the good, the bad and the queen

Just crashed back into my comfortable clean fluffy bed with a facial after some five hours of carpooling [insert deep moaning of satisfaction], and already here for your long awaited hearts, I know, are some pictures from my few moments of sobriety. Because I’m considerate like that.

Not China Town.

Could you hear the angels sing?





... slurrrrrp.



I kinda blacked out My batteries died after this.



But there were mostly lots of this I presume:


And this:


And a bit of this:
[pictures from enkidu.netfirms.com]
Yeah. My camera and I always miss out on the fun.
*pouts*

To be noted however that I did not get intimately acquainted with any toilet bowl during my off-camera performances nor did I want to behead The Brother-In-Law even once (there was perhaps a moment where I did want to slap him, but t’was definitely not a Backhand Slap, so hurrah!), and no pants were ripped apart nor any stomach unladylikely exploded during the ingestion of so much delectably awesome foodies.

I know. My Sainthood application is already in the mail*.




* Just don’t mention I spent over my very idealistic 20$ weekend budget on some smokin' cute shades (WITH MY EXPENSIVELY DISCRIMINATORY BLIND-MOLE PRESCRIPTION INCLUDED!) for only the THIRD of the what I’d normally pay elsewhere! Them crazy Chinese, I tells ya! Am now left but to wait - with utmost patience - until they arrive here in a week. And with that, I’m back on the Sainthood list.

yesterday once more

High Fidelity was one of the first contemporary English novel I read as an ‘adult’. Have never seen the movie, but heard Mister Hornby wanted John Cusack to play every one of his male protagonists should they be captured on film as well (which doesn’t say much about the width of his thematic range, but eh, who I am to complain about dwelling self-indulgences?). Also, to know Lloyd Dobler is to love him, and since I solely remember my male actors in their best light [until they go insane and antisemite], the movie is definitely somewhere in my Must See Films list. Rob from the novel, however, I had problems with. He just somehow reeked a dab too much of insecurity, uncertainty; is unsatisfied and whiny about it - all qualities I hate in myself really, which just seems worse when personified in someone else. Especially someone I was expecting to really like, as I often do with books I love (e.g. why "Holden's" is forever emblazoned on my heart) . Not so here. What did win me over, however, is his obsessions with lists. It’s dreadfully fantastic! And how he’s so anal about music, having it be the tell all & end all of human existence. Though, admittedly, I barely recognise half of the ‘dodgy’ songs he mentions and have a much more embarrassing collection myself, who seriously cannot identify with that with a little smile en coin? Still to this day, there are certain songs that bring me right back to the very first time I heard it, and in doing so, define it completely. With the same exact despair and/or glee. Apply as needed.

For instance, at the mere start of some of my favorite Chinese series theme songs, I am seen to be embarrassingly gushing, clapping my hands and hopping in my seat. Have you ever tried that? It’s utterly annoying for whoever’s not doing it, I assure you. There’s also giggling. And did I mention cheering? Yes, there is cheering too. I just get so uncontrollably excited, as if I was to see a long lost friend who once taught me everything I know about honour & love (make-up help included!), whose tales of woes & wars, love lost and friendship in hardship sung my entire childhood. And in some two minutes & sweet seconds I get to hear them again, I am as gullible & hopeful as I was when I was 6 years old, believing that love does conquer all, and nobody is really as evil as they seem [just weak... and unfortunate]. When I listen to these songs again, I am reminded & astounded as to how complex the story lines & characters were, how every plot, every anecdote all tie in together in a messy web of confusion. And how all we do is struggle to untangle ourself from it. (…So that’s why I’m so fucked so early! I tell you, Cinderella’s got nothing on Little Dragon Girl. Psh.)

Or when I was in year 9 and had [allowed myself] my first real crush. I never knew what his name was, where he lived or what his likes & dislikes, favorite band or cartoons were. I’ve heard his voice only once - when he asked his little brother if he wanted his seat *swoons* - but my gosh, my entire 15-year-old blissful moments were of simply seeing him. While listening to this song. I know. I told you I had no credibility as a music critic. Every time the swoosh begins though, without fault, I can’t help but moan & roll my eyes, reminded suddenly of him. And then smile from ear to ear. It still warms me up, you see. Mon Gars du Bus….

… Oh, sweet adolescence, what wonderfully embarrassing years you were! How sad it only degenerated from there! *sigh*

I have mentioned before my love/shame relationship with Bon Jovi. It’s actually worse than I’ve lead on. A lot worse. I heart them muchly, I did. To the point where I bought Mister Giovanni’s solo debut tape and listened to it almost everyday. Uh-huh... Sure, there were the ubiquitous Bush [ex-]X & Garbage pouring down my eardrums, but… I just dusted off the tape from my High School Box (what? Don’t you have one of those?) and had a listen again some days ago. I was quickly reminded of a distinctive feeling when I’d hear these again (other than shame). It brings back the cold hazy days of yore.... When yore were school days off, and instead of sleeping in or spending time with friends, I’d wake up like any other day, put on my uniform (so my folks, unaware of my schedule, would not interrogate me wonder), and took the bus. Just to get lost. For hours. Destination anywhere. Watching. And yearning. For something I couldn't define…. I suppose I can come up with some self-conscious analysis now, generic psychological profile and self-deprecating confirmations, but really, it’ll just be redundant. I was sixteen. Look at my blog title.

