Storm Warriors II

This must be one of the funniest (and in hindsight, really spot-on!) comments I’ve heard/read about this movie:

My favorite part of this was that EVERY TIME the plot needed to advance someone (usually someone you’d never seen before) would rush in from off screen and announce something like “Master, the person you’re looking for has just been spotted over there”, followed immediately by everybody rushing over there.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed the movie. I’m a sucker for Chinese swordfighting dramas and this is probably one of the most epic stories/comic series of our generation. Not that I followed the series of course, but the fiance sure was an avid follower. Heck, he didn’t even know that Storm Warriors II was out until I told him last night, and yet he still remembers all the characters and the names of their special skills, like Nameless’ 万剑归宗.

So why did I enjoy the movie? Maybe it’s the graphic-novel special effects that dominated the visual style of the movie, ala 3oo, or maybe I got too excited at the sight of Aaron Kwok’s ripped, sculpted torso. Perhaps it had been too long a wait (as long as the fiance and I have been together) for this eagerly anticipated follow-up, or it could be that for too long there hadn’t been any swordfighting movie out onscreen (no, Chinese period dramas like Red Cliff do not count as swordfighting dramas).

Anyhow, errrm, don’t judge me!

10,550

That’s the number of miles between Miami and Singapore, as I learnt just five minutes ago after looking it up on the Internet.

I seem to be doing things in reverse. I think most other people would have rushed to find out from the beginning just how much a distance they are being separated from their SO if they had to live apart for some time. Not me, apparently. And I don’t even know what prompted me to look it up today, it’s as if my brain just tripped and thought “Gee, just how far have I been separate from Joker by all this time?”

And just the other day, when I said that I had taken to wearing my engagement ring recently, Yannisms commented that it was weird that I hadn’t worn it much in all the time that he was away. “I thought it would help you feel that he was closer, not so far away, ” was what she said.

She’s right, of course. And I do think I’m weird. After some thought, I figured out that this was probably my train of thought on this issue: Two and a half years is a damn long time to be apart. As the days passed, it sometimes seemed to me like there was no end to the wait. So, no amount of wearing his ring helped to ease the separation. It doesn’t help that I’m clumsy and prone to carelessness; I’ve lost count of how many times I slipped the ring off to dab on some moisturiser and forgot to put it back on, only to gasp out in shock and have my heart skip several beats when I discovered the ring was no longer on my finger some minutes later. I’d rather not run the risk of losing the precious, so I wore it only very sparingly. But with the number of days to his return approaching the single-digit territory, I find that wearing the ring helps to speed up the countdown.

A bit lame, isn’t it? But true. By the way, the downside of not wearing the ring for such a long time meant that I was quite unprepared for it to feel loose on my finger after two re-sizings previously; it keeps sliding about on my finger and slips past my knuckle with little to no effort. I get quite antsy wearing it, honestly, and am seriously considering re-sizing a third time but that would be so ridiculous.

Just 10 more days of waiting; I hope I don’t flood the airport =)

Blur blob

Guess who forgot to pay his phone bill and got his account temporarily suspended, as a result of which yours truly was unable to reach him and kept getting this weird never-before-heard-of message from the other side? Luckily said person emailed in time to let me know before I started conjuring up wild thoughts to scare myself half to death with.

And don’t tell me I would have nothing to worry about. The same someone once happily jaunted off to Napa Valley to visit his cousin for two days, all the time thinking he had told me about the trip when he didn’t. Which would have been fine if he had been contactable by phone, except of course the reception was wonky over at Napa and he never received any of my calls in all that time while I was unable to sleep and all shot through with worry. When he finally answered my call, I exulted for one tiny, brief moment, thankful that he was fine after all, and then immediately after the shit hit the fan.

Silly billy. And I mean HIM.

Mixing it up

I love looking through angmoh wedding blogs for inspiration for my own do next year. Their weddings are always so gay, colourful, fun and so much more casual-chic than your typical Singaporean Chinese wedding. That said, however, one thing I never really got was why most of the angmoh brides featured seem to have an obsession with dressing up their posse of bridesmaids in the exact same design in the exact same shades.

