The Long and Short about My Love for Money

I take back every single moronic pronouncement that I made previously on this blog about me not loving money, and money NOT being the oxygen of my happiness. Because it is.

Money can make me put up with:

(1) Being a sales promoter.

"Hello, would you like try our kueh lapis? We are having a $10 off promotion, only for today, last day."

Try repeating that a hundred times in a few hours, and then getting rejected about 60% of the time.

(2) Travelling an hour just to get to work.

They didn't get back to me initially, because they thought that I lived too far from the workplace. But, I practically insisted, that it was no huge deal at all travelling from the west to the east side of singapore every bloody morning.

(3) Running for the bus like an idiot every morning.

It's true. The further you live from your intended destination, the earlier you tend to reach. Remember how back in school, when the earliest to reach the school was the same person living furthest away from the school, and how the latecomers all lived nearby?

Well, I'm proud to say that I've ALWAYS been on time (i.e 5 to 10 minutes late only) since I started work about a week ago. No mean feat, I'll have you know. Everyone who knows me knows that I walk at the pace of an old granny carrying ten bags, and absolutely abhor running for the bus because I dread the pityingly looks on the faces of everyone who happens to be standing at the bus stop, when I've just ran 10,000 km after the bus and missed it by a whizz of a second.

(4) My stupid bloody moronic idiotic ungentlemanly Indonesian boss.

Firstly, it is just NOT RIGHT, to have two girls (one young, the other pregnant) to lug two heavy luggages all the way from the car to the office, and YOU (a young, perfectly normal man) to carry a light packet of tissue paper boxes or even NOTHING, trailing behind the both of them.

Secondly, thanks to ME, I managed to help you make a total of $400+ sales in just over a few hours, and I'm not even talking about the commission, but it's bloody RUDE and INSULTING when I answer a phone call, and just happen to forget the stupid price of the prune kueh lapis because of my cluttered, overloaded mind, to say that I have been working under you for four days, and shouldn't I have memorised the price by hard now? Oh, yes, I should have. How could I have forgotten that a prune kueh lapis costs $45 for 1.2kg? Sorry. My bloody mistake.

(5) Being a food packer, sticker paster, admin staff, phone-call answering machine, rubbish collector, and I'm not even mentioning about sweating like a mad idiot in the food factory, with the moronic aircon breaking down like an old man with arthritis, leaving your entire body drenched in sweat.

Well, that's about it.

The Long and Short about Never Giving Up Hope

"Every if you tell me that the person is dead,
I will still believe that I can bring him back to life."
~smartyypants

If there's one thing about me, it's that I embrace a glimmer of hope in even the most dire circumstances. Even when everyone around me is telling me that whatever I do would be rendered useless, I will still go ahead and do it anyway. I will still have hope anyway. I have to. By not deserting hope, it's the only way I can continue believing.

So, anyway, my sister had been 'suffering' an emotional backlash at her new school. Turns out, that MGS girls are really stuck-up, arrogant bitches, who stick to their own clique and exclude everyone else out. (psst, everyone else had the same complaint)

So, my sister decided to enlist all the help she could to get back to her old school. In the midst of everything, there was a lot of differing opinions. Emotional well-being or academic achievements?

Despite everyone's well-meaning advice asking her to stay on, the emotional tug-of-war in my sister's heart could not be ignored.

Finally, on Tuesday, we received news that someone had transferred out of the school, because she couldn't fit into the social environment.

There were a flurry of calls, altercations, and most importantly, a beacon of hope.

A personal trip down to the general office was being drenched in a flood of negative opinions. From "no more incoming applicants on the waiting list allowed" to "even if you speak to the principal, the result will be the same" to "chances are very, very slim, almost none (i.e you can forget about ever coming back this year)."

I remember HER very well. The person that delivered the news. She was a stern, slightly plump middle-aged lady.

We were informed that the chances of my sister getting back into the school were VERY, VERY SLIM, and the vacancy had been filled already, thank you very much.

When we finally left the school, the feeling was like a final nail in the coffin. The flame of hope had been snuffed out right before my sister's eyes. We saw no more hope, and yet we continued hoping...

Undeterred, that night, I decided to write an appeal letter addressed personally to the principal. The letter was heart-breakingly honest, the emotions very raw. When I was done, at the bottom of my letter, I signed off as my mother's name.

When I went down to the school the next day to personally hand in the letter to the principal, the reaction from the staff were less than friendly.

"Didn't we make it VERY clear to you already yesterday?"

"Yes, but I would like to speak to the principal personally please." Inside, I felt like a little kid suppressing guilty feelings for pestering her mum for sweets when it was dinnertime.

"(Annoyed) She's in a meeting right now."

"Okay, then please pass this letter over to her on my behalf, thanks." When the brown envelope left my reluctant hands, there was a sinking feeling in my heart.

Th principal promptly got back to my mum the very next day, and very clearly told my mum that she would give my sister first-hand priority if anyone decided to withdraw from the school.

"Chances are very slim, it's already the second week, it's highly unlikely that anyone would back out of the school now." Inside, the ringing discouragement from the school staff leeched onto my mind.