Not so long after that, I'd have my first mental breakdown. Yes, happy times… It was also from that point forward that, after every other one I went through, be in minor or of World War proportions, I'd run to The Beatles. I can clearly recall the moment it all started. I was walking towards school, cutting through the park, fenced on the left by huge imposing trees. As I looked up and saw the sun & blue skies piercing between shuffled leaves & windy tears, his voice suddenly broke from my headphones and washed over me. (Terribly cliché, I know... But after admitting my love to Bon Jovi and 80’s Chinese songs I don’t understand a single word to, what else do you expect? Tch.) The thing with The Beatles is, they keep my heart safe, you see. They're my imaginary friends. The only real ones I could stand. Who can hold it in and rock it to sleep, without having to say anything. They let me know it’s okay, and to keep on going, to keep on hoping. To keep on loving. With every innocent note.

So I do.

Across the universe.

Because, if there's anything I’ve learned from my childhood tales, it’s what a good theme song does.

you are my sister

We were lazying around on my sister’s king size bed watching some re-runs of Spiderman cartoons. (Or was it UFC: Ultimate Fighting Championship? Didn’t St-Pierre lose? Or did I dream/hallucinate that as well?... Mmm. St-Pierre....)

“Can you please stop doing that?”
“Whagh?”, i came out from my snot-filled haze.
“That thing you’re doing with your mouth”, she whinged.
“… Gnmean bweading?!....”
“Yes. You are going to make me sick.”

Really, how can one not love her?
And love her I do.
Except when I hate her.
Obviously.

It’s pretty common to have these love/hate relationships amongst siblings, is it not? And quite healthy, i like to think... What is more, i find them particularly interesting, with its own special complex set of rules and demands and expectations. Though I understand that sometimes they unfortunately don’t end very well and are left on the cutting room floor, i’m the kind of gal who likes to explore these relationships to death. And though my sister & i don’t always like each other, we have thus always remained very close. Also, because our mum has incessantly pounded into our heads that we are forever binded to one another, whether we want to or not.

To tell the truth, I don’t really have any recollection of her at all for the first part of my life. We used to live in a small three bedroom apartment back then, in the “New Projects” where the first generations of immigrants were dumped housed. We* didn’t complain though, it was more than anything I think we’d expected. I believed growing up listening to those stories of when they had first arrived as exciting & jubilating adventures. Of course there were hardships but to this day my parents still recall them as ‘utterly joyous’. They thought it was the top shit and in lots of ways it was! My earliest and only memories of my first home were being surrounded by aunts and uncles and cousins who’d all somehow took turn living with us in that small rental, and with whom I’d spend my days & nights playing. I remember there was constant noise. Vivid whispers over pots and pother in the tiny kitchen. Songs of hope and home over constant shouting. Laughing and giggling and cheering.

When we finally moved further East, into our very own house, I was 4 years old. Suddenly away from everyone else, i remembered that, oh, right, i had a sister to play with. And play we did - if you count crushing every fibre of my self-esteem and sanity to a muddy pulp as playing, sure! Great fun, that was!... You see, my sister, though the spitting image of a beautiful little angel, was also a ruthless psychological tormentor. And a very good one at that (I blame those first obligatory years under the communist regime - zero to three years of age are the most formative in a child’s life, you know, and they did a dandy job on training her into one of their best secret police.) And because she was older, and our culture demanding utter respect for our elders, she took it as a licence to order me around and thus i became her slave from the tender age of 4 to 6. ‘Get me a soda’, ‘Plump my pillows’, ‘Massage my feet’, ‘Bring me food’, ‘Scratch my back’, ‘Turn left’, ‘Turn right’, ‘Stay put – Ha! I didn’t say Simon says *whips*!'

Okay. So there wasn't any actual whipping. But the treating me like a dog thing? TO-TALLY happened. And because my moon sign is the Dog, she thought that was huhfuckinglarious. Whenever i dared refuse, she’d calmly throw me a condescending look and slowly reiterate that if I “disobeyed” her, she wouldn’t play with me anymore, which also included talking or acknowledging my general existence, and then begin counting to three. Slowly. Letting. The fear. Sink. In. *squints eyes in a vengeful fury*

Another one of her favorite games was to make invisible rats and/or crocodiles appear on the ground, keeping me thus paralysed with fear and stuck to wherever it was I was sitting (right, so I wasn’t a very bright kid had a wild imagination. You’d think that'd be a first warning sign of my mental health, now wouldn't you? Alas, no.) When I got a little older (marked by my responding to her counting to three threat with “One, two, three – CACA!” and storming off), she somehow convinced me that she had mistakenly cut off my penis when I was a wee baby and sewed back the remaining flesh best she could. I huffed it off as being the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard yet secretely wondered if this could somehow be possible.... Until I was thirteen, as I was the latest amongst my friends to be hit by Miss Flo, I actually thought that she had turned me into some freak o'nature and scientists were going to take me away (wild imagination, I tells ya! Fuelled by a recent viewing of E.T., okay?! It was scarring!... Pah!).