I’ve decided on a blue and pink colour theme for the wedding, and my bridal party can choose whether they want to dress up in pink or blue. Any shade of either colour is fine, except maybe boring navy. The way I see it, unless I can afford to pay for all of them to get similarly outfitted in a design and colour of my choice, I should not insist on them getting totally new stuff. And so, I made sure the ladies already had something in these colours before deciding on the palette. If they wanted to get something new I would be totally cool, but at least they already have a wallet-friendly fallback should things not pan out.

An equally important consideration was my own attitude towards ‘matchy-matchy’ styles; most of the times I much prefer things I wear to be abit off-kilter instead of totally pulled together. For instance, I piled on three different check patterns in my work outfit the Friday that just passed; a pleated skirt in red plaid, a black-white-red-grey checkered belt, and a grey and baby blue checkered tote. When it comes to colours, I’m no fan of clashing shades but I don’t need to be top-to-toe colour coordinated; where’s the fun of dressing up in that?

Anyway, I love colours and I suspect that while I might claim to have a pink and blue wedding palette, other colours like yellow and green may just sneak their way into the decorations. We shall see. While we’re on the topic of bridal satorial sensibilities, can someone persuade my dearest husband that I’d really rather he not wear a tuxedo?

Getting crafty

Ever since finally settling into feeling like a bride-to-be (sniggers) and getting all interested in reading magazines and wedding blogs for ideas, I’ve developed a mini-obsession with DIY craft projects. Of course, given my lack of experience with anything crafty prior to this, I was careful to choose simple yet pretty projects that require minimal materials. I don’t mean minimal in the sense of as few as possible, but minimal as in easy-to-find and preferably eco-friendly.

I had settled on one such project as Christmas gifts for two houseproud girlfriends. Midway through, I had some doubts about how they were turning out aesthetically, but decided to plod on to the end anyway. I figured it was still early enough to begin a new project if my project crashed and burnt. But, surprise! Both sets turned out perfect, just like I had dreamt and visualised them to be.

Yayee, I’m a DIY goddess!

New and better

Before its recent facelift, Mandarin Gallery at Meritus Mandarin Hotel, in the heart of Orchard, was one of my favourite places for retail therapy in Singapore. Never mind my puny salary then (actually, not much has changed in this aspect), and never mind the fairly hefty price tags that the wares it housed boasted; the clothes, bags and shoes were lovely beyond words. Not so much of-the-moment fashionable and trendy, which I can never keep up with anyway, but beautiful, well-made and, best of all, exclusively available at Mandarin Gallery. I enjoy shopping at the likes of Zara and Charles & Keith well enough, but finding and buying something one-of-a-kind and unique is an unbeatable feeling.

I remember the likes of multi-label boutiques Ad:Lib and Retail Therapy, which brought in foreign brands like girlishly feminine Australian label Alannah Hill before departmental stores like Tangs did. The little shop spaces were done up exquisitely, with cosy and warm lighting and vintage touches before vintage invaded the mainstream fashion consciousness. Then there was Quintessential for bag porn; quirky designs were in abundance at this very hip shop manned usually by one of its three (or is it four? or five?) stylish and vivacious owners. It was here that I once and for all shed all notions of ever chaining myself to the ubiquitous rectangular black PU leather tote bag that must be the hands-down favourite of most female Singaporean office drones.

Yesterday, we walked past Mandarin Gallery on one of our infrequent jaunts to Orchard. It was abuzz with activity. Some shops were open, some had not yet opened their doors but looked soon to do so with the scores of retail assistants within busy folding clothes and ticking off price lists. Yet others were still boarded up, under renovations still. The number of shops had expanded dramatically but I was really happy to note that the shops were still relatively unique.

I’m really excited about Y-3 (the adidas collaboration with Yohji Yamamoto), a.i. by Ashley Isham (local boy made more-than-good overseas), Retail Therapy, and atomi, a Japanese lifestyle and design haven. Local label Trioon has a little store in Mandarin too; I walked in and walked out lusting after a black cocktail number with a lace back and a whitish gold cropped motorcycle-inspired jacket. All-day breakfast joint Wild Honey looks perfect for a chill-out cuppa, while Huit seems a good candidate for some nice, ahem, honeymoon pieces.

