Its over for now

I have finished my last paper (is there any symbol which would be the equivalent of combing a fullstop wth an exclamation mark and a question mark at the same time?)

Somehow I felt a distinct sadness stab at me once the mechanicised voice chiming 'you may leave the hall' rang this time. I had heard that phrase 14 times before, but today, the 15th was just incredibly poignant. In fact, I even thought the voice sounded sad. So, after the exam, I walked down to Popular to get a roll of PVC wrap and bought myself a packet of MnMs too. I kept telling myself not to get any food from Popular bookstore, cause nobody else does and whatever is n the food rack is bound to be at least 2 years old, or even if it were younger, taste like it were that old. And I was right. Bland chocolate encased around peanuts that were not crunchy, but not even soft. They were simply, tasteless.

Now, I wonder if I looked silly hauling that PVC wrap all the way home without a plastic bag. Or would it have looked worse if I had used a plastic bag?

Anyway, I shall give myself a lot of things to do during this holiday break, though work is not one of them. My head tells me to go to the gym, now. Just 2 minutes ago it was telling me to go to the gym instead of blog, but here I am, to pen my thoughts and post pictures of some glorious food I had a few days ago:

Tender, tasty jiu he, fresh and crispy kangkong and beansprouts soaked in a tangy spicy and sweet broth and topped with crunchy peanuts. $2!

The best ngoh hiang I've ever eaten! Everything about this plate of deep fried Teochew style fritters was excellent, and the hae pia stayed crispy throughout the 2 bowls of sauce I went through (2nd one was topped up for free).
And it was served piping hot, from this stall in Chinatown.

I must go back again. The food there is awesome, and the atmosphere a blast!

Now that I've come to the end of this post, my head is yelling at me to put on my jogging shoes, but my eyes are telling me to just, sleep. What would I do when I get away from the computer? I will find out soon enough.

'The Ugly Version Of'

Work has been great to say the least. I never knew that I could learn so much from children, and learn to love children so much. And I am very thankful for the gracious working environment that God has placed me in, though I must really gripe about the quality of food produced by the canteen. Surely, being in a tertiary institution has exposed me to higher standards of food and beverage, but surely the despairity cannot be that big! I was actually rather appalled by the scalding mound of dumpling noodles presented to me today, and I sincerely hope for better morsels for these children.

Anyway, I am currently in the midst of writing articles, managing this new piece of work, working through a novel, and trying my best to keep up with a good fitness routine. I have to admit that one of these assignments is exhausting me out now, and hence I've decided to work on it tomorrow and do some blogging before I indulge in the art of reading what people write instead of writing myself.

So, may the blog begin to roll.

My inability to accept with grace, the phrase 'the ugly version of', has oftened resulted in me suffering contagiously moody days. On certain occasions, I have been labeled rather unfairly at my reaction - a consequence of feeling upset that I have been called 'the ugly version of' someone. Eeks!

You, I am still curious as to why you called me 'superficial' at being upset when you and Her told Him that he 'won't believe how hot her (referring to me) sister is cause Tessa is so ugly'. Yes You, you who would probably embrace Christianity if it were packaged with a cunt and what you deem 'hot' feature. Throw it into an oversized shirt and short denim shorts at that and you'd probably become an evangelical.

Hence, I tend to find myself disgusted at that phrase, regardless of usage.

However, a recent journey with my Mizuno shoes has given this phrase an interesting spin. After a year and more of running with my New Balance Shoes, I almost completely forgot the existence of my Mizuno Wave.

I have to admit that I never gave much thought to the latter, considering how it made its rather abrupt entry into my life. I had just purchased the New Balance one Monday morning only for Mum to hand me brochures raving on the new technology behind the Mizuno Wave Creation. I did not take too kindly to the design though. My New Balance were nothing to boast about, but I simply was not drawn to a shoe constructed from a block of white with streaks of colours that looked rather garish at certain angles.

Mum bought it anyway. And I avoided it at all costs, leaving it in its thin wrapping and blue box.