But sure, that was all 'fun & games'. Water under the bridge (until the day i can unleash my revenge onto her unborn child! mouahahahah! ahem... ). The thing that truly bothered me however was that, until quite recently, no one else were witnessed to this side of her. To everyone, she is this perfectly demure good girl who had to endure my shenanigans! ME! (Oh, alright, so in all fariness, she kind of was - ...i mean, i wasn't exactly a saint to live with either.)

You see, she defies all these categorizations, my sister. She isn’t quite your typical good Asian kid despite her exterior as she doesn't really care to follow the Asian crowd and its warped societal conventions; she is very conservative yet has a most foul sense of humour; she is every bit of a lady but loves racing against boys, and robots (that's 'loves robots', not 'racing against robots'. Although that would've been pretty wicked cool...); you can't call her a tomboy either for she is a sentimental sop; she is hopelessly anti-social but can be utterly & genuinely good; she is a very practical & pragmatic woman yet yelps on the top of her lungs when I hit her, and rationalise my defensive retaliation by pinching me back (PINCHING! If there's any form of physical violence i LOATHE it's pinching! Cowardly and hypocritical, it is! Argh!) But because of how she looks, high school boys would swoon over her thinking she was a perfect ice queen while others believe she was simply angelic.

(Oh, and the answer is no. I can hear some of you sneering behind that wall of nanobites and liquid cristals and flesh and bones (yes! you in the corner! i see you too!), and the answer is no - I was never jealous of her. Honestly. The only time I ever remotely felt 'robbed' was when she moved away to University. She is more of a homebody than I was and didn’t want to leave. I thought she was insane. I had dreams of going away since I was five years old and there she was, living my dream. Before me. So there. Now, let us never talk about this again. I was 12.)

My sister is just an amalgam of things that very few could actually see, that most blamed on me being 'erratic' (pfff). That's what's infuriating. But this is not about naming her flaws. Besides, that would be a list too long to post anyway… Par exemple:

1. She can never admit she is wrong.
2. She has a piercingly annoying condescension forever embedded in her tone. And in her eyes.
3. She can be quite judgemental.
4. She asks the same question over and over and over and over…. And then finishes off by patronizingly asking, ‘Are you sure?’
5. She has listening problems, especially aggravating for:
   a) she cuts conversations - any conversations - whether i am talking to her, or to someone else.
   b) she is not interested in what you are saying [even though she expects you to be interested into the insane things she likes]
6. She continuously insists on pronouncing 'Dido' as 'Diddo', referring to U2’s The Edge as The Hammer [cf. #1].
7. She would come into my freshly cleaned room for no apparent reason and leave a trail of her monstrous fart behind [although, admittedly, her farting prowess demands nothing less than pure admiration]
8. She nags.
9. She is completely oblivious of others’ feelings sometimes. Often. [cf #5]
10. She is anal & averse to change. (I mean, sure, if nothing is wrong why fix it, I hear you ask [in what i’m sure is a very much less annoying tone than hers], but, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, she still has the SAME haircut for THIRTY YEARS! And why, sweet Jesus, why must i resort to harassment, bribes, abuse and threats for her to try on a perfectly beautiful orange sweater when she INSISTS that i come shopping with her FOR MY INPUT?! Gah!)

And that's just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

Where was i?
Oh, right.

Very early on, it seemed pretty clear that I could never fill her shoes. I was too messy, too loud, too clumsy, too erratic & extreme to adorn her glass slippers. Glass slippers with metal caps. To this day, I’m not sure if I embodied that bratty mess of a girl to escape being compared to her or I truly was like that. It’s all very interesting to me indeed.... Because during the worse moments of our relationship, when I harboured the thought of never speaking to her again, I also know without a shadow of a doubt how much of her was in me. And as much as I try to cut her off, I simply cannot.

When I was 16, I stopped talking to her for four months after she took a look at my made-up face, sneered and contemptuously asked “Where are you going?”... (Okay, fine, so you had to be there, i suppose. And hormoning like a 16-year-old girl. Humour me here.) I'd just always felt that she was undermining me, as if she was above, better, that she had a free pick about my decisions, as if she was my mother. And with all due cultural respect aside, there was this constant belittling tone underneath her questions. Because she didn’t wear make up, because she didn’t 'hang out' with her friends, because she thought rock n' roll was 'immature' & 'impressionable', because she couldn’t understand why I wasn’t like her, she treated me like a frivolous fool (the fact that I probably was one is beside the point here). And try as I may, she never listened. She never understood. So I stopped talking altogether. For four months. My mum went into Despair Mode and berated me for my most ungrateful behaviour towards my big sister. I thought this might get her attention. Ah, belle adolescence!...

