A Yankee fan's nightmare

Three World Series appearances in this millennium.
Two rings in the past decade.
Those champagne celebrations in late October, outnumbering the World's Greatest Team of the 1900s.
Take me back to the grand old days of the late 90's,
It's been a long time.
The home grown drafted players,
All gone bust and flopped.
The biggest rival,
After two years of the "titanic sinking", Bobby Valentine,
Cellar dwellers in 2012 and the epic fried chicken-video gaming-beer drinking shenanigans,
A long lost memory in time for the Red Sox.
The postseason ghosts haunting,
Derek Jeter's nasty injury last October,
Nothing gone right for the Yankees.
Here I go,
Scream my heart out,
Rooting for Detroit to win the AL pennant,
Fielder is as big as Ortiz,
Both can't run bases,
One got thrown out in a crucial inning running to third.
Never saw it coming,
Should have never started running,
A good twelve hours ago.
So I lay my head back down,
And I pray to the baseball gods,
May the Cardinals beat the Red Sox.
They are my only hope.

Raffles Institution Invitationals 2013

Busy has been taken to a whole new level. It was an exciting and fulfilling learning experience for me, not just passing on my skill to the students; albeit information overload for a few students as it was their first time on the panel, as a fifteen year old. Although at 10pm on a Sunday night, I am still reeling from the adrenaline rush and amount of work done, I am contented. Simply: the fact that I cannot stop talking about how proud I am of the team of students I guided and mentored.

From the simplest of all things at eight in the morning that I did: taking attendance of all the judges present, and briefing them on the scoring range I implemented for consistency to moderating and calculating scores (for consistency issues), doing power matching for the second and third round under a very tight schedule and  re-allocating judges multiple times, this sure taught me to multitask even further. In addition, I gave one of the students the autonomy to make logistical decisions, rather than be the one have a say in every single issue.

I probably listed out most of what I had done yesterday in the span of ten hours, not including judging three rounds, giving the verdict and oral feedback to the teams, what a whirlwind day indeed.

Special thanks to Kelvin for letting me play a part in running the tournament. Much appreciated for giving me more experience!

Not forgetting Samuel, Malcolm and Deon. The past 3, 4 weeks of non stop emailing with information, thanks for the swift replies and great suggestions and productive day. It was a pleasure working with all of you.

What's the scoop?

Besides writing a first grade English book on sentence transformations and close passages, and teaching a year 4 class on debate and other classes since July (most of my classes are scheduled to end in late September as they are all project-based),

I also helped out at a Homeworks! Habitat for Humanity house-cleaning project in July in Chinatown. It was really meaningful and made me appreciate what I have. My team consisted of a flight attendant who works for Singapore Air, a lady who works at A-Star Institute and a high school junior. We cleaned, dusted, wiped, scrubbed a destitute lady's house. She was in her eighties and had almost next to nothing.

Here are a few tournaments that I have judged at since April this year; not including the national secondary/high school tournament:

Raffles Institution Under 14's (May/June 2013)

Ministry of Education-ACJC inter collegiate debating championships (June 2013)- panelist for the quarterfinals which involved two highly skilled teams and the eventual champion (ACJC vs Hwa Chong Institution)

Singapore Polytechnic Debate Open (June 2013)- panelist for all preliminary rounds, knock-out rounds including the junior/secondary school division grand finals

Valid ITE (July 2013) - panelist for all rounds including the grand finals

Hwa Chong Invitationals- High School Division (July 2013)- panelist for all rounds including the grand finals

Singapore British Parliamentary Debate Championships (August 2013)- panelist for preliminary rounds and the semifinals of the senior division

(evidence is always good and this time, here I managed to get a screenshot of my name for one of the rounds I judged:)

Upcoming:

Raffles Institution Elementary School Debate Invitational in early September. I am helping as an adviser to the student-organizers in addition to judging the tournament. (thanks Kelvin for allowing me to be part of it!)

Hoping to get my book done and dusted with very soon!

