everything's not right.

I am constantly in a point of my life where I'm unhappy with the status quo. Always waiting for everything to be over, always lusting after the grass that is greener on the other side. It's tiring. Everytime it's over, I tell myself that I won't let myself go through that phrase of life again. But, then, I do. I do it over and over again. I never learn from my mistakes. I don't know why I'm always stuck in a rut. I'm sick of harvesting hope for my future, when the truth is, nothing's happening. Nothing's gonna change. I'm sick of that. I don't know myself anymore. I hate the reflection in the mirror. I disappoint myself. I let myself down. I ask myself the same questions over and over again. I still haven't found answers. The wintry climate in my heart is not right. Nothing's right.

I guess I want everything I can't have.

“Did I?”

She picks up the wet laundry, and brings them upstairs to dry as there is no more space left in the cramped quarters downstairs. A strong gust of wind blows and one of them falls to the ground. She picks it up and later hangs it outside the window, and makes a mental note to wash the stained blouse a second time.

Two days pass.

The same grey blouse is still hanging outside the window.

Someone alerts me to it. I look outside, and then approach the person responsible for my forgotten blouse.

“Where is my blouse?” I asked her.

She is confident enough to repeat multiple times that it is downstairs.

“How sure are you?” I asked her.

“I swear it is downstairs,” came her reply. Again and again, she insists it is downstairs. Again and again, she looks through the same tumble of clothing, but never ever chancing upon the grey blouse.

“No one will steal it,” she assures me as she flips over a black blouse. Hanging from her arms are shirts of assorted colours – white, yellow, black, purple, blue. I ask her if she knows what she is looking for. She says yes, black (figment of her imagination) and grey shirts. I remind her again and again that my blouse is a grey one. I ask her about ten times if she has any idea what she is searching for. Each time, she says yes, and then continues looking intently at the yellow shirt.

Half an hour has passed, and I am getting impatient. How long is it going to take the maid to realize that she placed my blouse hanging outside the window frames?

I ask her again where she placed it.

She replied confidently that it was downstairs, and ensured me that no one would steal it.

I asked her again how sure was she.

“I swear” was her reply.

“And if it isn’t?” I continue.

“Then I die,” said the maid.

I look at her for seconds, before words start tumbling out of my mouth on its own accord. “Well, then, prepare to die,” I said as I stood up and led her to the window frames, hidden by the billowing curtains, which the maid drew back to reveal my grey blouse.

There is a surprised look on her face, and a momentary stunned silence, before –

“Who put it there?!” She demanded.

Why, I don’t know, it could have been that the festive season of Christmas descended upon our household early and Santa Clause decided to have a little game of hide-and-seek? To enliven our stiffening atmosphere in here, perhaps?

“Why, it was you.” I replied, not at all amused.

Another ten seconds pass in which an incredulous look descended upon her face, and finally –

“Did I?”

I gave her my best annoyed look, while shock, surprise and disbelief all struggled for dominance on her face.

Her features screwed up into a tight ball and her eyebrows wrinkled in deep furrow as she struggled for her life to recall – and failed miserably.

Anyone looking for the lead actress to a possible sequel for the movie 50 First Dates?

I strongly recommend my maid.

Best part?

She doesn’t even have to act. I call it natural talent.

risking life with her debts.

On the surface, *Iris appears to be a sweet and demure girl. With nondescript looks, to a stranger’s eye, she seems obedient and servile to a fault.

My impression of her is vague and fleeting, but she appeared like someone with high morals and who led a strictly austere, disciplinary lifestyle.

Her stay at our household was ephemeral, and initially things were fine between her and my maid. However, towards the last two weeks leading up to her final days at work, problems arose. I often witnessed altercations (sometimes through smses sent in the middle of the night) between the two of them, and even though my maid hinted at some fiscal issues, I never really knew what was going on.

One month ago, Iris flew from our household (where she worked for my auntie) back to her hometown, where she was beaten to death.

-------------||--------------

It turns out that she isn’t as simple as she appears to be. Before she came to Singapore, she hooked up with several guys back in her hometown, borrowing huge sums of money from them. Every time she split up with one of the guys, she adamantly refused to return the money.

Her reason?

“Indonesians are all like that, always borrow money, never return one.”

Apparently, my maid was also one of her victim.

When she flew back to Indonesia less than a month back, she was walloped by one of her debtors, and was sent to ICU due to extensive injuries. She died in hospital soon after.