When I was 21, right before my second mental breakdown, I had another big fight with her and resorted to the silent treatment once more. I don’t quite remember what it was about now. I simply recall the fight became a convenience as I was withdrawing from everyone and figured it’d help them get used to my absence anyway. When I finally came out of it, one of the first things I did was to tell her everything. And everything was a lot for me. Everything was what I had tried to contain all these years from everyone. Even now. All the good, the bad, the ugly and the silly. I told her about me. And she did exactly what I had always honestly believed she would.

She loved me.
She simply loved me.

It took me all of that, all those years of fearing and pondering and doubting to implode and have nothing left to lose in order to finally open up. To her. Because I have always wanted my big sister to know. Sure, we still fight once in a while/quite often over little stupid things, most of them we start just for kicks, like all siblings do. But out of anyone I have ever known, she’s the only one I can always fall on. Who would always be there, for better or worse. To pull me out, kicking or screaming. To understand and to comfort, laughing or crying. She knows me better than I’d like to admit and more than she can ever realise. And though she is not my mother, and rather awkward with words and ‘expressing her feelings’, she is my protector, my Dorkout Mate, my Perfect Murder Partner, my best friend and the only person who can understand what it is like to be my mother’s daughter.

I had a dream some time ago where my sister had killed someone. A monk, actually. A Buddhist monk. And I took the blame for her. Not because I owed it to her, not because it was a 'noble' thing to do, not because my parents had asked me to (they didn’t – now wouldn’t that have given me a few extra hours of therapy? Ha! Thank goodness for that!...). I just remember thinking when she told me about the murder, ‘Fuck, why the hell did she have to go and kill someone?!’. Because I simply knew what that would mean. It was natural for me to do what I did. Because... what would the alternative be? Because I cannot let her take a fall. Because she is really that much better than I am. Because despite all her piercingly annoying habits, she is the kindest person I know. Because she is my big sister. And someone’s gotta stand up for her. Even in a dream.

And yes, because I love her.
To bits, to pieces, to atoms and quartz, with undying gratitude.
Even when I hate her.
Surprisingly.**

Which is why it pains me to no end that she is married to Biggest Twat This Side Of The Saint-Laurence. But that is another post for another very feckle day.

Right. Am an innate knob.

* I say 'we' rather loosely seeing as i am technically not conceived yet, though like to consider that i'd enjoyed quite a lot from the comfort of my mum's ovaries.

** Just don't tell her that. Knowing her the way i do, she'd completely hold this information against me. And she'd cry. She's a sensitive, this one. She cried to Sailor Moon.

china pig

When I was growing up, my hands-down top favorite holiday was Têt, or more commonly known as the Chinese Lunar New Year. More than Christmas, more than Halloween, more than my own birthday or the last day of school (which is, of course, of 'Holiday' status in any young impressionalbe little mind) I would anxiously wait for it to come and wonder why it couldn’t make up its mind and stick to one fixed day already.

There were all these traditional little rituals surrounding it: the bidding farewell to the Three Kitchen Gods the week before, who were believed to live in every household’s oven as to keep a keen eye on us during the year & report back to the Heavens (and who, once away, I always thought could not see us anymore, and therefore licensed everyone to act in a most unexemplary way, although unusually, I noted no such increase in crimes or misbehaviours during that week. Yes, the Asian Guilt is that powerful…); the big cleaning of the house to receive the New Year in stride; the picking of clementines from the pagoda tree, upon which is delivered our yearly fortune; the well-wishing to our elders who’d then give us in return little red envelops filled with monetary good luck (also my only steady source of income from the age of 7 to 16).

The family gatherings during Têt were particularly filled with craziness. Gambling, laughing and giggling and lots of screaming. We'd always fight for food, or to get ahead in line to wish my eldest aunt a good year (and really for the biggest envelop. Ahem), or be last with my sister because we’d never know what to say to our own parents (we’re not too good at expressing our feelings, always wanting to cry, y'see [from resignation and/or despair… Bah! I kid, I kid! Of course, nothing but love and gratitude, mum!... hahahah... I will be struck by lightning one of these days. Seriously.]). And then, of course, there is The Food.

Shrimp & Lotus Salad.
Sweet & Spicy.

Imperial Rolls.
Aren't they just perrrfect?

Assortment of fresh meat.
Best with lots of beer.
Aye.

Fried Tofu with lemongrass.
Or, The Only Tofu I Eat.

[So Good I'm Salivating All Over My Keyboard] Quails.

The traditional Square Sticky Rice Cake.

Almond cake.
Bite size.
Bloody brilliant.

Soursop candy. Heavenly

And My Absolute Favorite...
Chewy Mung Bean Rice Balls.
(Gooey, gingery and oh so gooooooood.)

