Tick tock

The flurry of posts today is attributed to my attempt to distract myself from the release of examination results. I was pretty cool about it, until this morning, when the clock inside of my head inevitably started to count down to 7 PM. During the 30 seconds that it took for me to switch on my computer and get to the website and key in my password, I somehow managed to break out in a cold sweat (read: dripping). I sat there for a whole minute before clicking on the "Submit" button -- while closing my eyes, of course.

Since I'm here babbling away, it means that nothing too dramatic happened; I'm not running around sending appeal letters or bawling my eyes out. It actually turned out to be my best semester yet. Of course the overall CAP does throw a little damper on the happy occasion, but one step at a time, right? If it keeps going up like that, I'll be happy enough. :)

Six semesters down, two more to go. Phew, where did the time go?

***


Non Sequitur by Wiley Miller

Review -- David Rocco's Dolce Vita

I am starting to fall in love with David Rocco, or just his foodie programme on Channel 5, anyway. (11:30 AM on weekdays.) At the risk of being heckled by Naked fans everywhere, I think I might actually like David more! I think it's the way he's always smiling at the camera, unlike Jamie who's become somewhat of a grouch. David smiles when he slices eggplant, smiles when he puts the eggplant in the oven, and smiles when he puts cheese on his eggplant -- and suddenly I find that I'm smiling too, even though I absolutely detest eggplants!

I'm kidding about the love bit, but as far as that goes, I think that being set in the gorgeous city of Florence gives the whole programme a huge dose of romanticism. Part cooking programme, part culture brochure, whatever David's food lacks in aesthetic value, Florence more than makes up for it.

That's that, then. Next stop? Italia!

Rainy days

There once was an overprotective vet,
Whose wiener he would never let get wet.
He made an umbrella,
For his little fella,
But let him drench every passing hydrant.

-- Patently Silly (via Scitech Library Question)

I've actually seen a neighbour's beagle clad in a doggy raincoat before. But an umbrella? How is a dog supposed to navigate all those nooks and crannies with that big thing hanging over his head? Not to mention the embarrassment that the human will have to endure for being seen with such a tacky contraption. Save it for cartoon dogs, guys.

Giant WHAT?

So, don't ask me why I am a Toys "R" Us Star Card member, but I am. This means that I get all sorts of spiffy stuff like entry into preview sales, promotional e-mails, and apparently, a chance to win things like... Giant Darth Vader heads.

Home sweet home sweet home

Dear Rocky,

Don't think you're coming anywhere near my bed without a good scrub.

Holding my nose,
Me

***

Four nights of being stuck in that dingy cage means that it will take more than a bath to get rid of that foul smell, but the reward of having him back... I can live with the smell.

His hind legs are still weak, probably due to the debilitating effects of the fever, but other than that, it almost feels like he never left.

It's been a crazy night. We've had to ration his food, giving him small portions an hour apart, just to make sure that he keeps it down. As you can expect, he didn't take to that too well; he'd been on the drip, and on minimal solid food, so his tummy was just running on empty.

I thought he was going to bark himself hoarse throughout the night -- like he did when he came back home after his surgery and couldn't have water -- but he's finally asleep. I switched off the room lights and carried him to the bed, and then pretended to conk out beside him. It surprisingly worked! Which means that I now have to type very slowly to make sure that I don't wake him up, and the rest of the night's work will have to be done only under the glow of the table lamp.

But the point is that it worked. My dog is finally home again, resting, and on a tummy that is filled. And even beneath the smell of antiseptic and poo, he still smells the way I remember him. Tonight I can finally sleep easy.

Goodnight, folks. :)

***


Non Sequitur by Wiley Miller

Late-night ramblings IV

I won some Star Wars poster from ST. I thought of auctioning it off, but then I remembered that I'd kept K waiting for two hours before the movie the other day, so this will be a little gift to make up for that. :) I hardly think that he'll be hanging it on his wall, but hey, it's the thought that counts, right?



***

I went with my mom for a facial earlier in the week. It's been a while since we've had a girly day out. My cousin'd bought some spa package, and had some some complimentary vouchers -- expiring at the end of this month -- so she gave them to us before she flew off/back to London. It was a $150-value facial, so you can imagine it was quite nice. It also came with a lot of sales pitch, but me and my mom -- we're tough nuts.



My beautician drew in her breath sharply when I told her that I only use facial foam and water for my face -- "WHAT?! No face or eye cream?!" The look of horror on her face was priceless. But I'll admit that it got me a little worried, considering that I didn't even know what face and eye creams were supposed to do. Am I supposed to start using them any time soon, and will my face fall out if I don't?



Halfway into the facial -- my eyes closed and all -- she started plucking my eyebrows! I punched my fist into the air in shock.

"WHA--!" she screamed.

"S-s-sorry, I didn't know you were going to..." I tried to explain.

"It's okay, it's okay," she heaved a sigh of relief, and managed a strained smile.



She used this metal spatula thingy to exfoliate my face, and then to clean out my blackheads. I only have one word for that: ouch.

"Your skin looks like it's reddening," she informed me. "Would you like a calming mask for $50? It'll take the redness right off!"

I wasn't about to pay good money to undo what she had done, but I didn't say that in so many words. I politely declined; I can live with the faux acne for a couple of days.

***

Ironically, the best part of the whole facial was the head and shoulder massage. But the whole thing was free, and other than some temporary discolouration in my cheeks -- which have since returned to normal -- I wasn't any worse off than when I'd started.

So that was it -- my very first facial. What kind of face cream do you use? ;)

Dog and cat

Night #4. Still no dog.

Rocky's temperature has dropped -- and has kept on doing so, such that it is now very much lower than what it should be. He's been kept swaddled in towels to keep him warm. Maybe something in the chemo messed up the whole homeostasis thing.

I've always been the crier in the family, but hearing him whimper -- for lack of energy to bark -- this time, even my mom broke down unglamourously in the vet's clinic.



Get well soon, you crazy dog. We want you back home, too.

***

Meanwhile, this little kitty has finally found a home, we heard.



Good luck to the family who's adopting him; the entire time we were there, he kept reaching out of the cage to play with my hair, and then when I chided him in mock anger, he did backflips in his tiny cage. A tiny furball of hyperactivity, this one is.

PTM (and Rocky update)

In every one of the six years of primary school, my report book came back saying that I was "too quiet in class." When I entered secondary school, the predominant comment (on my report book) was that I was "too talkative." If the teachers would've just made up their minds, and given us a word limit for how many words we could speak per day, it would've made (school) life a little less confusing.

***

"Are you free Saturday morning, at like 8:30 AM?" my dad popped into my room to ask.

"Sure, I'm free, whassup?" I asked. I really wanted to add, But being free is one thing, being awake is quite another; I thought I'd hear him out first.

Big mistake. My brother's school's annual Parents-Teachers Meet (PTM) was due, and my dad had to be pulled away for some work thing at the last minute, so this meant that he couldn't attend. Just like that, I was assigned to Fill in His Shoes.

***

I recognised a couple of names on the list of teachers -- former teachers of mine. They left presumably because we were too much to handle. And they thought it'd be better in a boys' school? I don't understand.