* Not her real name

I hate China people...well, 99% of them anyway

When I first knew I was going to China for a 7-days jaunt, I had expected to be greeted by a sophisticated, cosmopolitan city that the world has paint a prettified portrait of, one that will surpass our Western counterparts fifty years down the road. I got that. I saw the deliciously beautiful skyline, accentuated by the sparkling lights of the skyscrapers. But, at the same time, I witnessed a rude awakening of sorts - the atrociously bad mannerisms of the Chinese people.

Out of all the China people that I had met or come into contact with, sadly and very surprisingly, only 1% left me with a good impression. The majority were brusque, rude, impolite, ill-mannered and downright archaic.

Before the trip to China, I thought Singaporeans were a rude bunch of people, and I thought it was rightly so that we came out among the last in Reader's Digest courtesy test. After my trip, I think that Singaporeans are a bunch of well-mannered and polite people.

Think I’m biased against the Chinese in China? Here are some real-life experiences that I encountered over there:

--SHOPPING--
Venue: Popular Shopping District

The salespeople there butcher their customers mercilessly. Apart from quoting both suspecting and unsuspecting (mostly Westerners) customers exorbitant prices (a pair of Nike imitation shoes going for 1,000RMB can actually be slashed down to 190RMB if you are those kind that are good at bargaining), SOME WON'T LET YOU LEAVE THEIR SHOPS UNTIL THEY CLOSE A SALE!

Example:

Me: (walks into shop innocently, asks for the price of a pair of jeans (450RMB = 90SGD), finds it too expensive, begins bargaining like crazy, which turns out unsuccessful, and starts to walk away) Too expensive. (waves hand) Cannot. (walks out of store)

Salesgirl: (grabs my arm and drags me back into the store) No, not expensive, look at the material, it's very good!

Me: (WHAT THE!!!) No, thanks, too expensive. (walks out of the store)

Salesgirl: (pulls me back into the store again) How much you want?

Me: 150RMB.

Salesgirl: No, cannot! Look at the material, it's different, very good quality. Many foreigners pay this much for it!

Me: Okay, I'll look around first. I will come back again later. (Walks out of store)

Salesgirl: (walks out, grabs my arm and drags me back into the store) NO! YOU DON'T LOOK AROUND! (gives me a calculator) Give me your best price! Don't play around, give me a serious price.

Me: (takes calculator and keys in 150)

Salesgirl: (looks at the calculator, then looks at me as though I’m responsible for the death of her favourite pet dog) No, cannot! This jeans is very good material, look at it, it's different from other jeans!

Me: Okay, I'll think about it first. (Walks out of store)

Salesgirl: (grabs my arm) NO! YOU DON'T THINK ABOUT IT FIRST! Give me your best price.

Me: 150RMB.

Salesgirl: No, cannot! 350RMB okay? This is my best price! Because you are student, I sell you cheap.

Me: Okay, I go and look for my father first, I will come back again later.

Salesgirl: NO! YOU DON'T LOOK FOR YOUR FATHER! Give me your best price, really!

Dad walks in, and I can't describe the relief I felt after having experienced GREAT difficulty at leaving this particular shop.

Salesgirl: (to Dad) This jeans original price is 450, but your daughter bargain with me, so I give you 150, okay?

Dad: 150?!! NO, cannot, too expensive!

Salesgirl: But, you daughter said 150 already!

Dad: No, I won't pay so much for a pair of jeans. (walks out of store)

Salesgirl: (grabs Dad's arm and pulls him back) NO! This is not expensive! This is good material!

Dad: No, no. The things in China shouldn't be so expensive.

2nd salesgirl: (looks offended) Don't say like that, can? China not all the things is cheap okay? China also has good stuff.

Dad: No, it's too expensive, I won't pay. (walks 500000m away from store)

Salesgirl: (chases 500000m after my Dad, grabs hold of his arm forcefully and drags him all the way back to the shop [No, I’m not kidding, the salesgirl actually did this]) NO! YOU DON'T GO AWAY! (gives him calculator) OK, give me your best price.

Finally, due to my father’s rigid stand, the salesgirl relented and we got the pair of jeans for 110RMB. The salesgirl looked like she was going to cry when we left the store.

This scenario took place in almost all the shops that we went to.

