Blue Mountain Photos

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pancake face

My new second-hand furniture, revamped

The furniture I picked off the sidewalk. The milk crates were stacked together and the chair gets a new dress.

Middle School

Middle school is probably the most confused time in a person’s life. Well, mine was. As a proof, I never knew when to come back to school after a school holiday. And since we didn’t have a telephone, and I didn’t know my friends’ address, let alone how to get there, I usually just follow my big sister’s schedule, even though she was in high school and I was in middle school. Then there were the homework, uniform, school books, hats, ties, and all those mumbo-jumbo designed to confuse me even more. Did I ever wrote about the time I went to school a day BEFORE the test. The school was empty, of course.

Middle school was hell on Earth. I was so nervous all the time if somebody had shouted Boo! behind me I would have had a heart attack and died. And I couldn’t follow some of the subjects, like math and physics. I just followed the teacher’s movement and all I could hear was bla…bla…bla… Very often we were asked to do long exercises and I was bored, bored, bored. So I started to hum all the 80s top hits from the Billboard Top 40 list to entertain myself. A friend warned me that my humming was audible. What a kill-joy. The teachers never heard what I said when I spoke. How could they hear me hum? So when a teacher paced down the aisles, I stopped humming when he/she is within a meter away, then I continued again.

One day I found I could move my ears. I was highly amused. I showed off to all my family and friends. I thought I could hear better when I moved my ears, so I practiced in class, when the teachers are explaining the lessons. Left ear…right ear… both ears… and again…

My dear IKIP educated teachers, some of them really sucked, like the PE teacher who made me run until I threw up, or the craft teacher who called me monkey for coming late (I wish I had reported her to Mom. I’m sure Mom would have ‘taken care’ of her. Hehehe…). But most of them, I didn’t realize until today, were so kind and well-trained that they tolerated my antiques without so much as a blink.

Shadow

What a pretty shadow. Especially when the trees outside make the shadow flicker.

Stress Test

My client has a set of stress-test questions. It had been translated from English to Indonesian. My client has been asking me to try it, free of charge. But I don’t like to be told what to do and I don’t like people telling me about me, so I didn’t. I said no, no, no, like Amy Winehouse (a beautiful album, BTW). One day I had too much time on my hands and I answered the questions, out of curiosity.

The result, my graph, was shocking. There was a band in the middle of the paper to indicate normal. Mine was all below normal, accept aggressiveness (???). One of the score points sat smack bang at the bottom. Then I listened to the counselor, who was very nice and had a kind face and voice. It took about half an hour, more or less. He talked to me the way the nurses talked to me when they know I’ve had all those surgeries. All the things that he said was actually an interpretation of what I thought about myself. Somehow it was turned around and it became an interpretation of how life had been treating me. Ck...ck...ck... Am I really that depressed? So I came normal and left feeling very sorry for myself. Poor little depressed me hehehe...

Council Clean-Up Day

I went downstairs this morning to throw the garbage out and found what I’ve been searching for since March... a bit old, but with straight back and perfect legs, standing on the footpath waiting just for me. I dropped the garbage and half dragged half carried it upstairs to my apartment before anyone else beat me to it. I went straight to the bathroom and I scrubbed away the dust and cobweb and a fresh bird poo on the seat. (Thank you, bird) Then I rolled it to the balcony and leave it to dry.

In case you haven’t guessed it, I was talking about an office chair with adjustable seat and back. For months I’ve had to be creative with the IKEA dining chair so I could work comfortably in front of the computer for hours. Suddenly somebody left an office chair front of the apartment building!

Later on I went out to go to the supermarket. On the way, I found stacks of empty milk crates. I was struck with an idea. I followed my ant instinct and carried two red crates back home. I scrubbed and dried them. Then I stacked them sideways and secured some parts where the two crates met, et voila! A very modern looking bookshelf!

Don’t you just love council clean-up day. That’s the day when people put things they no longer want or need by the side of the road. Most of the time the items are too broken to be used, but God has been kind today and has given me two things that I really need.

Botanical Garden - Trees

Botanical Garden - Flowers

My Neighbour's Roses (((:

Photoshopped pula!

Power Failure

It was almost 10 when I arrived at the station. It was a beautiful clear night. The wind was gentle and the air was filled with the fragrance of the star jasmines from the side of the road. Unlike Jakarta, where the lights are on in every house every night to keep burglars away, here it’s mostly dark everywhere, except for the small lights here and there, and from the treet lamps. I was reminded of lights outs in my home town. Some people complained about power failures. Here people make a big fuss if there is a power failure. It would be on the front page of the newspaper and in the news on every channel. But we always had candles at home. And I always enjoyed the few hours without electricity. It was quiet. No hum from the fridge and the neon lights. No noise from the tv and radio. We left our rooms and gathered in the living room and watched the candle burn. We chatted with each other. We told stories. Sometimes I sang to fill the time. I was the only one amongst my sibling who sang (I wasn’t a good singer, but I didn’t care). After an hour or so, the power was back on. The living room was flooded with light and we had to squint to keep from going blind (or so it felt). Everybody cheered. We blew the candles happily, as if blowing birthday candles. Then the tv was turned on again. And the fridge hummed again. The group dispersed and everybody went back to doing their own things, by themselves.
I know that electricity is crucial for hospitals and people at home with life-saving electrical equipment. But maybe, those who can should turn the power off at their homes every once in a while and gather in the living room to chat and watch the candle burn. It’s just one of the best times you could have with your family.

Monday Class

Every Monday my classmates and I know we are going to face a very grumpy teacher. She’s actually a nice lady, our teacher. She’s very energetic and she teaches us with gusto. But she’s not patient enough for our silly mistakes or our excuses. And since most of the students are over thirty, and some never use a word processor in their lives, sparks always fly around the room as Ms Wong unleashes her inner tigress. To give you a yardstick, some of us type 10 letters per minute, with mistakes. So you can understand if Ms Wong is sometimes frustrated with us.

The situation got worse when her husband fell sick. She’s a brave lady and she continues teaching, but she got grumpier and grumpier every week. And there is one particular student who kept on being scolded. Her name is Flo. She runs and owns a company so there’s no doubt in my mind that she is a very competent person. She’s just hopeless at typing. She almost cried during one of the sessions. Ms Wong almost cried too because she was so frustrated.

Last week was particularly bad, and everybody got scolded for making the smallest mistakes. It was getting almost unbearable. So we talked to each other about it, and on Saturday we talked to another teacher. And during the weekend I kept thinking, how can we talk to Ms Wong about this? Nobody wanted to or dared to report her. Standing up to her was unthinkable. It’s like standing up to a tigress. I thought, if she’s still grumpy, I’ll just walk out of the class.

On Monday, Ms Wong was surprisingly nice. And some time during the lesson she apologised to us. She said, “I was under a lot of pressure to finish the book, and my husband is dying.” It’s pancreatic cancer, stadium four. I felt so sorry for her I had to look away. So we all tried to be nice to her that evening.