But anyway, I did get to speak to one of them a little bit, which was fun, because neither of us was expecting to meet someone from 10 years ago. ;) She taught me Science in Sec 1, and my fondest memory of her was when she came into class beaming one day:

"Why are you so happy, Miss Tan?" someone asked.

"Today I'm going to start on a new topic with the Sec 2's!" she squealed. "Chapter 13! Isn't that exciting?!"

Chapter 13, back then, was famously known -- to us, at least -- as the chapter on the human reproductive system.

***

The other teacher (whose name gave me chills when I spotted it on the list) taught me Maths that same year that Miss Tan (now married) taught me. She screamed at us every lesson, and broke down crying every other lesson.

But those chills quickly turned to laughter as I remembered how we used to make fun of her accent and her fragile pronunciation; she came from a French-speaking part of Mauritius, so those of you who can imagine, "factor" and "factorisation" became f--, er, let's just say they rhymed with "puck-tor" and "puck-torisation." Every time she said it, the class'd dissolve into giggles.

Also, there was this one time where she pointed to a spot behind her and growled: "Can someone please clean up this poodle?!"

"Oh my gosh," I think it was X who exclaimed, while craning her neck for a better look. "She brought her dog to school?!"

Anyway it turned out that there was a puddle of water on the floor that she wanted to be cleaned up.

(Children, please do not try this at home. It is not nice to make fun of your teachers. Okay, resuming normal transmission...)

***

PTM was pretty much made up of waiting around a lot, with many parents complaining about how bad the system was, and being alarmingly rude to the teachers. It was funny to watch, and to learn not to be like them. Hur hur. One parent waited a half-hour to get her 10-minute slot with the teacher, only to spend the entire 10 minutes talking about how she was made to wait for half an hour!

But PTM also made me realise that there are some very cute, young male teachers around, and suddenly teaching has gone back up on my list of viable future occupations.

***

We were talking to my brother's History teacher, and asking -- as usual -- if there was anything on our part that we could do to help with his dismal results. I didn't take History at 'O' Levels, so that's one subject that I'm absolutely clueless at.

"Well, some people are just more predisposed to be weaker at some subjects. It's in their genes," she said.

I didn't know whether to laugh or to lunge at her from across the table.

***

Rocky's fever has subsided, but he's staying in a third night, because he hasn't been keeping liquids down.

We ran into our (or his) vet while we were shopping in Orchard after PTM! She told us that Rocky kept overturning his food bowl whenever they mixed his medicine in. (We typically make a little pastry thingy out of bread, with his meds as the "stuffing," that he just swallows whole. But even then he regularly manages to eat only the bread and spit the tablet out.) I didn't know whether to be embarrassed and to apologise for his bad behaviour, laugh at his silliness, or beam with pride at his wit.

It's this concoction of contrasting emotions that makes it all worthwhile.

***

On our way home, we dropped by to visit my favourite pooch. In the back room, another girl was there visiting her cat who was suffering from liver failure (among pet owners who meet in vet clinics, we don't even ask for each other's names; we recognise each other by the pets we own).

"Hey babe," I gingerly opened the cage door. "Bad news, doc says you have to stay in one more day. But the good news is that you get to come home tomorrow, okay? I promise."

He bounded around in his cage, getting his little paws tangled up in the tube that delivered fluids to his little body, as if to say, Check it out! I'm running on full tank now! Take me home!

"I wish I could take you home, too. You have no idea," I whispered, the tears coming to my eyes. "One more night, okay? Just one more night."

He backed away, and in an act of protest, swivelled around, lifted up one hind leg, and peed on me.

Everyone's attention turned to Rocky, and after the momentary shock, all (except me!) burst out in incredulous laughter.

"OH MY GOSH, I've never seen that happen before!" the vet's assistant howled, slapping her hands on her thighs.

"He really doesn't want to stay another night!" the girl who was visiting her cat pointed out, guffawing.

"You are so going to get it when we get home!" I wagged my finger in Rocky's face.

My mom (also laughing, the nerve!) hurriedly grabbed some tissue to soak up the stain. Very funny, Rocky, now it looks like I peed in my pants.

***

The bar has been set.

The new acid test (hur hur) for relationships is whether or not it withstands both parties peeing on each other, although I'm not sure I'll hold up my end of the... er, peeing.

No one knows how to wipe away my tears better than my dog, even if I would've liked for it to be in a more dignified way.

***

"Tomorrow," I confirmed gruffly, narrowing my eyes at him. "Come home TOMORROW."

Ramblings

It seems like the late ones are always the best. I don't mind belated presents -- even those that are late by three whole months -- if they're as wonderful as this. :)



***

As I gave X a lift to Suntec City this evening, she talked about how she'd always wanted to drive a caravan. (She doesn't even have a licence, but don't tell her I told you that.)

"Maybe I should upgrade," I pondered. "I only ever wanted a bus."

"OH MY GOSH! You know what we should do?" she turned to me and screamed. "We should get a caravan and travel around Europe, or Australia, or something!"

"Look, living in a caravan is not as exciting as you think..."

I tried to bring her back down to reality, but clearly that didn't work, because she completely ignored me, and cut me off, squealing away: "YOU COULD BE PARIS HILTON AND I COULD BE NICOLE RICHIE! HOW COOL IS THAT?!"

"..."

Someone has been watching too much TV.

***

Rocky is staying another night at the vet's because his fever hasn't subsided.

We're discontinuing the chemo.

***

I'm grateful for friends who help take my mind off difficult situations.

Tough times are possible to get through only because I know who's holding my hand.

No more chemo

40.5 degrees C. I didn't even have to touch him to know what it was, because the symptoms were all the same. His inability to stand up without collapsing, the incontinence, the glazed look.

He's spending another night at the vet's.

***

His reaction to this second chemo treatment has been similar to that of the first. After a week or so, he starts getting bouts of vomitting and diarrhoea -- the typical side-effects -- and, of course, the fever -- which we'd not expected.

The fever could be due to an infection, a possible result of having his immune system lowered by the chemo, or it could be due to some other tumour/cancer that we don't know about, the vet said. But she was "also very puzzled about the time delay" between which the chemo is administered and the symptoms manifest.

In any case, the fact that the time frame and the post-chemo symptoms mirror each other both times is too much of a coincidence.

"You might want to re-think the chemo," she sighed. She lowered her voice a little: "He's in too much pain."

"So we have to decide if..."

"... If you want to discontinue it."

"Okay," I nodded, even though I really wanted to scream, THIS IS NOT THE KIND OF DECISION I KNOW HOW TO MAKE!

***

We're discontinuing the chemo. I think. I don't know. But it's gotten too difficult, and we can't watch him do this -- week in, week out. That's no kind of life. He's not even halfway through the treatments yet, and to put him through months more of this -- with no assurance of success afterwards, or that he will even make it long enough to complete the treatments...

***

Hopefully Rocky will be able to come home tomorrow. We'll speak more with the vet, and there might be some other way. Lowering his chemo dosage, maybe? I don't know.

There doesn't seem to be a right choice; I just want what's best for him.