Another shop-owner told us to buy the handbag now for 150RMB or forget about it. When we decided to forget about it, and walked out of the store, she told us in a menacing tone that, "IF YOU COME BACK AGAIN, I'M NOT GOING TO SELL YOU ANY OF MY STUFF!" Another scolded us 'SHEN JIN BING!" (Chinese for crazy) and looked at us as though we killed her entire family when we walked out of her store without making any purchase.

How the simple buying of goods can result in countless altercations is beyond my comprehension.

I've spent years in Singapore, and have never encountered any salesgirl culpable of sputtering an avalanche of vulgarities the customers' way when they refuse to buy something. I spent seven days in China and witnessed such horrible altercations taking place everywhere I went.

--SHOPPING--
Venue: Supermart

When you are blocking a European's way, and he or she wants to get across, what do they say?

Excuse me.

When you are blocking a Singaporean's way, and he or she wants to get across, what do they say?

Excuse me.

When you are blocking a Chinese's way, and he or she wants to get across, what do they say?

Nothing. They ram their supermarket trolleys into your backside, and when you look back irritatingly, they return it with a smug look and carry on their way in their uglified Hello Kitty or Doraemon PJs, their ugly exteriors exacerbated by their even uglier mannerisms.

And, for god’s sakes, Singaporeans are being criticized for their far-too-casual or slipshod dressing! Hello!! At least we (excluding children) don’t walk around in supermarkets with our Ninja Turtles printed pyjamas! It’s such an ugly sight! I think the trademark Singaporean’s white tee and black short shorts go far more easy on the eye.

--EATING--
Venue: Some restaurant in Shanghai

Non-smokers would probably appreciate the non-smoking regulations that the Singapore government has imposed. Everywhere you go in China, people smoke. Both indoors and outdoors. In your faces.

The China people speak with harsh voices, you would think they were engaged in an argument, even though they are only having a normal conversation. They shout, speak in high octaves, and have no consideration for the next person.

While we were having our lunch at this restaurant in Shanghai, this guy came over to our table and helped himself to our tea. He did not ask for permission, all he did was INFORMED us that he was going to take our tea, before whisking away with the teapot that belonged to our table under our shocked, gaped mouths.

Again. Culture shock.

I know in some countries, such behaviour is acceptable. They interpret it as some sort of friendly gesture, whereas in other cultures, this is deemed as rude, impolite and totally unacceptable. Some cultures dictate that you can walk straight into your friend’s home and help yourselves to the drinks in the refrigerator. It sure seems like China is one of them.

--WORST PLACE TO BE IN CHINA--
Venue: Toilets

It is the toilets where the behaviours of China people rears its ugly head. I don’t know about the male loos, but the female loos smell like..well, loos.

The China woman has no qualms about leaving the toilet door wide open while they squat over the commodes relieving their bladders. The idea of door locks are a foreign concept to them, and they ensure that their private businesses are kept strictly public.

This came as another culture shock to me, I’ve never seen a girl more than the age of two peeing in public. Or, any girl, in fact.

Here, the more rural or touristy the places are, or the more elderly women are present, the more you witness such retrogressive behaviour: of women urinating with their doors wide open.

Furthermore, sanitary napkins are left out in the open with uncovered wastepaper dustbins. This unhygienic act means that the toilets smell doubly horrible.

I thought all these were bad enough, until I went to Shanghai Pudong International Airport, where travellers "can head to the city on a futuristic magnetic levitation train capable of more than 200mph" and deemed as "Asia's Wall Street".

I made a trip to the toilet, where upon entering a cubicle was halted by the cleaning lady. Very politely, she told me that she wanted to clean the toilet first before I entered. I said OK, surprised by her good manners and good service standards.

I watched her as she started mopping the floor next to the commode. Next to it, was an open-air dustbin filled to the brim with used sanitary napkins and blood-stained tissue papers.

Suddenly, the woman lifted up her wet mop, placed it atop the dustbin and proceeded to flatten all of its bloody contents.

When she was finally done with it, she continued using the same wet mop to clean the floor. I swear I could see bloody trails all over the floor of the toilet cubicle.

I thought that was the worst possible thing I could ever witness taking place in a toilet. Until I was washing my hands. Sensing that something was amiss, I looked up. And, from the reflection of the mirror, I saw a well-groomed China woman with her pants down, her underwear exposed and her pubic hair in full public view.

I thought that was the worst worst possible thing I could ever witness taking place in a toilet. Until I saw her adjusting the sanitary napkin she was wearing.

