning and realised nothing happened. The stupid Philips cleaner thingy ruined our VCR.

And that is how we wound up at Harvey Norman sussing out whether we should buy a DVD recorder or a hard drive.

I'm really boring you with this, aren't I.

The Will I Lacked

2005-05-30T12:54:00.000+10:00

How's this for cool: I got to meet this married couple visiting from the States over the weekend in church, and found out that Jerry had come to know about God and be baptised because his wife Jeanette had basically said, "If you want to date me, you've got to have a half hour bible study with me each week."

He had resisted like anything at first, but she stood her ground and when he eventually decided he really liked her that much, he came back and the first thing she said when she saw him was, "Are you ready for a bible study?"

HOW COOL IS THAT?!!!

It really got me thinking about my dating history. Don't get me wrong - I am flat-out thankful that I got to know Tony when he owns his own faith; I love that we believe in one faith, one God, one baptism, I love that he's more mature than I am in aspects of his faith, that he is older than me and more self-controlled spiritually, and I see now that God has a great sense of humour and wonderful insight into what I want and need in a man.

But if I had been gutsier in outlining where my priorities were with the guys I dated; if I had done a Jeanette and stipulated a half-hour bible study as part of the deal in going out with me; if I had been more secure about my self-worth, less afraid of losing guys than God, more interested in looking for a spiritual partner... then I would have gotten off my backside and done a whole lot more than just demand that guys turned up on Sunday morning at church with me. Or maybe I hadn't cared enough. I wonder.

I've always been satisfied that every single guy I've dated - whether having denominational leanings or almost no interest in God - had turned up in church at least once. But the truth is I hardly studied with any of them; attempts had been rather half-hearted and easily turned down. I was always afraid of rocking the boat, turning them off the gospel altogether, being too pushy, but the truth was I hardly ever pushed anything.

Jeanette's determination and audacity really made a difference; the couple now minister to churches around the world on conflict-management and amalgamating of churches. They've been married 43 years. I think it's just awesome.

Snapshot

2005-05-26T13:30:00.000+10:00

Not much time to blog right now, but just thought I'd fill the space with a snapshot of The Life of Mrs Velle.

Lots happened, apart from getting rejected for 2 hot jobs in quick succession; I got the rejection letters this week, and shredded one with relish this morning. The feed-me-20-pages-at-one-go-come-on shredder at work makes this really satisfying whirr-grind noise as paper goes through it, and I thought there wasn't a more fitting end to that sad 2-line letter of regret.

Without divulging too much about my client, part of what I have to do is set up an online bookstore as both a reseller and a publisher. I am practically doing this alone, although I do get by with a little help from my newfound friends at the workplace. What I've also begun to realise is that there is only so much one can do with Excel as far as database management goes. As of yesterday, I've been creating a comprehensive bookshop database from scratch, replete with purchase order details, history of purchases made by whom, when and how, and all sorts of stuff that frankly make me shudder. There is just so much work to do! I feel like I've gone in over my head with this one well and truly, but I'm telling ya... if I get this done right, if this baby actually works and I manage to create this seeminly massive and rather complex system from scratch - and write codes and macros along the way - I'm gonna feel SO good!

And if I don't, at least I had a real dabble with Microsoft Access. Hurrah for me.

Down

2005-05-20T16:00:00.000+10:00

Just found out I didn't get interviews for 2 jobs I really liked and wanted.

Doesn't help that these were the applications I worked the hardest on.

I would've liked to have been considered, at least for the first interview. Just to be within sniffing distance of the jobs. Just to know that the gruelling hours I've put in after I come home knackered, cold and hungry have at least been well spent and acknowledged.

I hate Selection Criterias. Because they make me invest so much of myself just so I can get slapped in the face by The Tuna of Rejection. It huuuurts, it actually really huuuurts...

What's in a Name

2005-05-19T10:13:00.000+10:00

Ever since God named Adam, and then gave him charge to name every living creature - including his wife Eve - mankind has been impressed with the intrinsic link between the identity and the name.

I've grown up bearing a first name that is pretty special. I have to admit that I am rather jealous of its uniqueness, and I was terribly upset when my friend's mother called to tell me that she had mentioned my name to her friend who was having a baby - and the friend immediately decided to brand her baby girl with MY name. (Granted, General Motors came up with that one first, but STILL?!) I think I actually cried over that one - that was how upset I was. I felt robbed of my personality and identity, unreasonable as that sounds. It was wrong of me, but I was angry with the unoriginal friend of my friend's mother because taking my name had somehow diminished my uniqueness. And how DARE she make me less special.

Same feelings came up when an Ah-Lian shop was so enamoured with my name after an old boyfriend had engraved it on a bracelet, that they engraved it on another bracelet and displayed that on their shopfront. I was secretly glad when I heard they closed down.

The funny thing about names? It doesn't matter how many gorgeous people you've met who've borne a particular name, like Suzy for example. Once you've met an Awful Suzy, you tend to regard that name with some measure of Yuck. (Disclaimer: I personally know no one named Suzy.)

When Tony and I chance upon a name we deem quite dodgy, we'll rule it out as a name to inflict on any poor future kids we might have. We've built quite a list as a result; a what-NOT-to-name-our-kid list. This includes all the names of our old flames; our friend's old flames; our relatives not yet deceased; our friends; our friend's children; Shakespeare characters like Lysander and Romeo; Hollywood Celebrity children with names like Tallulah and Apple; memorable television characters like The Fonz; Canberra suburbs like Bruce, Gordon and Kaleen; work colleagues, schoolmates and general acquaintances that cause(d) us grief, pain and suffering; and names that just wouldn't go with our surname. Like Herbert.

This gets all the more complicated as I realise how much I want a unique name for my future offspring. I honestly love having a special name and I suspect it's actually a pride thing which means it's BAD, but I still would prefer a more unique name to a more common one. Tony, however, isn't saddled with such baggage and would be quite happy naming our daughter Jane if he actually liked the name.

But yes, this has been a good measure of how quickly I transfer the character of any person to his or her name. Case in point: I don't think I'd name my daughter Gail, not because I think my bridesmaid's a meanie or that the name generally blows... but I see naming my kid after her as some weird cloning exercise. Gail will always be Gail as I've always known her. I'd like to keep her unique in my heart.

Likewise, all my run-ins with most females whose names actually start with the letter V have been reeking with bad juju. The only other V names I haven't met are Valentine, Viola/Violet, and Vana. (I know a Vera. Vera is very nice. Victoria, Vanessa and Velma are normal people. The rest make me break out in cold sweat and want to make for the hills.)

So yes... if I want to keep a tally of how many people I ought to agape better, all I have to do is run through this list. Brilliant system, isn't it.

Tony Turns 30

2005-05-17T13:10:00.000+10:00

We managed to celebrate Tony's birthday this past weekend; an interesting occurence since Tony really doesn't like making a fuss of his birthday EVER, but this year marks his 30th. The trick, my friend, was not to let him get away with a non-event for once, and yet celebrate it in such a way that he didn't mind the attention TOO much and it didn't embarrass him.

I also had to make it a surprise, because as soon as I were to tell him that a bunch of us want to herald his 30th year with him, he'd try to wheedle out of it for sure.

While I'd be quite comfortable if the congregation sang a birthday song and did a few Hip-Hip-Hurrahs (the norm, after Sunday morning announcements), doing that to Tony was tantamount to making him walk to work in his underwear. It's very ironic that he would marry someone like me who would blog about this, but I try to be sensitive.

What I did instead was to mention in passing that Aileen had invited us to her place for lunch on Sunday, and to make it up to him, we'd celebrate his birthday quietly on Saturday. Even THAT had its little drama because he was initially hesitant about wasting a productive Saturday afternoon on a birthday lunch in a chi-chi restaurant. It wasn't until I faked annoyance that he eventually complied.

Saturday lunch turned out intimate and delicious. We had lunch at The Green Herring - a truly gourmet cottage experience. I don't quite know how to explain it, but the blue eye cod I had melted in my mouth along with the lemon butter, and his beef pie thingy was tender, succulent, and absolutely satisfying. We spent the rest of the Saturday afternoon NOT doing housework and working on assignments and freelance jobs, but just snuggling under the covers and watching 5 hours of West Wing reruns on his work laptop.

Sunday morning, he looked worriedly at the church newsletter to make sure his birthday wasn't on it, winced towards the end of the announcements as he anticipated the birthday song, and when neither happened, beamed.

The afternoon fellowship after bible class was uneventful; a handful wished him a Happy Birthday quietly and moved along to other topics. We had split into classes according to gender, so while he was blissfully unaware in one room, I was tying up loose ends in the other.

It was only until he drove up to Aileen's place and noticed the Chapman's car parked in front, that the side of his mouth twitched as he said, "I think I've just been set up."

And as soon as he walked in, the Chapmans, Kirkpatricks, Randalls, Audrey and Aileen started singing Happy Birthday as boisterously as possible. I think that was the most fun part.

The lunch was simple and quick, filled with weird anecdotes about prosthetic legs, the definition of Thongs in different countries, and health check ups for primary school students in Singapore. He was presented with 3 cakes - one chocolate cherry ripe mudcake, one sponge cake with icing and rainbow sprinkles, and one upside down tupperware covered with 30 stuck-on Mars Bars.

He admitted very grudgingly later that he had actually enjoyed himself. Surprise, surprise...

And that, my friend, is how you bully your introverted husband into celebrating Life. He'll learn to appreciate it eventually.

A Good Day at the Grind

2005-05-11T21:01:00.000+10:00

My life is SO NORMAL now, I've resorted to blogging about work.

Grab a cat and prepare to hurl it into the air, ladeez and gentlemen... I had a better than okay day at the office today. I clinched not one, not TWO, but THREE radio interviews for my boss and he consequently did a cheerleader wiggle in his seat and the whole clench-fists-and-turn-an-imaginary-grind routine.

You have to understand that this was done despite a lot of pet peeves.

One, I cannot STAND telemarketing. Tried it, didn't suck at it, but don't ever want to do it again in a hurry. This goes for giving a sales pitch of ANY kind - and especially when this involved begging the media.

Two, I have zilch idea about the radio stations in Melbourne. I don't know which stations deal with what kind of demographic, where Geelong ACTUALLY is (even though people have tried to draw me a bad map), and up till last year, had no real idea of the difference between talkback radio and the FM stations. I am a moron. So yes, calling up all radio stations - including every single community radio station that caters to perhaps 300,000 people in Dandenong or something - and trying to clinch a radio interview Australia-style, was terribly daunting.

Three, negotiating Australia-style has always been foreign to me. Have we talked about this before? I think Australians are too friendly. Ironically, I've heard the same sentiment said of the Americans by Australians. But yes... all this calling up, saying hello and then ASKING HOW THEIR DAY WAS... foreign concept in Singapore, especially when it's cold calls. Singaporeans are more transactional in their phone conversations. We get the connection ("Hello?"), we ask for the person in questions ("Ah Seng, ah?") and then we launch straight into the topic ("You got sell camera here or not?"). We get a little more formal with people we don't know, but other than that... it's the same pattern. We don't ask how their day was, unless we love them.

But here, no~o... I've got to work it in the conversation. Better yet, the name of my client isn't the shortest in the Guinness records either. So yes, here's what a typical cold call sounded like the whole of today:

Radio guy: 3-blah-blah-blah-F-M, this is Graeme speaking, how can I help you?
Me: Hi, Graeme? My name is Velle and I'm calling from the [INSERT 18 SYLLABLES HERE]. How's your day been so far?

Then comes the following types of responses:

Type 1 - Smooth Operator

Radio Guy: Oh, my day's been alright. What about you?
Me: Yes, it's been good too... for a Monday/Tuesday/Wednesday morning/afternoon/evening
Radio Guy: (laughs along)

Type 2 - Honest and Hesitant

Radio Guy: Uh... could you say that again?
Me: Oh, I'm calling from the [INSERT 18 SYLLABLES HERE, STUMBLE TWICE, ENDS UP BEING 28 SYLLABLES]
Radio Guy: Oh... uh, what do you do?

Type 3 - Strong and Silent

Radio Guy: Good.
Me: (Hears the crickets before filling in the silence with...) That's good to know. I faxed over a media release at around 4 yesterday afternoon... did your radio station receive it?
Radio Guy: No idea. The fax machine isn't with me.
Me: (Waits for elaboration. Nothing happens. Definitely not a radio personality.)

After the nth time, I think I've gotten the hi-how's-your-day part down pat. I have mustered the art of faking sincere friendliness.

You see, very much like the How-Do-You-Do that we were taught in primary school only to never apply them in a Singapore context, the Hi-How's-Your-Day doesn't require a REAL answer. You say Fine-Thank-You-And-Yours? back. And act very surprised when they actually tell you how their lunch was terrible.

The problem is, I've been trained to only ask people how their day was, if I really wanted to hear what they had to say. Likewise, if anyone were to ask how my day's been, I'd tell them on a scale of 1 to 10 - and then elaborate.

So yes, you see? The real triumph isn't just clinching 3 interviews... it's also the assimilation into a strange, fake-greeting culture that, up till today, had always eluded me.

So... How's Your Day Been? Fine, thanks!

Roosters, Racers, and other drivel

2005-05-10T22:05:00.000+10:00

I think my body is protesting the ruthlessly quick passing of the weekend. When my phone alarm - which sounds like a hyperventilative rooster, don't ask - went off this morning, I distinctly had this conversation in my head:

Me: What? It's ringing already?
Me: You must have set it last night by accident.
Me: Turn it off! Turn it off! The light in the room... it's Saturday, lah! Go back to sleep!
Brain to hand: Kill the alarm before Tony wakes, quick.
(Silence.)

I think part of the problem lies in so much energy being used to keep myself warm. It's getting cold again in Canberra. There are nights that leave my teeth chattering in my head. Tony recounts what his PhD supervisor - a Russian who'd lived just south of Moscow - had commented as soon as someone had complained to him about how cold it is in Canberra.

"That's because you run around dressed like Aboriginals."

Point taken. I really need warmer clothes. All this work clothes I used to wear in Singapore ain't doing much for me in this weather. For the most part of this morning in the office, I was hunched over my computer still clad in my corduroy jacket. My spree on Saturday meant I got myself a wonderfully bright cardigan... but getting work clothes that didn't reek of bad Australian fashion was a lot more difficult to find - and a lot less affordable.

And it's only Autumn!