How convenient it should be the Year of the Pig, innit? And there are heaps more too, but as it is fairly impossible to take pictures and have to win the fight for the last piece of fried lobster tail at the same time, i had to prioritize, you understand. It's a wonder i haven't burst through my new pants already, that's all i've gotta say.

But of all these celebrations, there is one particular reason that makes the New Year the crème de la crème of all holidays. When i was a kid, i used to love watching my mum prepare all the meals and all the minute attention she'd give to each superstitious detail. The gracious beholden humility she'd pray to the Heavens and Earth. To our ancestors... She took it all very seriously, and no matter what mood you were in, or whether you believed in a higher power or the Earth spirit or nothing at all, her attentive devotion was always enough to render a genuine purpose to it all.

And it still does. It is the only time in our household when everyone is completely silent. In a heedful quietness. Peaceful and febrile, ready to welcome the New Year.

When i was a kid, it was also the only time i could stay up past midnight, regardless of whether i had school the next day or not, just so i can be part of it all. It was a family thing. We'd tell eachother the same old stories again, and we'd laugh about it again. And having to be part of it once more, i realise it is still the only time when i feel like that exact same kid. Again. And why it is Reason Why I Love Being Asian #1.

you could have it so much better

A week in review:

• So my first week back at Uni wasn't as bad as i anticipated. I'm not sure exactly what it was that i anticipated (me jumping off from the Leacock building, my brain to explode, a rabid killing spree - i hadn't given it much thought, really) but it definitely went much smoother than the unsociable, faithless, ill-adapted girl that i can be ever figured it. That, or it is just not hitting me yet, and when it will, it'll be so flamboyantly craptacular everyone but me would've seen it coming for light years!
  Until then though, i've been oddly enjoying being surrounded by all the trendy/arty/messy/drunk/lost/confused/pretentious student species crawling about campus again, along with the trendy/arty/messy/drunk/lost/confused/pretentious professors paving the way. I like to take it as an 'inspiration', hoping that their intent, their hurried purposefulness will somehow transfer onto me. So far, i really like having a routine down - going to classes, reading in the coffee shop, even working an extra shift. It gives me a short-term direction that is very much welcomed indeed. Because all this leads me to be prepped up for my longer-term goal - my impending trip, which, in all probability, will occur in far sooner than i realize! Hurrah!
  
  
• I went to IKEA in the beginning of the week, and i can officially say that shopping for house items far surpasses any other purchasing - including of clothes, shoes, underwear, food, music, books - EVER. It makes me giddy, man. Like Maniacally-Grinning-While-Skipping-And-Humming-'I Feel Pretty' giddy. I was impressively good though, managing to only buy a red wooden chair, a black folding chair for my study, cushions, wooden hangers, a slip-cover for my bedspread (or a 'housse de couette', as the French call it in its weirdest word combination), two packs of decorative postcards, a vase and two desk organizers. That's it!... (Seriously, if i wasn't already on a budget, i probably would have bought those entire living/dining/bedroom sets!)
  
  
• Had an insane shift on Wednesday night at the restaurant. Now, usually, i try not to complain much about work because 1) i am crap, and 2) they [my bosses], as much as i hate don't like to talk about or to them [and so pretending that they don't exist], are still my employers and i prefer not to 'bite the hand that feeds me' - that sort of bullshit. YET, when it is crazy crowded and the boss' son, who also happens to be the barman, not only does JACK SHIT but also DROPS MY ORDER because HE WAS BUSY TALKING ON THE PHONE WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND while TWO OTHER TABLES ARE WAITING, i must comply to a higher moral obligation & the International Employee's Ethics Guide to MACHETE HIS HEAD OFF. Mentally, sadly.
  
  
• On Friday evening, at [ever so conveniently called] Happy Hour, some of my male friends committedly informed me on the intricate sexual activities the crazy kids are practicing these days*. As such, i had the pleasure to learn what The Startled Goldfish**, The Captain America*** and The Deathstar**** are. Thank you, gentlemen, for the unbound knowledge & the little wee in my new panties from laughing too hard. And not to mention the added paranoia each time i'm about to shag anyone ever again.
  We thereafter stumbled in the streets toward the nearest karaoke bar (because drunkenness can only make our voices above par, of course) and proceeded naturally to make utter asses of ourselves. A martini, a pint of beer, a 1L jug of Lady Sidecar and another crap bottle of beer later, i was so pissed that we decided to go to another bar where we met some drunk Mexican expatriates with whom we stroke an incomprehensible conversation. When one of them suddenly hand-gesturingly asked me if i was 'with' J or not, my instinctive reaction was to scream "Si!", much to J's drunken compliance. I know, bad faghag. But i wouldn't have to recur to such lowly ways if said expat - although very nice - didn't resemble anything like this. For some reason, i tend to attract piercingly unattractive drunkards like Britney Spears to bad taste, and i was certainly in no mood to bat them off. I suspect i put out a smell of Little Stray Sheep or something [damn you, Asian blood!]. When i finally got home, i somehow managed to take a shower, brushed my teeth - all while being terribly intoxicated - and crawled into bed only to realize that it was just 11h30. PM.
  Stay tuned next week for my exciting adventures while queuing for my pack of Depends at the pharmacist.
  