But as my friend said, a leopard cannot shed her spots. Ms Wong really tried. We could see it. You know, like when you are just starting to say nasty things then you remember that you have to be nice and you swallow your anger. That was her. Still, it was much better than last week. Unfortunately for poor Flo, her mistakes were beyond Ms Wong’s tolerance. In the beginning Ms Wong tried to be patient with her, but after a while it’s business as usual and sparks flew, unfortunately, at Flo, and almost exclusively at Flo. She left the class early.

Perfect Match

What do you do if you had a left over lodeh and a left over korean BBQ squid? Put them both on a plate of rice and enjoy, of course ((((: Yum! I think I've just found a perfect match for nasi uduk, all the way from Korea.

One of the weirdest days of my life. I went to NAATI to cancel my test. I couldn’t cope with the note-taking. It would cost me money so I was trying to see if there was another way. I came in the morning but the PIC wasn’t available. Another staff talked to me and she was very friendly and she was positive they could work something out. When I returned in the afternoon, the PIC greeted me with a kungfu stance. Before she opened her mouth I could tell that she was just looking for somebody to vent her anger and frustration, whatever and whoever had originally caused it. So needless to say, my effort failed and I had to pay the penalty, and had to endure some very illogical rant from the PIC about the admin trouble that she had to go through because of me. Yeah, right. I was an administrator in a language school. Been there, done that.

I took the lift on my way out and met the kungfu lady again just outside the lift. She smiled a little. Maybe she regretted being so mean to a customer. Maybe she was afraid I would file a complaint. Anyway, NAATI, your staff sucks. Let me make that clearer, NAATI, YOUR STAFF SUCKS!!!

From there I went to the org to pick up some documents to be proofread. Surprise, surprise... It wasn’t there. Somebody had sent it to the wrong address. It took them half an hour to get to that conclusion. I left thinking, what a shitty day and started the long walk to my computer class in Central. But outside the org the wind was fresh and I felt a sense of well-being (???). I was alternately happy and upset, like a traffic light. Here was my train of thought: What a wonderful weather! Nasty bitch. I love the feel of the wind against my face and body. Stupid test. I feel great! They’d better deliver the file to me. Etc...etc...

There was another surprise when I arrived at the school. A friend returned to the class. He had been absent for over a month. His brother passed away and he went back to his home country to attend the funeral and stuff. I informed the teacher about this in writing, but apparently she forgot. She greeted my friend with,”Hello, where have you been? You went on a holiday, did you?”............long uncomfortable silence...................as us students looked at each other, not knowing what to say. We’ll just have to explain that later to her.

During the class, a person from the org called and said she would deliver the missing file to Central station. I had never met her. She told me she was Japanese, very tall, and she was wearing a white shirt and trousers. Her name is Hiroko. After class I rushed to the station to meet her. Just outside the station an Asian girl in white shirt and trousers smiled at me and said, “Excuse me...” Without thinking, I blurted out, “Hiroko?” She looked really surprised. “Yes!” and “Would you like to buy a chocolate bar? The money would be used to build a school in the Solomon Island.” Now I am surprised. I looked at her badge. Yes, her name was indeed Hiroko, but not the Hiroko I was looking for. I apologised and said I was in a hurry, and maybe next time. What are the odds that something like that could happen?

Anyway, in the end I found the right Hiroko, got the file, and went home. Yeeeah, some days are like this.

The Bird Feeder

I received this email a couple of weeks ago. Read it and then compare your opinion with his/hers and with mine.

THE BIRD FEEDER SYNDROME-A SURVIVAL THOUGHT FOR TODAY


I bought a bird feeder. I hung it on my back porch and filled it with seed. What a beauty of a bird feeder it is, as I filled it lovingly with seed. Within a week we had hundreds of birds taking advantage of the continuous flow of free and easily accessible food.

But then the birds started building nests in the boards of the patio, above the table,and next to the barbecue. Then came the poop. It was everywhere: on the patio tile,the chairs, the table .. everywhere! Then some of the birds turned mean. They would dive bomb me and try to peck me even though I had fed them out of my own pocket.

And others birds were boisterous and loud. They sat on the feeder and squawked and screamed at all hours of the day and night and demanded that I fill it when it got low on food.

After a while, I couldn't even sit on my own back porch anymore. So I took down the bird feeder and in three days the birds were gone. I cleaned up their mess and took down the many nests they had built all over the patio. Soon, the back yard was like it used to be.... quiet, serene and no one demanding their rights to a free meal.

Now let's see.

Our government gives out free food, subsidized housing,free medical care, and free education and allows anyone born here to be an automatic citizen.

Then the illegals came by the tens of thousands. Suddenly our taxes went up to pay for free services; small apartments are housing 5 families; you have to wait 6 hours to be seen by an emergency room doctor; your child's 2nd grade class is behind other schools because over half the class doesn't speak English.

Corn Flakes now come in a bilingual box; I have to 'press one' to hear my bank talk to me in English, and people waving flags other than 'Our own' are squawking and screaming in the streets, demanding more rights and free liberties.

Just my opinion, but maybe it's time for the government to take down the bird feeder.

If you agree, pass it on; if not, continue cleaning up the poop!



That’s the writer’s opinion. Here’s mine.

First of all, taking things literally, I think the writer shouldn’t have fed the wild birds anyway. They are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves and feeding them leads to over population and aggressive behaviour, as was what happened in the story.

Great analogy, but I think the writer is wrong about the moral of the story. What makes him think he is feeding the migrants just because he pays tax? Migrants pay tax too. He is just one of the birds, and the country, not HIM, is the owner of the garden, who fed the birds. And for me, the moral of the story is people living together should try to get along, whatever kinds of feather they have. They shouldn’t squabble and blame each other for hardship and problems. They should take care of the place they live in and not shit around in it. They shouldn’t attack people who are kind to them and take care of them. If the birds had done this, they would’ve still enjoyed free food won’t they?

60 kilo mark

When I was in highschool, a very skinny boy called me ‘living skeleton’. He obviously wasn’t familiar with the pot calling the kettle black proverb, or maybe was delusional. But I’m not going to talk about him. Last week I stepped on the scale and found I’ve passed the 60 k mark. Yeeey! I guess I’m no longer a living skeleton. Unfortunately, my weigh is mainly alocated to my hips and stomach (and maybe my hair). So picture this, long skinny arms and fingers, long neck, big stomach, flat chest, big feet, short forehead, big hair. Who do you see? I see a female ET. Aaaaaaaagh!!!!

And today I put on one of my pair of jeans before I went to buy groceries. It was hard to button. I almost suffocated. Walking was horrible, like in an armour. I’m sure I looked more constipated with every step. Just because I was too lazy to go back to change.

I will have to buy a new pair of jeans.