I watched the Spanish Grand Prix last night. Tony taped it on Sunday so after dinner and before Desperate Housewives, I snuggled under what is now the TV dooner, and watched 14 cars make 66 laps around the track. Tony was rooting for Mark Webber. (He's from Queanbeyan. That makes him, like, a local International celebrity) and I was keeping my eye on Schumacher. I dozed off very quickly after Schumacher's front tyre punctured the second time. Must have been from disgust with the Ferrari team.

I know I'm rambling about nothing much and I really feel like this is a pile of drivel... but until I've been inspired to actually blog beautifully, you might just have to be patient and motivated to pray very hard that I find a nice job that doesn't take me 2 hours a day to get there and back, and numbs my brains out meanwhile.

Splendid Day

2005-05-07T19:11:00.000+10:00

So I'm all happy and sunny and wearing baby pink again because I just had a SPLENDID DAY.

Splendid Day means not doing anything much of consequence. Splendid Day included reclaiming some of my old lifestyle habits back... like taking care of my hair and expanding my wardrobe. Splendid Day also meant not putting away the groceries because Beloved Husband whom I Adore and am Totally Sorry I Made His Week Awful Because I Had An Awful Week had lovingly gone home with everything after the grocery shopping, so as to leave me alone in a beeg beeg mall to have my Splendid Day.

I rewarded both of us with a big pot of chicken curry this evening. Splendid Day stipulates that all baby potatoes in home made curries shall turn out beautifully soft yet firm. Splendid Day also ensured just the right level of burn in the curry, and that none should splash on white shirt or baby pink jumper. Splendid Day left just enough curry to feed us both for another meal, so I won't need to think about cooking for either tomorrow or Monday afternoon.

It's been SUCH a needed reprieve. I'm not really sure what it was about this past week that made me shrivel up into a ball in the middle of it all and just weep. I'm sure it's accumulative somehow, coupled with an overall lower self-esteem because of the sad estate of my job hunt. I've said this before (although that was really more of a rant): serious job hunting is immensely draining, particularly when you always want to get it just right. I submitted two resumes this week, and while it was brilliant that I was called 10 hours later for a job interview, just the process of investing the time, energy, and emotion in each application ON TOP of a normal work week and a freelance job (and housework, and cooking...) left me almost bereft of the will to wear baby pink tops.

BTW, if you're a Singaporean, the bigger Australian companies tend to want a statement addressing their Selection Criteria. This, by far, is the biggest pain in the butt I've ever come across, with unwritten rules and codes on the 'right words', and the 'right technique of answering' and all that jazz. I've filled out 3 so far, and I don't get better at it each time. It's hard, hard work and easily demands a 1,000 word 'essay' on the absolute nothing you've achieved.

I had an interview with the airport yesterday. Yes, this was the interview that was offered 10 hours after I submitted my resume on Wednesday night. The interview was at half past ten in the morning and for a whole other set of reasons, I ended up at the airport 45 minutes early and $12 poorer. (There are no public buses going to the airport. Tony has decreed that if I do indeed get the post of Marketing Coordinator for the airport, I have to lobby Action Bus Services for buses to the airport. "It's just ridiculous, " he says.)

The job advert stated that they wanted, amongst other things, someone Creative, who Pays Attention To Detail, has Excellent Written Communication, has Proven Event Management Experience, and MIGHT HAVE a Working Knowledge of the Adobe Creative suite. Which is why I was caught completely off guard when the first question out of the Marketing Director's lips pertained to Macromedia Dreamweaver... and JAVA SCRIPTING.

Hello, if you wanted a Web Designer, SAY SO, LAH! Then I would have stayed clear of your job ad and saved myself the angst, a $12 bus fare, and half a day's sacrificed pay.

Round Two of Interview with Airport comes up on Wednesday. I am so not holding my breath, lor.

Didn't help the airport's PR when the bus driver of my $12 private bus ride from the airport MISSED MY STOP, and I ended up late meeting Tony by half an hour.

Meanwhile on the freelance design front, I got patronised on Thursday night into actually believing that I was stupid and paranoid for worrying that my artwork could not be sent by email. I was told I should quit worrying, and save myself or anyone else the unnecessary trip down to the printer when all I needed to do was to send the artwork by email "because printers have really big inboxes; they really DO! It's their JOB to get big files!"

Not 111mb ones, they can't!

I really should have known better. I DID THIS FOR A LIVING! How could I have been silly enough to be blindsided by someone whose knowledge of 'desktop publishing' stops at Microsoft Word? But blindsided I was and on Thursday night at 11.15pm, I was standing over a peaceful, sleeping Tony, trying to muster the courage to break it to him that I had to go to Fyshwick the next morning and he had to drive me there.

One day, I will look back at all this with fondness. For now, I am just hanging in there, totally grateful that I've married someone so patient with me.

Waiting for the Weekend

2005-05-06T13:54:00.000+10:00

List of things I'd like to indulge in this weekend

Treat my hair
Buy a nice black work jacket
Buy a nice black working bag
Buy a nice pair of black work shoes to replace lousy, blister-giving ones with the flaking insoles, that walked the whole of Fyshwick
Buy a nice, knit top
Buy a nice work skirt

As you can tell, I'm in dire straits for retail therapy.

Accomplishing any one of these items would be a real treat.

Suck in your breath; this is a long, hard one.

2005-05-04T21:56:00.000+10:00

Absolutely Grumpy. Absolutely Knackered. Not very impressed with the world at the moment.

What is it about looking for jobs that just saps the living daylights out of individuals? Is it the absolute bore of going through the same material over and over to try and squash your life and embellish your limited experience so it can answer a few nebulous statements like "shows great attention to detail"? Or is it just the very deflating suspicion niggling at the back of your mind that

a) You will spend the better part of 4 nights looking at this stupid document and answering their inane questions, only to have the email get lost in the clutter.

b) You will spend what could have been blogging/West Wing Rerun time on the computer schlogging over this stupid job application, only to miss clinching the interview because you DON'T HAVE A DRIVER'S LICENSE BECAUSE YOU ARE A SINGAPOREAN WHO COULDN'T AFFORD IT IN THE FIRST PLACE.

c) You will spend ridiculous lengths of time editing and re-editing your work, only to click 'send' and be glossed over for the interview because you are Chinese, and they have a vague idea of Chinese people mixing up their Rs and Ls or faking cringe-worthy Aussie (pronounced oZZie) accents so they figure, "Let's not have the Chinese lady go anywhere near the communication job".

The last one is a bit unfair but since my present job is a bit lonesome, I don't care.

I just spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to put together an application with some written examples included. It's a long story, concerning the use of !#%@#%@^!% PHOTOSHOP and Adobe Acrobat and not having enough sleep or fun for the last month. The bottomline is that I am really unhappy with working and looking for new jobs at the same time. On top of it all - and I know I shouldn't complain but the timing couldn't be worse - I'm doing the marketing collateral for this University choir that's coming to Canberra from Lubbock, Texas. That's actually a fun project for me... but it'd be a lot more fun if I didn't have to niggle over inconsequential details.

I'm complaining about churchwork! I should stop.

Back to looking for a job, while having a job.

Know what I miss about Singapore? TAXIS! The last thing I want to do after waking up at 6.15am for work in this freezing cold , is to stand and wait for buses at 6.15pm after work in this freezing cold. I know I haven't flown the notorious Singapore Flag of crazy overtime and workaholism but you know what? Sitting 8.5 hours straight at the computer without actually having any proper discourse with anyone in the office is unbelievably draining, not be mention boring. To come back home and have my ego shot down further with a badly cooked meal by moi, and then spend another chunk of time trying to resuscitate a photoshop file that crashed the computer 4 times...

You know what I REALLY miss about Singapore? SHOPPING, dammit. I have not SHOPPED for far too long because my best friend and man of my life hates shopping - and it doesn't help that stores here close at 5pm, and there are only really 4 malls. And all I really want to do now is to have a weekend where I can just go and shop, buy clothes and shoes and not worry about crossing some stupid budget I had put on myself, go for a massage, treat my hair, do something about my nails because 2 broke, and just have fun the way I've always had after a long, hard day at work.

By the way, watching Jamie Oliver's School Dinners after spoiling my own dinner was a bad idea. I have the intense need to slap a dozen British school children for being such incredible brats. I NEED AN OUTLET!!!!!

As promised...

2005-04-29T20:27:00.000+10:00

Wannabe Writer's Woeful Word

2005-04-27T22:33:00.000+10:00

Work is still hectic, but I blithely left the office at a quarter past five, only to go back home and start preparing my application for a job as a writer. It sounds very similar to Kenneth Pinto's job, minus actually writing about technology. I get to simplify Geekdom for the minions - if I get the job.

Irony: I am totally sick of words at this juncture. (Not good for aspiring writer). And absolutely have a neckful of talking myself up and embellishing what I have done in my pathetic 2 years in the Singapore Workforce that is so wonderful that everyone should give me this job NOW.

All in a day's work

2005-04-26T23:36:00.000+10:00

Absolutely knackered.

Started working today. (Don't get all excited yet; it's just a casual full-time job. Am putting together marketing strategies for a company and FINALLY getting PAID to do so.)

Left office late. Bus came even later. Missed the connecting bus because of that. Called The Husband. Came back home just in time to cook rice and receive Kevin, Lover of Titanium and Useless Trivia.

Fed both baseball nuts Apricot Chicken - except I cooked it with mango instead of apricot and it still turned out very edible. Kevin decided to make tang yuan (Chinese sweet dessert) after that but without the peanut/red bean filling. Just the dough-ey stuff and the syrup. But being Kevin, he HAD to make half of the dough stuff a bright blue. The rest were white. Pictures will accompany shortly. It looks like we were boiling smurfs for dessert.

Going to join The Husband very soon in Symphony of Snores. G'night.

This Anzac Long Weekend Blows

2005-04-24T23:22:00.000+10:00

So the computer decided to get obsessive-compulsive on 1 miserable Windows Update file, thereby rendering itself totally useless. We spent Saturday reformatting the C Drive (oh joy), but not before panicking that the hard drive had just given up and gone home. Major grumps emanated from the husband for sure. Having crashed many PCs in days of yore, I was more resigned to the fact that I had to spend time prettifying my settings again.

We then spent the better part of today making it look as normal as possible - an interesting feat mind you, considering XP has managed to change ALL the fonts plastered on file names / folders / taskbars / younammit to something BEEG and SERIF. And we have no idea how to change it back, without switching to Windows Classic View. We can only make the darn fonts BIGGER or tinier and we're too tired now to plough through the most unhelpful Help and Support option that Microsoft had so graciously supplied us.

So in an act of total rebellion (and just so I could get RSS feeds with a new mail browser), I downloaded Mozilla's Thunderbird AND Firefox. Take that, stoopid Microsoft.

We are totally knackered and are almost declaring this Long Weekend a dud of sorts. It's ANZAC day tomorrow, and aside from WW1 veterans talking on TV about how the Turks and Australian trenches were only this much apart... and the Grand Prix... there really isn't much on telly.

This spate of bad TV and sports will continue tomorrow, because it's Australian television - secretly renowned the world over to be Quite Bad Most Times. (I've counted the number of Cop shows on just two channels: 9, without looking at the TV guide.)

First, there's gonna be a huge coverage of the 90th anniversary at Gallipoli held at the War Memorial in Canberra, interspersed with bad ads on mattresses and barbecues going for $99.99. After that, there's gonna be the Footy. Yes, you aren't truly a patriot of Australia unless you watch the Footy.

Hmm, let's see: War... Football... Sports Cars going round and round in circles. ANZAC day is a BOY'S Holiday, danggit!

Apart from the Zucchini Slice that still has one last helping in the 'fridge, I can't say I feel I've accomplished much this week.

My first ang-moh dish

2005-04-22T20:15:00.000+10:00

Everytime Adrian and Doreen talk about their ang-moh (read: 'red-haired', to really mean 'caucasian') daughter-in-law, they talk about the fact that she actually googled the recipe so she could make Chris Teo his popiah - all the way in America.

They seem very proud of the fact that she made such an effort to serve her husband his Singapore savouries - even if they are totally foreign foods to her.

In the spirit of learning to serve my own husband's needs in my own interracial household, I took it upon myself to try and make a zucchini slice.

Nevermind that he didn't grow up eating the stuff.
Nevermind that he's never even had a craving for the dish.

The important thing is that it has cheese and bacon in it, doesn't involve using rice or noodles, and is therefore a bona fide ANG-MOH DISH. I've also been promised that it's dead easy to do.

As with anything I do, it never turns out as easy as it says in the book.

I had to grate the zucchini and the carrot. Having hardly used a grater since we got married, I soon found that our K-mart grater couldn't grate jelly if we tried. I ended up chopping everything into tiny, teeny bits using a CHINESE CLEAVER. See, even with ang-moh food, I had to resort to using something Asian. Pfft.

But yes, after that was done with, I followed the rest of the recipe, decided that we could do with more eggs and improvised, hoped for the best as I shoved it in the oven set to moderate, and voila!

This, my friends, is my Zucchini Slice.

Just think of it as a giant quiche, if you will.

This is me, looking rather dazed that it looks normal.

Yes, I Actually Baked That Thing!

Seeing how this week has absolutely bombed job-wise (I was just informed today that I lost out in clinching an interview because I don't have a driver's license), the least I can do is pretend that I can fall back on Professional Housewifery.

What wives say to their husbands before lights out

2005-04-21T15:33:00.000+10:00

"LETHOLOGICA!"
"What?"
"That's the word which describes the state where you cannot remember the right word to use."
"Oh! Okay... why are you telling me this now?"
"Just in case I forget the word when I wake up tomorrow."

Waterfall Update

2005-04-19T14:57:00.000+10:00

Called the MD (fully aware that I risk him "having a think" AGAIN, even with this casual position), and told him I'd be "able to help him".

ARE YOU COMPLETELY MAD, MADAM?!!!

Well, perhaps. But I also figure,

I need the experience
Some money is better than no money
(I just forked out $134 for a dentist to tell me that the only reason my teeth hurt is that I brush them too vigorously with something akin to a toilet scrub.)
Canberra is really TOO small to appear petty and selfish and arrogant and everything I was feeling and displaying last night
I could try and do a stellar job and maybe he'll think of me next time when his new, cheaper employee is wailing in the background from her seeming inadequacies.
(Conversely, I could end up really mucking things up, and we'd both be thankful I didn't get the job.)

Who knows. Tomorrow is a new day, just like this one.

