I will be boarding a Qantas flight 4 hours from now.
I’m heading back to Sydney to resume my tertiary education, which will start in a week from now.
Bye Little Red Dot.
Bye Penang. I’ll miss your beaches and food.
Vietnam VO DICH!
The past two months were certainly fun.
(Taken from Jeffrey Leow’s blog)
See you in 5 months time.
I’ll be back for another cousin’s wedding.
Hello Sydney.
I had a facial two days ago.
Not the money shot variety. If you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, Wikipedia will explain it all in full details: “Money Shot“.
I went for a facial at a beauty parlour.
With my Dad.
Not exactly the most manly father-son bonding activity. But there is a reason how my dad and I ended up having facial at a beauty parlour.
It all started with my mom (as situation like this are wont to). I was helping out my mom and younger sis as they were moving to a HDB flat (an apartment) that my parents rented recently. As the son, I was there to do the grunt work. Actually, I didn’t do much, the movers did most of the grunt work. I just stood there, scratching my butt and ‘supervised’ them.
Anyway, after moving into the new flat and rearranging some of the furniture according to my mom’s instructions, I flopped down on the couch and started to bum about.
Just then, my mom walked pass and for some reasons, she did a double take, walked towards me and said:
“Zareth, I think you should go for a facial.”
I gave my mom a quizzical look and asked her why.
“Well, I think a facial should be good for you.”
I shrugged and mumbled that I was “fine with anything” (my usual response) and continued staring at the ceiling with comatose eyes.
“OK,” mom said, “you really want a facial?”
I never had a facial before and some of the Youtube videos I saw had people comatose with pleasure from receiving facials. Actually, I never had a massage, a facial, or a spa treatment before. I did have a foot reflexology in Penang but that was done at the hotel poolside and not in some air-conditioned, dimmed room. And armchair massagers don’t count.
So I thought, what’s the harm in a facial? I get to pamper my skin, enjoy an hour of pure comatose bliss and come out feeling refresh.
So I agreed to have a facial.
My mom told me that she signed up for a package deal where she was given three facial treatments. She used up one facial treatment and did not have the time to use the other two. So she offered me one facial and the other one for my dad since “he could do with some facial treatment too”.
So I got a free facial treatment courtesy of my mom.
Two days later, I got a call from her saying she had booked my dad and I for the facial treatments at 1pm. I admit I was looking forward to it since it was my first facial.
So I met up with my dad and we both headed to the beauty parlour.
When we got there, I felt slightly awkward as the majority of the clients were women. Fortunately, my dad and I were led to separate rooms for our treatment. In the small room, there was a bed, a mirror, a small dressing table and a shower stall. Since it was my first facial, I stood beside the bed like a noob, wondering if I should get on first or wait for the beautician to come in.
I decided to wait for the beautician.
She came in a few minutes later and motioned me to lie on the bed. I got on the bed and the beautician covered my entire body with a large towel.
If you are wondering, no, I did not have to strip. I’m just having a facial, not an entire body massage. I got onto the bed fully clothed.
Anyway, the beautician wrapped another towel around my hair and proceeded with the treatment.
She started off with some cooling lotion to cleanse my face.
Hmmm…… it felt nice.
The sensation of the cotton pads and the cool lotion on my entire face soon put me into slumberland.
It continued for a few minutes before she moved on to do some light exfoliation on my skin. It felt great too. By then, I felt my skin was throughly cleansed.
After the exfoliation, she applied more lotion on my face, massaged it around and swapped it off with cotton pads. This continued for the next few minutes.
Lotion.
Massage.
Cotton pads.
Lotion.
Massage.
Cotton pads.
I had no idea what the lotion was or why it was needed to be applied numerous times. But it felt great and I was not going to stop the beautician.
By then, I was looking like this:
That is obviously NOT me. I got it from Google Pictures.
After all that lotion, massaging and cotton pads, the beautician laid two thin cotton pads on my eyelids. I was wondering why she needed to place cotton pads on top of my eyelids when I ‘felt’ or rather, ‘saw’ the lights of the room became brighter. Why did the beautician need such bright lights? What was she going to do next?
I was going to find out soon.
I felt the beautician’s fingers wrapped around my nose. With a firm force, she squeezed the tip of my nose.
What the…
Then I felt the prick of a needle.