Bahasaku

When I was teaching in Jakarta I also moonlighted as a translator. Since nobody ever gave me feedback on my translations, I was pretty confident about my Indonesian language competence. I felt superior when I compared myself to other Medan Chinese Indonesian, languagewise. After all, Indonesian is my mother tongue. And I was born in Medan, the homeland and source of bahasa Melayu (Indonesian, not Malaysian), which is the root of Indonesian language. Moreover, my adoptive relatives from Mom’s side are mostly Malayus. So when I was offered an editing/proofreading job, I quite confidently took it on. My employer happened to be Chinese Indonesian, but she moved to the US when she was 11 and went to school there. She does not speak BI very well, but unfortunately (or fortunately) she consulted KBBI (The Official Indonesian Language Dictionary) a lot. And so she gave me feedback. And from there I realized how little I know of my own language (Hey, it’s MY language, and I AM native, I was born there. I’m not indigenous, and neither are you, unless you come from one of the aboriginal tribes, who are still living in the forests now. Yes, I am, even though the Indonesian government never granted my application for citizenship, for which I’m still feeling hateful, spiteful, vengeful, as you can tell from my tone here.)
Here are some examples:
Which one is correct, dimana or di mana? Kedua or ke dua? 1960an or 1060-an? Mahluk or makhluk? Apapun or apa pun? Bagaimanapun or bagaimana pun?
Did you know that the relative clause with dimana/di mana does not exist in BI? This construction gave me a heck of a headache when I edited the texts.
And then there is a whole bunch of exceptions, such as: mukjizat, but kemujizatan. Where did ‘k’ go? Menyejajarkan, but penjajaran, not penyejajaran. Why??? Mengontrol (‘k’ disapearred), but mengklasifikasikan (‘k’ is kept). ???
There are also the choice between ‘s’ and ‘k’ endings: organis/organik, neurotis/neurotik, somatis/somatik.
My goodness, if there were such a thing as TOIL (Test of Indonesian Language), which I think there is, I don’t know how much I would score. That’s why I’m searching for the holy book of Indonesian grammar: Tata Bahasa Baku Bahasa Indonesia. I found a book here by one of BI expert (Chaer), but it costs about four times the price in Indo, so I refused to buy it. I’ve just borrowed a book from the library: Indonesian Reference Grammar, by James Neil Sneddon, and he’s not even Indonesian! So far, I’m up to Chapter 1, and I might as well be learning Martian grammar. I understand the examples, but the rules are completely alien to me (not Mr. Sneddon’s fault, I’m just completely ignorant). So, hat’s up to all the BI experts out there, native and non-native speakers. I hope you will write more BI grammar books, so I could buy a cheaper one.

My Rambling

A few weeks ago there was another shocking case of student shooting in Finland. The photo of the shooter was posted in the media. I looked at his face, his clothes, his hair and I couldn’t find anything to distinguish him from the boy next door. Normal hair cut, average looking face, no missing or crippled limb, he didn’t have a stutter or a funny voice. Nothing. He didn’t look dirt poor either. What was his problem? Why did he hate the world and Mankind?
Just now there was a news report about the return of Aussie’s Paralympic team. Each and every one of them has a disability. Yet they all looked happy, confident, proud to have contributed something to their country, and most importantly they are not homicidal-suicidal.
I’ve read somewhere that a person’s disposition isn’t determined by what they had gone through in life. A Tigger would be a Tigger in a hardship. An Eeyore would still be an Eeyore after winning Lotto. This seems true.
Then there is a strange social-role phenomenon. Look around a room full of people and you can always find somebody that you like the least, even if you basically liked everyone. Look at Big Brother’s House. After they get rid of the most annoying person of the week, they always find somebody else to take the place as the next most annoying person. When a leader of a group goes away, another person would naturally take the place. Whether he/she is a good leader or not is a different thing. But there is always a particular role in a group and somebody is always assigned that role, willing or not. Have you ever seen the girls in America’s Next Top Model and choose one as the ugliest? Isn’t that crazy? My point is, the normal looking shooter guy may have been assigned as something by his group, or himself. We don’t know what role his environment or himself assigns him. We just know he must be very unhappy about it.
And then there is the law of relativity. What is hardship, bliss? According to whom? What makes a person happy, angry, sad? When I was in the third grade, a friend gave me a marble. Then my friend lost a game and she asked me to give the marble back. When I got home I went to my room and cried my eyes out. Does it make sense to you? My brother heard my sobs and asked me why I cried. I told him a friend gave me a marble and then took it back. He didn’t understand either. You see, I had moved from two schools before, four houses, moved to Malaysia and back again. I never stayed in one place long enough to develop friendship. To me the marble was a token of friendship, so I was really touched by the gift. It wasn’t just a round glass thing to play with for me. It was so much more. That’s relativity. Next time you see kids fighting over a toy, remember, it’s not just a car, a dinousaurus or a red spade or a blue spade. There’s always something else.
Going back to the shooter, who knows what his marble was. There was an Aussie actor who committed suicide recently. He was young, good looking, starred in a popular TV drama, popular among his friends. What’s his marble? I wouldn’t understand even if they explained it. I don’t have any sympathy towards the shooter, or the actor. They had their own reason and reasoning. Hitler had his reasons and reasoning. Genocide must have been very logical to him. I’m beginning to ramble here so I will stop. I guess what I’m trying to say is, if there is a person at the office or in the family circle that you find annoying, maybe they’re not really annoying. Maybe you just assign them the role of VIP (Very Annoying Person). If that person moves away, most probably you will find another person to hate. Lastly, there is always a reason, even in madness. What is logical to you may not be logical to other people. If you sometimes think, “Why is he so unreasonable?” think again. And if you’ve said “I understand,” most probably, you don’t. You’re just saying that to make them feel better. And if you're feeling miserable, and you’re blaming your fate, your job, your boyfriend, your mother-in-law, your pet, they may not be the reason at all. Maybe you are miserable by nature (harharharhar!-Pirate laugh).

Stingy

Mom always says that I’m stingy. Her actual word is thrifty, but I know she means stingy. Sometimes she calls me stingy without even saying the word. Well, whose fault is it anyway? When I was in elementary school, who gave me a meagre pocket money? Who never allowed me to buy anything from the school canteen? Who, every month or so, said that she needed money and would be very happy if I could help her? (Like a good little moron that I was, I gave my savings to her. Shame on you, Mom. Tsk...tsk...tsk...)
She was right, though. I am thrifty. Borderline stingy. More and more so. My motto on books is, Never buy what you can borrow. If you can’t borrow, buy second hand. And since I came to Sydney, I’ve grown from books to many other second hand things. The first one was a reading lamp ($6). Then a CPU tower ($ a hundred something). Then a hat ($3). Yes, I was worried about lice, so I soaked it for several hours in detergent. And more books (Adrian Moles Diary (60 cents)). But my biggest testament of stinginess is a coffee table that I picked up from the side of the road nearby. Hey, it was in good condition and the owner didn’t want it anymore (I asked, hehehe…). It is now sitting proudly in the living room, with the $6 reading lamp perched on in. Hmm… I think the lamp is a bit overpriced.

For Yani

(Image from Wikipedia)

Before I knew Yani better, there was an incident about her that I remember. We had a very strict new coordinator. Yani was working in admin downstairs. One day she made a mistake, and our boss went down to reprimand her. I must admit, our boss could be a dragon lady at times. I don’t know what was said to Yani, but upstairs we heard that she fainted during or after the encounter. Later we found out that she was born with a heart defect.