P.S.: I love The Husband. The Husband is a keeper.

Don't go chasing waterfalls

2005-04-18T20:21:00.000+10:00

On Saturday, I had gone for an interview and came out of it an hour later feeling pretty stunned because I had been offered a job. A GOOD job. A pretty kick-ass, feisty, black-stockings-and-sexy-court-shoes, no-holds-barred, goodness-is-that-the-time? kinda good job. And a permanent, full-time one at that.

Knowing instinctively that I shouldn't jump straight into the director's arms and scream YESSSSSS! three times, I asked if I could get back to him on Monday or Tuesday. We fixed the day of reckoning on Tuesday, whereupon if I agreed, we would let me meet the rest of his staff to see if they love me or hate me, and then the letter of offer would be written up by Friday.

I spent the rest of Saturday almost fretting that I wasn't up to it, and Sunday rather giddy and content. My plan was to call a friend and former manager up on Monday - today - to check if the salary bracket I had quoted was reasonable. The interviewer had offered me less during the probation period, and I was contemplating a renegotiation.

Then he catches me unawares and calls me today. And tells me "he's been thinking". And goes on to tell me that instead of a full time, permanent thing, he's changed his mind and wants to offer me instead a casual job. 4-6 weeks. "And after the 4-6 weeks?" I ask, not quite catching on how he'd changed his tune just like that, "What happens after the 4 to 6 weeks of this casual position?"

Then apparently, that's it. And by the way, it'd be good if I don't stop myself from looking for another job. Uh huh, uh huh...

There are a couple of reasons for this, apparently. Something about the work he has not being challenging enough for me in the long run. Something else about looking for a Uni student for the job he wants. Something about the 4-6 weeks actually being fairer to me in terms of what I'm looking for. I'm still not quite sure I understand. I ask to think about the (reduced) offer and promise to get back to him tomorrow, as originally agreed. I then turn the vacuum cleaner back on again to drown my sorrows.

Hey, it's better than drink.

I vaccillate between uncertainty and sheer bafflement. I wonder what I had done to change his tune. I wonder what I didn't do that made it all different. I try to replay the Saturday in my head, and almost tricked myself into thinking that I had gotten it all wrong, and I had imagined that he had put the offer on the table. But it wasn't a hallucination; we had talked about my salary expectations. He was also trying to do a closing on me, and it was only when I backed away and asked to think about it, that we talked about reconvening on Tuesday.

And maybe that was it.

What if I had accepted on the spot? Would it have made a difference? Or would it also have reflected badly on me?

And then finally I decide that I am angry. Because it is just bad ethics, I feel, to put an offer on the table, and then unceremoniously sweep it off "after a think". Legally, I have nothing on him. But deep down in my gut, I feel almost betrayed. "I dunno about you Australians, " I steamed at the poor husband while furiously scrubbing the dishes, "but as a Chinese, I can tell you that this is VERY BAD MANNERS."

And very soon after that statement, I cried and cried because I was so disappointed and so upset. I felt I wasn't only disappointing myself, I was disappointing a household in losing a job I might never have had to begin with. I was also secretly ashamed that I had taken my anger out on the one person who is my immediate cheerleader on this, only because he was the only punching bag I have because Canberra is too small to make enemies. What a terrible thing to do.

It's only week 3 of the Job Search. I know I am terribly blessed to be called for 2 interviews within such a short period, but rejection always sucks anyway.

Marriage Made in Melbourne

2005-04-08T08:27:00.000+10:00

I'm in the midst of packing for a mini-break with the husband. We're going to Melbourne for Sarah and E-gene's Wedding! They're finally getting married after a 2 year engagement! Boy that girl is patient.

I remember the long-distance phonecall from Sarah, one weekday in February 2 years ago. She asked me to guess what had happened.

"E-gene proposed!"
"HOW DO YOU KNOW!"

Only because we're all been secretly waiting for that to happen one of these years.

She recounted the proposal with loving detail, right down to the bit when NRIC numbers were declared so as to make no mistake of the parties involved in this monumental moment. The question was humbly asked a day after Valentines Day 2 years ago, and we've all been waiting with bated breath for the wedding invitation since then.

But after the date had been moved twice due to a variety of reasons, I came to a point where I had my own phonecall to make. My exact recollection is hazy, but it went something like this:

Me: Don't kill me, okay... but Tony and I are getting married before you and E-gene are.
Sarah: (Squeal of excitement) CON-GRA-TU-LA-SHUUUUUNS! WHEN IS IT?
Me: 18th December this year.
Sarah: WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?! TELL ME E-VE-RY-THIIIIING! Man, everyone's getting married before E-gene and I are, all our friends, everybody! I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOOOOOOOU!
Me: Hee hee!

At our wedding with Sarah and Charles. Egene couldn't make it.
(Charles is gonna be Sarah's Bride's Mate.)

So yes, come this weekend, Tony and I will play witness to one of the sweetest matches I know. Sarah's already gorgeous in normal clothes. She's gonna be drop-dead beautiful in a BWF. It's also gonna be a bit of a mini-reunion, really. Lots of people coming far and near to Mt Dandenong. My mother's going for the reception in Singapore, next week.

Note to self: pack da camera!

My heartiest congratulations, girlfriend!

Tony's Bookcase

2005-04-04T12:39:00.000+10:00

When we first moved into Palmerston, I had unpacked the boxes in the bedroom while Tony had unpacked in the study. It made perfect sense; Tony's a minimalist, which means most of his clothes fit on a single mobile rack and a Tall Boy, while my clothes take up the entire built-in closet, and then some. Meanwhile, one of Tony's few pride and joys is his bookcase, and his 150 or so volumes.

The bookcase is one of a kind, in that it was handmade by a friend and is sturdy as a tree. (It also weighs like one.) He almost-ritually arranges his books in a certain order, with certain shelves designated for certain topics only. I sit facing this bookcase now and am slightly embarrassed by my meager contribution, content-wise. I am, nevertheless, proud of him in this insipid my-boyfriend-is-SO-smart way. Obviously, I've not outgrown this since we married.

We're now part of a small group in church that is undergoing an EYE (Energising Your Evangelism) project. In an effort to help a group member address some questions a non-believer has asked, Tony brought out a book from The Third Shelf. I read the book jacket and have decided to hijack it before turning it over to the small group. I've blogged some stuff from the book here, so go read if you're interested. It's turning out to be a pretty engrossing read. I have to set the timer on my new phone so I remember to cook lunch. (Excuses! Hah.)

But what I love the most, is our shared love of books... and our hunger for Christian apologetics. Gosh, I love the man. MUAH!

"I'm Married, and I've Got Proof"

2005-03-31T15:28:00.000+10:00

I just got my Proof of Age card, which is very similar to the IC in Singapore, except they don't print your address, name in Chinese characters, or your bloodtype. Instead, they take up 10% of precious space to emblazon "Use Alcohol Responsibly" across the back.

Methinks it's really a card for 18 year olds, dying to get a load at Local Liquor.

As with any form of photo documentation, the photograph never really does justice to the individual. Today's instant photo was no different. I think I either look like I'm drunk... or like I'm endeavouring to seduce a frog. (Just so we're clear - I've been/done neither.)

Here we go:

Actually, I think I look quite preeeetty.

My chief reason for getting one of these babies, is so I don't have to lug my marriage cert around everytime I need to use my married name. I haven't quite decided what I'm gonna do about this whole name business in Australia. Considering they've got such a hefty Asian population, you would think they would've devised a system by now that accommodates the format of Asian names - namely, that the family name often comes BEFORE the first name.

So far, my name in full has been mutilated by more Australian institutions than I can scarce keep track of. They have no idea whether to put my dialect name before my English name or not, which means the entire order often gets out of whack and my maiden name gets placed in the oddest of placest. There is no standardisation! Throw in my married name, and you have a cocktail of syllables that no one can arrange to satisfaction. I need some AUSTRALIAN documentation that can put it right... and now I HAVE IT!

As to how useful it will be, remains to be seen.

Double-checking

2005-03-30T23:30:00.000+10:00

Me:
When you die, and assuming I'm not dead yet, do you want to be buried or cremated?

Tony:
I thought we covered this... (gleefully) I want my ashes scattered across a baseball diamond!

So now I know.

When I'm 64

2005-03-28T13:53:00.000+10:00

I got Welcome Home Flowers from Tony! After months of teasing him about surprising me with a bouquet whenever we passed a florist or the flowers at Woolies, he's gone and actually done it. On Thursday afternoon, having crashed out on our bed after unpacking a heap of stuff, I was delightfully awoken by a charming man in a blue shirt and grey pants, armed with a bunch of Pink Carnations. The best kind of welcome there is.

I should run off to Singapore more often. (Blatant protests from man in background.)

We took a 2 hour drive to Cowra yesterday to worship with the church there. This was something we had planned to do the whole of last year and couldn't; seeing this is the Easter weekend, we thought it was a good time to make the trip and take Monday off to recover. The congregation in Cowra is small and quiet, its membership comprising primarily of pensioners so our presence yesterday did help broaden the demographic by quite a bit.

After worship, we had bible study and lunch at Helen and Keith's house. I dare say that theirs was one of the biggest houses I've ever had the pleasure of visiting. From what I understand, they'd sold off their farm and bought a huge piece of real estate wherein they built this astoundingly huge home for their retirement. We calculated that the floorspace of their living room alone was as big as our current pad's. We have no idea how they plan to keep the house clean seeing how they're no longer spring chickens and hired help is always expensive. But that's besides the point.

Tony and I have barely started on the road to ever after, so it seems rather mindboggling to envision a happy retirement for ourselves like this one. We suspect that our dream retirement resembles that of Bob and Lynne's Manly pad more closely; somehow, being stranded in a gorgeous big-ass house in the middle of nowhere sounds less romantic and more like hard work.

Being in the company of Christian pensioners also drove home some sobering and heartwarming truths about marriage; they really are meant to last a lifetime. At one point, I was sitting at the dining table with Daphne and John on my left, and Diane and Peter on my right... and I just marvelled at their long-term romances. It's one thing to be surrounded by newlyweds still rosy from honeymoon blissage. It's another thing altogether to sit at the feet of 30,40 year old marriages and witness the affection of a man, clearly still enamoured with his wife as he sits at her feet and holds her ankle. Or hear a husband praise his wife's fine business acumen. Or watch from the corner of your eye as a wife quietly sits on her husband's lap as he gently holds her, as if still a little girl.

So much to learn! Methinks our trip to Cowra encouraged us more than our presence did them.

This is Palmerston

2005-03-27T19:52:00.000+10:00

After much fiddling between computers, and carrying these photos across the straits and what-have-you so I can show family what kind of house Tony and I are putting up with for now, I bring to you a selection of photographs of The New Pad.

One big wheeeeze...

2005-03-18T21:57:00.000+11:00

Still in Singapore. Still rather mopey about leaving Singapore. Trying hard to enjoy friends and family as much as possible and am maxing out my lunches, dinners, and suppers catching up with everyone.

But I'm still mopey. I'm totally disinterested in packing my suitcase (don't worry, honey... I've started at least), and rifling through old drawers and bookcases only stir up memories and lotsa dust, which means that on top of feeling very sorry for myself, I sneeze like a machine gun in the eager hands of a psychopath.

Sorry darlings... I know I'm not usually this deflated online, but stuff's gotten to me this week. Not even buying pale pink stilettos with a cute bow on top is knocking me out of this lethargy.

Plegh.

Death and the Dearly Departing

2005-03-16T14:02:00.000+11:00

It's been a while since I've picked up a copy of the Straits Times, for obvious reasons. It's been even longer since I've flipped through the obituaries.

I chanced upon one of last week's copies this morning and noticed that the section's had a face lift. It now looks a lot spiffier and it endeavours, I think, to celebrate the individual a little better. Apparently you can now choose wallpaper as backdrop to the sombre announcement ("Delightful Daisies" for the ladies, "Marvelous Marbling" for the men). That actually does make a good difference without making the obituary look like an advert.

This particular copy had an obituary of a lady, aged 58. She left behind 4 children and 8 grandchildren. EIGHT grandchildren. At 58. I calculate that the deceased had started having her children as young as my mother did but even then, her children would have had to all marry pretty early to start having that many children before she turned 60. It makes me wonder what the unspoken credo of the family is as far as child-rearing is concerned. Did the children look at their mother and think, "I should be like her. I should marry young, have my children young, so I can enjoy them to my fullest"? Because hey, when I was 16, I had planned to marry by 24 and have my first child at 26. I had figured it wasn't as young as my mother had been at 20 and 21.5 respectively, and I would still be young enough to be a grandmother by the time I was 50-55.

But then I turned 23, looked at my life then, and hastily moved the numbers around. Getting married and planning a family is frightfully exciting and daunting work.

But back to the obituaries. 58 is still young. I wonder if she was prepared to leave when she did.

When Tony was still in Singapore, we braved the first day of the IT show. We had 2 goals: a 512mb memory card and an internal DVD burner. It was important to us especially that the latter item came with an international warranty, because both of us were kinda nervy about spending money, lugging stuff back to Canberra and discovering OF COURSE that they wouldn't work.

We got a couple of brochures, brought them home. Tony started his research on the web the very next morning. And much to my growing chagrin, his conclusion after a time was that the price difference of IT goods in Australia and Singapore was almost negligible as far as DVD burners were concerned. It was probably more prudent for us to buy one in Australia than in Singapore, given that we would also get a warranty in Australia.

For the next half hour, I found myself almost banging stuff around as I shrivelled into major sulks. Gosh, I was petulant. At one point, Tony eyeballed me and asked me in all earnestness if he had done anything wrong and the very rational part of my wee brain managed to kick in in time for me to concede that he hadn't. And yet I was deeply upset. It was only until I started giving words to the growing emotional turmoil alone in the bedroom with my mother, that everything seemingly unreasonable and childish was articulated.

I wanted Singapore to be The Destination for great IT bargains, not Australia, Land of Crazy Taxes and Protectionistic Policies That Hurt Consumers. I wanted Tony to see that Singapore was the only place where you could enjoy great shopping, get the best buys, have the greatest variety of goodies stacked in your favour. (Hong Kong, in this regard, does NOT exist in my argument.) I wanted Tony to know and admit that I belong to a GREAT city, a GREAT country and that I was giving up all these luxuries for him. I wanted him to know how much I was going to miss living in Singapore with all its vitality and variety and I'll be damned if Australia can offer me better shopping because NOTHING beats MY country, ok?