But if nothing else changes from now till then, it looks like we're stopping the chemo. And part of me is already looking forward to that -- no more retching, no more soreness from the diarrhoea, no more weakness from the chemo. Maybe the cancer is all gone and everything will be back to normal. Another part of me fears that I might be wrong, and chemo may be the better choice; maybe he just has to stick it out, and then after all the pain, everything will be okay.

I don't know. I don't know how to make these kinds of decisions. I don't want to let him down.

***

There doesn't seem to be a right choice; I just want what's best for him.

CL: Liverpool 3 - AC Milan 3

(Liverpool win 3-2 on penalties)

Liverpool FC - Kings of Europe once again



To come back from 3-0 down at half-time -- this was Liverpool's to win from Gerrard's goal on. In some irrational way, I knew; this was their fairytale to write. :)

I didn't think that they'd make it on penalties, though. If you look at the success rate of our penalties, it's probably one of the lowest in the Premiership. But that's the beauty of it all -- this is not the Premiership. And Dudek, for all his eccentricities -- and maybe even because of them -- managed to pull the rabbit out of his hat. (Make no mistake, though, Carragher was still the hero -- my man of the match.)

And yet -- this greatest triumph is also the strangest one; as Smicer kissed his jersey after scoring that last penalty, I couldn't help but wonder how the club would look next season -- without him, without Dudek, without Baros?

Then there's also the fact that, as it stands, Liverpool will not be playing in next season's Champions League. Come on, UEFA. FA. Someone. You cannot just have watched that match and sit by and do nothing.

[Edit: Richard Lui on Prime Time Morning (on the match, mustering up fake enthusiasm): "It's a match to remember, alright. My neighbour was screaming at 3 AM!"

Eh. Someone tell Richard that at 3 AM, the match'd just started, and Milan was only 1-0 up. Dude, if your neighbour was screaming, it wasn't because of the match!]

Still going strong, but only just

We were barely halfway into our evening walk, when Rocky's head suddenly snapped backwards, and he collapsed onto the ground. His four limbs went stiff, and he let out a long, forlorn scream. I'd seen it too many times before -- but never in a dog -- to know instinctively what it was.

Repeating his name over and over, we stroked the length of his body. His limbs were cold, and his breathing laboured.

"It's okay, it's okay. Just breathe," I pleaded. And we sat. Just us, by the side of the road, in those moments that felt like eternity; until his limbs warmed back up. They softened, and we carried him back home.

***

So apparently there are many causes of fits, the vet said. Low blood glucose, which shouldn't be the case, since we've broken up his meal into small portions and have been feeding him throughout the day. Tumours in the brain, the liver, or the pancreas. Maybe the cancer'd spread, we don't know. And then there are "fits of unknown origins," which helps a lot, of course.

We're all hoping that it's a one-off thing, and we won't have to subject him to an MRI. In any case, an MRI would only serve as a diagnosis, not a cure.

So in addition to his antibiotics, his heart medicine, his fever medicine, he now has Valium for the fits, and Mylanta for his vomitting. The insane amount of drugs aside, my mind is now racing to figure out how I'm going to get him to take his Mylanta; all the others are in tablet-form, so we can hide them inside chunks of meat.

"I've given you a couple of syringes, so you can use those to feed him through the mouth," the vet said. Without wanting to be rude, I nodded, while managing a strained smile. But what I really wanted to say was, just how is that supposed to stop him from spitting it back out?

We'll know tomorrow, I guess.

***

He lost another 0.3 kg from last week. By proportion, that's like a human dropping 3 kg.

In total, he's lost close to 1 kg since his op. By proportion, that's like a human dropping 10 kg in less than two months.

Bones that we never even knew existed are now jutting out in all directions.

***

I guess the strange thing is that, despite all the drama (and trauma), most days, we still have some semblance of normality. And that is enough for me to be grateful.

***



Newly bought duvet cover, freshly pressed -- and I don't even get to be the first one to lie on it. That's my dog.

Free (dog) food!

I don't know about being a spokesperson for SPCA, but I can tell you where to get free dog food. And to prove that it's no scam:



Incidentally, this is Rocky's favourite brand of food, and they sent us his favourite flavour too -- chicken! :) Thank you, Cesar!

Leaving on a jet plane

I always know when my aunt has been in my room. The NUM LOCK on my keyboard is switched off; there's a half-drunk mug of coffee on my table; there're food wrappers strewn all over my floor; there's an apple core in my laundry bin (10 years, and she still can't remember that the tub in my toilet is not for throwing rubbish).

I don't know which is more disturbing: that sometimes I can come home to find all of these at once, or that -- even when that happens -- I'm no longer bothered by it.

***

My aunt is quite a character. She can scream non-stop, for an hour, when she sees a cat invading our kitchen, but ask her to pack up everything and leave to work in a foreign country where no one speaks her language, and she agrees without even batting an eyelid.

She left for Korea on a job posting this morning. She'll be stationed there for a year. It's not as bad as it sounds; during this time, she'll probably be travelling back and forth quite a bit.

Still, I'll miss the stories, the late-night snacks that she brings home, and the Saturday morning breakfast that we seem to have work into a routine these days.

(My aunt also has a habit of not closing doors -- EVER! -- so I'm grateful that I won't have to fear turning the corner and seeing her stark naked in her room. Hur hur.)

***

My aunt always maintained a strict no-mobile phone policy. Her rationale is that she works so hard in the office; she shouldn't be made to work away from it. I still can't figure out -- in this day of mobile communication -- how she managed to keep it up.

But in her recent trips to Korea, her company decided that she was getting too uncontactable, and they bought her a mobile phone. The look on her face when she told us -- you'd think that they asked her to sell her soul.

She was testing out the new functions of her phone, and we suggested she send an SMS to my sister.

"Okay, okay, I can do this!" she insisted, refusing our help.

how r u jfkajvklaj cheers (not exactly, but you get the idea)

Erm, who is this?, my sister messaged back.

ur jda;srwoiae aunt P jsiad;w

Welcome to modern technology! :)

***

The sky was dark, and the taxi was waiting. She refused to let us send her off to the airport.

"We'll see you soon," I said, as I gave her a hug. "Take care of yourself."

"You too," she whispered back. "Take care of your father."

As my vision blurred, I nodded, but now I'm not quite sure what that means. I'm not sure why people keep entrusting their loved ones to me (even if they're my loved ones too) -- as if I actually know what to do. I'll just... try not to mess up?

***

On the bright(er) side, her being away means that I get to use her car! Yee-haa! Bye-bye public transport! :)

Tele-petting

Judi has picked up on another piece of Singaporean news:

Researchers have developed a cybernetic system to allow physical interaction over the internet. The system allows touching and feeling of animals or other humans in real time, but it's first being tried out on -- chickens.

Built by a wacky group of researchers at the Mixed Reality Lab at the National University of Singapore, the Touchy Internet works as follows: You walk into your office, where a hollow, chicken-shaped doll sits on a mechanical positioning table close to your computer.

The doll whirs to life as soon as you switch on the system, duplicating the motion of a real chicken in the backyard whose movements are being captured by a webcam.