Everything we had done thus far in our attempt to get my sister back into her old school, was met with a stern NO. Now, this, THIS, if anything at all, was our best excuse for hoping.

A week later, a student was forced to uproot to another country, and withdrew from the school.

----------------------------------

Today, I was at the same location, and I was walking on the same path. But, there was one thing different. My sister is now officially a pupil of the school she loves so much.

And, when the stern, slightly plump middle-aged lady approached my sister with regards to her re-admission to her school, my heart swelled with a kind of triumphant elation.

So did my sister's.

The Maid

I'm sad to say that our family is still stuck with the same maid. The same maid is still, as before, hard of hearing, frequently spurts out unintelligible Malay (that even Malays don't understand), and almost burnt down our house the other day.

Here are some conversations I've had with her over the past few months.

Me: Can the flush button be taken out?

Maid: (blank look)

Me: The flush button. (Makes flushing motion)

Maid: (blank look)

Me: (Fed up) Okay, you know, for example, when you shit in the toilet bowl, after that you must press the flush button. THE FLUSH BUTTON.

Maid: (laughs)

Me: Can you take out THE FLUSH BUTTON?

Maid: Take out?! NO LAH! Why you want to take the shit out?! Dirty lah! The shit you must throw away, why you want to take it out?!

Me: …

Our maid is now known as “no-head housefly” in our household. She gets all our clothing articles mixed up. Sometimes, she places my mum’s clothes in my cardboard, and vice versa. I think it is understandable, since she is fairly new, so it is possible to get our clothings mixed up, but nothing, ABSOUTELY NOTHING, prepared me for the sight that greeted me as I opened my cardboard on a Saturday morning.

Fed up, I took the offending piece of black article all the way downstairs, and held it up in front of my maid.

Maid: (blank, puzzled look)

Me: (continues holding up the black shirt for another ten seconds)

Maid: (blank, puzzled look) Yeah, what?

Me: (sighs) Whose clothing is this?

Maid: (blank, puzzled look)

Me: This is not my clothing, why you put it in my cardboard?!

Maid: (blank, puzzled look) Not yours, then whose?

Me: (VERY CALMLY TRYING MY BEST NOT TO EXPLODE) This is YOUR OWN clothing!

Maid: (blank, puzzled stare, then takes black shirt from me) What?!! This is my shirt?!

Me: (Exasperated) Ninda, you don’t take your own shirt and put it in other people’s cardboard!!!

Maid: (continues staring at the shirt blankly)

At this moment, my aunt’s maid walks past.

Aunt’s Maid: Ninda!! THAT IS YOUR OWN SHIRT!! WHY YOU GO AND PUT IT IN HER CARDBOARD!! (shakes head)

Maid: (continues staring at the shirt blankly for five seconds, before enlightenment dawns on her face) OH YEAH, THIS IS MY SHIRT!! (smacks forehead) Sorry, sorry, I forgot, that this shirt is mine. Thank you ah.

Me: …

I thought that was bad enough. Until a few days ago, I opened my cardboard and saw the very same black shirt neatly tucked in it. When I brought the shirt to my maid, she gave me a blank stare, before asking if I wanted her to iron the shirt for me.

----||----

Maid: What do you want for lunch? Do you want chicken rice? I cook chicken rice for you okay?

Me: Okay, I want chicken rice.

Maid: Yeah, okay, I cook chicken rice…but sorry, no more chicken left.

Me: Okay, I would like to have the chicken rice without the chicken please.

Maid: How can eat chicken rice without chicken?!!

5 minutes later, the maid asks my sister the same thing.

Maid: Do you want chicken rice for lunch?

Sister: No, I don’t want.

Maid: Okay… got no more chicken left.

----||----

Me: Is there any more milk left in the fridge?

Maid: Wait, I go check.

Ten minutes later...

Maid: No more milk left.

Me: Where you find the milk?

Maid: I look in the car. The car don't have any milk. Maybe Sir brought it to the office?

----||----

tall, check! thin, check! gorgeous, check!

I swear one more time another celeb utters the words, 'LOOKS DON'T MATTER' when asked what they look for in a potential mate, I'm going to smack the fellow on his or her head. If I get the chance to, that is.

My answer to that is: YEAH, RIGHT.

Snap out of your crystal-ball illusion and wake up to reality. Who is naive enought to actually believe a celeb when he or she says that looks don't matter when looking for a potential mate? I bet an arm and a leg the very same celebs who utters those politically correct statements under the masquerade of appearing as a saintly being, will be the LAST to be seen in public with a pimply, fat and ugly boyfriend/girlfriend.

And, yet, I still heard celebs pronouncing that personality trumps all, holding their kindred spirit up like some kind of trump card.

Especially the male celebs.

Jay Chou once said that his girlfriend doesn't have to be good-looking at all, that personality matters more than her looks. Which got fans all around dissolving into a puddly goo out of admiration for the man. The common consensus is that Jay can have ANY girl he wants, which also translates to the best and prettiest among the lot. His status dictates that he is deserving, therefore he is entitled to the best and it is only right that he demands the prettiest.