I couldn't begin to articulate how much it hurts to know I'm leaving Singapore permanently, that I am and will continue to be nothing more than a Regular Visitor. As it is, the land has changed so much since I was last here. For the past 2 weeks, I have had to face constant reminders that people and things in Singapore have moved on without me. New buildings have been erected. New MRT lines and with it, new complicated networks of subways, flyovers and underpasses have been built and are in use. Nicoll Highway has come down and gone up. Hawker food I've loved and known have gone and left. Favourite shops have died and in its place, generic teeny-bopper retailers whip up garish, ridiculously sheer clothes with no lining at extortionist prices. The music they play is pretty stupid too. Cineleisure looks like a 13 year old's paradise. Takashimaya doesn't look shiny anymore. Tiong Bahru Plaza has new escalators. And then, to add insult to injury, I find friends giving up and pulling away because they think the distance is a deal-breaker; that coupled with my new marriage, I've turned into somebody new.

And then my entire identity as Singaporean, Chinese, Friend, Sister gets unceremoniously flushed down the automatic toilet by flippant comments such as, "Hello Australian. Wah. You can still speak Chinese ah. Why you look at me like dat? You Australian already, what!"

I'm 26. Less than 2 years ago, I left this island for another to further my education and I met and fell in love and got married to an Australian. Please understand if I'm not quite prepared to leave just yet.

Space Filler

2005-03-09T11:53:00.000+11:00

Now that the craziness has passed, the in-laws have departed, and my guests have blogged more about the reception than I probably ever will, I find myself with a little time on my hands for a quick ketchup. Helps that the husband is mugging for an assignment.

So yes, it's Wednesday 9 March and we're both still in Singapore enjoying the humidity. My hair feels less like hay, and the husband hasn't gotten over how many shopping malls exist within such a koochiefied island. It's been a highly productive absence from blogging, so I am happy to uncover real nuggets here. I've also been bleating myself silly because each and everyone of you has, bless your heart, asked me at least one of the following questions in the last month and a half:

"So, have you found a job yet?"
The answer is No, but I find myself almost always defensive about this. No, I haven't been sitting on my flat tushie for the last quarter of the year blissfully lapping up tai-taidom and leeching on Tony. Having said that, I'm trying to learn that I shouldn't be too quick to shun housewifery. Tony's mother has, for the most part, been a homemaker. Poh Dee is a homemaker. Aunty Nancy is a homemaker. Gosh, Aunty MOY CHEE is a homemaker, and God Knows she's a powerball. There really shouldn't be any shame in staying home and waiting for the husband to bring in the bacon so the wife can cook it. However, I still have the occasional chip on the shoulder when confronted with the employment issue because NOT having found a job means I'm Not Maximising My Potential to every Harry and Jane out there. I almost feel sinful for not being gainfully employed, like I've been lolling about wantonly in the sun in sloth cooties for months while my poor husband works the daily grind. What did the good man do to deserve me, huh?

The reason I've not found a job yet is relatively simple - up till the week of my departure from Canberra to Singapore, I had not received my spousal visa from Immigration. I am very relieved to announce that as of the 15th of February, I am a certified Spouse of an Australian citizen, which just means they watch me cynically for another 2 years before they'll grudgingly grant me a PR. But that precious visa also grants me multiple travel, Medicare rights, and no restrictions on working.

So yes, the long and the short of it is that once I return to Australia on the 23rd of this month, I can start looking for a job so all of you can have a peace of mind, ok?

"Um, when is your wedding again?"
To be absolutely pedantic, our wedding was on the 18th of December last year. Our Wedding Reception was also on the 18th of December 2004. This special reception in Singapore however took place 4 days ago and was, really, just a good excuse to celebrate life and our new marriage, if anything. It wasn't a Wedding Ceremony, it wasn't even really a Wedding Reception. But Tony did get to wear his suit and look utterly dashing while I wore a chilli-red cheongsam with a slit up to there.

A few things have to be said about the reception, I think. First of all, for some of you who might be reading this and who had been in Singapore at the time but hadn’t received an invitation… my sincerest apologies. I didn’t mean to leave you out. If I could have accommodated everyone I’d ever known and had the pleasure of loving, believe me I might have tried. (Okay, I would have left some out for sure but thankfully they don’t read this blog.) The truth of the matter is, I couldn’t invite the church and all the youth. I couldn’t invite all my old friends from primary school right up to junior college and poly. The fact of the matter is that receptions – let alone 2 of them across continents – cost oodles of money. I simply don’t have that much money.

As it was with 200 people, Tony and I felt ourselves spread quite thin. We left the ballroom for family shots and the next thing we knew, other guests were streaming out to get photos taken with us and we didn’t go back in till the reception was close to an end. It wasn’t the best arrangement, but as with any event in Singapore, our timing wasn’t crash hot. The tea ceremony didn’t begin till a whole hour after the stipulated time when all our relatives decided then to swan in, and then everything went a bit silly after that. But Tony and I had a ball of a time anyway, and I’m just so glad my in-laws were really understanding and that my mum, aunt and uncle were all over the programme.

A few other highlights included FINALLY showing this video presentation that took me about 3 days to put together, and my uncle and I another 3 days of working with the venue so that the darn thing can finally be screened. I know video presentations are usually cheesy as heck, with the corny music and the usual feel-good photos of growing up and meeting and falling in love. But I felt strongly that we had a story to tell that was unique to US. And I did my best to make it as honest and as simple as possible. Besides, we had lots of wedding photos and scenic shots of Canberra to boot. How many can claim to include THAT in their presentation, huh? Huh?

So yes, we became One of Those Couples with a video presentation at their reception. I shall not apologise for it.

“How could you let your preacher SAY that?!”
This question was never directly asked, but I speculate that it – and other variations – might have lurked at the back of many minds.

When Uncle Henry asked me what I’d like him to mention in his speech, I took the liberty of asking him to tell everyone in that room exactly why it was so important to both Tony and I that we married Christians. Aside from my funeral, I see no other opportunity where I could gather such a mix of people in a single room and have them be a rapt audience for 5 minutes. And I had important things to say.

Too long have I been almost apologetic for being a Christian and having the beliefs I have. Too often have I practically apologised for belonging to a body of people put together by God, and for all their imperfections. Good grief. Does no one know that the body of Christ comprises of the sick, the lonely, the obnoxious, the difficult? What then is the point of grace and forgiveness? If only good people went to church, churches wouldn't exist.

I have looked hard at my faith and realised that I have been a coward. I’ve more often than not exchanged needful truths that stir, with the need to blend in and “play nice” according to anyone else. I speak of absolutes but have behaved as if everything is relative. I don’t even think some of my friends even know my stand on absolutism. I really don’t blame them. If anything, mixed signals and “nice religion” is what I’ve conveyed for the most part. But yet, I can loudly quote verses that speak of always being ready to give the reason for the hope that is within me, that tell that Jesus was a man full of “hard sayings”, and that real religion involves keeping oneself unspotted from the world.

The speech that Uncle Henry gave was difficult on the ears and the heart, and it was beautiful. I’m not talking about the bits where he praised my faith because I know myself better. I’m talking about the core of what marriage means to both Tony and I, and how some things really should be absolutes. For both of us, it means being cemented in a Christian marriage that has no emergency exits. God knows I’ve failed terribly at grasping this truth for a while, so while I still can, I’m repenting and starting over.

Don’t knock it if you ain’t tried it
Again, I do not apologise for what was said, or how it sounded. For some, it sounded extremely supercilious and arrogant, self-righteous and insensitive. And yet, so is writing off with flippant disdain a whole body of people whose only real crime is still being human while trying very hard to understand a higher purpose. You cannot condemn something you have little to no understanding of. That is not only bad rhetoric, but great ignorance. Do not mistake sloppy cynicism for healthy scepticism.

“When are you going to have kids?”
Ah, the circle of life. As Tony and I learn to draw that one, you can pick any of the following answers:

After we’ve paid off the student loan and bought a house.
Wah Lau. Can we just NOT answer that question?
When we’re good and ready.
Preferably, before Velle menopauses.
Gee, I dunno. By the way, how much do you earn a year? And how much of that goes into buying new underwear?

“So, are you going to buy a house?”
We hope to, eventually. My standard answer to this has been that we’re waiting for me to get a job, and for property prices in Canberra to fall. Meanwhile, for faithful bloggers who’ve been in the know – I’m happy to report that Palmerston is wonderful. I have many pics, but already this entry has been very long. So far, we’ve had people over for apricot chicken, homemade Japanese food, and mahjong. Absolutely love playing hostess.

I am very happy.

Standing on the threshold

2005-01-21T22:15:00.000+11:00

We've just come back from our second trip to Palmerston. Twice tonight, we've loaded the car to the brim and chugged along further north to unload in the new home. Twice, Tony's negotiated the car out of this insanely tight corner round our new lock-up garage. Twice, we've looked at the two bedrooms, compared cupboard space and come to the conclusion that there was a good chance we could get the bed in... but never open the cupboard doors fully again.

Still, the kitchen now looks bigger than I first remembered, I've discovered that we have a pretty big pantry (oh joy!) and TWO huge linen cupboards in the hallway.

The house in McKellar looks like we've hardly made a dent in it, though. 2 friggin' carloads, and nothing seems to have moved.

The husband is here with the box for the CPU. I think he's trying to tell me something.

This will be my final post from McKellar. Gosh I'm such a sentimental girl. See you in Palmerston.

Photo Shop

2005-01-18T17:35:00.000+11:00

By the way, the wedding photographs are available online. You can either email us or drop me a message via the comment box and I'll get back to you on the links.

Tony and I would also greatly appreciate it if the links, once in your hands, are not forwarded to third parties without first seeking our permission.

(Not that we think everyone's dying to show us off to their grandmothers or something. We just like our privacy respected.)

Kitchen Maestro Stuff Up

2005-01-18T17:15:00.000+11:00

Today marks an exact month since we got married. Exactly one month ago to the minute, I was on my way to the rose gardens in the bridal car, having bided my time for the last 15 minutes in a small room in the reception hall, so that I could arrive fashionably late - 15 minutes, no more, no less. It is traditional, after all, to expect an errant guest or two ("5.05pm... relaaaaax, the bride sure to be late one!") and to keep the groom on his toes.

"Wah lau."

To celebrate our first month together, I was toying with either whipping up a meal of Lemon Grass and Lime Fish Parcels, or Seasoned Cold Soba Noodles with Smoked Salmon. Got the list of ingredients down for both, and went out to get the goods. Came back and realised that instead of getting coriander, I had gotten a bunch of green basil leaves. And yes, I can tell them apart.

I have never liked coriander. I only sprinkle them on my noodles to make them look like the old Myojo Mee ads, but I don't like the taste of them. By that same token, too much basil tastes like licorice - something neither Tony nor I can stomach. I dunno what I was thinking really, but somehow when reading the recipe, I must've imagined the pictures to include basil and because they smelled so good in my head, I went and got them. Crap.

Off to a roaring start.

Mrs Velle, Hot and Bothered

2005-01-15T19:04:00.000+11:00

Nothing like a change in the weather to test the honeymoon bubble.

Tony and I are avoiding the malls today, because huge families and their grandmas and screaming kids gravitate to them in droves. If the oppressive dry heat is already a moodkiller for most things (we don't even feel like playing computer games, can you imagine...), we really don't need an earful of screaming kids to remind us why exactly we're putting off child-rearing for a couple of years.

But I digress...

The coming Tuesday marks exactly 1 month since we did the whole shebang. So far, we've done grocery shopping as a household about 4-6 times, polished off 1 tub of ice cream, watched 4 episodes of West Wing and another 4 of CSI. The heat this week has forced us to set up camp downstairs because the bedroom currently traps heat like... I can't even think of a witty simile, is how hot it is right now. We've discovered that there's heaps of stuff we like doing together, and then there's heaps of stuff we're quite happy now to leave the other alone to enjoy.

For one thing, I enjoy blogging and while he's quite happy to read entries after I'm done with them, he's not likely to blog on his own anytime soon.

Then there's Dr Who.

Tony's grown up watching this series I've scarce heard of till he became a part of my life. It was probably the grandfather of Star Wars and Star Trek, but in essense is really a melting pot of bad props, worse make up, and a perpetually screaming damsel in distress. The stuff that television in the 60s was made of - except that formula was perpetuated for 26 seasons.

I hear they're making a comeback in 2005, which may explain why ABC has decided to screen every single episode since it started in 1963 and their space aliens were nothing more than black trashbags trembling like jello. I've watched a couple of episodes with him before - this was when we were still engaged, and I needed to know what I was getting myself into - and I swear I saw the forerunner of R2D2 in one of the 60s episodes. And my darling man needs to watch every single episode.

I admit I don't find the script too rivetting. ("Sheer Poppycock!" That's a direct quote.) I suspect it's got something to do with that part of the brain that's hotwired to be inexplicably drawn to Bold and the Beautiful, and Neighbours.

Anyways, I've rambled enough. The hot weather will do that to you. Here's what I actually wanted to update you guys on:

Immigration
When we popped by Kathy's place on Wednesday evening to pick up her statutory declaration, we were given the low down on her sister's recent immigration experience. Huge parallel - they were filing for a spousal visa as well - and they had gotten a difficult agent by the name of Stella, who insisted that there wasn't enough evidence and was finally "killed with kindness".

We walked into the Immigration interview room on Thursday and got Stella.

Apart from the first 5 minutes explaining why we didn't have a joint lease together on the current rental property, we both felt that it was a pretty straightforward procedure. No separate interviews, no Green Card type questions on what shampoo I use and how often he shaves. I realise that as long as we stuck as close to the checklist that Immigration provided us, the easier it was going to be for us. Such is the nature of the public service, I suppose. Round pegs for round holes, thank you very much.

All we have to do now is submit our tenancy agreement for the new rental place we're moving into next week, and further evidence of cohabitation as husband and wife via shared mail at the new place.

Fingers still crossed.

Photographs
Yes, a couple of you have been asking about that.

I'm presently uploading all the wedding pics I've got thus far onto a few Yahoo! photo accounts. Once that's done, I'll put up an update here and you guys can email me for the passwords etc. And no, I'm not gonna post account names and passwords on this blog.

Applicant's Prayer Guide to Immigration

2005-01-13T09:15:00.000+11:00

In less than 5 hours, Tony and I will meet with Immigration and submit our application for my Temporary Spousal Visa.