I cannot wait for college football to start again. Go Bruins! (I am a converted UCLA Bruins football fan, thanks to my good friend who is a UCLA alum.)  Why is USC ranked in the top 25 again? Boooooo.

Devolution of a new type of evil

While seated on the bed in our hotel room, I could not help but notice a folder in his hard disk, next to the one which he had loaded up with movies and asked me to copy over to my computer. Curiously, I opened the file. It contained pictures and videos of hardcore pornography, which Paul had apparently forgotten to hide before handing me his hard disk. I refused to inquire about his pornography, the fact that he would be checking out of the room and headed down south to meet his friend, as he claimed. Or perhaps, his life partner, an elderly Chinese lady. This put an exclamation point to what Paul had said to me in conversations before meeting him, that he had a “special liking” for eastern Europeans and naked women. And the incident confirmed my growing unease about this supposedly successful man. He was in fact a closet sex addict and deviant.

A few months before our encounter, Paul asked me to fly up for a few days to meet him right when Christmas break started. We had already parted ways, long distance was never going to work out for us- and the fact that he had thrown me aside like a hot potato upon returning home from our previous vacation together.  One one occasion during our previous trip, Paul had decided to wear the same colored t-shirt that immediately after seeing what I wore before heading out to the pubs. “Elaine, how do I look? Is my hair OK? How about this shave – is this a close shave or what?” he asked me. And I immediately sensed an insecure and narcissistic side to this otherwise confident man which I had known for about a year and half.

I initially got to know Paul at through a mutual friend when they showed up at a bar I was at, unannounced. We talked about sports and American culture. During that time, nothing out of the ordinary struck me about Paul. In fact, my first impressions of Paul were generally positive. He seemed to be a confident and determined person, with a genuine desire for helping middle and high school students reach their full potential. What’s more, he is a driven and organized person, who constantly seeks out new challenges. 

Besides having good looks and being a slick talker, Paul has the perfect resume and educational credentials that any student under his tutelage would envy.  He earned honors from Stanford University. Following graduation, he obtained a Master’s degree and PHD from Harvard in technology and English. Paul, who comes from a mix of Hispanic and Western European descent, is an adviser of various educational committees. In addition, he is a member of various prestigious elitist circles. A promising man in his late-forties, he unabashedly calls himself a professional geek.

During my fourth encounter with Paul, he drank heavily, downing everything in sight. More disturbingly, he constantly hit on me, trying to kiss me at every opportunity. I felt extremely irritated. “Could you please stop hitting on Elaine, you’re embarrassing”, a concerned friend interjected. In response, Paul slyly said, “I’m too drunk to know what’s going on, dude.” He backed off temporarily, but eventually started his obnoxious act once again. “Elaine, I really would like to have you tonight, you have made my time in Malaysia simply the best time ever.” I was now irate with his despicable behavior. "Paul is simply another desperate guy hiding behind the shield of being drunk as an excuse to get into my pants.” I thought to myself. As the night went on, inebriation got the best of me. I eventually gave into Paul's requests and took the first move- kissing. Paul's magic words which made me fall into the first kiss was "I haven't kissed someone in a long time," something along the lines of that. He insisted he was single, but that truth was to be short lived, two years later.

My gut instincts were right, but yet I chose to ignore it and believe his words that he was dating someone right after we split up from the previous vacation. If he was dating, or engaged, there wasn't much of a detriment to remain as friends and talk on a daily/every other day basis exchanging at least an email or text message over a phone messenger. Right after the first trip, he had walked down the aisle and now, he will be moving two hours down south from where he was based with his life partner of a year. The photos which I discovered by chance on documents left online by chance, a week after I discovered the pornography. Paul was a douche. A typical slimy man with a high flying career and a sex partner in every country nearby. 