--BEST THING ABOUT CHINA--
Venue: Eateries, Restaurants

Fortunately, there’s still something salvageable about China. And, that is the service standards in the eatery industry. In eateries and restaurants around China, high service standards were widespread and prevalent.

After each meal, you have waitresses coming up to you to enquire about your overall satisfaction of the meal. Once, after a horribly unpalatable meal, a waitress came up to our table and asked how the food was. Mum said it was ‘not bad’ even though it sucked. Finally, tired of the hypocrisy, when another waitress came up to us and asked for our comments on the food, I told her that the food tasted horrible, and was met by ringing silence. I don’t think they are hot on hearing the truth.

Afternote

Yes, no doubt China is a big metropolis and is slowly opening up as a force to be reckoned, but it will take more effort and time developing its people than the country itself. Alas, the true albatross of the country is the people themselves, and even if the Westerners look up to China's economical success, its people will forever be looked down upon.

The antediluvian mindsets and ad nauseam behaviours of the Chinese is nothing to be proud about, and everything to be shameful of. The stereotype of China man spitting on the streets is very much evident. I even saw a man blowing his nose and flinging his mucus onto the streets. Bless thy poor soul of the unlucky person who steps on it.

Furthermore, the people there are clueless to the words, ‘Sorry’ and ‘Excuse me’! If you are blocking them, they use their hands to shove you away. If you are moving too slowly, they push you aside so that they can get ahead. If you are just standing around in a clothings outlet, and something falls off the shelves that you are not responsible for, the China bitch will head over to inform you not-so-nicely that, “Be careful of what you are standing next to. If you are not careful and step on other people’s clothings, it wouldn’t be very nice!”

Once, I was standing next to a group of friends. Suddenly, one of their other friends came over to join them, and this particular girl was so happy that she began hugging her friend…and stamping all over my toes with her shoes! I was yelping in pain, and yet she continued stamping her heels all over my thinly-clad feet. Since the entire area was jammed with crowds, I couldn’t move away, and she continued her feet stomping. I was screaming in pain, and she just continued laughing with her friends.

Another time, a woman’s chair was pulled too far back, leaving little leg space for the person behind. But, she just continued ignoring the person’s requests to move forward. Thinking that she might not have heard clearly, I tapped her on the shoulders and asked her to please move her chair forward. She turned, stared at me for a total of ten seconds, and then continued with her own stuff. This proves that even if you speak very nicely to them, they will just ignore you.

Mind you, these are not solitary cases due to selfish individuals, but a widespread phenomenon.

Also, the places that I witnessed all this happening is not in some rural village or ulu place, but Shanghai, the apple-core of China, and also Beijing, which is hosting the Olympics 2008.

I understand that the main reason why the West managed to flourish into this gloriously rich country was in part, thanks to the help of the herds of Chinese scientists, who uncontented with the economic prospects of China, flew over to the West in the early centuries.

Last I heard, China was bludgeoning into the world’s capital city, about to supplant the weakening force of the West. But, why is the media only paying attention to the straggling force and the vast economic potential that China is evolving into, and ignoring the retrogressive behaviours of its people?

Isn’t the progress of the people in the country as important as that of the country itself? What is the use of having a beautiful city, with great mercantile prospects, state-of-the-art skyscrapers, and delicious skylines, when the person who bumps into you accidentally on the street just gives you a scowl and walks away?

Everywhere in the media is about how the Orient country is slowly opening up, how the government has been harvesting a great deal of effort, time and money into leavening the education level of its people, how awe-inspiring buildings and constructions so gargantuan in size are mushrooming up all over the city, how the Westerners have no choice but to respect the China people and start learning Chinese.

But, try asking any salesgirl in China that you would like to have a closer look at whatever it is that the store is selling, and then walking off without making any purchase.

Chances are, her whole face will turn black and she will look at you as though you've just burned her house down.

And, that is, if you are lucky.

The other day, I was walking around in Plaza Singapura when a man carrying a toddler accidentally bumped into me, and quickly said, 'Sorry!'

For some strange reason, I felt elated.

Sights & Scenery in China: A Pictorial

verbal constipation.

Our household has been a messy state of upheaval ever since the new maid arrived.

Communication with her is not looking up, and everyone’s tempers has risen one time or another.

Tempers are not the only thing rising. Blood pressure is, too.