Here's what we've been praying for in light of this:

We get a reasonable agent handling the application.

We don't end up aggravating the agent further, if he/she turns out to be The Most Difficult Bureaucrat That Side of the Table.

"So... your alleged husband works for the Department of Defence, eh? Can't say they're the most transparent organisation."

"Oh yeah? Well, Defence may have its problems, but at least they're not the department that locks up refugees on a desert for 3 years!"

We don't get our application denied based on a stupid technicality.

"Oh... you were supposed to leave the country after you graduate, regardless of what your passport says."

"BUT YOUR WEBSITE SAYS MY VISA IS STILL VALID!"

"That was in July. We've changed that now. Besides, you hardly have any photographs of your relationship."

"WE JUST SUBMITTED 36 PHOTOGRAPHS OF OUR WEDDING!"

"That doesn't count. Weddings can be faked."

As you can tell, we're hoping for the best, expecting the worst.

Why Immigration is a Pain in the Bum

2005-01-12T13:12:00.000+11:00

Because after we've downloaded the most updated forms in August last year (they were updated July 2004), they've gone and UPDATED THEM AGAIN IN NOVEMBER. Why they didn't get it right the first time, I dunno.

And of course, being a tad bit TOO organised, we've gone and filled up the forms waaaay ahead of time. And now we have to fill them up again.

Except this time, the forms have exploded on their behinds because they've ADDED MORE PAGES. Yes, from a 22 page document, I now have to fill in 4 more pages, PLUS the previous 22 all over again. And that's just 1 form, okay?

As if that doesn't take up enough of my Sims 2 time, I've just finished the final touches of Our Case for a Spousal Visa - particularly, evidence of a Genuine and Continuing Relationship. As I've been telling some people who have bothered to ask, providing evidence of a Genuine and Continuing Relationship is as protracted and contrived an exercise as trying to prove you love your mother - and document that on paper.

I blame this stupid system of paranoia on the Department of Immigration under Howard's Xenophobic Regime... but most of all, I blame every single lying, cheating couple out there who have sullied the name of genuine cases such as ourselves, by endeavouring to screw the system over so they can get permanent residence, wait 2 years - and laugh all the way to the divorce courts/bank, whichever.

Meanwhile, our interview with Immigration commences tomorrow. Here's a 1.5 inch-thick compilation of email correspondence, submitted as Appendix 5A of Evidence of Genuine and Continuing Relationship. *WHUMP*

Here's Book 2. *FFFWHUMP*

"Alas, poor wok. I knew him well."

2005-01-08T21:37:00.000+11:00

So said Tony when he realised that his relentless scrubbing was starting to lift both burnt mark and teflon surface from his Kmart wok.

So I made apricot chicken yesterday, and let the evil brew simmer for 25 minutes like it said in the instructions. I even came back every 5 minutes to turn the chicken, but to no avail. When I emptied the wok and gave it a soak to lift the rest of the grime, I noticed the all-too-familiar blackish crud formed at the bottom of the mire and then I knew I killed his Kmart wok.

So yeah, my apricot chicken dish fails for the 4th time.

Found it.

2005-01-07T11:12:00.000+11:00

The real estate agent just called. We've got a new rental home.

I know we both should be utterly relieved and thrilled that we've got, by far, the best deal in the market by our books... but we're not, really. The decision to move is against our deep desire to just indulge ourselves and stay where we are. It's one thing to move out of a dump in a hurry to come board in a palace. It's quite another to move out of a mini-palace to come live in a nice house.

McKellar is wonderful, we have to say. I love living next to a reasonable Chinese takeaway, and a mini-mart. I love having a direct bus that takes me through the nearest mall, the City Centre, and then all the way down south. I love having a bedroom I can do cartwheels in, an ensuite guaranteeing the utmost privacy, and a garden I can trim with a nail clipper. I love having a built-in gas stove, a new modern kitchen replete with dishwasher, and a walk-in pantry. I love having ducted gas heating. Though the living area is small, it's so cosy. It's really a comfortable home.

However, the truth of the matter is that we aren't utilising the 3rd bedroom at all, Badenoch Belconnen (the real estate agency) is anal retentive, inflexible, obnoxious and unreasonable, the master bedroom traps heat like an oven in summer, and we really shouldn't splurge on rental when we're trying to pay off my student loan and save up for things like air tickets and a house of our own.

With the new rental home, we save about $3,000 a year on rent alone. Our only concern is whether we can pack everything we own into the house (it's a 2 bedroom unit) and the sacrifices involved include emotionally letting go of a higher standard of living (dishwasher, gas cooking) and the amount of hard work it takes to pack, move, and unpack. But it has heaps of potential. It really is a darling little place, and has every chance of turning out as cosy as McKellar.

You can bet I'll be taking pics of McKellar and doing up another photo shrine. I'm such a wimp. I can't let go of any nest, no matter how temporary...

Meanwhile, Desley got baptised yesterday in the Roberts's jacuzzi! It was my first foray into the most expensive suburb in Canberra and I was awestruck by just the majesty of some of these homes. Gorgeous facades, perfectly lacquered wooden roof panelling, not a grass blade out of place in their perfectly landscaped front lawns with the bird bath. The description of a typical home in this neighbourhood can be summarised in this rental ad that Tony forwarded me this morning:

IDEAL FOR AN EMBASSY
This house has been used as an embassy and is absolutely massive. New carpets and paint. This house boasts a 2000sqm block and has a fantastic entertaining area at rear with large fully enclosed pool which can be used as an additional area with its wooden cover should you not wish to use the pool. This house has two full size bathrooms with spas, a sauna, 6 ensuites and the main bedroom ensuite is full bathroom size with a spa bath.

Bedrooms: 8
Bathrooms: 3
Ensuites (attached bathrooms): 4
Garaging: 6 (1 for the functional Merc, 1 for the teengager's Porsche, 1 for the young adult's Ferrari, 1 for the Limo in case they have family over, 1 for the Rolls Royce to chauffeur the kids to school, 1 for the 4-wheel drive)

Includes family sitting room, central heating, a study, a separate dining area, a rumpus room (a playroom for kids), a pool, and ducted vacuuming (you attach a vacuum hose to the wall and set the machine to suck, basically. We have that at McKellar).

Our state of Real Estate

2005-01-05T14:11:00.000+11:00

The day is just about to get really hectic.

This month is dedicated to House Hunting and Moving. See, it goes like this: December was Wedding Month, January is Housing Month, February is Travelling Month, March is Singapore Month, and hopefully also Job-Hunting Month. Then, we've scheduled travel to Melbourne for Sarah's wedding in early-mid April, and have pencilled in Collapsing in a Heap.

But we're only in January right now, so moving on...

Our present rental home is actually really comfortable. The kitchen is well-equipped (Dishwasher! Squirm, Singaporeans... squirm) and comes in with a walk-in pantry under the staircase. The dining and living room area is kinda combined and perhaps a little squashy, but as real estate talk goes, "I prefer to look at it as... cosy." The master bedroom takes up the whole of the second level and comes with an ensuite (bathroom). It is, to date, the biggest master bedroom I've been in. The two other bedrooms downstairs are spacious with built in wardrobes, and share a separate toilet and bathroom that comes with - check it out - a bathtub with built-in jet spa. The backyard is growing aloe vera, although it'd be more accurate to say that we haven't killed it yet. The lock-up garage has ample room for storage. It's modest enough by Canberra standards, but I love it.

Unfortunately, it's a bit of a stretch on a single income. And it's not like we actually need the extra bedroom.

We calculate that our break-even point for accommodation is anything $20 cheaper per week than our current rental rate. Tony has mainly been the one looking into new accommodation prospects, but today was my turn as he was at work, so I trotted over to the shop to get us the newspapers. Took me all of 2 minutes in total. Sigh.

I can't drive yet, so I bus it everywhere and I'm discovering that it's a pain to do so when endeavouring to run around and attend Open Houses. The way realtors do it here? They tell you the house is open for inspection for a 15-minute window, and you're expected to drop everything and run over then if you're interested to view the place. I had already missed one this morning at 11am when I read about it at half past 10, and then I called up and found out about another open house for a 4-bedroom house, GAS HEATING (non-Canberrans, you have no idea how blessed those words are), in the same street/corner as 2 church families, open for viewing at noon to twenty past 12. It was going for less than the present place we're at and it's heaps bigger. Sounds pretty good...

I was told this at 11.25am. The bus from my place comes 'round at 11.36am. The connecting bus at the interchange departs at 12.10pm. It will reach that street at 12.13pm. I have about 2 minutes from then on to run like heck to the house and beg the realtor to let me have a look, seeing how the time stated for viewing was from 12 to 12.20pm.

I did all that, and reached the house at a quarter past 12 on the dot. No one was around. Everyone had left.

It's times like these when you want to scream at Australian cabbies for being so darn expensive in the first place. You know, I wouldn't have had trouble like this in Sing. I would have just walked downstairs and stuck out my arm blindly, and a taxi would have miraculously appeared. And if that didn't happen, I could have yelled at the auntie down the street for stealing my cab.

Anyways, since they hadn't stuck around till the agreed time of 12.20pm, I decided to walk around the garden and peek into the house from the back. I liked what I saw, and they hadn't drawn the curtains so I could look riiiiight inside, but I'm still rather disappointed that my mad dash hadn't worked out.

"That's the thing about real estate, dear" Tony advised, "You've got to wake up early."

Thing is, I did wake up early today. 7.15 am. Was just too bad I couldn't start thinking until about 9.30 am.

Here's the rest of my appointments for this evening:
4.30 pm, running off to look at a house in a suburb called Cook, which is relatively near our present place.
5.10 pm, meeting another real estate agent at a house in Palmerston which is way up north.
5.30 pm, rushing back down to see another one at a suburb called Kaleen, which is again relatively near our present place.
6.15 pm, slowly driving back to Page to see the house I missed out on viewing this afternoon, and try to peek in again.

The Grind Begins

2005-01-04T08:19:00.000+11:00

Tony went back to the daily grind this morning. I actually woke up at a quarter to seven to watch him have breakfast and close the garage door behind him.

Two things I now know that I didn't before:

Canberra really plays crap music at 6.45am. I hate rap - they weren't playing rap - but it wasn't music either.
Tony has a really precise workday morning routine. His bag is packed the night before. His shoes are laid out in front of the sofa. He ties his laces just so. It's amazing. I think the last time I was that automated was in junior college - and only because there are only so many ways you can wear your uniform.

Am presently mourning the burst of the honeymoon bubble. It's back to work for Tony, and while I'm still gainfully unemployed, I know it just isn't gonna be as carefree anymore.

Oh poo. It was good while it lasted.

First Dinner Party

2005-01-03T23:49:00.000+11:00

It's almost embarrassing to say so, it's a huge kick in the teeth for Feminism (not that I ever was a true feminist, I realise) and my mother will keel over laughing to know this... but I actually like being all domesticated. It's like a switch has been flipped, and suddenly I want to cook and throw dinner parties. It's the same switch that's wired, I suspect, to my newfound enthusiasm for non-stick pots and my latent addiction to Sims 2.

Under the clever guise of 'Ooer-the-Laksa-Paste-from-Singapore-is-getting-old', I persuaded the new husband to invite 4 friends from church over for a Laksa Party tonight. Nevermind that we don't have enough chairs in the house at this stage to seat more than 5 people around the dining room table, ourselves included. Nevermind that we ourselves hardly dine at the table, being more akin to sitting in front of the telly and scoffing down food from a giant white bowl. It might have been a culmination of several factors; it was our last night before he goes back to work, my social bar was low because we'd been wrapped around each other for 2 weeks now, and I really wanted to start returning the favour of many dinners cooked for us over the year and a half.

But really, what clinched it was probably the grand opportunity to Take Out the New Non-Stick Pots and Dinner Crockery. It's like masak-masak - except it's really expensive toys I'm playing Cook with now. And I love it.

The laksa was well received, and dinner conversation was relaxed and comfortable. It was good, good fun. I know I'm starting to nest like a birdie, and while part of me is kinda sheepish, the rest of me is TOTALLY STOKED ABOUT IT.

I'm sure the novelty will wear off eventually, don't worry.

Picture Perfect

2005-01-02T21:19:00.000+11:00

The appointment for the interview with Immigration has been set for the following week. At the mo, we're putting together the final touches of our application for my temporary spousal visa, and chasing up on statutory declarations and evidence of our Genuine Relationship.

What makes the entire immigration process such an unsavoury rite of passage is the inordinate amount of bullcrap we find we have to wade through. As Kathy Read had put it to us this afternoon (echoing the advice of many others before her who know of our situation), "you have to play it their way." It doesn't matter if you're a couple that's naturally lazy with the camera or just photo-shy, it doesn't matter if you're not that kind of couple that goes on several holidays per year alone. The fact of the matter is that we hadn't ever gotten into the habit of taking photos together when we go out, and we didn't go on extended holidays alone because that meant dealing with separate accommodation - an expense I couldn't afford. And yet that can be counted against us.

"Evidence of a genuine relationship" includes innumerous love letters both ways (oops), joint bank accounts and leases (still working on it, being a newlywedded couple), records of long-distance phonecalls (but what if we used International Calling Cards?), and lots and lots of photographs (craaaaap). The most sickening thing is that it would actually work in our favour if we had shacked up BEFORE we had gotten married, as evidence of a de facto relationship speaks louder than even the heartfelt signing of a marriage certificate. Better yet, evidence of a sexual relationship (read: pregnancy) would almost guarantee the facilitation of a visa. Yah. Brownie points for premarital nookie.

Because Tony and I hadn't been conscientious with photo-taking at every cheese toasty night we've been to, we have had to put in an announcement to the church here today, asking for photographs of us "as a couple" at any social event from August 2003. And the church - bless each and every one of them - has responded very warmly, with 2 people actually trotting in their cameras this morning so they can shutter away.

I don't know if Tony and I were more amused or sheepish with the attempts to re-enact the courtship on film. Kathy has a brother-in-law who just went through the immigration process, and she's heard all about DIMIA's demands for "more evidence", "more photographs", "more statutory declarations". The idea, it seems, is that we have to pack it in. And she was going to help us. After regaling us with her family's nightmare, she then ordered the back row to stay still so they can form the background of the engineered "social situation" Tony and I find ourselves in.

Here's the result of Kathy's handiwork. Note that both of us look very embarrassed.

Posing for Immigration is such a hoot.