I used to have a weekly social circle, going out for drinks with friends who all knew Paul. After the first incident sparked, I lost everyone when I should have believed them that he had the ring on his finger and a player. I chose to believe the lies that Paul told me, and the fact that he never wore a ring when we hung out at all. Deep down in me, since he said he was dating, there might be that very chance for me to get back with him, despite a twenty year age difference. To me, age does not matter when I'm way too deep into Paul. During a send off at the airport four months back, Paul still had the absolute cheek to tell me these words "Maybe we might work out if you get a job and move to wherever I'm at, in Taiwan.." I foolishly believed him yet again, when he was already happily hitched for nine months. Finally when he said those words "Elaine, listen. I have been married for a year. She's easily jealous. And we both got jobs at the school in Taiwan, so it's none of your business..." before hanging up suddenly on me.

Unknown to students and the woman he's with, Paul is sexually attracted to younger girls. Actually, the word “attracted” is kind here; “lust” is probably more appropriate.  Although he appears harmless, this is someone who is frankly dangerous in many ways. 

Despite the Ivy League education, Paul is no better than other slimy expat men, who frequently stalk prostitutes outside of Singapore’s famed Orchard Towers or Bangkok's Nana Plaza and Soi 4, Pattaya's Walking Street – where teenage girls from the Philippines, Vietnam, Thailand, Cambodia and China gather each night to sell sex. Lacking the stereotypical middle-aged man bulge, Paul is tall and well dressed – making him appear less offensive on the surface. He is usually decked out in a Calvin Klein or Guess or Lucky Brand t-shirt and shorts and loafers or leather sandals. Paul approaches girls who are friends of his in a cautious manner, not showing any obvious signs of his sexual desires. Indeed, at many places, Paul is so slick that most students do not even know he is preying on them- that includes me.

Working in high schools enabled Paul to have a large pool from which to attract his female students. If he failed to feel comfortable with one, he would simply flirt with another girl. Voices of temptation undoubtedly spoke in Paul’s head. “They are so young and soft. This is like heaven.” “These girls trust you. Be gentle.” At night, when Paul was alone, he watched hours of school girl pornography to fall asleep. His subscriptions to sites distributing pornography had multiplied like rabbits mating. The more pornography Paul watched, the more his mind was fixated on young girls, lusting after their bodies.

Even more alarming, while at work with students around, Paul would become sexually aroused by students. He subsequently would make a beeline to the bathrooms to masturbate. Students trusted him easily because he ran the competitions professionally. But behind this professional façade, Paul preyed on young girls, often going to dinner with them after a school event he did technology support for. From dinner, he would lure them back to his home in various ways by making them feel at ease. Daring girls were more than willing than most to make out with him. Some of these girls likely had family problems or personal issues, leading to low self esteem; others no doubt simply wanted to experiment with an older white guy. Paul once confided to me during that fateful trip last year right before he got hitched that he once dated a former student who was twenty-four years younger than him. 

To be continued...

*names and details of universities and locations changed to protect identity.

They were raised out of steel here in the hoods

Despite battling a 100 degree temperature, strep throat and cold over the past few days, I walked away inspired from a tournament that I judged at. I've lost count of the number of debate matches judged, but two rounds- the first and last one left an image in my head. A positive one, indeed.

Students from the technical college who are generally looked down upon as the outcasts of society. The ones who can't make it in academics and on paper that's why they end up there. Battling this all my life and fallen behind due to poor decisions of laughing now and having fun while everyone is hitting it hard with the books in my younger days, I totally empathize with these students. Having to live in the shadows and face stereotypes and negativity. Lots of them come from broken homes, living in the ghettos and never had the chance to succeed.

They walked into the room and exhibited signs of defeat even before the first speaker was up on the podium. Everything seemed just too familiar to them, the going through the same motion of negativity. They lost to the junior colleges by a huge margin, but when I spoke to them, they were determined to learn how to improve. I could see it from their body language. If only they were taught how to. If only they were not looked down upon and were given the chance. It's just another opponent. If you look at it in sports, the score before every game is zero even. If only they could see that there is always a chance at the start.

I gave them a few handouts which I use throughout all the classes that I teach at elementary school level and they were extremely grateful. Nobody is a failure at all. These students have won already. They did not believe it when I said to them that they're all winners for being able to go up and deliver a speech. It ain't easy for sure. Small milestones. Give these students a chance. They aren't goners cause they're in the dumping ground of schools.