Until recently, when the New Balance had to be washed and the only other way to pound the treadmill was to don the Mizuno. I was skeptical as I stepped on board but moved my feet according to the usual rhythm anyway. Nothing different. As I picked up the pace, the difference became more pronounced. I could actually feel the road beneath me. It was as if my feet and shoe were in some form of synchrony. And I ran, and ran and ran, further than before.

Now I know I could have turned the above post into something more descriptive and emotional. But I know, even as an amateur runner, I have many more steps to run with this pair, more colourful journeys worth documenting even in pictures.

And yes, some day the Mizuno would have to go, and who knows what might replace it.

But for now I'm just happy that my 'uglier version of' shoes actually ran a further distance with me.

The Enemy

知人知敌，百战百胜

I must have mentioned before how much the mere mention of a cliche conjures that sticky cloying feeling that is oh so unpleasant. But yet I love them because they are so true.

So here's another one, this time about knowing your enemy in order to win every battle, and I am my biggest enemy.

Even as my body pounds the treadmill, with each step, the resistance comes from nothing but itself. The horrendous burning from the lactic acid, the dehydration that makes the whole nasal cavity feel like a portion of the Sahara, are just some of the obstacles that I give myself, from myself, to fight with myself.

Reading books on running has helped me put this cliche into perspective. I have to know my body, in order to run effectively. And to know my body requires that I listen to it. As much as I struggle with inertia on those days when I just want to sit down in front of some electronic device and subconsciously build hoardes of cellulite, it becomes equally difficult to stop running once the momentum has kicked in and the adrenaline is coarsing through my veins.

And that's how injuries surface. I have been blessed to be free from joint injuries or muscle tears (so far), and although this could be simply because I have yet to reach the point of a competent runner, I take comfort in the fact that maybe, it is also because I have been listening to my body.

I can accept, rather easily, that rest is as crucial as working hard, and hence try as much as possible to rest when I need to. Of course the ugly past rears here, where, being the obese and unhealthy tween, I often tried to make up for my lack of physical activity with marathons on the desk. Needless to say, falling asleep at the desk was an everyday affair, and the stern mockings from my family members who caught me in the act still resonates even today. Having been conditioned in an environment where sleeping was seen as a sign of weakness rendered those moments even more humiliating, which is shy I never returned the favour then, and hardly ever do so now (if it happens).

Now I am glad that as I run, I listen to my favourite tunes, and also to my body.

I Listen as I Run

Even before I write about what I intend to, I have to admit that a certain blogging protoccol has been nagging at me to blog about my perfect birthday celebration and the very thoughtful presents I received. Its almost like an invisible yoke that has been shadowing me for everyday since the 6th of May, and here I say 'shadowing' simply because this yoke has only nagged at, but has yet to compel me into actually writing about it. Maybe it is mere procrastination that has left the tons of related photographs unlabelled, collecting some virtual dust in my 'MOB' folder. But somehow, I believe the real reason is that my 20th birthday has been so perfect that I want to fossilize it in my intangible memories. For some reason, writing a chunk of text about it and pasting pictures all over seems to dilute the preciousness of those moments as it is now open for the world to access. Notice I did not say 'see'. I do not have a traffic counter on my blog but I am still sufficiently aware of the number of passers-by and readers.

Anyway, back to the topic. This was probably triggered by my recent birthday gift of 'What I talk about when I talk about running' by Murakami, as well the short and simple book 'Running Fit' which I borrowed to complement my Murakami read. I have recently taken an interest in sports, particularly running. This may be extremely difficult to believe considering I used to lead an almost sedentary lifestyle as a child (yes, I reversed time in this sense), and any attempt to walk around the reservoir then was often met with wide opened mouths and arched eyebrows.

So while I have yet to take part in a marathon, or a half-marathon at that, I must say that I do enjoy my sessions in the pool, at the gym, and most of all on the treadmill or in West Coast Park. True enough, when I run, I take myself to a different place. I actually spend more time, on the treadmill, allowing my mind to drift in and out of different realms. And this dreamer of a time has probably prevented me from improving my timing or distance as fast as I should have, but hey, I do not enjoy running so much as for a competition's sake, rather than just immersing myself in the adrenaline with each step.