Shopped and Thank You-ed out

2004-12-28T22:30:00.000+11:00

When we decided not to go with a departmental store bridal registry, we thought we were doing everyone a favour. Not only did we not fancy subjecting everyone to buying $29 tea towels or something equally asinine, we also figured we like the option of buying the goods in a variety of places. You know, save the $29 for something else and get $2.90 tea towels instead. Or something.

After opening all the wedding presents though (refer to entry on 24 December next time, when I actually get around to writing it), we realise that we were indeed cash rich, but also chocked with vouchers from a selection of places which meant that Tony had to do what he loves least - shopping. And the thing about vouchers? They expire after a point.

We know we have about a 2 year grace period, but we were also keen to make use of the present post-Christmas sale and Tony's leave from work. Most of all, vouchers tend to create the blackhole where one holds onto them for dear life, waiting for the ultimate bargain to come along and then never really spending them.

We were keen to avoid that. So keen, that we've managed to spend almost all of them today. That roughly translates to about $650 worth of newlywed goodies. I have rarely gone on a spree the way we did today. It was oddly liberating, but rather unnerving. Even though everything was paid for in vouchers - which aren't even technically our money - we both felt the pinch, and I think Tony ached particularly. I just resorted to Ostrichism, and was determined not to compare prices once we bought something.

I have to say that I'm quite delighted with the spoils, though. Until I moved to Australia, I had never owned an electrical household item; never bought one with my money and cradled it and called my own. The epilator doesn't count. I'm talking Household Goods that scream HomeMaker, like electric grillers, Maxwell Williams stainless steel, 25-year guarantee dining cutlery, Good Crockery to entertain guests with... I'm talking multi-purpose pots with vegetable and pasta steamers, non-stick saucepans of various sizes to COOK with. I'm talking serious culinary weaponry like cleavers (still looking), cheese slicers, and metal sieves. I'm talking grown woman, things-only-my-mother-used-to-care-about, WIFE stuff. I can't believe I can get this excited over an electric griller.

That is, until I have to start writing the Thank You cards.

Tony and I have just finished the last of the Thank-You-For-Your-Help-With-Wedding-Preparations cards. Tonight, we embarked on the Thank-You-For-The-2nd-Set-of-Kaki-Coloured-Towels-We're-Not-Sure-What-To-Do-With headache. We've done about 25. We calculate that we've got another 32 to go. And we haven't even had the reception in Singapore yet, which has twice the number of guests we just had.

But, as wedding tasks go, this is one of the most important. We truly are thankful for the outpouring of love and affection and monies and goodwill and all things white and pretty and mushy. I think the chief reason we're determined to finish the thank you cards before the year ends, is our gratefulness that we turned out so loved.

Mrs Velle Logs On

2004-12-26T21:49:00.000+11:00

I'm presently in my now-familiar pink bathrobe, seated in front of my new husband's computer screen and making full opportunity of his unusually early retirement to bed to blog to what's left of my faithful audience.

Yes, we actually went and did it! We're now Dr and Mrs Tony H. No matter how many times people have winked and called us that, it still sounds rather foreign. But in a good way.

As silly questions go, there haven't been too many because we'd just floated back from our honeymoon. The most frequently asked rhetorical question has got to be, "SOooo... how's Married Life?" There can be very few intelligent and enlightening comebacks to that rather unfair question. Here's a few angles:

Honest >>>
We really can't say. We've only been married 1/2/3/4/5/6 days.

Brutally Honest >>>
We really can't say. We've only been married 1/2/3/4/5/6 days. That was a really dumb question. I can't believe you didn't think this through.

Honest and Helpful >>>
We really can't say. We've only been married 1/2/3/4/5/6 days, during which most of it was spent on a honeymoon, which frankly isn't accurate Married Life. Ask us again in 6 months when reality hits us.

Too Honest >>>
Being allowed to have nookie is GREAT!

Fairytale-fulfilling >>>
Wonderful. I couldn't have envisioned a better time. Tony's been the perfect husband.
(After which the question-asker is sure to snort in derision and privately think, "Yeah right. Give it 6 months when reality hits you, you poor naive newlywed...")

But I digress.

I'm not too sure how to start. I am aware, of course, that there has been a HUGE silence on my end, ever since I moved to Aileen's. So much has been happening then, the crux of the wedding blog should have really been a chronicle of the final few weeks before the wedding. HOWEVER, as previously discussed, I didn't have a steady internet connection, my worldly possessions laid strewn across two houses (and two continents, one might add) and it was hard to find the time and the solitude to conjure the day in pretty colours and convert to blog.

I think if I were to do a brain-dump on this entry, it'd be such a pain for all of us. So here's what I think I'll do: I'll try and back track between this entry, and my last one which was the 26th of November. Hopefully I'll be able to give a short but insightful (and hopefully accurate) rendition of the madness that was, and in that way I won't kick myself for never having a record of all this.

Meanwhile, here's a peek at the Wedding Ceremony on the 18th. Click on pic to get a closer look at stuff:

Top: Exchange of rings, Signing of Marriage Certificate
Middle: Demonstration on Proper Wedding Smooches. None of this demure peck-on-the-cheek rubbish.
Bottom: The Wedding Party (from left: Andrea, Gail, Me, Tony, Anthony Whalen), Tony and my mum

Honeymoon Day 3

2004-12-22T10:19:00.000+11:00

Getting A Tan - it was too good an opportunity to pass up. After listening to the waves crash below us melodically for two days, we decided to get a reasonable tan at the beach.

I don't know how much sunscreen Tony slathered on himself, but he took about 3 times longer than I did, which turned out to be the wiser move of course because I came back to Canberra with my back peeling in parts. I was so eager to change my pasty white flesh into something golden and respectable and SOUTHEAST ASIAN that I didn't even bother to ask the new husband to do the honours of rubbing sunscreen onto my back. I really should have. Because I couldn't see what I was doing, the distribution of sunscreen (SPF 60!) was more uneven than I had imagined. and I swear I now have white finger marks on my shoulder blade where the sunscreen used to be. I HAVE A STUPID TAN, dammit.

Made up for it by donning a nice creamy white number and going to a chi-chi seafood restaurant later that night.

Basil's is a modest hole in the wall and took us 45 minutes (with me navigating) to get there from Waringah. I was informed however that it was voted one of the best seafood restaurants in Sydney, where the likes of the CEO of McDonalds Australia dine. (Steve and Della-Lee have since become such frequent fine diners there, that they now occupy said CEO's special guest box.) It's the kind of place where Basil himself comes out and greets you personally, where you are escorted to your seat by non-local waiters whose pastimes include golfing, and a tray of the day's appetisers, then main courses, then desserts are shown to you and carefully explained in brisk, thick accents and very rolled Rs.

I ended up with a tuna steak and Tony had a sea bass, but the appetisers and the desserts were gorgeous. We had something like fresh oysters with this crab-lobster-butter-something melted and half-baked over it, and to-die-for shellfish (I really forget which one) in this garlic cream sauce that just made my tonsils sing.

All we have left is a pic of the dessert, and I can't remember what we ate (I'm writing this a whole month after we had this meal), but do believe me when I say it was the food of kings.

Honeymoon Day 2

2004-12-21T20:58:00.000+11:00

Took the Manly Ferry to Circular Quay and then a train to Central Station. I remember eating at a pretty good Japanese restaurant near Paddy's market once with my mother in April 2003, and she had the most succulent cod fish I'd ever sunk my teeth into. I'd been hankering for real seafood for a while now (Canberra's prawns are expensive and very dead) so just the thought of placing a tender, white sliver of cod on my lips was enough for me to go weak in the knees with want.

Not usually an intuitive person with geography, I was very very impressed with myself when I actually found the restaurant, which was facing Paddy's Market en route to Darling Harbour. Got there, grabbed the menu...

No cod fish.

Still, the salmon was heavenly - thick, cold, juicy, FRESH - and we ate with relish. It was a fancy teppanyaki restaurant, with the chef in the centre that does the fancy stunts. The first time he stripped the prawn bare with his frying slice in 3 seconds, I could feel something akin to reverance emanating from Tony.

The rest of the day was spent idly walking around and soaking the atmosphere, really. I knew Tony would keel over from boredom if we went shopping, so I refrained - very restraint of me, considering I've been absolutely deprived of decent shopping for a whole year. I think I was just content to be within smelling distance of a decent mall strip. I know one day I'll burst and have to go shopping for shoes like the wives of many men who have advised to Tony on the ways of women prior to our marriage. But that will happen when I get back into the workforce and I can justify the excursion on having to shop for the office.

Last few stops included Tony running into JB Hi-Fi to get me a Christmas present while I stood outside a Collector's toy shop and pretended not to notice, and just having coffee/hot chocolate at the harbour while waiting for the next ferry to arrive.

*Kirribilli is Howard's present residence. I hear he's the only premier to ever demand a separate residence outside of Canberra. (*snort*) The Queen apparently stays here when she visits Australia. If she visits Australia.

Honeymoon Day 1

2004-12-20T11:25:00.000+11:00

We departed Canberra for Sydney in the late morning. Fantastic weather, all around. The car didn't smack of whip cream deodorant anymore, although the windows were still looking a tad mucky even after a wipe over with hot water.

Shan't bore you with details of the car trip.

A background of our honeymoon venue: quite simply, we were going to housesit for a couple from the church in Waringah, who live next to the beach. My first impression of the apartment block was that it felt a little like a beach-side chalet meet walk-up apartments. Lugging our stuff up to the top floor wasn't fun by any means. But once I got in, whoa...

Bob and Lynne have managed to strike the delicate balance between subtle glamour and modern cosiness. There wasn't anything not to like. Soft, sand-coloured carpet with parquet floor, beige-brown furniture and a gorgeous mix of velvet, cool cotton and wood, the house was true to its beachy location, yet did without the flashy surf culture that would plague a beach such as Manly.

In the days to come, we were lulled to sleep by the crashing waves, and woke up to the lapping of water. Gorgeous. In some ways more luxurious than a hotel room we could never afford, I was convinced we got it real good, as far as a honeymoon venue was concerned.

Breathtaking seaside view from the apartments.

Don't believe me? Here's evidence of the balcony I'm taking these pics from.

Manly Beach at night

We spent the rest of the afternoon settling in, lolling about, and opening wedding presents. Once the growling began, we took a stroll across the white sands below and along the countless eateries that line the beach and face the waves. Finally, we settled on a pizzateria whose name eludes me at the moment, and I tell you... one of the best seafood pizzas to ever grace my mouth.

The rest of the evening was spent doing surprisingly mundane things, like shopping at Coles in case we didn't feel like dining out in the coming days. But overall, it was very satisfactory. After the craziness and the adrenaline of the wedding - pre and post-production - the permission to sit perfectly still and listen to the waves was a haven like no other.

Shock Horror

2004-12-10T17:54:00.000+11:00

Up till today, wedding preparations had been pret-ty uneventful. As far as Tony and I were concerned, we were right on schedule with most things; the wedding decor was on its way over as of this morning along with his parents, my mother and Audrey had arrived, the guest list for the reception has been finalised, the general invitation to the rest of the 2 congregations had been released via email, the church newsletter, a hardcopy on the notice board and by word of mouth.

So my heart kinda sank to my knees when I decided to hike over to New Parliament House with Marcus, my mother and Audrey to show off the gardens, only to find that the blossoms had been obliterated, straw or some mulch thing was all they bothered to replace the beds with, and all that stood as explanation was an officious looking sign which read "Due to Stage 2 Water Restrictions in the ACT, there will be no annual Summer display."

By the time reality sank in, I was uuuuupset. This photo with Marcus? Taken about 5 minutes before the waterworks started. I've always considered myself to be a pretty flexible bride. No Chinese Banquet? All the better. No grand engagement party? No great loss. Tony not going to get harassed by the jie-mei early in the morning when he comes to get me? There's always Singapore. Veil full of holes and yellowing? We could always borrow. Father not in the loop about the wedding? Can't help that one.

Stripped-nekkid garden on wedding day? Crap, woe, and doom.

Tony, Towering Bulwark of Strength, Ever-Masterful Taskmeister and overall Practical Fellow got on the phone to the Old Parliament House (as opposed to the wretched New Parliament House in charge of these bald bulbs, who didn't even have the decency to warn me about the gardens when I called them twice last week). The next thing I know, he's over at Aileen's place for dinner, and then he takes all of us out on a car ride so we can recce some of the possible sites at the Old Parliament House which, incidentally, just refurbished their rose gardens and officially opened them to the public on the 2nd of this month.

One thing's for sure; as much as we realise that the wedding can still go ahead with the ceremony in the Eastern Formal Bald Gardens, we were determined now not to hold it there if at all possible.

Power Marcus

2004-12-09T11:50:00.000+11:00

My reunion with Marcus was first conducted over email. I can't remember if it was a result of Friendster, or word of mouth that I was getting hitched in Australia. The details aren't important I suppose. After we made contact, Marcus was determined that we should meet up... and if Mohammed won't come to the mountain, yada yada...

Next thing I know, he was on a plane from Melbourne to Canberra, and we were all blessed with 36 hours of his time and good company.

Most of what I remember include the many games of Rummykub, and shouts of laughter from who-remembers-now. I think he paid his Touristy Dues at the National Museum, and of course there was the disastrous trip to the bald gardens (refer to entry on the 10th). Marcus has always been a great ball of energy and fun - and he's an absolute sweetheart as well.

Below are pics of breakfast together at Pancake Parlour the next morning. Now, you have to understand that these are no ordinary pancakes, mind you... they can come chock full with potatos and fish, or come with the eggs done anyway you want, with the biggest helping of super-lean bacon you've ever had. If that isn't your cup of tea, the pancakes can come with ice cream, homemade chocolate fudge and bananas as well. Suffice to say, I think this was one of the more memorable outings they had:

The Other Wedding

2004-12-04T23:01:00.000+11:00

What I remember of this Saturday was running off to Fyshwick with Tony in the morning prior to the wedding, to get some vouchers as Thank You gifts from Canberra's Biggest Christian bookshop. (Very ironic, considering Fyshwick is Porn Destination).

I remember Penny coming up to Tony and I, and saying something rather random, about 'taking notes of other people's weddings and making mental notes to self like, "That's a good idea! We'll steal that!" or "Nope. Tacky, tacky, tacky..." And as much as we tried NOT to do that at Kate and Mark's, invariably the comparisons of our plans to their format came up now and then.