Happy Independence Day!

Having spent a total of 30 nights in the States over 2010 and 2011/12, the past 2 Fourth of July's have got me all emotional.

Three years ago, I was in Utrecht City. Someday I would love to be in the States for Independence Day.

What am I thankful to America for?

Bruce Springsteen.
The San Antonio Spurs, New York Yankees, North Carolina Tar Heels, LA Kings/NY Rangers, NY Giants... the best professional sporting leagues which keep me entertained year round.
The giant sodas and huge burgers and pizzas which I somehow never put on weight during my time in the States.
Samuel Adams, Goose Island, Sierra Nevada beer (yummmmmmmm!)
Country music.
Baskin Robbins and Ben and Jerry's ice cream
Hard Ice Tea. Yum.
Dueling piano shows
Mark Twain, Ernest Hemingway, David Foster Wallace, Arthur Miller.
Hanna Barbera cartoons
Smokey the Bear.

Forgive me for being stuck and having limited ideas but I've been blitzed with lesson planning, teaching and writing a book. No rest for the next few months, no vacation and long days pulled. Working hard for the 'man 'cause in the day we sweat it out on the streets of the runway American dream, quoting the best rocker who walked this earth's famous song.

617 Standing strong.

December 30, 2011. After 4 hours on the road from Stowe, Vermont, finally I've arived in Boston slightly before noon. Rainy morning and a few gaffes with the hotel as my family was checking in early. The day went by pretty good. Had a stumptous lunch at Legal Seafoods and walked around the Boston Common and Beacon Hill all the way to the Charles River overlooking MIT. After about four hours of walking around, my family decided to head in the direction of Boylston Street to shop, most vividly at City Sports on the 400 block and around Copley Square. Fast forward to dinnertime, we ended up at Max Brenners, situated within a block where both bombs went off. I don't know why but every major attack in the States occurs, I recall my experiences so vividly. And I go on an emotional rollercoaster hating myself for not treating my friends good enough, especially the handful who have stood by me during my darkest days and stood firm on being my friend, when I tried to throw them out, and cussed and hated at them. This makes me incredibly sad, tearing up and emailing a best friend that I love him and value him in my life last night.

And Max Brenner was where it all happened, where I felt touched by a friend on my birthday. Where I ate my first chocolate pizza for dinner. Yum. Walked back stuffed up and went to a liquor store on the same block to buy a beer to drink back in the hotel room.

December 31, 2011.

After visiting Harvard and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, my family decided to walk across the Charles River bridge to Back Bay. Cloudy skies on new years eve, and the roads sparsely filled with tourists. Walked down all of Back Bay, and I could see Fenway Park from Berklee College of Music. Stumbled upon a fire station, went in and watched the firemen at their drill. Bought a tshirt from them as I thought it'd be neat to own an original fire station t-shirt. Walked further down to the Prudential Center, and my. It was huge. Quardruple the size of the Ion mall downtown in Singapore. Had ice cream at the food court, and the mall was closing early for New Year's eve at 5pm. By then, it was already dark outside and the crowds were starting to line the street for the parade. Floats and street performers made their way down the stretch of Boylston which had been closed off to traffic. My first New Year's eve NOT spent in an airport or in a plane going back to SGP and it felt so surreal.

Boylston will never be the same again.

Like a memory that you can't erase, it's here to stay.

Waiting for death: the destitute low income elderly of SGP

Ghettos, destitutes of SGP's low income housing. The illiterate elderly. Race and ethnicity, the different forms of assimilation, stratification, social groups and urban space. Oh, the six sociology courses I studied in college finally comes alive. I not be talking about theories at all in this recount.

A short twenty minute car ride from downtown brings me to the outskirts of Singapore, in particular, a low income project where the ageing destitutes live. No cacophony of hustle and bustle sounds fill the area. A sense of eerie silence. Blocks of old communal houses which looked abandoned from its facade, have many holed up inside. Windows latched shut with decay, some of them showed signs of rusting, broken from perhaps domestic violence or anger. Think: Detroit's urban decay with the low income, illiterate elderly, destitutes, ex convicts and addicts all live under one roof, to each their own room. A little of the Bronx, in about ten blocks of communal housing clumped together.