Yet, despite my drifting, I seldom run 'alone'. Occasionally, when a partner comes along, then I switch to 'competitor' mode, or sometimes 'chaser', when my partner has the inevitable duty of letting me chase after him/her. Then again, I am not really 'alone' even without a partner, being accompanied by music. It is very rare that I run without music when I do not have a physical partner, as if the act of running is somehow synonymous with listening to music.

But music, when I run, does not function as a motivation mechanism of sorts. I know many runners blast rock, hip-hop, rap as they run just so they can match their pace to the beat. But I don't. In fact, I do have some 'slow' songs on my 'working out' playlist. I actually take a lot of time to select which part of my playlist to start, such that I can spend up to 1minute actually walking on the treadmill first as I sift through. Usually, when I select a song to start with, I will stick to that song for many other workout sessions. But, when I feel the need to change, I repeat the 1 minute treadmill routine again. Recently I have been starting with Scandal's 'Doll', then I occasionally skip 'Orion Once Again', but somehow I never miss Larc's 'Honey'. And I usually finish with 'Still Doll'.

I cannot pin a relation between the songs I listen to and my exercise routine. Try as I might, I have never been able to pin the crunches with 'Enter Sandman' or the different stages of incline with any particular song or artist. In fact, I do recall to repeating 'Still Doll' at least thrice, consecutively at that, as I ran.

Maybe its because my running time is the best time for me to listen to music. My driftings away from the rhythmic pounding somehow let me pay better attention to the voices, the different instrumental parts, the lyrics at that.

Oh how I love to listen as I run.

West Coast Park

I have always preceived West Coast Park to be an uprooted East Coast Park + a few better equipment. Given that East Coast Park is synonymous with dog poop, used condoms, couples engaging in activities which should really be confined within 4 walls and frequent sightings of adult caucasians perched over tiny skate skooters as they whiz after their children, it was thus no surprise that throwing some structures spasmodically over a pit of coarse sand was still insufficient to tempt me to divert my route there.

Yet, as much as the climbing structures failed to lure me from my mindless pounding on the treadmill, my recent craze with Sasuke (otherwise rephrased here as Ninja Warrior) got me so hyped up over doing an obstacle course (now this term is subjective. I'm not referring to things like the ボヂプロプ. I'm talking about climbing a few ropes here and there) that I ventured to West Coast Park.

I had a companion of course.

And we went through the 'obstacles' together, working our way around the damaged ones by devicing new rules to go along with it. So, the companion decided to cross the bar with the missing net using his arms only. Like this:

Lift yourself up.


Swing.
Swing higher.


Flip!

Fall.

The companion brought his frisbee along, and as he tossed them around with some new found friends, I did some core stablising work with this:

Planks propped up by springs are perfectly fine. Ropes, on the other hand, even if they were thick, proved much of a harder challenge.

Fortunately for me I did not see any of the undesirable scenes mentioned in the opening paragraph. Ah, West Coast Park, I will be back some day.

All Hail!

I have never known my powers of influence to be so strong to the extent of 'all hail thee' level. Today showed me that this power of mine, is multiplied by at least 100 times, in the area of spoilt appetites and caloric-busting activities.

I am all the more motivated to sign up for the personal trainer's certification course. The sight of me, dressed in signature Nike trainers with TESQ emblazoned across, standing akimbo atop the highest pull up machine you can ever find wielding a 100kg bench press above my head as I exalt all to 'WORK OUT AND STOP EATING', accompanied by lightning bolts and roars of thunder under a torrential storm that for some magical reason does not wet me - is almost risible.

But it'd come through some day (albeit with on a less dramatic scale).

Facts in Brownian Motion

Categorised as 'Duh'
Mum still thinks I'm fat, but will 'try not to say it'.
I certainly do not feel like driving anymore following that racist incident. Hence my procrastination in renewing that stupid PDL.