Oh….. I see.
She was squeezing out my whiteheads and blackheads.
I actually felt slightly offended.
That was because the day before I used a blackhead strip. I have a slight problem with blackheads and that necessitates me to use blackhead strips every now and then. If the beautician could still find blackheads on my nose, it means the strip wasn’t doing a good enough job.
Oh well, at least the beautician will do the cleaning-up.
The beautician continued her routine for a few minutes. Squeeze, poke. Squeeze, poke poke poke. It was uncomfortable but the pain was still tolerable.
Until she moved onto my forehead.
Ever since I started keeping my hair long, I’ve been battling with pimple problems on my forehead. Of course, the beautician saw it as her duty to burst every, single, damn pimple. No matter how small they were, she was going to hunt them down.
It was pure, pure torture.
For 15 minutes, FIFTEEN minutes, actually I think it was much longer; the beautician squeezed, prodded, poked and popped every god damn pimple. She worked with meticulous efficiency, from my forehead, to my cheeks and then to my nose again and down to my chin and jawline.
I was in great agony by this time. I remembered thinking: “I didn’t sign up for this! I didn’t sign up to be tortured!”
My hands became cramped from the tension and my jaws ached from clenching my teeth. Worse still, my face felt on fire.
Yet, the beautician worked on. Every pimple, every whiteheads, every blackheads, every comedones, every single blemish she could find, she went after it.
Who could know that five fingers and a needle would wreck so much havoc?
By then, my eyes were tearing up constantly from the pain. Fortunately, the cotton pads on my eyelids soaked up all the tears. Now I know why they put cotton pads on the eyes.
I think my breath was coming out in sharp, short gasps.
It was that fucking painful.
I’m the type of guy that would never ever burst a pimple. Not even by myself. If I have a pimple, I would just wait it out, probably apply some cream and wait for it to subside.
I think this is how I looked when the beautician popped my pimples:
That is NOT me.
After the beautician was satisfied with popping my pimples, she proceeded to wipe off the blood from my face. Okay, there wasn’t a lot, but at that point of time, I imagined there was a lot.
The beautician then applied a very cooling lotion. After all that popping, my face was on fire, so the lotion was a very welcome reprieve. She did the same procedure again: lotion, massage, cotton pads.
Finally, the torture was over.
I was wrong.
It was not over.
The beautician wiped off the last vestige of lotion from my face. A few seconds later, I felt something warm pressed against my right cheek. At first it felt warm and nice. Then it felt hot and painful.
Then I felt a sharp sting.
Then I smelled a mixture of burning rubber and wait… was that the smell of my skin???
Oh great, so now I’m subjected to having facial burns on my face.
The beautician prodded my face with the burning stick. Up to now, I have no fucking idea what it was because my eyes was closed the entire time and by the time I opened my eyes, the offending instrument was gone. But I remembered the pain. I remembered screaming in my head that this was not what I expected. I imagined a very relaxing facial. Instead I was undergoing something completely different.
Fortunately, the burning procedure only took about a minute. The beautician left the room and came back a while later. This time, she placed a cotton gauze over my entire face.
What was going on now?
My guard was up. Why was a cotton gauze placed over my entire face? Was she going to do more painful treatments on me?
It turned out to be best part of the facial.
The beautician slather a very thick cream over my face. It was extremely cold but pleasant. She went on for a while, applying the cream to my face. After my face was covered in the cream (except the nostrils, I need to breathe), the beautician left and I laid on the bed with the cream on my face slowly solidifying.
When the cream turned into a semi-solid state, it felt heavy. But it was nothing compared to the previous two procedures. So I just laid on the bed, mask on my face and slowly drifted off to sleep.
The beautician came back about 15 minutes later and gently peeled off the cotton gauze and facial mask. When she did that, I never felt my face so clean before.
She then finished off the treatment by cleaning my face with lotion. After my face cleansing, she left the room first while I stood at the mirror, inspecting my mug. I expected my face to be inflamed with ugly, red spots after all the popping and burning but surprisingly, my face looked incredibly smooth and a lot better.
I went out of the room and saw my dad waiting for me in the reception area. After drinking some tea provided by the beautician, she told me that with my long hair, I better use a hairband to keep the hair away from my forehead. Advice that I intend to heed.