Here are some things I’ve since found out about the new maid.

1. She says ‘yes’ to everything she doesn’t understand.

2. She says ‘yes’ to everything she understands. (not much)

3. She says ‘yes’ to everything.

As a result, I constantly use a simple litmus test to find out if she really understands what I’m trying to convey to her.

Example:

Me: Later when I go out of the house, remember to close the gates okay?

Maid: Yes, yes.

Me: Do you understand what I’m saying?

Maid: (Very convincingly) Yes, yes, I understand.

Me: Okay, later when I go out, what must you do?

Maid: I must wash the toilet.

In short, if you ask her what is there to eat, she will tell you that the time now is 5pm. If you ask her what is the time now, she will inform you that the laundry is done, and all there is left to do is ironing.

That day, mum asked her to get the fruits in the refrigerator, and she brought down three boxes of cakes and donuts. Dad told her to get the luggage bag from the attic, the maid brought him Mum’s handbag instead.

It’s no wonder that our fuses are turning into short circuit, our fiery tempers running under the surface ready to explode anytime.

The other day, I told her to cook less because I wasn’t eating. In my maid’s dictionary, “cook less” literally meant “practically not cooking anything at all”. She kept every single chicken, eggs, and vegetables back to their original places. Guess what she cooked for the rest of the family? Two small pieces of fish! And, when Mum scolded her, the maid promptly informed her that it was ‘a lot of food already’.

I think its pretty common sense that clothes do not go well with newspapers, for fear that the ink on newspapers will stain the fabrics. Guess what my maid did? She emptied all the contents out of our cupboards, lined the bottom surface of the cupboards with newspapers, and stacked all our clothings on top of them.

When Mum scolded the maid and told her that newspapers were very dirty, she very calmly informed Mum that “these newspapers are clean one, I never use the dirty newspapers.” Vomit blood!

Another thing that I’ve found out about the maid is that she has a goldfish memory. I thought 50 First Dates was an exaggerated tale, until I met her. Her two most favourite sentences are, 1) “Sorry, I forget” and 2) “I will try to remember next time” followed by "Sorry, I forget" the next time round.

Try telling her something, and once she walks out of the room, she forgets it in 5 seconds flat. In short, you have to remind her to do routine stuff or else she forgets. Dad taught her how to set the alarm about a million times, and I still hear the same words every night - “Sorry, I forget.” One night, she even told Dad that there was “no alarm”. Which got Dad hopping mad, especially since the alarm would never disappear! Hilarious! At times, she even forgets what she says or does just seconds ago! And, if you remind her what she just said or did, she goes, “Did I (say/did) that?” followed by, “Sorry, I forget.” -_-

It’s bad enough to keep forgetting what others said or did just seconds ago. But, to not even remember what YOU said or did?!! And, worse, to ask others whether YOU actually said or did that?

THAT’S NOT ALL.

The maid finally agrees to put on her hearing aid, BUT SHE STILL HAS TROUBLE HEARING! That’s because she only has one hearing aid, and not a pair, which she needs. This means that everything you say to her may have to be repeated five or ten times, in both Malay and English.

The maid told me that one hearing aid alone costs a thousand dollars, and she can’t afford another since it is too expensive. The one she owns now was paid for by her agency, who told us that the maid WAS PERFECTLY HEALTHY.

Shouldn’t they be sued for deceptive manipulation of the customers’ minds, causing us so much mental distress? Isn’t it the agency’s responsibility to ensure that her handicap is amply insured, so that the customers do not have to suffer as a result of their negligence, or should I say, deception?

Her sob story is not enough to camouflage the evident truth that SHE IS NOT SUITABLE FOR THIS SORT OF WORK.

I’ve condensed the reasons why:

1) Unlike what the agency told us, THAT SHE IS ABLE TO SPEAK GOOD ENGLISH AND MALAY, she has trouble even understanding the most basic meanings of both languages. Once, I overheard her speaking to a girl of Malay race on the phone, and the poor Malay girl COULDN’T UNDERSTAND A WORD MY MAID WAS SAYING, and finally gave up, saying, “Your Malay is too cheem, sorry, I can’t understand.”

2) She can’t even follow simple instructions when performing basic husbandry duties. She can’t cook, unlike what the agency told us – that she was able to whip up Malay delicacies like curry etc. (Of course, this is the trick tactic that agencies use, as my previous maid told me) But, still, her cooking is bland, tasteless, atrocious. The consumption of ketchup and chilli sauce in my household must have soared ever since she arrived. Every time I think about dinner, going hungry seems like a more appealing option.