Fondling the doll translates into touching the real fowl.

...

The chicken feels your touch in the exact same place where the replica was stroked.

"This is the first human-poultry interaction system ever developed," said professor Adrian David Cheok, the leader of the team, who has been developing the technology for nearly two years.

...

The team is investigating the possibility of "internet hugging" and plans to develop an advanced haptic suit for humans, which will incorporate tiny air sacs, compressors and valves to impart a "high-fidelity" feeling of being hugged.

Both parties in the internet hug would have to wear haptic suits, and they would have to cuddle a human doll or a pillow embedded with pressure sensors. Adding a heartbeat and body-heat sensors would provide more intimacy.

-- "Eggheads invent tele-petting," Lakshmi Sandhana, Wired News (Emphasis mine)

The scary thing? This isn't even something out of Ananova!

Green (and Rocky update)

For Photo Friday; I haven't done one of these in a while (and it's pretty late too, I know).

This was taken last December, the day we stayed home and played... um, Scrabble. I can't help it if the cuteness of the dog detracts from the green-ness of the Scrabble board. :)

***

Rocky had his second treatment this past week. He has so many different types of medicine to take these days that we've split them up into morning, afternoon, and evening doses. (The last time he had that horrendous fever, it was right after he'd taken all of his meds at one go.)

He was doing well until last night, when he started to feel a little woozy. At 2 AM, he crapped all over the room, and just as we finished cleaning up, he threw up twice. I can't believe that there's anything left in his stomach anymore. He slept until noon today.

We tried to feed him some food earlier, desperate for him to eat something, so that we could get him to take his meds. Some are more dispensible (pun not intended) than others, but we really want him to down his antibiotics. He finally managed a nibble or two at his favourite canned food -- nothing more -- which is better than nothing, I guess. But it means that we still haven't gotten his medicine in.

His energy level is good, even if he has lost quite a bit of weight -- everytime we take him to the vet, he's 0.2 kg lighter. Hopefully his appetite will come back soon, and I won't have a bag of bones for a pet.

***

I know I'm not supposed to do that, I'm sorry! I don't know why!, his eyes seemed to say. He looked at the mess he'd made, and then at me; he staggered to the corner and hid.

I gave him a little squeeze. "I know, baby, I know. It's not your fault. This time, it's not your fault."

Things that make my day

"May I sit here?"

I looked up, and she was smiling at me through those big brown eyes. In her hand, she was clutching a stuffed dog; brown with black spots all over. She couldn't have been more than five.

"Sure," I replied. I don't get the opportunity to talk to children much, so whenever it happens, I find myself fumbling for something to say. Come to think of it, this is true for almost everyone I meet for the first time. "So... what's your name?"

She shouted her name through the noise, with glee or pride, I couldn't tell which; children -- everything they do is coated with child-like enthusiasm. I repeated for confirmation, and she nodded her approval.

I pointed to the toy dog. A good conversation starter; some saving grace. "And does your dog have a name?" Of course he does.

"Cookie!"

"And do you have any dogs at home?"

"Yes! I have one dog at home!" She held up her index finger for emphasis. "He's black!"

"My dog's black too!" I exclaimed excitedly.

Then her eyes turned downwards, and with some sadness, she said: "But my dog's broken. His nose fell off."

"..."

If I'd been drinking water, I'd have sprayed it all out. Instead, I managed to hold back the laughter, breaking only the tiniest hint of a grin. What made me think that I could have an actual conversation with a kid without being surprised? Totally my fault for assuming -- why wouldn't she be talking about a toy dog? :p

Leaving Hobbes

Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson

Synopsis: Calvin and family leave on an overnight trip and forget to bring Hobbes. Calvin fumes about it the whole way, and worries about what Hobbes might be doing home alone. They finally get home, only to realise that their house has been broken into. Calvin goes hysterical at the thought that Hobbes might be hurt, and in a rare display of vulnerability, lets show how much Hobbes means to him. Will human and tiger ever be reunited?

See the touching story unfold in nine parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9.

Movie review -- Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith

I thought I was going to be off, so the tickets were booked for Thursday night, with plans for dinner before. Unfortunately, everything went a little crazy down at the lab, and I was only able to leave Jurong Island at 8:30 PM (read: last bus). My apologies to K, whom I made wait for two whole hours. The only consolation is that I managed to get there in time for the movie, with time enough to grab a hot dog for dinner.

***



How is it that no one told George Lucas to fire his casting director? Half an hour into the show, I was reminded of the worst part of Star Wars; I struggled to come up with a worse actor than Hayden Christenson. This continued to plague me throughout the entire duration of the movie, and I finally had to concede that he really is peerless in this respect. When he tries to be menacing, he ends up looking like he's going to burst into laughter; when he tries to be tender, he looks like a psychotic murderer. I just don't get it.

But I did boo-hoo at the scene where he and Obi-Wan fought. I mean, "You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you." Who doesn't cry at seeing the tears strewn down Ewan's face? But as I was saying, that was Hayden's best moment -- I guess it helped that all he did was be a charred mess.

I thought Anakin succumbed too abruptly (but that might have been because of the bad acting), but other than that, I liked it. It was absolutely riveting, even without the extended fighting scenes of Episodes I and II; Episode III did what it set out to do perfectly -- it gave closure.

***

HW (in response to my movie invitation): "What's Star Wars about?"

Was he really expecting me to explain it to him?

Me: "I assume that means you haven't watched Episodes I, II, IV, V, VI."

Dear Feet

Dear Feet,

I'm sorry for the way I've mistreated you this past week. I realise that the only way you had to raise your concerns was to start swelling and growing blisters. Oh yeah, and that abrasion that became a horrible mess.

I know that it is not -- by any means -- acceptable to be standing from 7:30 AM to 9:30 PM, but unless my hands decide to become elastic enough for me to reach from one end of the lab to the other, I have no other choice. Besides, the long hours have worn me out; I fear that if I allow myself to sit down, I will fall asleep as soon as my butt hits the stool (pun not intended), and the lab will burst into flames. I know that you need to breathe, but given my track record, wearing open-toed footwear means putting you at the risk of having chemicals spilled on you, and having you burst into flames.

I seek your understanding and cooperation in this matter, and hope that you will at least be able to stop cramping up every half-hour, or while walking on any inclined surface.

Once again, please accept my apologies, and know that I will make it up to you when this is all over; I promise to buy you a pair of Birkenstock when my thesis is complete.

In agony,
Me

Before Xbox

I didn't even know they still sold these! Were they 60 cents per pack back then too? :)

Quips and quotes

No one should have to crawl out of bed on a day like this; where the rain beat down hard on the windows, and the wind rendered sheltered walkways useless. No one should have to be in the lab, on their feet the whole day, when they could've been huddling under the covers, enjoying the cold, while keeping warm.

"Is there anywhere in this place that we can go to that isn't freezing cold?" I mumbled.

"We could find an air-conditioner..."

"A what?" Did I hear her wrongly?

"... And then sit beside the generator to warm up."

I have geniuses for friends. Thanks, babe.