When Yani moved upstairs, I got to see the real Yani. She was always cheerful. Always had a big smile on her face. When she spoke it was always with a childlike expression and enthusiasm.

Yani shared a story with us. She and her husband had been trying to have a child for several years. Since the office consisted of moms and grandmoms, they eagerly gave her all kinds of advice. Some serious ones and some very funny ones which I can’t repeat here for the adult content of the advice. I was actually a little worried because of her heart problem, but she surprised us all. A few months later she declared that she was pregnant. I don’t know which advice was accountable for that. But the mommies teased her endlessly about it.

The pregnancy went smoothly and months later we visited Yani at hospital where she gave birth to a healthy, cute baby.

That was the last thing I remember about her. She moved to another branch, and I moved to Sydney. More than three years passed. Then a friend told me that Yani had cancer. That it had already reached stage three. That she was skin and bone and hollow cheeks. And today Yani passed away. I remember her as young and full of life and courageous and that’s the way I will always remember her.

Religion

Men and women of religion. I’m afraid I haven’t had much luck with them. From the nun who slapped my kindergarten friend around and out of the class (I wonder how many of us in the class had been traumatized by that incident), to another nun who neglected to record the school fee that I gave to her (during high school, while my father was suffering from stroke), to my accounting teacher (same school) who made me make a name sign for his church (aluminium and plywood, he said. I was a high school kid, how on earth was I supposed to do that?), to the headmaster who slapped my friend in the face with a bible, for skipping mass. My friend was a very nice girl, a star student, for goodness sake.

If that wasn’t enough, add some hate sermon at the mosque. Add a charity group who refused to help a family because they were not Moslems. Add the priest who molested school children, and is now still free. The church has not even acknowledged the problem (one of the girls committed suicide. The parents came all the way from England to talk to the Pope, while he was in Sydney, but they didn’t get to talk to him). Add terrorist groups. Add the Spanish Inquisition. Add witch hunts. You’d think religion is definitely worse than an asylum.

Unfortunately for me, I am now working for a religious organization. This is a more contemporary religion compared to Islam or Christian or Hinduism or Buddhism. So you’d expect something different, right? Wrong. It seems that there is something about faith that makes people a bit nuts, no matter which God they serve. I realized this when my employer called me and used all the manipulation technique in the book to make me accept something that I didn’t want to accept, and when I complained the next day, she denied saying what she said. I never expected to deal with Mother Theresa. But really, I was expecting something much better than that.

I’d like to think of myself as a peaceful person. I don’t like to quarrel, and I don’t like to see people quarrel. Whenever my hot-headed family members fight each other, I usually grabbed my shoes and walked out of the house. When I return, normally the fight is over. But some people just get on my nerves. They could not open their mouth without offending me. Unfortunately for me, some of these people are my bosses. I was still angry at my current employer for bullying me into accepting something that I didn’t want. I was also still angry because she didn’t keep her word. In our initial agreement, she told me that there is no time limit, and I could take my time to finish the project. Then suddenly she started counting the pages that I finished, and started sending me emails that said you have to finish this much pages per day. I was maaad. On the day I submitted the work she called again and complained about something that we had agreed on before anyway. I was reaaally maaaad. So my grumpiest bear-voice came out and I didn’t let her finish one sentence.

Later on I calmed down and it dawned on me that I was rude to a client. And that’s not good for business. What to do? Apologize, of course. For being rude only, because it’s wrong to be rude. Her memory loss is her own problem, not mine. Guess what, she said it’s ok and she blamed it on my reactive mind (this is a religious term, meaning I was reacting based on a bad experience in my past, so I wasn’t actually responsible). I don’t know about that. But I know I felt much better after my grump-fest. Venting felt wonderful and I felt ready to go on with the next project.

Computer Class 3

On the third day of the program, another interesting person turned up. He was wearing a dark suit, a trendy, light one. The kind guys wear to go to the clubs on Saturday night. His hair was slick with gel, and he was wearing sunglasses, in the classroom. The glasses looked more like goggles because they covered the eyes completely, even from the sides of his face. The teacher told us his eyes were sore.

This new student, let’s just say his name is John, was very enthusiastic in class. He responded to almost all of the teacher’s statements. then there was a part about workplace safety, and the teacher showed a picture of a monkey throwing a banana peel on the floor. John piped in, “My wife was a monkey. She was stupid. That’s why we got a divorce.” The teacher looked at her notes and said, ”We didn’t need to hear that, John.” Then she added jokingly, “It could be harmful to our psychological health.” The class laughed.

During the break we went down the elevator together. “I’m a computer genius,” said John. “Really?” I asked. “Yes, but not the usual kind. I’m a code-breaker.” I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I kept my mouth shut and smiled politely.

After the break we returned to class. A few minutes later John went out and leaned his forehead against the wall. We could all see him, by the way. The teacher pretended not to notice and continued with the lesson. After about ten minutes, John returned to his seat.

I know people came to the class for different reasons. Most of us want to improve our computer skills. Other people, like John and the guy-with-the-dog-in-the-shopping-bag, who knows what they are looking for. Attention? Friends? Sympathy? Escape? The teacher may seem cold and uncaring, but these guys are looking for help in the wrong place. And if the teacher listened to the stories of their lives, the rest of us will get nothing in the end. Still, I feel sorry for these guys. Aliens would probably fit in more easily than them.

The Computer Class 2

Back to the first day, about an hour after the class started a man came to the class. He apologized for being late, and was explaining that he couldn’t find the building. The teacher sensed that it was going to be a long one, so she asked him to take a seat. The man was carrying a green supermarket shopping bag. The kind you carry whenever you go to the super market, if you can remember to. We were surprised to see the content of the bag. It was a little dog! The dog was sitting calmly and patiently. The man said that he had permission to bring the dog to class. The class continued.

At some point during the class, the man could not follow the lesson. He tried to explain why to the teacher. Again the teacher said “It’s ok” and continued the lesson. The man showed up a few times after that, and then stopped coming at all.

My Computer Class 1

A few weeks ago I started going to a computer course at a government supported school. The first person that I noticed before we went into the class was an Indian lady. She’s middle-aged and has short hair. She didn’t look very friendly. A few sessions later we net in the elevator. I asked her where she is from. She gave me three guesses. Three guesses? Ok.. That means India is obviously out of the question. She doesn’t look Pakistani, so that’s out of the question too. So I asked, “Sri Lanka?”
“No.”
Not Sri Lanka. I tried to remember what other Indian-ish are there out there. I remember my friend Michelle, so I asked, “Goa?”
She looked really surprised. “How do you know? Most people have never even heard of Goa! Is it my name?”
I have no idea what Goa’s people’s names are supposed to be. Lucky guess, but she was really impressed hehehe…

Blank

Do you believe in karma, fate, destiny, signs, etc. etc.?
This morning I woke up thinking, “I’m sure Maggie’s boss will call me today.” Just because I wouldn’t be able to teach. I have a job interview. Guess what? She did call.