Bottomline being? I really can’t wait for Mandarin Gallery to be fully up and running!

Looking up

Finally feel somewhat rejuvenated today after last week’s working through days on just 2.5 hours of sleep each night. The lack of sleep was a drag on the spirits, even if I did sleep the entire Sunday away, and I must admit I’m no longer young and infallible if I have to take three days to recover from that kind of exertion.

Looking at the last entry from two days ago, it reads like the kind of whiny shit I sometimes turn away from reading on other blogs. I thought of taking it down since it’s quite atypical of my entries, but what the hell, I did feel pathetic and sorry for myself then and there was indeed shit floating around obscuring my vision so it’s staying up as an honest, if only momentary, account.

And once I made peace with myself, things indeed started looking up. Got some good news from the fiance about our missing deliveries, spent an afternoon chatting with a cherished friend and a lovely pilot, and bought myself an insightful novel titled “Waiter Rant”, which I finished reading last night in the span of 3 hours, maybe?

Lesson learnt. People are always entitled to feel sorry for themselves, but the responsibility of picking themselves up from the gutters and removing the blinkers from their peepers is always their own. I’m glad I was able to do it this time, and it reminds me that I should be more emphathetic to others who also dip at various different points in times. Life is too short to be consumed with being caustic and hard, attributes I must admit I have somewhat imbibed over the years in a bid to protect myself at work.

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. I do love the maturity of thought that growing older brings.

Envy

It is one of the seven deadly sins, and hardly befitting of this lovely festive season just around the corner. In fact, I don’t often abandon myself to the emotion. But sometimes it is difficult when I feel alone and adrift, rudderless, and friends seem all wrapped up in their bubble of bliss or troubles, oblivious to my struggles. Maybe it’s simply because we are at different stages of our lives. Or perhaps I’m afraid of sounding weak and whiny complaining for the hundredth time about feeling alone.

This is one reason why the past 2.5 years have been so hard, because there is nothing like having that special, beloved person in your life physically around to love, comfort and hold you close till the self-doubts go away.

 

Unusually competitive

The huge downpour last evening wrecked my plans to work out as I usually do at OGS, so I hauled my sorry wet ass over to ORQ instead. However, Pump was scheduled an hour later there compared to my usual class at OGS and since I didn’t fancy staying till so late, I decided to run and do my own resistance training instead. My run proceeded quite satisfactorily as follows:

2.5 minutes of jogging at 11kmph, followed  by 0.5 minutes of running at 14.5kmph; 7 sets. Followed by 9 minutes of jogging at 11.5kmph, and 10 minutes of brisk walking at 6kmph on the highest gradient available on the treadmill.

Thereafter, I did a whole bunch of abs moves, some lunges with weights and a few rounds on the machines, primarily working out the back and arms.

This morning, I woke up with zero pains and felt a little disappointed as it meant I had not worked out as hard as I could have. As the day passed, I started feeling soreness and pain creep up on me, concentrating in the abs and back to the point that it hurt when I sneezed or hunched over my notebook to refer to some papers.

I’m not sure why, but whenever I get into a phase of exercising regularly, I get sucked in really deep and develop this tendency to push myself to new limits every time. Performance gains thrill me to no end, be it running at ever faster speeds or packing on an extra doughnut or two on the bar. This last admission is mean, but I also get a secret thrill from peeking at other people’s treadmill settings (especially men) and realising that they are running slower than me. Am I like super competitive or what?!? If only I had as much drive at work…

You suck

Stupid. Check. Brainless. Check. Dumbf***. Check.

Lazy. Check.

Rude. Check. Unappreciative. Check.

I don’t care if you’re head of the Catholic Pretentious Do-gooders Association, why should you be entitled to everything you ask for just because you’re a bloody charity? I could very well give you nothing, but I help you out of my belief in your cause, yet you are unbelievably pushy and unappreciative; just how Christian or godly is that?