***

My mom and I (baby) talk to Rocky so much that it's beyond embarrassing. He refuses to stay downstairs alone, but isn't totally comfortable with climbing the stairs. So the deal is such that one of us has to carry him upstairs every night, and the responsibility falls by default to the last one left in the living room.

Tonight, my mom really outdid herself (and everybody else); when everyone else had gone upstairs after dinner and TV, she looked at Rocky, and then said: "CHOO-CHOO! Here comes the train! This is the last train to depart for the night! Are you getting on or not?"

Singlish

Our "latest behaviour modification campaign" is classified under "Weird News" in Canada, and gets picked up by Dave Barry! Hur hur.

"'Speak in a normal Singapore tone, which is neutral and intelligible,' Lee Hsien Loong said. 'But speak in full sentences, with proper sentence structure and cutting out all the 'lahs' and 'lors' at the end of each sentence...

"[Singapore] is well known for its numerous social engineering campaigns, most of which are government-backed. Singapore in the past has urged its citizens to wave at fellow motorists, flush public toilets, be more romantic and arrive at wedding receptions on time.

"Lee urged teachers to use 'pop songs, hip-hop and rap as mediums for teaching good English.'

"'If our English becomes too mutated, then we become unintelligible to others,' he said. 'If we speak in a dialect which only some Singaporeans can understand, then we are handicapping ourselves and cutting ourselves off from the rest of the world.'"

-- "Singapore turns to rap and hip-hop," Cnews

(The world's reaction in Dave's comments.)

I remember when we were younger, we had a rule around the house: anyone who ended their sentence with "lah" or "lor" would be fined ten cents each time they did that. Come to think of it, all the money was paid to the parents, and I don't remember them being penalised, even though I'm pretty sure they slipped up a couple of times.

There are two groups of people who speak Singlish: those who can comfortably switch between Singlish and grammatically-correct English, and those whose Singlish is a result of poor acclimatisation to the English language to begin with (because they come from a predominantly Chinese-speaking household, for instance). There's a reason why people go on immersion programmes when they learn a foreign language; sometimes the opportunity to speak it is just too limited.

I can't imagine that PM Lee has any problem with the first group; the problem with this "campaign" to eradicate Singlish is therefore that he seems to be addressing the second group, while treating them as if they were the first -- that they can drop their "'lahs' and 'lors'" at will, so to speak.

Even then: rap? Seriously? That's what's going to make us sound intelligible? And we had a campaign where we were urged to wave at fellow motorists? Really?

***

The Sunday Herald is very cool for giving away free books (in PDF) (via Boing Boing).

Chicken-flavoured water

"Pure water with a splash of chicken." Flavoured drinks for dogs. Now I've seen everything.

I blog because...

I got tagged by Chris to list my reasons for blogging. I tried to do it in point form like he did, but I couldn't go beyond three lines. Plus, for every line, I felt like I had to explain myself further, so that draft got tossed...

I blog because it helps me think. I guess the actual words on a screen (or on paper, for that matter) gives me a heightened sense of objectivity. I have often re-read past entries, only to cringe at how childish, petty, or unreasonable I'd sounded. And I've learnt to think before I write, and before I speak. It gives me practice for real life, and reminds me that I should be careful if when I thrash around tennis balls in my little room -- they may come back to hit me, and always when I least expect them to.

I blog because it helps me fulfil my compulsive need for organisation. Like how, when I mention someone by name, I have to link to the last post that I mentioned them. This way, if you keep clicking on their names, you'll get all the entries that mention that person, in reverse chronological order. Get it? Yeah, I didn't think so. I'm still bothered about how to work into the system the entries where I mention a group of friends, without pinpointing specific ones. (You see what I mean about the compulsivity.)

I blog because stringing words into semi-coherent sentences is one of the few things that I can actually manage. Well, that pretty much speaks for itself.

I blog because it's cathartic. I'm still learning the difference between getting things off my chest and shooting my mouth off. Sometimes it doesn't even feel like the line exists. During those grey-area moments, the drafts just sit around until I decide whether to delete or publish them.

I blog because I'm learning how to prioritise. I don't talk much about political issues or headline news much, over here; it doesn't mean I don't care. It's just that I've learnt that, when you are so far away, it is close to impossible to know all of the sides to a story; even the horse is not always reliable. I may have, on more than a few occasions, shot down people whose policies/principles ran contrary to (my concept of) basic human decency; I can recall a couple of instances where I may have banged my fist on the table while watching snippets of Parliament sessions, shouting incredulously at the top of my voice: "HE DID NOT JUST SHAMELESSLY QUIVER HIS LIP ON TV!" But I don't always feel the need to put into writing every single opinion and instance of objection. I will stand up for what I stand up for when I stand up for them. (If you wish to seek further clarification on what I think about the war in Iraq, we can have a conversation.) But I want to document what is first and foremost in my life -- the people whom I hold close, and the rare moments of victory. When I have time and energy left over, then I'll try and save the world.

I blog because it's fun! Some things are just too cute to not share, and blogging saves me the trouble of mass e-mailing. Ooh, like this:



I mean, how cute is that? I really, really like the clasp, and would've bought the purse if not for the fact that it has a total holding capacity of, like, two coins. (Okay, so much for organisation. Moving on...)

I blog because my words are one of the few things I have that I can consign to posterity. Morbid? Maybe. Having been forced to confront mortality too many times than I would've liked, I try my best to let the people I care for know I feel as much as I can; it's now or possibly too late. But so many of these people have given me so much -- some days just knowing that they're there is the only thing that gets me through -- that it doesn't ever feel that I've done enough. If I can give them something that will erase any doubt that they might have of how much they've touched my life... I'll just try.

I blog because someone is reading what I'm writing. This isn't necessarily a priority, and the main reason why I started blogging was just to transfer my thoughts to a medium that was out of reach of my not-so-tech-savvy parents (hur hur). (Of course, things have changed much since then, and I wouldn't mind now if my parents ever stumbled upon my blog. I just hope that they don't find anything that'd upset them.) Even though the archives of this blog date back only to November of last year, the profile page will more accurately tell you that I've been blogging since January 2002. There used to be a generation of blogging where we just wrote, without comments and stat counters, and where social hierarchy was confined to our world offline. But I will readily admit that it's nice to hear more than my own echo. So, here's a big thank you to all who've left nice notes, and even to the lurkers -- which Sitemeter inevitably whispers the presence of. :)

SO. What are your motivations for blogging? I'm tagging a l, Woof!, and... Ball.of.Yarn? Let's see how it goes. And if anyone else wants to do it, please feel free to, and drop me a note -- I'd love to read why you blog. :)

It feels like home to me

I've officially lost count of how many close shaves we've had. We've always suspected that Rocky's half cat. And now with this nine lives thing, I don't know... :)

***



This is Rocky in his cage at the vet's. Yeah, we caught him in mid-bark. The vet told us that after we'd gone home from visiting him last night, he barked for two hours straight. So I'm eating my words about his diminished stamina.




Finally released into the wild. Or, in this case, the waiting room of the clinic. See that little ceramic dog by the side? Every single dog I've seen walk into the room has gone to pee on it/him. Hur hur.