Invariably also, a combination of the following comments were directed at us, the Next Bridal Couple on the list:

"Oooh... You're NEXT, you two!"

"TWO WEEKS TO GO!"

"So, nervous/excited/organised for the wedding yet?"

And my favourite:

"Taking notes from this wedding for yours?"
"No."
(pause)
"Oh. Okay."

I think the ultimate conclusion we came to, was that the 2 weddings, though very close in date, were going to be very different in delivery on some aspects. To each her own. I think each wedding is always unique, no matter HOW borrowed from Martha Stewart. Having said that, I also staunchly believe that when all is said and done, there is never a completely original wedding.

Two's company. Try 97.

2004-11-26T13:52:00.000+11:00

It's one thing to plan a wedding in Singapore when all your guests are a 20-minute drive away from the church/hotel. It's quite another story when you're in a foreign land, planning for a wedding where half of your guests are not even local.

I speak for Tony and I that the real reason we seem relatively stress-free in our wedding planning is that our family/extended relatives aren't in town... yet. That state of affairs will be changing soon and while we recognise that weddings are ALL about family and friends surrounding the couple, I'm confident that any wedding couple secretly swears most of the *situations* that arise are about family and friends, likewise.

I'd like to emphasise at this juncture that I am looking forward to everyone coming in, starting in a week and a half. The fun of staring gooey-eyed at each other as we putter around wedding stuff alone is starting to wear a bit thin, without the hysteria of other loved ones to add crazy joy and excitement to the upcoming event. Half the fun of celebrating a relationship, after all, is the community to celebrate it with.

Having said that, where there is more than one mistress, there is bound to be more than one school of thought in any given matter. I had a telephone conversation and I already have a strong whiff of things ahead. There's always 'the right way to do things', and then there's 'the right way to do things according to X'. And then there's 'conventional wisdom' according to nobody-really-knows, and an expression of concern or mild appallment when the bridal couple does not concur with the conventional wisdom of nobody-really-knows. Then there's the concern about the number of offended parties possibly resulting from the rejection of chosen slice of conventional wisdom, and finally - this part I hate the most - the reluctant admission that it's ultimately the bridal couple's choice. This is usually tinged with the vague and annoying sense of shrugging one's shoulders in resigned helplessness, and waiting for the couple to fantastically screw up.

Usually, what happens here is that I call Tony at work, give him the run-down, he goes "What?!" and I wail "I KNOW!" and then we give a huge sigh... and inevitably work towards giving in to said conventional wisdom. Why? Because it's ultimately easier to put ourselves out than to face the vague sense of I-would-have-done-it-differently and tsk-tsking for weeks.

Weddings are SUCH a joy, are they not?

Hyatt Hiatus

2004-11-22T22:18:00.000+11:00

It’s not too often that I get to have high tea at a chi-chi establishment, so today was a real treat in itself. Cathy, the Centre manager decided to toast her wonderful staff of 2004 by treating us to afternoon tea at the Hyatt Hotel, which really seems to resemble the Raffles Hotel in Singapore in its old money grandeur, just reeking of good breeding and generations of esteemed horse riders, cricket players, lawn bowlers and women smothered in lace and silk ruffles, with genteel parasols never meant to meet the rain.

And here’s Cathy, with her motley crew of six, cheerfully disturbing the peace and scoffing hors d'oeuvres with their barbaric, bare hands. Good fun.

The topic of weddings came up after the announcement of upcoming nuptials on my end, and the rest of the crew got to hear of Cathy’s wedding in 2000. I’d already heard the story, but I really enjoyed hearing it again because it’s in many ways just horribly fun, and very, very Cathy.

Cathy, you have to understand, is a very bright nutter. I think the most defining attribute about her is that she loves people. Everyone starts with her as Darling and ends as Gorgeous. She’s got a laugh that shakes the building and she is extremely tongue in cheek. When teaching a course on Communication Tradition, she found she had to condense the medieval period, the Enlightenment, post-modernism, Freud, Nietzsche, Darwin etc. within about 8-9 weeks. The only way she could find an enduring strand in the myriad of philosophies was to relate each school of thought to sex. So she did. Freud was easy. By the time she came to the Enlightenment however, it became quite a circus. But that’s Cathy. She is a very charismatic and talented ringmaster, and everyone loves her for it. She is a kick-ass boss, to boot.

So it’s no surprise to all of us that her wedding would have been quite a spectacle in its own right. First of all, she held it on her family’s farm in Yass, which is a small town near Sydney. That meant she had to arrange the transport of everything, from freezers to the reception tables and crockery, out to the farm from Sydney. As it was also wont to be a full-on party, she had to arrange accommodation for every guest because they were all going to be falling-down drunk by the end of it.

Nick and Cathy had envisioned their wedding to walk the very thin line between finesse and absolute tackiness. Her wedding invites consisted of a set of 6 postcards of Yass in gaudy pinks and oranges, with the first one of her and Nick sitting on the front porch of the house – her with curlers in her hair and a cigarette sticking out the side of her mouth, and him looking less for wear himself.

Him: You wanna?
Her: Yup.

The rest of the postcards looked like the usual tourist tripe of Yass, except Cathy and Nick were also bouncing around, blowing kisses at each other.

The best part would have to be the furniture, though. Cathy had hired old props from the Sydney Opera House and just strewn them all over her paddock. It was therefore a mash of chaise lounges (upon which her grandma lazed on), huge sunflower seats and gigantuan seashell chairs, amongst others. If it had rained – and it didn’t – she wouldn’t have had a hope in the world of using them. I am dying to see the photos.

Her guests were understandably confused by the invites, and didn’t know whether to dress up for a hoe down or not. I don’t think it mattered, because there wasn’t a chance that any outfit would have been appropriate. The bride and groom wore a gold frock and a suit respectively, although the bride did arrive with aplomb. Her rather inebriated sister drove her in on a ute (the vehicle, not the tribesman) and promptly lost the groom’s ring. Altogether memorable.

It’s a wedding I’d love to have been a part of, but would never want as my own because neither Tony nor I would ever be able to pull that off with any measure of finesse and recklessness. Out of all the weddings I’ve heard and read about, this one would really have to take the cake.

Update, for want of a better title

2004-11-21T15:11:00.000+11:00

Okay, so I'm now at Aileen's place and have moved out of my pad.

I estimate that it took a total of about 20 hours to pack everything and move them to the corresponding houses. Pretty good, considering I was still working 3 days last week and was running around afternoons and nights doing wedding stuff. Here's what we've done this week:

Packed and moved a few boxes everyday to Tony's
Organised a Moving Out Party that had a small turn out, but it was nice and intimate. Lots of pizzas because I could NOT be bothered to cook, on top of everything else
Checked out the reception venue with person doing drinks; sorted out PA (they can't do it), manpower from reception place (they can't do it) and clean-up procedure.
Got the violinist and the piano/guitar player together to test out some songs for the wedding march and other stuff in between. Finally settled on the march. Can't type out the name as yet because I don't really know which prelude of Bach's it is, except it's got an overriding melody line written in by Schumann. Or was it Schubert?
Cleaned the house for the final time, getting room ready for inspection
Moved to Aileen's and settled in; did 2 crossword puzzles with her and now I think I'm hooked
Homemade Sri Lankan Dinner with Van Reyks
Lunch with Master of Ceremonies where we sorted out the order of proceedings once and for all

Here's a pretty sight: Tony's presently sitting in the garden polishing his work shoes, while I'm typing you guys. Suddenly, I have a flash of me watching my grandpa polish his shoes, when I was a wee lass. How uncannily familiar...

I took SO MANY pics of my house and bedroom before I finally left my pad in Bruce. Unfortunately, I can't load my pics at present and anyways, they won't mean too much to you because it's really just a stark bedroom in the cool light of day, that's all I got. Being at Aileen's might mean that I won't get to blog nearly as often because I'm not too sure about her internet connection or her phoneline at present. I'll endeavour to write up draft copies on my laptop, and then cut and paste whenever I have the use of Tony's computer on the weekends. It's a pity really, as this would be pretty much crunch time for blogging/wailing/rejoicing/etc.

Having said that, I love being at Aileen's... she's like the English-speaking grandma I never had, and it's been a while since I've been answerable to another adult in the house. I plan to dust out her rice cooker and do some curries in the coming weeks. Should be fun.

4 weeks, 2 days

2004-11-18T13:29:00.000+11:00

ONE MORE MONTH!

Amidst the packing and the dashing between friends and suppliers over wedding details and the catching up with departing chums and the moving and the church stuff and the University work and the cuddling of the fiance (that's always fun), I've managed to sit back today and just marvel at the fact that it's One More Month until I change my name.

Got a letter from Andrea today and she had written out my future married-name in full (albeit incorrectly, but it's a common mistake) and I just stared at it for a while with mixed feelings. It's one thing to change my surname to Tan or Quek (Heh heh. Quek. That always makes me laugh)... but attaching my already rather exotic first name to something as foreign as H------ really takes some getting used to. It's such a fully ang moh name, you know? And I'm so NOT ang moh, despite how some people might regard my seemingly less orthodox 'Chinese' outlook in life. I maintain, however, that just because I can't speak broken Singaporean Mandarin fluently, that doesn't automatically render me Westernised. If anything, being in Australia has helped me understand exactly how Eastern I am, so there - HAH!

Sore point. Moving along...

ONE MORE MONTH! And we're not any closer to finding a honeymoon spot:

TONY

How about we sign up for

the Amazing Race as a couple?

VELLE

You're kidding, right?

TONY

(expectantly)

...

VELLE
You're serious?

(pause)

Um... I'm not sure if I can do the whole

jump-off-a-cliff-and-then-eat-worms deal.

TONY

Nah, we don't have to be competitive!

We'll just let the rest run around and

then we'll just... stroll about and enjoy

the place!

VELLE

You do realise that we'll probably get

kicked out in the first round, right?

TONY

Oh, you mean they kick you out?

(pause)

Okay, I guess we'll have to be

competitive then.

(pause)

But man! With you, we'll just breeze through

Asia compared to the rest of them! We'll be

in (Thailand) and when the taxi (tuk tuk) tries

to take us to some tourist trap, we can yell,

"WAH LAU!!! I TOLD YOU, NO GOLD SHOP!

NO GOLD SHOP!"

I love that man. He makes me laugh.

Much ado about nothing much

2004-11-16T23:16:00.000+11:00

The pace is definitely picking up with the wedding planning.

But first up, a warm congratulations to Tony's sister, as she just got engaged! I haven't met her yet, and already there's so much to talk about when she finally makes her way to Canberra next month. After meeting Tony this afternoon to recce the reception venue one more time (but this time with Kerry), I had an hour free in Civic before my next appointment, which I spent walking around bookshops looking for the ideal Engagement card and a wedding planning journal. Finally got the former, but the latter made a very expensive gift. The one I was absolutely drooling over cost AUD$39.95. It was gorgeous and I really wish I had found it way back (no use getting it now, since it's only a month - A MONTH! - away) but since I didn't, I'm hoping at least to give it to someone else.

I comfort myself by the fact that such a journal is more ideal for weddings with a 6 month - 1 year engagement. A short engagement such as ours would not justify the cost of the planning journal. Or so I tell myself repeatedly.

I'm SUCH a sucker for pretty stationery.

I also met up with Liam, my colleague from the Centre where I work in Uni. He's doing the filming of the entire wedding, and after today's meeting, we're both brimming with possibilities. I'm practically bursting at the seams to write all about it here - but I won't. What I absolutely love about this wedding is that Tony is in total agreement about making this a wedding that really suits our personalities - and once I pitched the ideas Liam and I came up with, he fell hook line and sinker, and is all up for it. GOSH, I love that man!

It seems almost scandalous to say this, but I'm FINALLY feeling really, really hyper about the wedding after the meeting with Liam. I suspect it has a lot more to do with the creative element. I do so love a project within a project, and aside from the design of the wedding invitations, RSVP reminders and the wedding programme, this is another one of the little details that really get my adenaline going because it's so US. I'm also over the moon that Tony's as revved about it as I am. We're quite, quite stoked. This is major fun.

I'm so sorry you guys have to read these never-ending hyperboles about nothing in great detail, and have me go on and on about wedding frou-frous... I just read Celina's blog about her trip to the Maldives and man, that's just more interesting because it's varied, you know? But yah... I'm mildly aware that I'm in great danger of turning into One Of Those Brides, with the obsession about the flowers, and the ribbons, and the champagne flutes, and the ivory white swans that will swim about in the water recess in the garden, and the doves that will be released into the sky after we've exchanged our vows, and the horse and carriage that will carry us off into the sunset ala Pride and Prejudice, and the dry ice so that it looks like we're having a wedding in heaven. But gimme a break. It's 1 month, 2 days to my wedding day and I've finally cottoned on that I'm an excited bride. It's news for me, man! I'm a slow learner.

Phonecall

2004-11-15T13:09:00.000+11:00

Phone rings.

Tony

Hi... having a good day?

Me

Yes - no - I dunno...

Tony

(starts chuckling)

Me

I was reading an article about the

Bush-Kerry elections, and some interesting

correlational stats. Do you know that

Massachusetts has the lowest divorce rate

out of all the states in America?

Tony

Really?

Me

And that the bible belt has the highest?!

Tony

REALLY?

Me

The reasons given are that people

in the bible belt tend to marry too

young and have lower family incomes

as a result and tend not to be as

highly educated.

Tony

That makes sense.

Me

Whereas Massachusetts prides itself

on its emphasis on education...

Tony

- and therefore tend to marry later, and

they've had more time to think about

things. SEE? I'm almost 30. And educated.

I'm making a GREAT choice now. Heh heh!

AAAAAAWWWWWWW!!! Religion and Politics. This must be love.

Here's a Hot Tip

2004-11-15T12:21:00.000+11:00

More often than not, when someone finds out that we're going to get married this year, she (it's usually a 'she' who will take note of weddings) will invariably exclaim, "Oh! Wow! So many people are getting married nowadays! This is the nth wedding I've heard about this past [insert time frame]!"

And the killer last statement:
"I'm going to go broke!"

I'd like to state for the record that this is a LAOYA reaction on so many levels. Here's why:

When a couple announces that happy nuptials are in the making, the targetted response is sheer, unadulterated bliss FOR THE COUPLE WHO MADE THE ANNOUNCEMENT. Not for your daughter's piano teacher's niece. Not for your estranged classmate whom you've barely exchanged two words with in the 6 years you shared a school desk with her. Not even for your best friend's dog who met a poodle in the park and went the family way. And certainly not for Elton John.