This was the third time she called, and the third time I had to say no. The first time, I was in Melbourne. The second time, my cell phone was in silent mode. I blamed it on my TAFE typing instructor who asked us to turn off our phones the night before. (Of course it’s my fault that I forgot to turn the sound back on, but I’d rather blame her.) The third time was as I mentioned before.

I was at the station when she called. I told her the truth. I had a job interview. Then I thought, “Why on earth did I tell her that? Why didn’t I just lie, for goodness sake.” Now she would think that I was bragging, or that I didn’t want the job and she would never call me again. I continued walking and cursing myself until I realized that I didn’t know where I was. The police station that I was supposed to go to was nowhere in sight. (I went there just last night) I tried to remember the turns that I took after the train station but I couldn’t. the last thing I remembered was pushing the crossing button. There was a blank space from there to the poster of Andy Lau on a shop’s window several minutes later. What happened during those blank space?

There was another incident a couple of weeks ago. I was on my way home from the train station. A girl asked me for directions to Bunnings Warehouse. I ouldn’t help her because, as you know, I have no sense of direction. I was deep in thought, trying to figure out where it was (I’ve passed it a million times). I crossed the small street. Out of nowhere there was a loud honk. I almost got hit by a car. I usually make sure the road is clear when I crossed. How come I didn’t see the car? Where was I during the blank seconds? I’ve been forgetful and absent minded all my life. This is why I can’t work with lists of numbers. Why I refuse to drive. I usually laughed my absent-mindedness away, but maybe it’s more serious than I thought. These incidents are signs to me. Snapshots of years to come. In a way I’m glad I have this blog. It’s for, you know, just in case those blank spaces expand and took over. At least my family and friends have this to remember me.

So, what’s all this got to do with the phone calls? I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.

Croissant

A few weeks ago, Maggie asked me to stand in for her at the language school. When I got there, there were two students. One was Thai, the other was Vietnamese. The Vietnamese was a brand new student, fresh from his home country, with almost no English. I found myself repeating lots of words and trying to make sense of what he said. Then I noticed he was saying something familiar. Qu’es que c’est a dire? He spoke French! From then on I began to understand what he was trying to say or ask. That was the first time that my elementary French was put into use.

During the break he asked me to have coffee with him, so I did. I refused his offer to buy me coffee but he bought me a croissant and a custard cake anyway. He puts them on the table, placed two fingers on the croissant and said, ”Hot. Eat. Hot.” I was eating my scone, so I said, “Thank you. Yes, after this.” He touched the croissant again and repeated, “Hot. Eat.” ((((((:

There was a short period in my life when I refused to eat the chicken-congee-on-bicycle, because I saw the seller break the krupuk and sprinkle the fried shallot with his bare hands. The same hands he used to handle money and gripped the handle bars of his bike. After a while, gluttony took over and I said to myself, “Heck, I didn’t get sick eating the congee all this time. Why should I stop now?”

It’s the same case with the croissant. If I didn’t eat it, I might offend the kind student. I didn’t know what the fingers had touched since morning. But what’s the worst that could happen? I put away my scone (so he wouldn’t touch the croissant again) and ate the nice, warm, crispy croissant. Yum!

Melbourne, Tuesday

This was our last day in Melbourne. We thanked our hosts and left. The girls decided to visit Melbourne University. It had been the only sunny day so far so I went to the Botanical Gardens instead. I must have been crazy because I had my Bandung suitcase with me. I dragged it around the garden. One hand on the handle, the other on a map and the camera. The garden looked so much better than it was a few days ago, when it was cloudy and miserably cold. I stopped to look around me (and to catch my breath, the footpaths were not suitcase-wheel friendly) and thought of a friend who also love trees and plants in general, and a few minutes later she called me!





From the gardens I went to Melbourne Museum to meet the girls. I thought history repeated itself when we got to the counter and saw a children everywhere (a few months ago I went to Sea World Jakarta and found the place crawling with children. It turned out there was a Jakarta-wide competition for kindergarten students. I think me and my friends were quite traumatised by the experience). It was a huge relieve to find the parents were there with the children, and everybody was well-behaved. It was an even bigger relieve to find out that there was a dinosaurus exhibition and that was where most of those kids were heading. We left out suitcases at the bag counter and started to look around. In one section of the museum there was a Body and Mind exhibition. No photos should be taken in this section. First, there was a plaster cast of the remains of two girls from Pompeii. This is how they got the cast. When the volcano erupted, the moist dust encased the bodies of people who died. This moist dust hardened like a shell around the body. The body withered away but the shell remained intact. When archeologist found these empty shells they filled the shells with plaster. When the plaster dried, we got the statue like shapes.
Going back to why no photos should be taken, there were big posters on naked people of many ages and races. There were life-like statues of naked people too. They weren't in provocative poses so it was't pornographic. Then there was a section of disection. Body tissue, brain, internal organs, bones, ... began to feel queezy so I went out. I don't know how people could hang around in there. Those things came from PEOPLE, people!!! I took a photo of a dinosaurus' skeleton instead.

Melbourne, Monday

Next on the agenda was Sovereign Hill in Ballarat. Sovereign Hill is a replica of a gold-mining town. It had one real ex-gold mine underground, which we explored, with a guide. Outside there was a small stream where children tried panning gold.

Melbourne, Sunday

Next was Brighton and the colourful bath houses.



Then the graffitty alleys.

Mebourne, Saturday

On Saturday each of us had our own activities. I preferred to explore the city so I did. I went through Chinatown and visited the Chinese Museum.



Found a wonderful little cake shop and bought a slice of mudcake. Took trams arcoss the city and ended the day in a Japanese resto. That wasn't really the end, though. Dhena joined me at the resto and before heading back we took some photo of the Yarra River at night.

Melbourne, Thursday and Friday

We bought a weekly ticket at Seven Eleven and walked to a tram stop. My made-in-Bandung suitcase was as unsteady as ever and it turned over everytime I tried to walk faster, and gave me a lot of problems when crossing the street. At one point my hat got blown away by a monster gust of wind. Ira ran after it half-way across the street. A truck came and the wheels ran over my poor hat, twice. Don't worry. The hat survived. Ira was also unharmed. After that I only put it on when it wasn't too windy.

We took a tram to Ira's relative's apartment and spent the day exploring the city.

The next day Dhena arrived. We packed some lunch and took a train to the Dandenong Ranges. Most people come to Dandenong in private cars or tour coaches. They usually take Puffing Billy (a steam train) to see the forest reserves. We, on the other hand, decided to leg it. So we asked around and then took a bus. We got of, had lunch in a small resto and asked for directions again. We found a guy with long hair (never trust a guy with long hair (I'm being racist here)) and he was very helpful with a lot of hand gestures. I wondered if he knew we didn't travel by car, so I told him. He was stunned. "Anyway", he said, "just follow the road and be careful of the cars."
We continued walking, turned around after a few meters, found a map ("Hey, we're not very far from the reserve!"), asked somebody again ("Sorry, I don't live around here. I live at the foot of the mountain. But there's a path just behind this school. I'm quite sure it leads to a bush-walking trail.") We followed his directions and found a picnic area full of tame birds.