  
• Went to a family dinner last night, which featured a small feast of lemon marinated beef with hot peppers & cilantro, sautéed lobster with ginger, fried shrimp with green peppers & onions and durian for desert - a.k.a. Reason Why I Love Being Asian #4, #7, #16 and #2 respectively. I also get to hang out with my 20-year-old cousin who asked me for relationship advices as he is thinking of moving in with his girlfriend of 10 months. Bless his heart and love him to pieces (we grew up with each other and i consider him as my little brother), but how equipped are you to move out on your own and manage your studies and a serious relationship and worrying about generally surviving when you're asking a hardcore SPINSTER for RELATIONSHIP advices?! Great! Another thing to needlessly worry my over-protective head about! Thank you, thank you very much!...
  Seriously, it just makes me shiver in the inside as i think of all the possible ways how this could go wrong... Ugh. I miss the age of blind faith (...not really... But it sure beats the age of patronizing pessimism).
  
  
• Spent the day pampering myself and giving me a Winter pedicure.
  
  
  

  Vixen.

  Not that anyone will notice as it will be hidden under two layers of thick cotton socks. And boots. And 30cm of snow. I'm not complaining though - it's about fackin' time Winter peaked its beady little head in! All this rain & warm weather was starting to freak the snowshite out of me.
  
  
• Also, i've decided to let my fingernails grow into a lady-like length. It feels weird.

Um. That's all i have.




* In a strictly PG fully clothed way, you deviant fiends.
** [WARNING: this end note contains graphic description that may offend anyone out there who innocently & indulgently gives a rat's ass to scroll down here thinking it is a sweet & tender explanation of sexual perversion- HULLO!] When engaging in sexual intercourse in a canine fashion & in front of a mirror, the male exits his penile apparatus from the female's vaginal entry to insert it into her anus, which would therefore cause her to react just like - say it with me - a Startled Goldfish.
*** [WARNING: added to the same graphic description as above, the following notes also shows extreme levels of geekiness - please read at your own risks] When engaging in sexual intercourse in a canine fashion, the male diverts his hands from the female's supporting hips, forms an 'O' with his index finger & thumb, reverts it backwards while spreading the rest of his fingers on his face to make glasses of them, thus imitating Captain America's superhero mask.
**** When engaging in sexual intercourse in a canine fashion [a very inspirational position, it seems], the male exits his penile apparatus just when it is about to come, wait and, when the vaginal entry is slowly contracting back to its original diameter, [with great timing and aim, i must say] ejaculate in it - reenacting thus the scene where Luke Skywalker destroys the Deathstar from within in Star Wars IV. Genius? I think yes.

china girl

Why & make complete & utter sense to me is in major part because i grew up watching these:

Much as Lord of the Rings inc. can reduce some fully grown functional adults into bearded potato-robe-wearing 'wizards' and/or elvish-speaking plastic-bow-&-arrow-adorning 'faeries', Jin Yong's Legend of the Condor Heroes trilogy induces in this otherwise sophisticated young lady (ahem) a similar debilitating effect that sees her transform into a wide-eyed Asian-pride fanatic that would make her ancestors proud. People flying? But of course! Shooting out laser beams through your index finger? It's all in the chi. Giant Falcon that does kung fu? Why the hell not?! Re-attaching severed arteries by pushing really hard on acupunctural pressure points (without forgetting the mandatory "tchieu! tchieu!" sound effect)? Sign me up!

But what really tingles my tender loins are the insanely too-cool-for-school characters whose appearances i anticipate like a 14-year-old New Kids On The Block fan waiting for Jordan Knight at a concert (not that i would know, obv). These mostly include the Four Grand Masters:

This is Evil East. Notice the unbearably cool stern look (which by the way is really how you can get away with playing a jade flute, if you ask me). Master of logic, medecine, literature & most of the arts, he got his name not because he is indeed 'evil' but simply because he harbours the most utter contempt for all unwritten rules of the wulin (aka Martial Arts World), and therefore pretty much does what he likes. Which he can. Because he kicks arses. And nobody messes with him. Obviously.

Yet behind that cold austere exterior resides a deeply sensitive man who, after indirectly causing the death of his beloved wife, kept her body in an icy secret cavern in order to one day revive her. So romantic (albeit in a creepy Frankenstein-ish way).

Then comes Poison West. Of all the Four Grand Masters, he is perhaps the 'evilest'. But that's only because his ambitions to dominate the wulin have blinded him to any pre-established notions of what might be ethical or not, which, pfff, anyone in the same situation could understand...