Congratulate the couple. Make them feel that theirs is the only wedding that matters this very moment, and that they make SUCH a handsome couple and will have bright and gorgeous children. Mentioning total strangers' weddings takes the wind out of their sails, and tells them that their happy news is nothing but ordinary. WRONG! To the blissfully engaged couple, this news is the biggest surprise of the CENTURY, and is The Most extraordinary affair since cloning. Act like it is, and you'll secure your wedding invite to both the ceremony AND the reception.

Printed Programme

2004-11-15T01:44:00.000+11:00

I just finished designing the wedding programme! I even did it in time for a special phonecall from a long-lost friend in Victoria. (Anne, I'm talking about you!) I had done the cover some time before my exams, and after Tony and I had talked over the running sheets for the wedding day proper, I sat down and designed the inside of the wedding programme this evening.

I must say, I'm quite satisfied with it. My only gripe is that I can't print to edge, but otherwise it looks pretty pretty. Tony wasn't sure if we could print the order of events, congregational song lyrics, the list of VIPs AND our vows on one A4 side but hey, turns out they all managed to fit after all. I even squeezed in a couple of pics. This could only mean one of two things:

I missed out a couple of VERY important details because of the unorthodox design, and will pay for it later when someone gets hurt.
We really don't have that many friends.

Dreamy Bride

2004-11-12T15:37:00.000+11:00

I had my first wedding nightmare! Aren't you proud of me?

For some strange reason, it all revolves around my home back in Singapore, and I wake up in my bed in Singapore, only to realise that I've overslept, and it's 6pm when the wedding starts at 5pm in Canberra. For some reason, neither daylight-savings nor the Greenwich time blah apply in my dream because Singapore and Canberra are the Same Place in my la-la-land, and all I have to do is get into my gown, put on my make-up and saunter over to the garden which is just downstairs. Of course.

Except I forgot to call my make-up artist and my hairdresser to come today, so I have to figure out a way of doing everything myself.

Also, I have no bridal bouquet. Diane couldn't get any flowers from Woolies, and I had refused to spend AUD$250 on a bouquet.

Tony has gone upstairs to his hotel room with the boys because the Bachelor Party just started, since they had been waiting for me to wake up.

I try getting ready all by myself and not tell my mother, because she would KILL me if she knows I didn't call the make-up artist. The mobile phone keeps ringing and I know people are still waiting in the garden. My hair is a complete disaster after the shower because it got all bent out of shape - the top is flat, and then it bushes out at the sides and is dry as straw. My skin is dotty, and then when I get into the gown and look in the mirror, I realise it's completely creased because I had forgotten to steam it after my mother had brought it over in a bag from Singapore to Canberra.

Fuuuuun...

Room Gloom part II

2004-11-12T01:25:00.000+11:00

I just wrote a post about spring-cleaning my room here.

Kelvin's right. The finality of wedding preparations has arrived, and is hitting hard now that exams are out of the way. Moving out of this room, this house, is quite hard. I've really enjoyed my time here. It's a gorgeous place and has become very cosy. For someone who's always lived in the same home and has hardly ever moved for 24 years, moving country to country, and then house to house to house to house is going to be quite emotionally draining for me.

I guess I've always had difficulty with change. I know I'll love the new life I'm going to lead with Tony, and I know I'll fall in love with the new house(s)... but really, right about now? I feel like wailing almost.

Absolute Blissage

2004-11-10T23:57:00.000+11:00

I had a MOST satisfactory wind-down dinner, after getting all keyed up with endless assignments, and then exams. Absolute blissage, as Celina would say.

Rather than go over to Tony's last night as I usually do on Tuesdays for dinner, I decided to stay in last night and mug like the closet nerd I am, and meanwhile plot a steamboat dinner for tonight in celebration of life and Prawns On Sale. My rice cooker had died on my housemate about a fortnight ago and this week, he had bought Tony and I a replacement rice cooker as an early wedding gift of sorts. Since Tony already owns a rice cooker, I decided that this one could be The One We Use For Steamboat Dinners - except they call it Hot Pot here. Steamboats to them are the moving chunks of metal floating about in the ocean in the days of Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles.

I traded my laptop with a housemate's television for the evening, and we settled down to a good TV dinner that lasted 2 whole hours. (Literally, from 7.30pm to 9.30pm.) We had Tom Yum Soup as a base, dumped some prawns, cut corn cobs, cabbage and dollops of mushrooms, and just had a gorgeous time watching a documentary on British Brats put into a special rehab programme not unlike the one they have in Samoa, where the kids get shipped off to the middle of Utah to whinge and whine (and trek with big bags) for as long as it takes in the snowy mountains, until they experience a fundamental change in attitude and character.

The other show we watched on SBS was an episode of "Everyone loves a wedding", also a documentary, about intercultural weddings in Australia. THIS WAS ENTIRELY TONY'S IDEA. He was the one who suggested that we watch this, because I didn't even know the series exists and you know what? Good choice.

Ladies, if your man suspects your wedding planning is over-the-top, get him to watch an episode of this wonderful series. Then you get to interject helpful comments such as, "Wow. Aren't YOU glad you don't have to sit on someone's shoulders and boogie in the middle of the dance hall with me, in plain view of everyone else!" as well as "WHOA! CHECK OUT THE GIRTH OF THAT MERINGUE SHE'S WEARIN'! Looks expensive. I bet it didn't cost S$800. Dry-cleaning bill must be painful."

I kid. Tony has never really complained that I've gone OTT. We take stock every now and then, and as he gets greater exposure to the Wonderful World of Woolly Weddings, he realises that our wedding budget is waaaay below average, and yet still tasteful. After this episode, he's also realised that:

I'm not that fussy - I haven't even dragged him to a cake shop. (Apparently, all the women in that show do it. I don't get it either.)
I don't have gradiose ideas of walking down a tall staircase on his arm, wearing a big, poofy white number with a huge, fairy-tale cloud billowing at our feet. Not that that's a bad idea, but I honestly don't see myself pulling it off, and he doesn't have to worry about me tripping and falling over as a result.
I may be Chinese, with as complex a wedding culture as the Macedonians, but we've simplified it heaps and heaps and oodles.

But the most wonderful part of the evening was the absolute weightlessness, and the dawning of reality that we ARE getting married, this IS happening soon, and that's just worth grinning about until the cheeks ache.

25% paper

2004-11-10T08:25:00.000+11:00

I can't decide which is more exciting... the fact that my University Life ends in 3.5 hours, or that my real wedding preparations begin proper in 3.5 hours.

I think the latter. The first one comes close.

Present State of Mind

2004-11-09T13:04:00.000+11:00

The Question:
Imagine that the ComfortAssured is a 180-room Winnipeg Hotel with assets of $10 million and liabilities of $7 million. The hotel's owners are seeking a 14% annual ROI. The hotel is subject to 40% tax and pays 9% interest on the loan of $6.75 million. Other fixed costs, which include administration, depreciation, and energy, total $2 million per annum. The food and beverage department generates $400,000 in profit prior to the deduction of fixed costs. The hotel projects an average occupancy of 65% and is open 365 days a year. The rooms department has estimated a variable housekeeping cost of $15 per room sold.

Determine the average room rate required to provide the owners with their target ROI.

The Answer:
I dunno. But I hope it won't be too expensive in March 2005, so Tony and I can get a really decent honeymoon for AUD$1,000 in South East Asia.

Premonition of Honeymoon Photos

2004-11-09T12:10:00.000+11:00

Okay. Tony and I are bona fide LAOYA shutterbugs. We can happily cart a camera along with us, and then forget to take pictures the whole day. Tony's Pan-America Baseball Adventure (PABA) is evidence that the man IS capable of taking lots of photos... provided very few of them have him in it. I'm not even that conscientious to take scenery. It's a real good thing I didn't take the photojournalism class in NP. I would have flunked out majorly.

I just visited Kelvin's blogsite, which has lots of really nice photos of his recent mini-break with Hwee Yee. See? That's what mini-break photos should be like. Just lots of pictures of the couple smiling and doing silly stuff. I think Tony and I have taken quite a few trips together; 1 church camp, 1 young adults church camp, a trip to Bateman's Bay, a trip to Sydney... but we've hardly any pics to prove it.

So for the honeymoon? Really don't bet on it. I can just imagine us remembering to whip out the camera while we're on our way there... and again, on our way back. And everything else between would be lost forever.

Looking Ahead

2004-11-06T23:46:00.000+11:00

Like any young, naive couple, Tony and I got to thinking about all the Great Stuff We Want To Do Together once the Wedding's Over and We're Married.

The list includes playing badminton together on Saturday mornings (starting next Saturday at Erindale), enrolling in a first aid class with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and the Heimlich maneuver so I'll know what to do if Tony chokes on my cooking, and taking up Karate or Hap Ki Do lessons so that he can defend my honour.

This is where married people laugh their heads off, wipe tears, and tell us that they used to keep a list too, but it's now junked somewhere with the unused badminton rackets, first aid box, and Karate uniform.

Birds and Blur Brides

2004-11-05T11:22:00.000+11:00

Sarah called me yesterday, and we had quite a bit of fun nattering about wedding preparations... or rather, the lack thereof.

Both of us have come to the emphatic understanding that we've been so busy doing 101 other things of equal importance (yes, equal importance to, say, our WEDDINGS), that we feel very sheepish every time we trundle into any social setting (especially church), get asked by well meaning and very loving people if we've thought about the colour of our eyeshadow yet, for instance, and we look at them all in a rather dazed fashion, and manage to mumble, "Er... wha?"

I had a similar conversation with my mother a few twilights ago, and was telling her about my quandary everytime I get people asking questions. Primarily because I feel like a complete failure when my answer is any of the following:

"Uh... I hadn't thought of that yet. Does it matter?"
"OF COURSE IT DOES!"
"Uh... okay."

"Um... no. Not done that yet."

"Uh... I started, but I haven't been able to finish it off."

"Tony's mother is doing the decor."
"What does it look like?"
"Uh... I don't know."

"You mean... I have to do that?"

It's rather demoralising, especially when you take into account that I used to be an event organiser.

The topic of Honeymoons also came up. I took the mickey out of Sarah when she confided that she was considering the whole Disneyland Wedding, replete with built-in honeymoon. I shall state for the record that I had actually looked at the same wedding package and even considered it for a second, so hey... equally guilty. Mickey Mouse, the wedding celebrant in the Wonderful World of Disney.

She in turn laughed her head off when she realised my options for honeymoon places in Southeast Asia have been halved in some ways, primarily because Tony's Australian. (She had thought about going to Bali, and I had paused and said, "Well, it's not like I have THAT option, now do I!") I guess that's why I have a kindred spirit in Sarah.

My mother has ruled out Koh Samui for both of us, because of Bird Flu. Honestly, I hadn't heard a peep about the spread of bird flu here because neither the Australian media nor Channel News Asia, for that matter, have mentioned bird flu. Its salience is nowhere near what SARS had been. That's not to say that people aren't dropping like flies from it, I suppose... but Tony did some investigation with this government-funded website for travellers called SmartTraveller, and this is what he found out:

"Avian influenza has recently been reported in China, Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand and Vietnam. The World Health Organization has reported a number of human deaths from avian influenza in Vietnam and Thailand as a result of the recent outbreak. People are only at risk of contracting bird flu if they have close contact with infected chickens or other birds.
"Australians (especially children) are advised to avoid situations where they may have contact with farms and live birdmarkets in areas that report outbreaks of avian influenza. The virus does not spread easily from chickens to people. There would be a very low risk of contracting the disease from occasional contact with an infected chicken such as when travelling on public transport.
"The Department of Health and Ageing advises that all uncooked chicken meat and eggs should be handled hygienically with careful attention to handwashing after handling. Proper cooking will destroy the virus in chicken meat and eggs."

So there you have it. On the one hand, we could just stay in Singapore and have our honeymoon on Sentosa because even Malaysia seems to have the bird flu. On the other hand, we could risk it at a 5 star resort, eat pork and beef for about 2 days, and if we happen to come in contact with any chickens, make for the hills and die from the lack of vaccine.

I'm not making light of this, though. This has been something that puzzles Tony and I. We're hoping that the bird situation improves by January next year at least. We're giving the birds 2 months to clean up their act. We checked the rest of the website, and if you think the website tends to underrate such epidemics as bird flu, we want to assure you that this website errs very much on the side of caution.

As we've discussed, Indonesia for Australians, or indeed anyone, is not the optimal place for a peaceful honeymoon. SmartTraveller has rated that country's danger level as extremely high - "Australians in Indonesia," it says, "who are concerned for their safety should consider departing."

By that same token, it says similar things, albeit with less alarm bells, about Malaysia, Thailand, and Singapore.

Australians in Singapore should exercise a high degree of caution. The risk of terrorist attacks against Western interests in Singapore remains, particularly in commercial and public areas known to be frequented by foreigners such as, but not limited to, hotels, clubs, restaurants, bars, schools, marketplaces, places of worship, outdoor recreation events and tourist areas. Premises and symbols associated with the Singaporean Government are also possible targets.

So yah. If we were to take SmartTraveller at their word, Bird Flu is manageable, Terrorism is Not. Don't take a honeymoon anywhere except perhaps New Zealand because even Sentosa isn't safe, being the mecca of uneducated tourists. It certainly makes things difficult for Tony and I at this juncture. Do we 'throw caution to the wind' and have the holiday we really want in Thailand and just not eat chicken? Do we stay in Malaysia, where there's also reports of bird flu and terrorism? Or does conventional wisdom dictate that really, nowhere's safe... running to Indonesia might be testing God, but the rest, we can get away with?

This is probably one of the rare times in history where being a white man has proven to be greatly disadvantageous.

Honeymoon shortlist:

2004-11-03T12:49:00.000+11:00

1. Koh Samui
2. Langkawi

Neither of which Tony has any familiarity with. This should be fun.

Whiter shade of Pale

2004-11-01T22:02:00.000+11:00

Kelvin claims that the colour of my lipstick was too strong in the other photos. Therefore, I've decided to attach the following pic to give some comparison... and perspective. *wink*

(Isn't that an AWFUL pic! DUUUUUH... *LOL*)

So much for Glamour.

Thou Painted Maypole

2004-10-31T21:47:00.000+11:00

Me with Pinky Make Up, trying out for the wedding.