After my dad and I left the beauty parlour, my dad asked how my facial was.
“Painful. It was torturing,” I replied.
“Why?”
“The beautician popped every pimple on my face!”
My dad laughed and smugly reply: “I don’t have any pimple on my face.”
Talk about rubbing salt into the wound.
But would I go back for another facial?
Yes, I would. I never felt my face so clean before. But it’s expensive, so I don’t think I’m going for any in a long while.
____________________________________________________________
Song of the day:
“Lay It Down Slow” by Spiritualized
This song is from the finale of “Prison Break”.
I finished watching Season 1-4 of “Bones” within a week and Season 3-4 of “Prison Break” within 4 days. That’s how lazy I have been the past two weeks.
This is Scottie Thompson. I first saw her when she guest starred in Season 4 of “Bones”:
You might recognize her from “NCIS” as Jeanne Benoit or “Star Trek” as Nero’s Wife or the recent series “Trauma” as Diane Van Dine.
I love her eyes.
I seriously need a job.
P.S. What.. the… fuck is wrong with my blog. I can’t control the layout of my post. I’m seriously considering to change the whole theme of blog.
Hmm… maybe that will keep me occupied for a day or two.
I have been back in Singapore for almost two and half days now.
I’m bored, my friends are either working, in the army or in school. I want to go back to Sydney where I can do something productive, like working a high paying part-time work, reading, slacking and enjoying Sydney’s spring weather.
That’s one thing about studying in an Australian university. When you are out enjoying your 3 months “summer” holiday, majority of the people are following the Northern Hemisphere (UK, US) calender and have only 1 month or 3 weeks of winter holiday.
So I’m out in Singapore slacking my ass off when my friends are studying/working their ass off.
But its December now, shouldn’t people be relaxing?
Or maybe I should actually start calling my Singaporean friends cause they have no idea that I’m back in Singapore.
But there is no time to commiserate. I have an urgent problem that requires to be solved.
I have a cousin’s wedding to attend this Saturday.
I still have not got a suit.
Nor shoes.
Nor shirt.
Actually, I do have a suit and it is a tailor-made/custom-made/bespoken suit. But it was tailored for me when I was 17 for my graduation and prom night. At that point in my life, I was a skinny little runt. I’m not sure if I can still fit into that suit without splitting the seams.
The only thing I have is a tie. A pink, silk tie that my aunt bought for me to wear to the wedding. My cousin asked if my brother and I could wear pink ties and we both agreed. It is her wedding after all.
I was planning on getting a grey suit with a white or off-white shirt with French cuffs. But with my cousin asking me to wear a pink tie, I’m not sure if I can pull off the ensemble. I’m not even sure if I can wear a grey suit in the first place.
And then there’s the shoes. I know I’ll be getting black shoes. But should they be laced, slip-ons or buckled? I prefer the latter two because after two years of wearing black, laced shoes as an air force clerk, I’m a bit put off with those shoes. Besides, slip-ons and buckle shoes look sleek and fuss-free. Something I like.
I know what’s my style like: sleek, slightly classic with a touch of outrageous element. The outrageous element will be either my new black, wool fedora or my blue, polka dotted head scarf (don’t ask).
You see, the problem is not that I have no idea what to wear. I know what I want to wear, right down to the details. The problem is the actual shopping and hunting for the clothes. You see, when it comes to shopping, I’m very, very methodical and particular about getting the items. I compared the details, the fabric and design and what-nots from shop to shop and clothes to clothes. Very, bloody, anal-retentive.
I remembered I was shopping for a hat and one of my friend, Sharmen, decided to tag along because he wanted to get a hat too. Let just say I dragged him around from shop to shop for two hours before going back to the first shop to get the hat I wanted. In the process, Sharmen almost garroted me.
But I’ve been feeling lazy and can’t be bothered to go out and shop for my suit. I’m actually considering to just buy a shirt and squeeze myself into my old suit and hope for the best.
But then I want a grey suit.
So maybe I should go shopping.
Shit, even this entry sounds boring. That’s how bored and lazy I am now.
So, to my very, few readers out there: Should I wear a classic, black suit or just go for the grey suit?
And recommend me some places where I can get suits. My budget is around $200 for a suit. Just the suit.
The wedding’s in 4 days, so RSVP.