In the car on the way home. It's just a five-minute ride, but he hates it anyway. Unfortunately, the other alternative is to take a half-hour walk home, which is not really an alternative.




Home sweet home! Where he belongs: in an air-con room, in front of the telly. And no more sleepless nights for me. Welcome home, babe.

***

Last night, at the vet's, we noticed that his eyes were swollen. Voicing our concerns to the vet, she shook her head, and smiled with understanding: "It isn't that his eyes are swollen. His face has lost some muscle mass because he hasn't been eating, that's all."

He has since fattened (back) up, so he doesn't look like he's been punched in the eyes.

***

His hind legs are still a little weak. But he doesn't care. He just tried to climb up my bed but took a small tumble.

Earlier at dinner, he jumped up and put his front paws on the chair, standing only on his hind legs; he was trying to get a whiff of the food. My mom and I took one look at him, turned to each other, and said in unison: "He's back."

He's back. And I cannot tell you how thankful we are. The mother of all close shaves, and he's back.

The longest night II

Two nights. That's the longest Rocky has been away from home.

His fever has subsided, but the vet wants to keep him in a little longer, just to make sure.

***

I crept gingerly into the back room, where all the sick dogs (I don't remember if there were cats) were nursing. They were running around in their little cages, and the only one that was curled into a corner was my baby.

Rocky's very much a people-dog, and very much not a dog-dog. He's happiest when the whole family is cosied into a room, watching TV, and goes all out crazy with delight when we have any gatherings at home. But put him in the company of other dogs and he'll either snap at or pee on them.

That's why he looked so miserable, stuck with so many pups. He jumped up the moment he saw us, and the tears just came. I don't know if there's any neurological damage, but he seemed perfectly normal to me (wistful look and pitiful whine aside). In any case, we're talking about a dog who chases flies, only to trip and fall, and unwittingly squish the flies on the wall with his nose. He's done it so many times that it's not even funny anymore, so I think we'll manage either way.

***


Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson (Click for full strip)

The longest night

I returned home from the vet dog-less tonight.

Rocky was running a "raging high fever," and had been totally out of it. He blacked out a couple of times, and he didn't touch a single drop of water.

"41 degrees," the vet read off the thermometer. The normal body temperature for a dog is 39 degrees C. "If it goes past 41.5 degrees, he's going to get brain damage."

They put him on a drip in an attempt to bring his temperature down. He's spending the night at the clinic.

***

I've been trying to sleep for two hours now.

I hadn't slept the night before because I'd been up giving Rocky cold baths; he was only slightly feverish at 39.5 degrees C last night, but was already having trouble getting to sleep.

My arms and legs hurt from cradling Rocky for more than an hour in the clinic's waiting room.

My eyes are swollen from crying, at the thought that I might possibly never see him alive again.

But I can't get to sleep, no matter how I try. Every time my eyes close, I am racked with tears.

I've tried everything. I whipped out the Sophie Kinsella book that I'd been reading, and it was about happy wedding stuff. But then someone in the book said something like, "Does she have a cat?" and that made me cry. I went downstairs to fix myself some leftover dinner, thinking that it'd be easier to fall asleep if I were full. But then I saw Rocky's bowls in the kitchen -- his water and dinner untouched -- and I broke down again.

So I'm trying this. I'm trying to see if writing about it will help. If it will help me to stop wanting to be with my dog, to stop preparing myself for imagining the worst, to stop the nausea that comes with the sobs.

***

He sat quietly on my lap, while we were in the waiting room. That never happens. Other than a diminished stamina, Rocky's like a puppy; he doesn't keep still. Not on my lap, not anywhere.

"It's gonna be okay, hon," I whispered, and gave him a peck on the head. I pulled him a little closer, wanting to cradle him, but afraid to hurt him.

Even as I said it, I didn't know if I said it to comfort him, or to convince myself. Because you know what? I'm not sure at all. I'm not sure if it's going to be okay.

I remember you

I had a hundred other things that I wanted to blog, but something happened on the way home that wiped out all my thoughts, and replaced them with fuzzy delirium.

My neighbourhood is a typically dog-loving one; at least every other house has a dog. However, there are only two cats that I know of around here. Incidentally they are in the houses that flank mine. We do get many strays, but they are -- for the most part -- either extremely unfriendly or frighteningly fierce.

I was walking home today when a kitty sidled up to me. Well, hello, I mewed. I mean, how else do you communicate with cats? (Yay for groovy lab shoes!)




She mewed back. She mewed and purred and rubbed herself on me. She flashed her claws at me and climbed up my legs (thank God for denim). I raised my eyebrows, pleasantly surprised. You're very... affectionate, especially for a stray.




So I stayed around, gave her a belly rub, and let her climb all over me.




But I had a dog to feed, and soon it was time to go. Sorry, babe. I wish I could stay, but I have a doggie waiting for me.




She walked me home. I don't know why, but she did. A couple of metres away from my front door, she stopped and looked up at me with those huge green eyes. Meow, she said. Yes, meow. I'll see you again?




We said our goodbyes, and I had a funny feeling, so I raced up to my room, and downloaded the photos. I dug up old photos of Crescent, and did some C.S.I. matching of my own. Just to be sure, although I already knew.

It's been two years. She still remembers.

Five stones

Paperdoll (spiffy website!) at The Heeren (not so spiffy website) sells these for $2. Five stones are about the easiest things you can sew, but $2 is pretty cheap for all that trouble.

A couple of years ago, at a class chalet, we were bitten by the nostalgia bug. So we got out old T-shirts, needles, rice, and almost-instantly whipped up a set of "stones" to play with. Boys against girls, suggested one of the boys. We didn't come from the same Primary School, so we had no idea how good (or bad) everyone else was. But everyone insisted they were the best, so we shrugged and agreed to split into teams along gender lines. Wait and see, everyone said.

A half hour in, and it was clear that the boys sucked. Embarrassingly so. While we were all nearing the 10-point mark, they'd just completed their first. Let's start over, we magnanimously suggested. We offered (and indeed, did) to play with our left hands, which probably didn't help soothe bruised egos, but no one protested.

The boys huffed and puffed, and they eventually managed. Well, they still lost, just by a more respectable scoreline. ;)

[Edit: You can find full instructions to the game here (complete with video!), although it must be said that the rules vary; there are so many permutations to play with. But as long as all the players agree on the rules, the game is on. :)]

Crazy lovable scary

Rocky hadn't been doing well these past few days. Loss of appetite, disorientation, refusal to put his head down to sleep... The thing about the chemo is that it was impossible for me to tell whether they were just side-effects, or if the symptoms were indicative of something more serious, like Canine Cognitive Dysfunction Syndrome (CCDS -- the canine equivalent of Alzheimer's -- which apparently almost all dogs above the age of 16 years show signs of).

Over the weekend, I'd discovered a lump on the left side of his neck. It was huge. How did that spring up unnoticed?! I cuddle this dog every day! Was this a new tumour? More aggressive? Or did the cancer spread through the lymph system to another lymph node? Or maybe it was just the lymph node swelling as a side-effect of the chemo. I didn't know, and it drove me crazy.