 Upon reaching the block where an ageing relative of mine lived, the smell of various commonly abused drugs such as ice, crack and pot combined with a pungent whiff of ammonia from whiz and sewage from piping which had not been maintained properly overwhelmed my senses. The housing units had their doors either shut or opened in full view- there were no children spotted on the first floor. No playground or facilities in the vicinity either. These smells combined together, spelled out one word: poverty. The cooridors so narrow and dim, with old lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling made me feel uncomfortable. Realization that I have been living the good life creeped up my spine.

Barely holding my breath with the overload of stench, I made it to the lift, which reeked of urine and blood stains on the floor. Using my knuckles to press the elevator button, I made it up to the seventh floor which Aunt K lived. The very moment I exited, I caught sight of a middle age burly man hastily walking away from the lift landing, throwing his cigarette on the floor and disappearing down the hallway. He appeared suspicious, and the first thought that came to my mind was: Addict, abuser, ex convict. The man had probably thought mom and I were law enforcers, perhaps. Without much hassle, we made it to Aunt K's doorstep. No doorbell to press, we knocked on the door repeatedly and mom speaking in dialect. She replied back, in a cautious tone, making sure from inside that it was really my mom and not a stranger, before unlocking three padlocks, then finally opening the door, inviting us in. She mustered up the strength, all eighty years in her, to carry over two wooden stools, its legs still wrapped in plastic covering- to let us sit on.

The moment I first glanced at Aunt K's home, the paint was fading and the walls turning pale brown from dampness. Her house was the size of a king sized bed plus a bathroom cubicle in your downtown mall. The tiles had a cloud of dust on them, my feet coated in grey. Amazingly enough, Aunt K's kitchen was barely existent with a portable stove and refrigerator, resembling what NFL/college football fans bring to tailgating parties before the game. She was a hoarder, the house cluttered with tons of plastic bags, old shoes, old metal biscuit tins and disposable cutlery from purchased takeout given the welfare workers I presume.  Mom handed her a box of herbal tonic and raw fish, deboned and Aunt K showed her gratitude by shaking my mom's hand and repeatedly saying thank you. As I could barely speak the Chinese dialect, my mom did all the talking-- and ever so often, I offered my sentiments in Mandarin which Aunt K could comprehend.

From the twenty minute conversation with Aunt K, she was one of the better, well  looked after ageing residents in the block due to her nephew introducing her to a church that looked after him for awhile after he was released from prison. (Backstory in short: Her nephew, who is my mom's cousin has been a drug addict and been in jail all his life. However, during a few years of his release sometime in the early 2000s, he managed to convince his Aunt to attend church and believe in god.) I am not religious but silently feel pleased to know that Aunt K does not have to worry about when her next meal would be, and fork out a single cent for rent and utilities and medical care. Unlike most of the residents in her block who often go without food, she has social workers from the church she attends who pay her a visit about three times a week, bringing her groceries and help her to tidy up the house, keeping her company. In addition, they accompany her on her scheduled trips to the hospital. Speaking of the hospital, I noticed boxes of medication on the plastic table beside her bed, which she has been ordered to take for her various health ailments that come with ageing. A closer look brought my eyes to see that she was taking Bayer Asprin and glucose tablets. Generic indeed, but when your medical care is paid for by the church, on the cheapest plan, this is what you get. (Aunt K did not have pension when she worked as a cleaner back in the day, unmarried and has no family in touch with her over the years since her older sister passed away in 2006 from diabetes. Her older sister's family left her to fend for herself as she was of no use, they claimed.)

The authorities come ever so often to cut off utility supply to the units whose residents are unable to pay the bills. Sometimes the elderly die in their flat without anyone knowing and it can go undetected for days until the stench is unbearable and a neighbor/resident calls for assistance. There is no resident center for the elderly in the vicinity. Unwillingly, she slowly, but hesitantly says there has been a few suicide case in the block she lives at, which yet again, involve the drug addicts- either because they have run dry of money for drugs, or renegade from the authorities during a crackdown, attempting to jump off the parapet to ground level from storeys above.