P.S. FUCK! The text and image layout is still screwed up.
Warning: Very Long Post and Rant Ahead. For Sharmen and Gilbert, skip if you don’t want to waste your “2 years”.
Happy reading.
I’ve been blogging a lot the past 2 days and I have 3 reasons for this sudden spurt of inspiration:
1) I’m procrastinating on my studies. My reading list is just piling up and up.
2) I’m bored
3) I’m procrastinating and cannot be bothered to study. What’s the point in doing things half-heartily?
4) I’ve got a lot of things to say. Might as well do some verbal diarrhea now cause I’m not going to blog for the rest of the week (I’ll be studying very hard to catch up on the readings).
Okay, that’s 4 reasons.
Anyway, I got off MSN with Ranga a few hours ago and we were both talking (me talking, he bitching) about NDP. For those non-Singaporeans, NDP means National Day Parade. NDP falls on 09 August and its the day when Singapore was unceremoniously kicked out of the Malaysia Federation in 1965. We are the only country to be given our independence against our will. What a fucking irony.
Yes, I know a lot about Singapore’s history. I am FASCINATED by my country’s history. I’ve read Lee Kuan Yew’s memoirs: “The Singapore Story” and “From Third World to First”. And not the abridged versions. The thick, proper ones. And not because I was in History class, I read them out of my own free will (and time).
Anyway, Ranga was complaining how NDP was just the same old, same old. Halfway through, he mentioned that it was 8:22pm in Singapore and he was feeling very irritated. I asked him why and he said something about the pledge. Then I realized and started LOLing at him through MSN.
Apparently, I read on Temasek Review’s website that every Singaporean is encouraged to say the National pledge at 8.22pm. Ranga said he was not going to do it and said that serving 2 years in National Service was equivalent to saying the pledge 100 times. I couldn’t help but agree.
I don’t see the point of having a country-wide mass pledge because it seems too co-ordinated and seems like another Singaporean attempt to break the world record. Okay, let’s say our 3 million odd people says the pledge, what happens after that?
Nothing.
Why?
Cause if you think about it, every morning from Monday to Friday, thousands upon thousands of school kids are saying the pledge during school assemblies. So essentially, we are having a mass pledge day after day during school weeks. I know cause I sang the National Anthem and said the pledge everyday for 6 years in primary school.
So after the 3 million odd people said the pledge, they’ll just continue with doing whatever they’re doing in their life. What an anti-climax. Same old, same old.
Halfway through our MSN coversation, Ranga asked if I had to celebrate NDP in Sydney. I told him that the Singaporean Student Society in the USyd might be holding a dinner celebration or something like that. I don’t know cause I didn’t join the society and frankly speaking, I only know one Singaporean student, a girl, from the university. The rest are my army khakis and I’m pretty sure that the 3 of them are not celebrating NDP too.
Coincidentally, my dad SMSed me to ask if Singaporeans were celebrating NDP in Sydney. I told him I didn’t know and he asked if the embassy were celebrating.
I replied: “Don’t know, not sure.”
He asked if I was registered with the Singaporean embassy. I returned his question with a question, asking if I had needed to register with them. Wait later kenna called back enlistment, then how? He told me to register with them so that I’ll be inform about any Singaporean celebrations or events.
I think I’ll register with them. But only if I run into any difficulties or problems in Sydney. But for me attending Singaporean events? Forget it.
Back to the MSN conversation.
Ranga said that he finds these Singaporean Student Societies stupid. In fact, when I told him that it was not only Singaporeans doing it and the Koreans, Chinese, Taiwanese, French, German and Vietnamese and majority of the international students have their own societies, he said he found all of them stupid.
I agreed with him, more or less.
I agreed with Ranga because it was kind of pointless on congregating together in a foreign country. I mean, you go to a foreign country to either work or study for the next few years and to me, you’ll need to submerge yourself into the local culture. I mean, what’s the point of staying to a foreign country for a few years and not learning anything?
I understand that the purpose of having these societies are to provide support and help for their own nationalities. Yes, we all get homesick in a new country and we all feel lost. These nationality societies provide some comfort by reminding us of our home country and hey, you get to speak in your home country lingo and probably get to meet some hot chicks/hunks!
I don’t find anything wrong with that but I find it rather ironic.