From there we found a small gate where the bush-walking trail started. We walked through fern gullies, crossed small bridges, uphill, downhill. I'm really a big fan of workout. Lucky for me, Ira and Dhena often stopped to take photos. Still, I huffed and puffed and sweated waterfalls. It was very green and peacefull in the reserves but I was very glad when we finally finished.



I was really surprised that Ira and Dhena planned to go to Hard Rock Cafe to buy some souvenirs afterward. I definitely declined and went straight back to the apartment.

Melbourne, Thursday

The five-day-trip started at 5:10 a.m. with a call from my sis. I haven't taken a shower so I just changed clothes and carried my suitcase down to the car. We picked Ira up and arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare. We got on the plane and found our seats. Ira continued her sleep. As the plane took off the air pressure increased and a toddler behind us started to cry. (I'm just guessing that it was the air pressure.) She cried on and off, depending on the parents' techniques to get her to quiet down. Then another tolddler a few seats in front of us fell off the seat and started crying too. When I said 'cry' I meant the high pitched, maximum power, straight-from-the-diaphragm wails. These wails upset a baby somewhere and it started to cry too. The cabin was like a childcare center on a bad day. Thank God it was only 75 minutes. We arrived safely to a cloudy, windy and chilly Melbourne. That was how it would continue for the rest of the trip, except the last day.

Koala

Reckless

Another reason why I haven’t written for a while was a job that I did. I did some proofreading a while back and the next step was updating the documents. Updating means making sure that the comments during proofreading has been entered. It took me two weeks to do the update check. I finished last week and I was very happy. During the two weeks I also went for and interview and took a translation test. It was crazy. The interview was done by a panel of three. It was nerve-wrecking. I didn’t do very well but not very badly either. They promised to contact me in couple of weeks. The interview was on June 10th . It’s been a little over two weeks so I have very little hope at this point.

Two days after the interview I took the translation test. It started at 9:30 in the morning and finished at 12:00. I started to feel hungry at 11:00. My tummy growled and grunted and made all kinds of very scary and very loud noises. Good thing I was alone in the room and there was no one to supervise me. The walls were pretty thin, though. I think the people the next room was probably wondering what kind of wild animal was in the room with me. The next day I woke up with a horrible tummy pain. The late lunches and stress had taken their toll. I took some Mylantas and bought a packet of digestive biscuits. I actually love digestive biscuits, I demolished several packets in a matter of days, just as snacks, with the excuse, “I shouldn’t leave my stomach empty for too long.” The pain had gone, but I stocked up on the biscuits anyway just in case.

Then I went for a very dodgy interview. Dodgy because I don’t even know when the job is going to start. Maybe in two-months time, maybe never. The story is that somebody is starting a new language school. He is Pakistani and funnily reminded me of my old boss in terms of looks, except that he has a very nice set of white teeth. He needs a teacher/coordinator as part of the requirement to get accreditation for the school. My friend introduced me to the boss of his friend who then introduced me to this guy. To make the story short, the owner (the Pakistani guy) will continue completing the requirements and I can pull out or continue anytime I want. The problem is, of course, there are no students yet, no books, no accreditation, nothing. But hey, it’s not like I’m swamped with work at the moment, so I said yes to something that may of may not happen.

Stubborness

A friend complained recently that she kept seeing the indoor pool entry when she visited this blog; that means I haven’t written a new entry for a long, long time (: The reason for this was that my old computer had crashed again, for the millionth time. My niece is fed up with reformatting and reinstalling the programs so the poor old thing has been left in the comatic state for about a month.

I had been hunting for a cheap CPU tower for weeks, when I finally found the cheapest so far, $110 for a second hand Acer, a few days ago. The seller lives in South Coogee. That means a train ride to the city, a bus ride, and a 700 m walk to his house. I considered taking a suitcase to carry the tower back, but the only one in the apartment is so big I could fit in it comfortably. I considered the small shopping trolley that we have, but after a careful look, I found it too small. I rummaged around and found a doona bag. The size seemed perfect, so I chose the doona bag to take with me.

The address was easy enough to find. I arrived without much drama. The seller showed me the tower. I paid. He put the tower in the bag - it fit perfectly - wished me luck, and I started the journey home. Of course I expected a CPU tower to be heavy. I also expected myself to be as strong as Xena. I was right about the weigh. And I was wrong about Xena. I carried the bag for about twenty meters and had to put it down. I thought about taking a taxi. Then I thought, I’ll take a taxi at Central to save money. I took a deep breath and continued. I stopped again after twenty meters and changed the way I carried the bag. I continued again for twenty meters, stopped, continued, stopped to answer a phone call, continued and so on until I reached the bus stop. I thanked God because it was a downhill trip instead of uphill. Then I remembered that the walk home from the train station would definitely be uphill and I was more determined to take a taxi. I suddenly also appreciated the shopping trolleys that people took from the supermarket and left in the streets. If I couldn’t get a taxi, I prayed I would find one of these trolleys that I used to mentally complain about.

I got on the bus. It was so comfortable after lugging that bag that I didn’t want to get off. I finally got off, crossed the street and put the bag down, picked it up again, and cursed the long tunnel towards the ticket gate. I finally made it to the train. On the train I thought of all kinds of method to avoid carrying the bag again. I could leave it at the station while I went home to get a trolley or the suitcase, I could call my niece and asked her to help me carry the bag, I could call my sister-in-law and asked her pick me up at the station and drive me home. But I didn’t want to ask for help. I was really grumpy when I reached the station. My sister-in-law called just when I was looking around for a stray trolley. She offered to pick me up. I gave up and said yes.

I weighed the CPU tower this morning. It weighs about 11 kg. That’s not too heavy, isn’t it? I’m just definitely not Xena (((: but I am stubborn as a mule.

Indoor Pool

Something happened during my childhood that I vaguely remember. We had an open water basin (bak air) near the kitchen. Like most old water basins, it was huge and quite deep (for a 5 or 6 year old), and the kitchen area was a popular place to sit together and chat. I remember perching on the side of the basin. An older person was sitting next to me, but I forgot who. I remember thinking, "If I lean backward, I would fall into the basin. I wonder what it would feel like? The water looks very cool and nice." I can't be sure if these next things really happened because I find it so bizarre. I think I really leaned backward and rolled myself into the basin. My whole body and head was under water. It really felt cool and nice. It was a bit dark and I heard underwater sounds around me. There were a lot of commotion above the water. And I guess I was immediately pulled out, but I don't remember this, or anything else that happened after that. Was it real? Was it a dream?

Sugar Diet

I mean I'm trying to cut down on my sugar intake, not the other way around. The frostbite set of warning bells in my head. Why? Because the doctor's first question (the one at the emergency ward) was, "Are you diabetic?" Now, that's scary. My father had it.
So today I started the sugar diet. I started to fail in the morning, when I dipped my toast in honey. But honey is good sugar, right? Things went well for a while. Mid aftenoon I began to feel a craving for sweet, sugary things. I craved for bubble tea, chocolate bar, marshmellow filled cookies. I managed to stay away from those temptations, until after lunch. The pineapple cookie was too tempting. I only took one, though. I just had lunch but I still felt empty inside. I pottered around the apartment feeling bored and hungry, even though I know my stomach was still full. I surrendered at around 4. I had my second lunch, and topped it with a scoop of very sweet cookies and cream ice-cream. Gosh, I'm a sugar junkie!