On Working Out
Thank God for Youtube: ExpertVillage and SparksPeople! I never thought I could do so many strenously fun, and difficult!, workouts with the simple exercise ball. Perfect complement to my 'vary-per-minute-of-inclination' treadmill routine.
Ah, but despite this new found gym routine, I've been dying for a PLUNGE into the pool. Do I have a short attention span? Or do I simply get bored too easily? Either way, I find it difficult to keep going at a particular exercise regime day after day. Seeing the same machines and executing the same exercises just builds a thicker runner's wall that leaves me begging for variation. So yes, I've been yearning for laps which put less stress on my knees, but somehow my evenings keep getting occupied. Yes, blame it on my inability to swim at night (why do I keep thinking that a crocodile is waiting amidst the deck chairs for the opportune time to swoop down and bite me). Alternatively, its my fault for not being able to wake up early enough such that I can swim without subjecting my keys and access card to the risk of theft!

*I might just be getting a Bosu ball for my birthday present. Hooray!*

On Music
I am going to post some questions to Mana-sama.
Dear Mana-sama,
You are an inspiration to all who love classical music. And while you make the rapid scalic passages on a harpsichord sound effortless, is your astute skill today a result of hours of training amidst so many distractions? Did you ever have to strain your ears to pick out the best nuances in your Polonaise, while someone blasted the TV right behind you? Did you ever rain down your pent up frustration through a densely chordal Grieg, only to have someone come down and tell you to shut up because someone else studying upstairs had resorted to covering their ears as you played? Were you ever given weird stares when you expressed your passion for the talent of Chopin? Did you ever cringe when someone said that music was an 'escape', finding that giving music the place of an 'outlet' to reality somehow belittles the richness it beholds?
Ah, but you, born to a musical parentage, probably had a music room all of your own.
Or maybe you struggled with so much more, and overcame all, and became who you are today, one of the lucky few who carve a lucrative career in this industry of heartache and joy.

And before I go
Some readers have asked why my posts vary so greatly in content. One minute I'm a horribly emo, potential wrist-slasher and by the next post I'm incredibly overjoyed. Well, take a look at the title again, 'real random ramble'. I'm hit with varied circumstances everyday, life hands me a different spectrum of emotions, and these emotions change as circumstances change. So, don't worry about me slashing my wrists anytime :)

A New Routine

After 2 days of procrastinating, which turned out to somewhat of a blessing after all, I finally stepped into the gym again. I was expecting my workout this morning to bear the outcome of 2 previously sedentary weeks, and thus was intending to do things at a much slower pace. Yet, somehow, the momentum just flooded back the minute I pushed the tricep bar, and I went on from one exercise to another almost spontaneously, such that I emerged from the gym equipped with a new and possibly better (I say possibly since I'm no authority on this) workout routine :)

And, as we all know, in the pursuit of better health, what one eats is about as crucial as one's exercise frequency. Hooray for Dad's creation (this was for dinner last sunday):

I had a much 'greener' than usual lunch today:

Pardon the brown bits of taupok and meatballs, my yong tau foo selection comprised otherwise of vegetables and beancurd. The drink is none other than my favourite combination of green apple + celery! (Stop gagging. Try a sip first.)

Maybe it was the really productive gym session that influenced my choice in meals. Either way, I hope I can somehow drill in myself the will to make healthy choices all the time. Cheers to good health!

Seat Potato

The butchering has rendered me a seat potato. 'No gym, no jogging, (hell!) no swimming! You would not want to reopen the stitches!'

And I can literally feel myself ballooning (blame it also on my mule-style stubornness to continue eating as if I could regularly move beyond a walking pace).

To add to the torture of feeling like lard: Both the pool and the gym are visible from my balcony. I can read their minds. The water is dying to swallow more latex-clad people and the treadmill needs to be pounded by the girl with ガゼット screaming in her ears.

Truth is, the 3cm red curve around my left rib can now be touched without sending out bolts of pain. I no longer walk in the 'totally paralysed on the left' (quote El) style, and I can bend double! So, since I would not be slamming my back hard against anything (remember, no group sports)or lying on my right side (I'd be running) at all, why are my legs still not going anywhere beyond regular paced strutting?

Toaster Monster

Despite my recent exploits in conquering the frying pan, I have been unable to successfully operate a toaster or microwave for the matter. Thus, when it comes to preparing breakfast other than bread and spread, I usually end up in a rather disastrous outcome (think, setting the toaster on fire).