3) Goldfish memory and hearing problem.

Also, she can’t differentiate the different voices. This means that unless she’s looking at the person’s face when he or she is talking, otherwise she doesn’t know who is talking. Apart from that, I don’t understand why, but it seems that even with the hearing aid, most of the time, she has to rely on the movement of the person’s mouth who is talking to her, in order to actually ‘hear’ or ‘understand’ what the person is trying to say.

Another funny thing is that whenever I call her, she doesn’t appear as she cannot hear me, nevermind that she is just 5 cm away. But, sometimes, when I’m just sitting around and minding my own business, she comes running to me and asks, ‘Yes, what did you call me for?” when I, or in fact, anyone else for that matter, did not even call her.

Her antics may seem funny to the uninitiated, but for the insider, it’s frustrating, hair-pulling inducing and nerve-wrecking.

It’s a bit like trying to talk physics to a two-year-old.

What is harder than climbing Mount Everest?

Ans: Talking to my maid.

I am going to vomit blood.

Yes, it's true, attempting to communicate with my new maid is harder than climbing Mount Everest.

I just need to ask her one question, and she will babble a whole string of Malay sentences that I don't understand. And, when I tell her that, she will attempt to explain herself by replying with more Malay sentences that I don't understand.

That day, I told her there was a bee in the room, and asked her to catch it. She asked me whether I wanted to eat bee for breakfast. When I told her yes, please, I would like that very much, she told my other maid (who is going back to her hometown soon) that I wanted to have bee for breakfast, but she had trouble catching bees because bees have wings and bees fly, so how was she supposed to catch them to fry them?

This morning, I asked her where my showering cap was, and she replied by telling me that she cooked sweet potato for breakfast. Two days ago, I told her to wash my sports shoes because I stepped on dog poo, she asked me whether I wanted to bring my sports shoes to the office. Last night, my father asked her to remove the label from his jeans, and she interpreted it as, 'Sir said not to set the alarm first.'

As if that wasn't bad enough, my maid is hard of hearing and REFUSES TO WEAR HER HEARING AIDS. Sometimes, she can hear me perfectly fine, other times when she is 100 cm away from me, and I call her, she doesn't response. I raise my voice by a few notches, and still no response. I could have yelled at the top of my lungs and beat a few gongs and she still wouldn't be able to hear me. Exasperated, I went up to her and waved my hands and she replied, 'Yes?'

The funny thing is when she speaks in Malay, and I ask her what she meant by that, she is able to translate everything she said into English. But, simply is unable or can't be bothered to just speak English directly. Finally, explaining to her for the ten thousandth time in Malay, that my Malay is half-past six and half the time, I have no idea what she is saying, she gave me a reply in Malay. I gave her a blank look and to give her a taste of her own medicine, the next time she spoke to me in Malay, I replied to her in Chinese. I got a blank look.

Communicating with my maid requires the patience of Mother Theresa, because everything that you say has to be repeated ten times. And, still, you don't get the reply that you are looking for.

Example:

Me: 'You make pao (bun) for me for breakfast tomorrow okay?'

Maid: (Blank stare)

Me: 'Hello? You make pao for breakfast tomorrow OK?'

No reply.

Me: 'You make pao for breakfast tomorrow OK!' (repeat 10 times)

Maid: (finally) Why you want to eat papaya so early in the morning?

My father is also not immune to the frustration from talking to the maid.

Example:

Father: I have three pair of socks. There's only two here, where is the missing sock?

Maid: Yes, sir, I have washed the toilet already.

My other maid who is returning to her hometown today (let's call her W), is also not spared from the agony. Once, W was packing her black shoes into a plastic bag, and the new maid approached her and asked, 'What is that? Is that black chicken?'

Another frustrating thing is that my maid takes everything seriously, such that if you serve her with a big spoonful of sarcasm, chances are that it will fly right past her head.

Example:

Me: 'Please remember NOT to put salt into my milo okay?' (I said this because my previous maid went to put salt in my milo, which isn't to my palate's liking)

Maid: 'Oh, so you want me to put salt into your milo next time?'

Me: 'Yes, please. And, while you are at that, please put in tomato ketchup, garlic, onion and tartar sauce in too.'