Let me pick on my own nationality (who else can I pick on?).
I bet the majority of the Singaporeans student here complain about Singapore constantly. Hey, I admit I’m one of them too. Weather fucking hot and humid. Government fucking restrictive. We guys have to serving 2 years of NS. Fuck lah. Singapore not fun at all lor. Singapore boring lor. Singapore where got 4 seasons, HAH? Singapore no hot chicks/ hunks. Singapore boring, Singapore boring, Singapore sucks, Singapore fucks, Singapore and the list goes on.
Yet, over here, they congregate together. For what? Just like what Ranga said, when they are in Singapore, they complain and complain. Yet once they are out of Singapore, they form Singaporean societies. He also added that if they loved Singapore so much, they should have just stayed on in Singapore. Exactly my point.
Step out of your comfort zones! Explore new cultures! USyd has so many international students! Explore their cultures! This goes to all the nationality societies. In fact, USyd, or more accurately, the USyd Union has a society called UniMates and I’m a member of that. UniMates is formed just for international students. They organize outings to explore Sydney and Australian cultures and to provide support for international students. Homesick? Join UniMates. Lost and sleepless in Sydney? Join Unimates. Not sure of what to do with your course? Join UniMates. Want to meet your future BF/GF? Joing UniMates. UniMates. UniMates.
Yeah, this is blatant advertising but I couldn’t care less. The only thing I see good coming out of these nationality societies is national solitary. Seriously, its a waste of time and money if you don’t make full use of the diverse cultural and social life in university.
Won’t it be funny if you studied in a foreign country and went back to your homeland, not knowing anything about your host country??? Let’s take this scenario for an example. Let’s take ME for an example:
Parents: “Ah Boy, ah, so how’s Australia? Got learn anything new?”
Ah Boy (Me): “Got lor, economics lor.” (I’m doing Arts but majority of the Singaporeans are in Econs and Business).
Parents: “No lah, I mean, about Australia, Sydney.”
Ah Boy: “Like what?”
Parents: “Like their culture, what they eat, drink, how they dress, what’s the lifestyle.”
Ah Boy: “Err… the shops close very early. Like 9pm. No 24 hours food outlet.”
Parents: “And?”
Ah Boy: “Err… uh….. ya, that’s all loh. Oh and got a lot of Singaporeans friends.”
Parents: “KNN, spend 3 years just to make friends with Singaporeans. Then pay $100,000 for what?”
I’m not saying that it’s not right to make friends with our fellow countrymen. Neither am I saying that we should start adopting Australian mannerisms, accent, style and et cetera. No, what I’m saying is that we should stop being so insulated in our own little world. It irritates the shit out of me to see every nationality congregating together in the university. Each world making minimal contact with each other or the local population, each world minding their own business. Maybe I’ve only been in school for one month and haven’t explore much of the dynamics of the student population.
Damn, I should take up anthropology next Semester.
But yeah, so far what I noticed is each little bubble bouncing around without making contact at all. It’s really a shame for USyd, really.
I once told the Singaporean girl that I would never identify myself outright as a Singaporean to the Singaporeans in USyd. I’m not trying to avoid them or reject them but for me, if I wanted to make any new Singaporean friend, I would have stayed on in Singapore. If a Singaporean here asked if I am a Singaporean, I would say yes, I’m Singaporean, I won’t deny it. But when I hear a group of Singaporeans chattering nearby, I won’t go up to them and introduce myself as a Singaporean.
Which brings me to yet another point.
Neil Humphreys, a British writer who stayed in Singapore for 10 years once gave this remark. During his student days in the University of Manchester, he noticed that the Asians tended to stay within their own groups. They cooked rice, ate rice, spoke Chinese, Thai and other Asian languages and hanged out together instead of mixing around with other nationalities. So Chinese with Chinese. Thais with Thais and so on.
Now he’s not being racist. No, he’s not. Hear me out first. Or you can go read his travelogues on Singaporean culture. I bet he knows more than the typical Singaporean teenager. So shut up and listen.
Neil Humphreys came from a working class background. A blue-collared background to be exact. A single parent (his mum) home to be more exact. Now, at that point of time, the class system was still quite entrenched in the British mentality. So for a working class, blue-collared boy like Neil to make it to university, it was quite a surprise. Really. Neil also added that his London Cockney accent was quite distinctive within the student body as most came from the middle to upper classes.