Bondi

A very pretty day at Bondi.

The Proofreading Job

It has been interesting, this job. I really enjoyed being busy, doing something that I do well. I learned a lot too. Not just about the subject matter, but a lot of other things. First of all, I got to know a new friend. She's a friend's sister. I also got to visit a new suburb, Dundas. I went there with Ira, armed with a map. We were confused at the station, so we asked two local golden girls for directions. They were very nice. In fact, one of them drove us to the address. There I got to see the headquarter of scientology. It used to be a monastery. My employer lives and works there, seven days a week, from nine a.m. to nine p.m. Phew! I also got to see the church of scientology in the city. I was offered to watch a process they call auditing. Too bad I had to leave early (actually I was just famished, and I really craved nasi lemak at a Malay resto nearby). Don't worry, I'm not planning to join Tom Cruise anytime soon. It's just a job, and I finished the lot a couple of days ago.

Poor Toes

My big toes have been troublesome for some time. That's why I have been avoiding shoes, or even socks. I walk around the city in flip-flops, or thongs, as locals call them. One day the big toe of my left foot looked a bit swollen. So I soak my feet in salt water, as a doctor once adviced me. It didn't work. So I went to Bondi to get the "real" purifying, therapeutic sea water. Didn't work. I stayed over at my bro's house. There I gave the salt water bucket another try. The water was a bit cold, but it was in the middle of the afternoon, so I thought it was okay. In the evening my other toes looked a bit swollen. By around ten the swelling had spread to a larger area. I thought this must be some kind of infection. How big would my foot be in the morning? What if I got gangrene somehow? (I saw an anti-smoking campaign on tv, with a green leg as the main actor. Not cute.) I called a nearby clinic. They're closed. I called a hospital. Their emergency ward is open. So my bro and my sis-in-law drove me to the hospital. The doctor looked, poked, squeezed, and asked a lot of questions and said there's nothing wrong, and sent me home. So I went home, rather embarassed. A week later my toes were still swollen, red, and really painful at night. Pockets of water that looked like hot oil had landed on the skin appeared. I passed by a clinic on my way home from the supermarket. I went in, just like that, on impulse. After waiting for almost an hour, my turn came. The doctor had one look, smiled, and said, "You've got frostbite." Whattt??????????? I thought you only get that in very cold places, like Canada, or the Himalayas. Scary stories told about climers who got frostbitten and had to have amputations. Thank God I only needed a steroid cream and socks. Anyway, I bought lots of thick gigantic socks and a pair of fuzzy slippers, got the portable heater out and put it in front of me when I watch tv, and no more flip-flops for a while, not until summer next year.

Update

It seemed that God heard my Raphsody of a Job Seeker. I'm working on a translation project. The pay isn't fantastic, but I'm just greatful that at the moment.

I guess when you have a job and it's taking so much of your time, you might wish for a holiday. When you have had such an extended holiday as I have, you wish for a steady job.

It is actually nice to be jobless. You don't have to wake up at dawn, you don't have to squeeze yourself into a crowded train, full of people who wish they could stay home and watch Oprah. You can have a slow and leisurely breakfast while you watch the morning show on tv, you take a shower when you feel like it. Then you go to the supermarket to buy something to cook. You can take as long as you like at the supermarket, stop by at any shop and think to yourself, I'll buy that when I get a job. You get home, cook, clean the kitchen spotless, sweep the floor, and then you have a wonderful lunch all by yourself, in front of the tv. After that you browse the internet for job vacancy. That usually depresses you so that you would need something sweet to comfort you, like chocolate or ice-cream, which you would eat in front of the tv (again). After that you would become bored and sick of your tv addiction, so you take a nap. When you wake up, you reheat your food and have dinner, wash the plates aaaaand ... sit in front of the tv until it's time to go to bed. Then you would think, "I had a really nice day today. I'm living the live that many people could only dream of having. So why am I so depressed??"

That, my friends, is the paradox of unemployment.

Jakarta

Theme From Mahagony (OR Raphsody of the Job Seeker)


Do you know where you're going to (Nope)
Do you like the things that live's been showing you (Some of them yes, some no)
Where are you going to (I don't know)
Do you know (No, I don't)

Do you gain what you're hoping for (Not yet)
When you look behind you there's no open door (Hiks..hiks..)
What are you hoping for (A miracle, or just a job, pleeease...)
Do you know

Once we were standing still in time (We were? Why did we do that?)
Chasing the fantasies that filled our mind (How silly we were)
You knew how I loved you but my spirit was free (Like Free Willy)
Laughing at the questions that you once asked of me (Only because I didn't know the answer)

Reff

Now lookin' back on all we planned
We let so many dreams just slip through our hands (Slippery, they were)
Why must we wait so long before we see
How sad the answers to our those questions can be (Crying my eyes out)

Do you know where you're going to (I told you, I don't know)
Do you like the things that live's been showing you (I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but...)
Where are you going to (Wish I knew)
Do you know (Hey, Lady... Stop asking me the same questions and just give me the job!)

Bondi

Photos from the new place

I had so many questions about the circumstances surrounding Mr. Lee's death, so I called my DOS to fish for more information. I asked for a Letter of Reference. She said OK. I asked again how Mr. Lee died. All she could tell me was that Mr. Lee was found dead at the school. Mrs. Lee arranged and attended the funeral, and then went straight home to Korea. She was quoted to say she would never set foot on Australia ever again. I asked if the staff would get paid for the last working period, my DOS said no. None of us would get paid, herself included. I didn't ask if students would get their money back. Probably not. Certficates? Don't think so. I think the certificates are very important to the students. Most of them would use the certificates to apply for jobs back home. They've spent a lot of money coming to Oz, they do some of the crappiest jobs to pay the school fee, they dragged themselves to school day after day, and this thing happened. I think I would be very pissed if I were one of them.

Mr Lee

Mr. Lee was the owner of our language school. He looked like a typical middle aged Asian guy. He never said much to the teachers. Most of the time, if you greet him, you would get half a smile and a grunt. Sometimes the teachers made fun of these grunts, when he wasn't around, of course.

I don't know much about Mr. Lee. The last and only time I talked to him, he asked me where I lived. So I asked him the same question too. Kingsford, he said. Oh! I said, Many Indonesian restaurant there.. Hrmf.. he grunted. Many Chinese and Thai restaurants. I suspected that Mr Lee (like many of my students, and other people) doesn't know the difference between India and Indonesia.

The last few days before I took a week off work, he was always busy. Standing or sitting near the front desk, watching Claire (our super receptionist, admin, accountant, etc.) like a hawk. He was often in a meeting with some businessman looking people. There was no sign that he was about to leave us.

My DOS called me yesterday afternoon, to inform me that Mr. Lee had passed away. She couldn't give me any details. She said the school is closed, maybe for a while, or for good.