Maid: (nodding head in enlightenment) 'Oh, okay, okay. So, next time, I make milo, I put tomato sauce inside right...?'

Me: *Faints

Yeah, it's funny, but not so much when you are in my position.

an empty mind.

The thing I enjoy doing most at work is extracting staple bullets. It's a brainless activity, but precisely why I seek comfort in it, in the mindlessness of it all, of digging the rear end of my staple into a bullet and extracting it out with the same forceful pull a dentist exerts on his patient's tooth.

you look like each other.

Once, two of my ex-colleagues were sitting side by side discussing some matters. One was short, bald, and had a pot belly. The other was short, bald and had a pot belly.

Suddenly, out of the blue, this lady passing by their table excitedly exclaimed, "Oh my god, the both of you look like twins!" The short, bald and pot belly man looked at the other and what assaulted both their eyes were a short, bald and pot belly man. Obviously, the both of them weren't pleased with what they saw.

The point of my article is that unless both parties are equal on the Looks-O-Meter in a positive way, it is simply RUDE to point out that two individuals come from the same gene pool.

You don't want to accidentally offend anyone, and you don't want to create a stiff, awkward moment whereby both parties proceed to stare at each other and think inwardly, "You mean I have a car crash for a face?!" - creating a stilted silence so sharp you can slice the air with it.

And, of course, the one to bear the ultimate brunt of all the displeasure is the person who made the seemingly innocuous, yet potentially offensive statement.

Also, if you are the receiving party, what is the correct reply? If you remain silent, it's as though you acquiesce. On the other hand, your silence may also be misinterpreted as resentment.

However, if I were to immediately protest, "No! No! We don't look alike in any way at all!" the person may feel offended. "Why? No good to look like me meh?"

When I find myself immersed in such a sticky situation, I don't know how to entangle myself from the bloody mess. My usual response is to remain silent, because I am quietly accessing the other party's looks, before I decide to be flattered or offended. However, my main concern is whether or not the other party is offended. After all, no one wants to be associated with a fat person. (yes, I'm talking about myself.)

Telling someone that he or she is a mirror image of an equally unflattering human species is plain disrespectful. You might as well tell the person straight in the face, "Hey, you know what? Your face reminds me a little of Ugly Betty."

Anyway, this reminds me about the age-guessing game that we women torture each other with. Too young, and people think you are sucking up to them through chicanery. Too old, and people might nurse a long time grudge towards you.

Once, an ex-colleague asked me to guess her age. At first, I declined to reply, but she pressurized me for an answer. For the record, I thought she looks really mature (old) for someone her age. I wanted to guess 30, but finally let out a meek, "29?" To which, she splattered out that she was ONLY 27, thank you very much, and did she really look that old, no it can't be, you have really bad estimation - pauses to look at mirror and turns to fellow colleagues - do I really look that old? She said I look 29, I'm only 27, haiyo.. (colleagues re-assure her that she doesn't look that old) - gives me a distasteful look - how can I look 29...so close to 30...I'm only 27 years old, you know.

"For God's damn sake!" I wanted to scream, "It's only a two years difference!"

Perhaps, my problem is that I usually judge the person by their face first, and maybe a little of their history, and then I subtract the number by one to three, not too much, because I do not want to come across as too contrived.

Just like no one needs to know they look old, no one needs to know that they came out on the wrong side of the gene pool. Chances are, unless your name is Steven Lim who is exceptionally delusional about his own looks (he gave himself a 10 when a reporter asked him to gauge how handsome he thought he was from a rating of 1 to 10), otherwise you probably already have a clear idea of what you look like without someone else's interference.

It doesn't matter if you are a celebrity. Because, very often, celebrities are good-looking people. And, to associate a celeb to another celeb is the highest form of compliment. Unless one is the younger version of a much older celebrity. Once, a young starlet went on a variety program, and the host remarked that she bore a certain resemblence to an 80's star. The woman in question was old, wrinkled and a grandmother. Obviously, the starlet wasn't pleased, and she pursued her lips before deciding to self-compliment, 'It's okay! She (the 80's star) is very pretty too!" In her younger days, that is.

As for my two colleagues, there was a very, very long pregnant pause where the two men just stared at each other awkwardly. Not catching the cue, the lady laughed and exclaimed with with her trademark high octave pitch, 'No kidding man! Have you ever realized it? The both of you look so much like twins!"