Instead of trying to blend in with those classes and hiding his blue-collared background, Neil said he decided to stick to his accent and stick out like a sore thumb. He stuck out even more when he befriended a Scottish guy who spoke in very thick Scottish accent. But that’s another story.
What Neil said was that he found it rather absurd that all the Asians stuck together instead of learning more about their host country’s culture. The only Asian friend he made was a Hong Kongker, who rather succinctly told Neil that if he wanted to make Hong Kong friends, he would have stayed put in Hong Kong.
Therefore, Neil also encourage one to absorb the local culture. During his 10 year stay in Singapore from the 1990s to 2000s, he stayed in a HDB flat in Toa Payoh and ate in coffee shops. And was subjected to many pokes and prods from Singaporean heartlanders. He did not go to Singapore on some expat packages with some MNCs. He just plop himself in Singapore and called it home for the next 10 years and worked in local, quasi-governmental organization like SPH (Singapore Press Holdings) and as a teacher.
His Singaporean travelogues should be read. Seriously. But I’m just diverting away from the main issues.
Right now my favourite ‘Singaporean’ author is staying in some city called Wallagoong or some obscure place, probably trying to absorb Aussie culture there. But that’s not the point.
The point is, if I wanted more Singaporean friends, I would have stayed in Singapore, innit? INNIT? If I wanted to congregate with other Singaporeans, I would have studied in NUS, NTU or SMU.
So please stop congregating in nationality societies. It defeats the purpose of studying in a multicultural university.
Finally, I’ll like to bring up another matter.
One cold, cloudy day in school, I was trying to walk as fast as I can to the bookstore to get some novels that were required reading for English class. I was only wearing a thin cardigan and sweater and so I was trying to get to the warm bookstore as fast as possible. Along the way, this Chinese woman stopped me and I made a mistake of slowing down for her.
Before the words came out of her mouth, I knew exactly what she was going to say.
“Are you a student? Do you go to church? I am from a church nearby and would like to invite you to our bible studies.”
This have happened to me 4 or 5 times. I realized they always target the asians and never the caucasians. And then they always target ME. WHY? Anyway, I declined her offers as usual and started to increase my walking speed. It was FUCKING cold. The sky was overcast and there was no sun that day.
Then she asked me where I was from.
I was still walking, so I said “I am SINGAPOREAN”
“Oh, so you are Japanese.”
Well, I was so shocked that I actually stopped in disbelief. The Chinese women took the wrong hint and thought that she caught my attention and so she went on blabbing about some ridiculous thing about how 1 in 2 Japanese are atheists or don’t believe in God or want to but have no idea where to start. She hopes to convince those 1 in 2 Japanese that there is more to life and God is the way and so on. All this while, she kept looking at me.
So I guess I must be those 1 in 2 Japanese.
After she finished her little speech, she stared expectantly at me, waiting for my reply. I was cold, tired and irritated and so I gave her a curt “not interested” and walked off.
Well, halfway to the bookstore, I decided to stop at a bench to readjust my heavy backpack. From the corner of my eye, I saw a couple creeping up towards me.
They really creep up towards me. I’m not joking. Seriously. They approached me silently and cautiously, eyeing my every movement.
I felt cornered.
Before I knew it, the couple were standing beside me and they just stood there, not saying anything.
I looked up and politely asked them if I could be of any assistance. After all, USyd has dozen of tourists walking around the campus and the couple could be one of them.
But they were not tourists.
The male started hesitantly, he asked me in a rather soft voice if I would like to join their bible study and that their church was just nearby. Would I care to join them for one session.
No, I didn’t care and declined their invitation. Fortunately, they were not as persistent as the previous Chinese lady and so they smiled and left me alone.
Damn it, I think I need to re-grow my facial hair and look like a hobo. In that case, these people would leave me alone and stop approaching me. I mean, out of all the asians walking around me (and there are A LOT), they always target me. WHY? WHY? WHY?
Maybe the Singapore Student Society are out to get me through these means?
Scary.
I’m fucked.
P.S. Its 3am and I’m really, really tired. So I’m sorry if this blog just goes on and on randomly. I tried to structure it coherently but am just too tired.
Zareth Writes At 