Aunt K explains that the residential population in her block does not comprise of children, and a vast majority of the residents stay by themselves. They range from their mid forties to as old as ninety years of age and are mostly illiterate and never made it past elementary school. Aunt K never went to school either but is able to read Mandarin. She is unable to speak English.

When asked about the cops, in a hushed tone, she speaks of the frequent police sirens blaring through, and hustling and screams fill the air, similar to an action scene on tv. The police make unannounced checks on offenders and most of the time, it ends up with the dweller being led away in handcuffs, sometimes never seen again. Aunt K seems unfazed by the drama that occurs and whenever she leaves the house, she takes extra precaution by leaving home in daylight hours and turns on the radio as a decoy that she is home, just incase crime might happen. So far, in the years that she has lived there, she has yet to face any injustice or harm. Aunt K does not interact with any of the residents due to the nature of her situtation. Her days are filled with reading the bible, listening to the radio and doing basic reflexology exercises, visitations to the hospital- accompanied by the social workers from church and doing anything to pass her time. She is content with what she has in her twilight years, having a roof over her head and meals everyday, and the simple pleasures of hearing podcasts on the radio.

As my mom had an appointment, we had to make a move, with Aunt K nodding in sadness, her eyes drooping- a stark contrast to the sparkle back when we had arrived half an hour earlier. We slowly bid her goodbye, she tells us to be safe on our way out, as she painstakingly removes the padlocks and opens the door again. This time, the smell overload does not bother me as much, with a sociology lesson in my head, as I try to decompress what I have just learned and heard. We walk back to the car, parked a few streets away in a middle income neighborhood, my guard slightly let loose.

Scammed in Hanoi

If I wanted to count the number of every single person who has fallen prey to scam in Hanoi, I certainly would not be able to keep track. This unfortunate mishap happens to the innocent, at the expense of the locals who disregard and have thrown dignity and morals and conscience and image out the window, into one of the many lakes and rivers in the city. As much as I understand they are trying or have to make a living to feed themselves and their families, doing so at the expense of the harmless who have not offended or done any wrong to them, the dark side of humans have been exposed.

Digressing, why does one scam? Greed drives people to dishonesty and using unscrupulous means to churn out the dollars. Unethical and distasteful. In some cases, the "scammer" might not actually want to scam or swindle a foreigner of their cash, but he could be working for a syndicate or someone who takes a huge cut of the amount he has successfully conned from the victim. He could face punishment in the form of getting beaten up if he is unable to earn a certain amount everyday thus he commits that act, although clearly aware that it is not the right thing to do. Deceit to earn more cash to feel satisfied, overcharging so you can go home early? The reasons for why people cheat and commit fraud are never ending.

From reading a good 20-30 articles about scams, and the dangers of it, some authors claim that the swindlers, when told off by them responded that it was their job, some feigned innocence and the rest of the con artists became aggressive. Whatever you call them-- con artists, fleecers, hustlers or fraudsters, they project and shed a negative image on a country, on the contrary to image and face being extremely important in Asian culture. Being poor does not give you the liberty to commit these acts!

I fell prey to various scams in a day, and actually genuinely felt touched for a moment shedding a little tear (but quickly retracted when I knew I was in for a ride that never ended.) Befriending the staff in a food and beverage establishment the moment someone asked me "are you alone here, is this your first time?" and foolishly letting my guard down and speaking the truth. Then I took a gamble and ate street food, within half an hour of consuming it, the food poisoning had started-- stomach upset. Tried to hold it down and went back-- promising that I would be back after I wanted to try a local delicacy. I was still swayed and falling even further into the trap of the scammers and allowed them to introduce me to more crooks. Oh, "never talk to strangers", that infamous line your parents tell you at nursery age, it certainly did not come to my mind. Oh, beware of any local who is overly friendly and excited to help a sick foreigner! What happened after that was a total nightmare.