This afternoon, he jumped down from my bed and fell to the floor awkwardly. His body was contorted, and he was screaming bloody murder. This is it, I thought, this is how I'm going to lose my dog. In this horrible horrible way... I grabbed his paws, and in one swift motion, snapped his body back into position, and out of the deadlock that he was stuck in. He breathed easy, and that was that.

We took him to the vet as soon as my parents got back with the car. As I related his predicament, the vet furrowed her eyebrows with worry.

"Okay, let's take a look at him," she said. We propped him up on to the table, and she felt around, making him cry out like he was being slaughtered. The dogs that'd been barking in the back room quietened. I imagine we scared them.

"It's not a lymph node," she concluded with a smile.

"What is it then?" I asked. "A-a-another lump?" Another surgery?

"Erm, no," she said, half laughing. "He just sprained his neck."

I let out a laugh too, of relief more than anything else. Okay, okay... everything is good. No surgery. No lump. That's all that matters.

"But how about his loss of appetite?" I reminded her. I just wanted to be sure. "Is that from the chemo, or..."

"Is his bowl on the floor?" she asked. "You might want to put it on a small stool. He's probably just having trouble reaching down."

And that explained it all. Why he'd been unable to stretch this morning, the way he usually does. Why he'd been unable to shake himself dry after his bath, the way he usually does. Why he'd basically made us think that he was going nuts, on top of everything else. You crazy dog, I stared at him, attempting to telepathically communicate my message. You scared me half to death. She gave him some anti-inflammatories, and we were on our way.

We came home, we piled his bowl on top of some papers, and he finished his food. Every. Last. Bit.

You crazy dog. You crazy lovable scary little dog.

Coming: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe -- The Movie

I was incredibly sceptical when I heard last year that The Chronicles of Narnia was going to be made into a movie. I mean, we know what usually happens when they do that. I didn't want to be banging my head against the wall again at another failed interpretation.

The teaser trailer has since been released; you can download it here. I think I held my breath throughout its entire duration, and just that glimpse into its magnificence almost makes me want to cry. Pleeeeaaaase let them bring it here. And thank you, Disney.

[Edit: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe opens in Singapore December 22! Yayness!]

Arsenal 3 - Liverpool 1

Reds go down fighting



Fourth place was always going to difficult, but it's finally become an impossibility. Let's hope the English FA can get their story straight their act together, and let Liverpool defend their title if they do win the Champions League. Suddenly, that seems one step too many.

Video: Messy hair for everyone (Mothers' Day special!)

I've never quite known which the actual spelling is; is it "Mother's Day" or "Mothers' Day"? I have a feeling it's the former, but I've always felt that it's a little presumptuous to assume that everyone only has one mother, as it implies. After all, biology isn't the only definition of parenthood. So I will stick to what makes sense to me, for now, until I'm convinced otherwise.

This was taken a couple of months ago, when we were playing with that grasshopper. Since it's Mothers' Day tomorrow, I thought I'd post a video of... me getting scolded by my mom, for taking pictures of her while her hair was in a mess. Inevitably, Rocky got into the act as well. My mom didn't know that the camera was on video mode, though; I don't think she'd be pleased to find out that I captured her messy hair, and plastered it on public domain. :p

• messyhairforeveryone.avi, 7.5 MB, 00:00:21 (via YouSendIt.com, link expires in 7 days expired, available upon request)

Now you have some idea of what happens in our home when we are bored and feeling silly.

My mom always jokes that she has five kids: three children, one "big kid" (my dad), and one "baby kid" (Rocky). It's true that she's been taking care of us all; I don't know what we'd ever do without her.

I can't think of anything else to say that I haven't already. Whatever else that comes to mind, I'll let her know in the morning. Happy Mommies' Day, everyone! :)

Review -- Threat Matrix

Threat Matrix airs on Channel 5, 5 PM on Saturday. Terrible time, but a pretty good show. Notably stars the very charming Jamie "James" Denton, more popularly known as Mike Delfino.

It's like a more testosterone-centred Alias, about government agents and terrorism, but with less sophisticated, and more believable technology (which, by the way, is the one thing that C.S.I. sorely lacks). John Kilmer (Denton) heads the team, and an interesting dynamic is set up five minutes into the show, with his ex-wife Frankie (Kelly Rutherford) as his team-mate.

It's a riveting first episode, and character development looks in order; Frankie gets held captive by terrorists while on a task, and John is visibly shaken -- clearly these two have unresolved issues, and it's plain as day that they deeply care for each other still. (Sexual tension, check.) Eventually, a release is negotiated. John turns to Colonel Roger Atkins (Will Lyman) as the plane carrying Frankie is landing, and eyeing him with suspicion, says: "I thought we didn't negotiate with terrorists."

Atkins replies matter-of-factly: "We don't. This didn't happen." So we have a good dose of political incorrectness. Game on.

Another interesting member is Holly Brodeen (Shoshannah Stern), who is (presumably) deaf-mute, and communicates with the rest of the team in sign language. If, however, she is really playing a deaf role in the show, as I am led to believe, then I can only assume that she reads lips. In which case, the team should really make more of an effort to look at her when they are talking, or at least, make their lip movements visible to her. That is the one thing, for me, that they failed to accomplish -- but few people are going to even notice that. Well. Sometimes reel life does reflect real life.

Apart from that, you have your usual suicide bombers, investigative work, rush against time, witness protection, all that stuff. It's one of the best shows on TV at present, if I do say so. Then again, that was just the first episode. Unfortunately, we won't get to see much of it even if we want to; ABC pulled it after 14 episodes, so that's all we're going to get. Catch it if while you can. :)

Pretty boys

I haven't done this in a while, but I couldn't resist, after watching Survivor re-runs (Rob and Amber overload).



Another pair of twins in Jeff Probst and Billy Campbell. Send any one my way, thank you very much! ;)

BreadCute

BreadTalk should change their name to BreadCute.



So I'm a sucker for gimmicks.

I didn't actually intend buy the bun; I just put it on my tray to take a photo of it. By the time I'd put it back (together with all its other friends), however, the nice lady behind the counter was smiling so sweetly at me that I felt guilty for not (wanting to) buying anything. So I ended up with two raisin buns ($3 for two, okay).

Present for Mom

It's Mommies' Day on Sunday, and my mommy warned (as she does every year): "Don't buy anything for me!"

So I cheated a little (as I do every year, some years more blatantly than others); she needed a new purse, and I wasn't about to wave my hand and make one appear out of thin air.




The front pocket was the worst to make. But Mom needs to put her coins, right? I had out almost every single bag I owned, turning them inside out, trying to figure out how it was done. In the end, it was pretty okay, I think.




Other than that... Voila! (The colour looks a little bit off here; it's closer to purple than it is to blue.) Hand-made (a sewing machine would've been nice) with lotsa love (and back-ache), in just a couple of hours. It's a good thing I bought extra zippers; now I can make one for Grandma too! :)

Video: Rocky nodding off

I can't imagine that anyone (else) would be interested in watching a dog nodding off, but just in case you are, here it is: this was taken a couple of days after Rocky's surgery; he was so tired, and all he could do was sleep, but he wasn't about to do that with me pointing the camera at him (he's afraid of the flash), so here he is in this video, trying to act stay vigilant, just in case I... flashed him.