By the end of the first chapter, he is driven to madness when Evil East's clever daughter (that's the girl who looks a bit like the Lady in Disney's The Lady & the Tramp oop there) read him a false copy of the much coveted wuxia (or kung fu) scroll Jiu Yin Zhen Jing, causing his chi to go all wonky (very bad). He then adopts Andy Lau in the second installment, "Return of the Condor Heroes", and finally shows how truly kind-hearted & good he is. However, because of his shady past, he is deemed as a bad influence on our young & handsome hero, thus forced by the latter's guardians to run away in order to prevent future evilness. Poison West spends the rest of the story if not looking for his son, then trying heartbreakingly in vain to remember who his true identity, which further drives him into madness (until he dies). It's all sad, really.

His specialties? Poison, of course. He also developped this strange technique called the Toad Stance, in case you've ever heard of it*... *wink*

This is the South King. Ruler of a small land of Dai Li, he exerts the technique of Prime Pointing Palm, which basically allows him to shoot out laser beams through his finger. This technique was developped along with Central Divinity**, and since shooting out laser beams is no easy task of course, demanding constant hours of practice and cultivation, the hard-working King soon finds his wife to be pregnant with another man's baby - his to be exact :

But love is such that the King forgives her even though she is desperately in love with her son's father, Ba Thong (who ran away after the fact, deeply ashamed of his actions, and also because despite his age is nothing more than a little boy at heart).

On one stormy night, a masked enemy fatally wounds the child in the hopes that the King might use his inner energy to heal it, thus becoming weaker and an easier target. At the incessant plea of his advisers, he fails to rescue the baby in time. His wife, believing that he has done so in spite, leaves the kingdom & bitterly swears vengeance. In utter despair & remorse, he abandons the throne and turns to Buddha (or 'voice of Reason'. Either/or).

Finally, a fond lover of good food & wine, this dusty old man here may appear harmless but he is the Leader of the Beggar Sect, thus earning the title of North Beggar, and a respected place within the Four Grand Masters with his signature Dog Clobbing Baton Technique & awesome Dragon Subduing Palm Explosion. I don't know much about his personal story as it is not mentionned in the 80's mini-series that lovingly formed my childhood. There are however some later series that try to interpret his life but seeing as it is utter rubbish, i don't give much credit to it. Unless Jin Yong himself tells me i should.

Among all of these wonderful stories (the above are nothing more than side-lines & secondary characters from the first two novels), none however holds a dearer place in my silly little heart than this one [cue in boastful 80's cantopop]:

THE HEAVEN SWORD AND DRAGON SABRE!

The last part of the trilogy, it is set about 100 years after the previous two . Legend says that "In all of Wulin, Dragon Sabre rules. Who dares to defame it? Heaven Sword astray, who dares to challenge it?" (hmm, i swear it sounds so much cooler in chinese/vietnamese...). Fighting mindlessly to obtain these weapons are all of the Martial Arts World, believing that the owner may rule 'all under the heavens'. Little do they know that the true secret of the two weapons lies within their blades: inside the Dragon Sabre is hidden an important military book written by an ancient general, whereas the Heaven Sword witholds the legendary Jiu Yin Zhen Jing, both of which books were the central objects of covenant in the prequels. Only when the two blades hit one another can the secret finally be revealed.

Unbeknownst to everything is our innocent little hero, Vo Ky (that's the boy in the right, there...*blush from chidhood crush*). His father is the fifth & favorite disciple of the leader of the Wudang Clan, Zhang Sanfeng (who also happens, as legends would have it, to be the creator of what is now known as Tai Chi *incontrollable giggle at the utter awesomeness of it all*); and his mother, daughter of White Brow Master of the conflicted Ming Sect. Both sacrificed themselves when Vo Ky was only 10 years old in order in one part to protect the whereabouts of their blood brother Goldern Mane Master, Vo Ky's godfather & present owner of the Dragon Sabre, and in another because Vo Ky's father wrongly believed that his wife was responsable for the debilitating of his Third Clan Brother***.

As Vo Ky grows up and learns to deal with his parents' deaths, the intricate relationships within the wulin, blurred notions of Good & Evil vs. Right & Wrong, honour & sacrifice, how to make peace with his destiny as the new leader & unifier of the Ming Sect, and the meaning of brotherhood, he eventually ends up as a powerful martial artist - despite himself - having managed to learn the long lost chi part of the wuxia book Jiu Yin Zhen Jing, Jin Yang Zhen Jing (!)

*breathes*

Although this is all very interesting indeed [for a nerdy 8-year-old Asian], much more importantly however is that he also learns to L-O-V-E! And as a simple love triangle is just too darn pedestrian for our hero, he has to attract no less than the love of FOUR pretty young things (Aragorn, eat you heart out!).

First comes Tri Nhuoc. Intelligent & sophisticated, she can show to be a quite cunning & manipulative little minx as well. She met Vo Ky at the tender age of 10, and from then on rules of attraction dictate that she is to be deeply & passionately devoted to him.

Chau Linh is Vo Ky's younger cousin who, also from a teenage crush, falls in love with him. Which deeply troubled me as a kid as i did not realize that this could happen between cousins (which still troubles me a little to this day, to be completely honest). When she was 8, she defended her chronically ill mother by murdering her father's very mean Second Wife, and was then forced to run away. As her father tries to catch her, her own mother kills herself before her eyes (a popular practice, apparently) in order to distract him from his vengeful pursuit.