Getting double whammy-scammed by taxi drivers overcharging with a local who had accompanied me who pretends that she had made sure my fare was correct, then when I hand over a bill, she says it's not enough and I need to give more. Visiting a run down and undeveloped hospitals whose staff spoke not a single word of english, translated from the overly friendly local: I was being told that I needed an IV and to be warded overnight. Despite saying I did not as I knew my food poisoning would probably go away and all I needed was charcoal tablets, they insisted. And so, I was made to pay the consultation fees at the hospital without any medication, feeling worse. The cycle repeated itself twice, with taxi drivers and hospital staff. Finally at a hospital which had an English speaking "senior nurse", she told me I had salmonella and a bacterial infection that I would need pumping and flushing in my body and stay overnight but I could not pay for it since I had no insurance, and her voice still makes me scared and freeze in fear. Yet again, getting overcharged and nothing happening.

In short, I was taken from place to place to lighten the cash I had brought to spend on vacation. The overly friendly local then suggests that I should change my ticket to go home earlier, and yet again, I was taken for a ride. Made it to the ticket office, and more cash evaporated when there was no need to-- in fear that I might die from this food poisoning. All in all, I should not have told them the truth about needing a pharmacy-- which had them jumping at the thought of "Time to phish and make some money!" Every single person that I encountered said they did not know what charcoal tablets are-- when it is the most common form of food poisoning/stomach trouble medication, the red flags should have been waving in my face, but sadly no. Sickness and panic exposes your vulnerability writes "target" all over you.


Where was the spirit of humanity when it was painfully clear from your looks that you were sick?

Moral of this incident: never tell strangers the truth, and if you're a single woman traveling, always say you are married/ the boyfriend/husband is back at the hotel or out shopping/you will meet him in awhile. Also, buy travel insurance shall you really require medical attention, and do not forget to bring full supplies of pills when going to a less developed nation!

Using my photos for Challenge: Tell me the story of my life

Adapted from http://www.jabizraisdana.com/blog/tell-me-the-story-of-my-life

Here goes mine.

Challenge: Tell me the story of my life

Credits to http://www.jabizraisdana.com/blog/tell-me-the-story-of-my-life/ , this challenge would fittingly be my first post of 2013 on this (mostly sports related) blog. My version, using Jabiz's photos: Mid January- end April looked mostly like this: Final semester as an undergraduate. One year later, I miss what seemed like endless nights of cramming. Being jobless and gypsy teaching isn't very much fun when I want to explore the world/visit Bangkok to meet my lovely friends (Billy, Pete, Gob, Pennee etc) for intercultural chat sessions.

The first thing that comes to my mind would be looking out of the Esplanade Library of Singapore. Some evenings spent there getting absolutely lost in the music collection(while failing miserably at associating theories from race and ethnicity)

Somewhere only (I) know, where dreaming big and being a child is the best thing ever, not having to worry how to feed yourself financially. Is my future prince waiting for me in the castle grounds? Passed by Universal Studios on the way to the beach for a much needed bike ride, two days after I quit my desk job that certainly wasn't made for me.

This might not be 2012 material, but it sure does bring back memories of public relations class: Creating a (fake) website site rebranding a franchise/brand and press kit in Singapore. This was one of the many assignments given, and only a week to do it. Here are the links: https://twitter.com/VivaVurg http://www.facebook.com/people/Viva-Vurg/100002637145710#!/pages/VivaVurg/123689841056584?sk=info http://nnchalnt.wix.com/vivavurg ((NOTE: Everything is fake in its entirety and was done for a graded assignment, which yes, I passed and got a B+))

Days in between gypsy teaching and interviews were mostly spent like that. (End September- mid December.) In 2012, I fell in love with A Million Little Pieces by James Frey, Triumph of the City by Edward Glasser, The Secret Olympian... and many more books to name a few.

Born and raised in S-G-P!

Live everyday to the best and your life will be a celebration. I clearly should have applied this to my life last year with too much anger consuming me and losing friends, memories and failing to see the beauty of my surroundings.

Coming up in the next post would be my version of the story of my life in 2012.