Last week I felt that my days at work were numbered. It never crossed my mind that this would be the reason. Mr. Lee's death would affect the lives of so many people: his family, the teachers and other staff, the students.

As for myself, as of today, I am officially jobless.

Very Long Weekend

I couldn't wait for Tuesday, so I could ask my DOS why I was suddenly observed. Tuesday came and it was very difficult not to come to the school by daybreak. Anyway, I arrived at the station at around ten, pretended that I needed something at the supermarket and wandered around the aisles for ten minutes, I took some money from the ATM, and then I was ready to walk to school.
I went straight to the DOS. She didn't know anything about the observation. But she promised to find out.
She called me half an hour later to tell me that the marketing guy wished to be able to explain to prospective students how the class is taught. So he meant exactly what he said. He just didn't mention the purpose! *@%#&@% Oh, well. At least my worst fear was ungrounded.

Long Weekend

I had been looking forward to this long weekend. I was still a bit tired from the ordeal of moving. I had plans. I was going to set up the computer, finish unpacking and sorting out my stuff, sew a curtain for my bedroom window and just relax. My student cancelled our session so I had some free time in the afternoon. I arrived feeling full of energy. The class started. A student went out to get some coffee and didn't come back. I went out to check and she was talking to one of the marketing guys. I was a bit annoyed. I went back to class and after ten minutes she came back, with the marketing guy in tow. He suddenly said, Would you mind if I observe your class? I just want to know how the class is taught.
I said sure. He sat near a Japanese student, with a very serious look on his face. The class became more and more tense. In the end, the students all burried their noses in the handouts. They were too tense to even understand my joke (or maybe I was tense). The guy left after half an hour. The class was much happier after that.
That was just rude! Barging into somebody's class, sitting without smilling, speaking in Japanese to a student while I was teaching, and then left. What's going on? Did I do something wrong? Did a student complain about my way of teaching? There goes my wonderful long weekend.

I felt like quitting ):

Basil Beef

I was very happy to note that there are big, leafy trees along the way to the station. That means I wouldn't need to carry an umbrella with me all the time anymore.
I saw a little Thai resto near the station and thought, Great! I don't have to cook everyday. (:
The next day I packed some rice in a lunchbox and bought Chicken Cashew Nut from that resto. I took half and saved the rest for lunch tomorrow. But at school a student told me that he was very hungry and that his boss 'forgot' to pay him that day. I asked him if he wanted some food, he said yes, and I said goodbye to my chicken.
The chicken was delicious, so the next day I went to the resto again on my way to work. This time I ordered take away Basil Beef. The chef was very generous with the garlic, so I was basically enveloped in garlic perfume (and I hadn't eaten the dish yet). If garlic were flourescent, I would have glowed. A boy in the elevator covered his nose with his jumper to keep from fainting. When I arrived at the teacher's room, it was suddenly filled with garlic smell. I ate a little and put the rest in the fridge. Then I brushed my teeth and prayed my students wouldn't notice.

How to get to the train station (if u don't know the way)

I didn't really know how to get to the station from our apartment. I walked down the road and tried to remember the location. I saw a young Buddhist monk walking in the opposite direction. I turned around and followed him. Sure enough. Very soon I could see the station. I wouldn't reccomend this method to anyone, though.

The Apartment & Neighbours

Our apartment is not ultra new or ultra modern, but it's ok. The floor is made of wooden parquet, so no more carpet dust (((: We have a really nice view of the nextdoor neighbour's mansion. Their house is about the same size as our apartment block.

My room is still full of unpacked boxes. I don't know where I would put all the contents. I bought a bookshelf from IKEA and I managed to put it together all by myself. I'm quite proud of myself.

I haven't really seen my human neighbours from our block. But there are lots of fat pigeons flying and sitting about. A few mynahs, a few crows. Yesterday I saw a black rabbit in the front yard. It looked at me suspiciously, but since I didn't try to come closer, it continued grazing. I saw it again this morning. It's probably a resident.

Pindah (lagi)

We've just moved again. This time to a neighboring suburb of Ashfield. Just me, and my two nieces. Seems like it was just yesterday that they perched on a special seat on my bike and I took them to school. Now they are sharing the rent with me. Yona sometimes picked me up from the station. I guess the role has reversed.

We moved with the help of two big guys from the removalist. We had to help them because they were paid by the hour. So there we were, carrying boxes after boxes. (Mine was labelled Maya's Junk, Maya's More Junk, etc.) It was drizzling too. We finished moving everything in half an hour.

Another Grumpy Old Woman

A couple of days ago I went to the mall to buy some food supplies. Soon my hands and shoulders were occupied with shopping bags. I could hardly walk. After re-fueling with a huge plate of noodle, I headed for the ladies. My mind was wandering above and beyond my head, as usual, and I ended up in an unfamiliar place. I looked around and saw a long room full of males of all ages. It was the gents'!

Thanks to my short hair, jeans and boyish looks nobody seemed to notice that there was an 'alien' amongst them. I beamed myself out from there as fast as I could and rematerialized safely in the ladies', where I looked into the mirror and cursed myself.

After a few seconds, I forgave myself. That was when I realized that I am now more tolerant to my own faults and stupidities. I cherish my peculiar and not so peculiar tastes and habits. Sadly, my tolerance for other people have gone in the opposite direction.

The smallest things annoy me. Just the other day while I was sitting on the train, a man behind me kept whispering to himself. It wasn't anything offensive. He was just thinking out loud. But his voice grated on my nerves like sandpaper, so I moved to a different seat, far-far away.

Things are not much better at home. Other people's stuff lying on the floor and on the sofa give me a mild headache, while my own stuff are pilling higher and higher on the computer desk. I cringe whenever my bro eats something soupy. The slurp-slurp and smack-smack sounds could be heard loud and clear from the dining room and seem to rise above sounds from the TV. It made me feel rather queasy. I think soups should be banned from the house.

But the worst offenders are obsessive caressers. I hate people who constantly and persistently caress their own hair, or face, or hands, or thighs in public. Why don't you look away? you might ask. Well, I don't care about things I can't see. But these people sometimes sit next to me in public places, and I can see what they are doing even if I don't look. What's wrong with doing what they do? you might also ask. What's wrong with picking your nose in public? I ask back.

The only thing worse than this is seeing people (usually women) who constantly and persistently touch other people (usually the husband or boyfriend). They seemed to have super-glued their hands on the men's head, or back, or shoulders. These guys very often wear a quietly suffering look on their faces, much like Sasha's face (the little dog), when her Mom gives her a bath.

When I went to see Summer Days with Coo, a middle aged couple sat in front of me. As soon as her bottom touched the seat, the woman streched out an arm an started caressing the back of the man's neck and hair. The hand stayed that way for about fifteen minutes without stopping. Didn't she get tired? I got very tired just having to watch. It was like watching the dentist drilled deep into a cavity. I was very relieved when the lights went out and the movie started. At least I couldn't see the hand anymore, even though it was still there. Really, Lady, you're obsessed.

I wonder if this is another sign of ageing. I am now a member of The Grumpy Old Woman Club.