Enters Tieu Sieu. Though she is demure & shy, with no apparent talent other than looking really cute and serving as a devoted maid to Vo Ky, she later reveals herself as the Chosen Leader of the Ming Cult of the West (which is an awful translation on my part, apologies, but that's who they really are. Besides, any translation always pales in comparison to the real thing, sadly. Because the real thing is seriously excellent, of course), sent to the Mainland in search of the sacred Ming scroll, and thus redeeming her mother (who was supposed to be the Chosen One but as these must be virgins - and Tieu Sieu's presence kinda threw that out the window - the Cult will sacrifice her mother for the offense should they ever find her).

Other than THAT, I have nothing else on her. I did think she was the prettiest though. Oh, and she wore similar slippers as mine. Which may or may not be revelant in me finding her most attractive.

Last but most certainly not least is the spoiled & playful Mongolian princess, Trieu Minh. Despite her young age, she is astonishingly smart & quick-witted, and commands half of the terrible Mongolian troups as her father is the seating ruler of the land. A daddy's girl with a no-shit-taking attitude, she's charmingly offbeat & refreshingly sassy.

My sister & i know by heart almost all of her lines with Vo Ky. (Not that we are utterly pathetic or anything.)

Anyway.

As i know you are all dying to know which one he will choose, i'll spare you the details, and jump right into it if you don't mind. Ahem.

*clears throat*

When Tieu Sieu's destiny as the chosen leader is revealed, she is forced to abandon her beloved, not because she wants the position but should she refuse, they (the Wicked Ming Cult of the West) will not only kill her & her mother but Vo Ky as well. Tears were shead, a kiss exchanged, and bye-bye to sweet Tieu Sieu & her lovely slippers. Then, previously wounded by Tieu Sieu's mother, Chau Linh is now in a semi-conscious state, and cruelly killed off by none other than very bad Tri Nguoc as she finds out that Chau Linh has seen her drugging everyone, stealing both the Dragon Sabre AND Heaven Sword, after chasing off Trieu Minh (so that it looked as if it was Trieu Minh who did all of aforementioned evil doings, you understand. Oh wicked indeed!). Unfortunately, poor innocent Vo Ky, though truly in love with Trieu Minh, reluctantly believes all these webs of lies, and soon finds himself in this most awkward of situation:

What will he do?

The only satisfying thing of course - leave a heartbroken & shattered

bride behind. Not very honorable of him, i hear you snicker, and to be quite honest, i do feel most sorry for her. She is bitchingly bad but there are strenuous circumstances (pressure from her dead master, wanting to rule the world, etc, etc...things one can relate to, really) surrounding her unexemplary behaviours. And she does it all for him, really. I mean, just look at that sad face...

Besides, she does repent herself in the end. Lala lala - all is forgiven!

As for Vo Ky leaving a seemingly innocent bride at the alter with another girl? It was mainly because Trieu Minh knows where his godfather Golden Mane Master (remember him?) is hidden, and refuses to tell him unless he leaves with her immediately (because it was actually his bride-that-would-never-be who attacked his godfather, resulting in his capture by his sworn enemy).

And also because he loves Trieu Minh more. The end.

Well, okay no, not really. There are heaps of other things, obviously. Cases of vengeance & betrayal, warfare & mistaken identities, which are all tops & make for the bestest bedtime story ever, BUT, in the end, what truly matters is that Vo Ky finally makes an uncommon decision to leave everything behind to live freely with his one true love! And all is well again in the world!

So you see...?
And they dare say fairy tales distort the youth's minds - ha!






I am doomed.






*If you've seen Kung Fu Hustle then you'll understand that i was not making a pass at you (although i'm sure you are very much attractive), but in fact hinting why the movie riled me up as it did. If you haven't seen it, then by all means, go!...Or not. As you wish.

** Central Divinity only appears in flashbacks in the series as he has past away during its unraveling. My dad says that in the novel, he has beaten all of the Four Grand Masters, and therefore able to keep the Jiu Yin Zhen Jing book. Realizing how deadly this powerful wuxia book can be in the wrong hands, he divided it into two scrolls - one for the fighting techniques & the other for the chi cultivation - and gave them to his younger apprentice Ba Thong to guard after his death. Unfortunately, although he is himself quite powerful, Ba Thong has no interest whatsoever in the wuxia world but, just like Cindy Lauper, only wants to have fun.
Central Divinity actually has an extraordinary life story, along with a complicated romance but my brain can barely wrap itself around it for i cannot read in chinese (being non-chinese, you see) nor in vietnamese (being ethno-illiterate), and there has yet to be a proper series to come out for me to relish in, damn it all.

*** In truth, he was tortured by the Mongolians & their minions, who by the time this story unfurls have securely occupied China and established the Yuan Dynasty. Insanely wicked, innit?