• rockynoddingoff2.avi, 17.3 MB, 00:00:48 (via YouSendIt.com, link expires in 7 days expired, available upon request)

It's probably just me, but I can't wipe that smile off my face for as long as I'm watching him do silly things like that.

***

He has been perfect. None of the side-effects that we'd expected from the chemo. I know it's just the first shot, but different dogs have different resistances, right? Maybe he won't feel a thing at all -- throughout his treatments -- and the only side-effect will be me throwing up each time I watch him get his shot.

Laughter and tears

My cousin came back, just for a week of home. Monday morning, we woke up early to send her off at the airport. We had a nice breakfast, she showed off her (close to) S$10,000 engagement ring, and we took a couple of photos.

Walking to the departure hall, she pulled me aside.

"So here's the plan," she whispered. "I'm just going to make it quick. No hugs or anything. Otherwise, my mom will cry -- I know it."

I looked back at my aunt (her mom), who was walking with my mom and my other aunt.

"She misses you a lot, you know," I stated what must've been the obvious. She stays over at our place a couple of times every week, because we have a room vacated by my sister's absence most of the year.

"I know," my cousin nodded. "You take good care of her, okay? You help me be her daughter while I'm gone."

And just like that, it was my turn to choke up: "I will," I nodded, my eyes blurring.

***

I can't remember why we started talking about the Pope during breakfast, but we did, and I told the joke about the SMS I got, before he'd been elected.

"The new Pope has been elected. He's from China, and his name is..." I remember looking away from my phone, and glancing at my watch, finding it strange because it wasn't yet April 18. I scrolled down. "... Pope-piah." As my mom would say: "Very far-neh."

My aunt chipped in, and confessed that when she'd first heard that "Ratzinger's the new Pope," she turned to her friend, eyebrows furrowed, and asked: "They elected a rap singer to be a Pope? Isn't that... inappropriate?"

It only goes to show that the whole family is hard of hearing.

***

Until you are back again, in December. Then we'll do this crazy laughing and crying thing again. I can't think of anything better.

Round I

Non Sequitur had a recent series on Petey the dog. You can read it in seven parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7.

It brought a smile to my face, and a tear to my eye. Even though it seems like I was the one who gave him a home, the truth is really that he was the one who rescued me.

***

Rocky's chemo had been postponed a couple of times, because of various difficulties that cropped up. But he finally had his first round today. Three hours now; so far, so good. No vomitting, no diarrhoea -- not yet.

I felt like one of those fathers who go into the delivery room, expecting to give their wives support through child-birth, and then fainting on the sight of blood. The amount of chemicals that they pumped into his little body made me want to throw up.

I didn't help at all, but somehow, he didn't mind.

Book review -- The Family Way

As they slowly walked through the dormitory, she saw that these children were clean and fed. They regarded Jessica and Paulo with baffled curiosity, but they were not frightened or cowed. They had been treated with affection and kindness.

But there were so many of them that they had realised there was no point in crying. Their tears were not like the tears of a baby outside, not like the tears of Chloe or Poppy. Their tears were not the end of the world for a mother and a father, and those tears would only be ignored.

Because there were so many.

"Four million baby girls," Simon said. "Four million baby girls like this in China."

"They're all girls? All these children are girls?"

He nodded. "Because of one child policy of government. People only have one son or daughter. Many prefer son. Especially in countryside. Low people. Uneducated."

Four million baby girls in care because of the one child policy.

***

... Jessica couldn't help smiling, because they were beautiful. Serious, almond-eyed little angels, some of them with surprising shocks of hair, all these Elvis-like eruptions of jet-black plumage.

Paulo shook his head. You can't just bring home a baby from your holidays. You can't do it. This was madness.

***

Jessica was staring at Little Wei. The child stared at her and then at Paulo. He looked away from those huge, wide-set eyes, and touched his wife's arm, as if he were trying to wake her. It was time to go.

"I know, Jess. I know how you feel. I really do. This child -- it's tragic."

"Is she any more tragic than I am? I wonder."

"You want to help the starving millions? Make a donation. Write a cheque. I mean it. You know -- sponsor her. These are poor people, Jess. They will be grateful for your help. Call Oxfam. Fill out a direct debit. Give them a little something every month. It will be a good thing you're doing. But it's the most you can do."

"You know why they don't cry, Paulo? Because they're not loved. There's no point in crying if you're not loved. Because nobody comes."

Paulo watched his wife reach into the cot and pick up Little Wei.

Jessica gently touched the back of the child's head, clearly hoping that she would rest it against her chest, the way Poppy did when her aunt touched her in the same way. But Little Wei's head remained stubbornly upright as she considered the two big-nosed pinkies on either side of her.

***

"Look at her," Jessica said. "Just look at her, Paulo. This child needs someone to love her. And look at me. I want to be somebody's mother. It's as simple as that."

Paulo shook his head, and stared at the pair of them. This was insane.

But he watched Little Wei as she placed a tiny hand on Jessica's chest, her fingers like matchsticks, and some chunk of ice buried deep inside him began to thaw.

Maybe she was right after all.

Maybe it was as simple as that.

-- The Family Way by Tony Parsons

Reading Tony Parsons always makes me cry. It doesn't matter if most of the time the cheesy coincidences make me feel like I'm trapped in a written soap opera; somewhere along the way, he always manages to get to me.

There are so many sub-plots that I couldn't give you a synopsis even if I wanted to, but the one that revolved around the issue of adoption -- that was the one that touched my heart.

It's something that I've always wanted to do, and yet I've always felt insane for wanting it. And I don't mean Plan B. If I'm going to adopt a child, I don't want him or her to feel like I did it because it was my second choice. I don't want my child to think that he's second best -- not in my eyes. He'll have plenty of disappointment in his lifetime, but I don't want to let him down -- not that way.

Four million baby girls, and that's just in China. The resonance of that thought drives a knife into my heart. And it confounds me, that with so many children needing homes, we are still turning to artificial methods for -- what? -- a 30% chance. Adoption -- this beautiful act of giving -- has been relegated to Plan C, reserved for when Plan B fails. At the same time, I realise how unfair this accusation is, because it must be the most natural thing in the world to want a child of your own -- from your own.

It chokes me up, and breaks me down. I fear that if I go on, I won't be able to stop. But most of all, I fear that I will never have the courage to do this, and I will always wonder about that one (or two, or three) child(ren) who needed me, that I didn't help.

David, Goliath, and Ben

A new profile picture for the month of May. Yay! :) Picture courtesy of David & Goliath. Online shopping sites make me want to buy myself silly, but not yet.

And what's a better after-exam treat than seeing my favourite nephew?



Here, Ben is fascinated with the little red dot that keeps flashing when I point the camara at him. (I don't know which is more difficult to photograph: children or dogs. Someone explain to them why they have to keep still when being photographed.)

It's incredible. The little guy has a whole zoo of plastic animals, and he can identify every one of them! 15 months old, and he can find a "hippopotamus" (five syllables!) for you -- if you ask nicely, of course. :)