My family is well aware of lack of affinity with such appliances. Hence, I woke up this morning to find these things pasted on my Lifebook, courtesy of my dear Jie.

I settled for the sausages, but despite me following the timing accurately, ended up with 2 rubbery planks that even hot mustard couldn't save. Praise the Lord for leftover tau sar piah and a general lack of appetite.

I spent the whole day doing almost nothing, before going out with Dad to check out our new jogging routes @ West Coast Park. Needless to say, the 'Adventure Playground' was littered with tots and its perimeters lined with parents, grandparents, maids etc. Despite having the designated jogger's path seperated from the 'anything with wheels' path by a snaking river of cowgrass, my jog was interrupted by whizzing kids - and even adults - on skate scooters. Hence, though West Coast Park features a more scenic view and climbing apparatus to accompany the jog, I still prefer the solitude of Henderson Waves.

If not, I'll head down to the pool and gym.

Local Pastries

This morning's breakfast was a refreshing change from bread and spread, courtesy of Mum and Dad's post-Ikea divergence to the ubiquitous traditional local bakery. I had my Lipton Tea, as usual, with these delectable pastries:

Gai Dan Gao
This was disappointing though. They looked delicious for sure but turned tasting like chewy sugared yellow dough.

Mah Ti Su
These were brilliant! Crisp, baked shell that flaked at the bite concealed an adequately sweet and sticky brown sugar paste.

Pong Piah
Another one to shout about, since it was pretty much just an enlarged version of the very delicious Mah Ti Su.

Mum and Dad also brought home these peanut candies, which aren't exactly meant for breakfast, but I simply couldn't resist them.

Imagine biting through a sweetened peanut casing to get to the soft and fluffy peanut powder within.

Mum and Dad probably don't know about my blog but I must say a big THANK YOU! to them for such a lovely breakfast.

However! There is a heavy price to pay for Sweet Indulgence and I set off jogging up Mount Faber again this afternoon. For me, every jog must be preceded by this routine whereby I sms Mum to say I'm off jogging, and she will always reply me with something along the lines of a prayer for protection. Today, she responded with such a witty one-liner that she really should get an award, a 'Quote of the Day' type of thing for it. Here goes:

Me: Going Jogging
Mum: OK, the LORD jogs with u.

Now, I wonder if the LORD wears Nike too?

After I returned home from my jog with the LORD, Jie surprised me with a Random Cat pic she took near the rubbish chute (thank you jie!).

This picture had put an end to my nagging suspicion that the Random Cat column somehow scared all the cats away from me.

Of Chips and Jogs

This morning featured a restful, quiet slumber and I only stirred, ever so slightly, to the warm sunlight as it filtered into the room, until the shrill rings of Dad's phone call had me falling out of bed.

Downed my toast and tea before finishing the last half of Stephen King's Carrie. I scored the tattered and frayed paperback from the neighbourhood Library on my way home from church yesterday. Strangely enough, I found myself laughing rather than spooked out by it. A first for a King novel.

Despite managing a good lunch from last night's left over red wine chicken mee sua, the hunger pangs struck somewhere around 3 and so Jie and I headed down to 7-11 for a quick fix (throwing all thoughs of msg to the wind at that). Jie settled for good old Vanilla Pocky while I carted home a canister of hot, fresh fries.

I just cannot figure how Jagabee manages to keep each strand of these pre-packaged chips as fresh and fragrant as fries just off the hot oil. Anyhow, it was no wonder that there were only 3 canisters left despite them being tucked discreetly at the corner of a shelf. And I was glad to savour them as french fries rather than as potato chips, with lots of chilli sauce.

Unfortunately for us creatures without the Y chromosome, snacking is a sin, but one that can be atoned for by indulging in another activity we love! A packet of pocky and a can of jagabee in exchange for an energizing run up henderson waves. If only we had so much time, all the time. (Or maybe its just me who should be taking up more commitments).

And I found something interesting at the junction just before the ascent up Mount Faber.

An abandoned Starbucks! coffee bottle. I bet its owner must have been another one without the Y chromosome and probably didn't have time for a jog today.