My question to ALL fans out there is this: Look who he got for his girlfriend. Action truly speaks louder than words indeed. Jay Chou got attached to Patty Hou, which - surprise! surprise! - has been labelled Taiwan's No. 1 prettiest host and babe.

His rumoured ex also happens to be Taiwanese's dance goddess, Jolin Tsai, whose flawless features don't need extra mentioning in this humble space.

Looks don't matter?! Well, Mr Jay, your action speaks volumes way above the words that you spit out, to the ears of millions of endearing fans.

Why can't male celebrities be direct and just go ahead to say that looks matter when looking for a girl? In fact, it is their number one priority, and personality only acts as a sidekick to the main attraction.

What? Okay, I hear you say, it will affect the male celeb's perfect, exemplery image in their fans' minds.

Rubbish, I tell you!

For far too many times, when asked what they look for in a potential mate, female celebrities have straightforwardly come out to say that looks are their first priority when considering a potential boyfriend.

When reporters asked Jolin Tsai what a guy should do to charm her pants off, her reply was simple enough: "As long as he's handsome, it doesn't matter what methods he resorts to chase me."

Another manufactured singer from Taiwan, Rainie Yang states that her first priority when looking out for a boyfriend, would be that he must be "tall and handsome".

So, what if he's not tall and handsome, would you still give him a chance?

"Impossible," Rainie replied stoutly, "If he doesn't fulfil that basic criteria, then I wouldn't even consider him."

The thing is, human beings often look for their equals when it comes to a potential mate, regardless of whether you are talking about age, finances or looks.

This is why you often see couples with the same size and the same looks getting together. (Although a friend of mine once said that when looking for a boyfriend, you must choose one who is uglier than you, so he won't break up with you.)

As even netizens like you and me have an ideal to look up to, celebs who mostly are self-obsessed narcissists who think they are damn good-looking, obviously, expects their partner to be damn good-looking, or damn rich too.

Of course, there are exceptions - Mischa Barton, what were you thinking? - but they are mostly present in the Hollywood arena, where mis-matched couples pair up with each other, only to be butchered mercilessly by the tabloid peddlers, who never fail to make the uglier partner feel like he or she has a car crash for a face.

Since I'm touching on this topic, I might as well go out to say that males go for looks in a female, while the money remains the main attraction for the feminine species when looking for a man. And, not according to me, mind you. A recent survey done by a British publication reveals that men tend to sway towards the better-looking females when looking for a potential mate, while the fairer sex weights the worth of a man by the depth of his pockets.

There's a joke that men are like bank accounts. Without a lot of money, they don't generate much interest.

Just the other day, I perused the online gossip sites and in one article, Fahrenheit's Jiro talks about his ideal girlfriend.

In his own words, "Let me first clarify that looks don't really matter when I'm looking for a girlfriend. Most importantly, she must have a kind heart and must be able to cook well."

Who wants to bet that the next time Jiro gets caught on the streets with his girlfriend by the paparazzi, the lady whose face gets splashed all over the entertainment pages is going to turn out to be thin and pretty?

exaggerated sentimentalism

Today, getting together and breaking up is no longer an affair between two individuals. It is shared openly with the whole world. Friendster status accounts switch from ‘Attached’ to ‘Single’ as soon as a relationship goes extinct, and a relationship is consummated by denouncing to the public through your blog that your boyfriend/girlfriend is so-and-so, and you have so much love for him/her in your heart.

Very soon, lovey-dovey pictures of you and your other half kissing, holidaying and having meals together pop up all over Facebook/Friendster/MySpace.

Likewise, photos of you and your BFF are splashed all over the internet, cam-whoring with wanton abundance. Your love for your BFF is no longer shared between the both of you or a close group of friends. No way! The entire world deserves to know how close the both of us are, so much so that boyfriends can’t come in the way, because you know, boyfriends come and go, but BFFs are here to stay!

The internet is your stage, the public is your audience, and YOU are the STAR! The audience deserves to know every itty-bitty detail of your lifestyle, and the people you hang out with. They can’t wait to know how many years you have known BFF, can’t wait to hear about how you went to a holiday in Genting Highlands with your other half. No! Every salivating detail down to what you and your BFF had for dinner has to be exposed to the hungry public, feeding their ravenous appetites while you gloat over your burgeoning readership.

It’s like seeing things through a magnifying glass. Every detail of your life is protracted. Night out with your girlfriends? Quick, take photos of you and your friends gulping beer and partying on the dance floor. See? I’m now officially ‘cool’. I lead a ‘cool’ lifestyle and I have ‘cool’ friends who love me. See the girl kissing me on the right kissing me on my cheek? She’s my BFF! I HEART HER SO MUCH!

Public entertainment is no longer reserved solely for the television screens, you are your own scriptwriter, and you are the main star.

Don’t mistake me, affection is a good thing. But, when does affection turn to affectation, putting up a pretense for the entire world to see? That’s a minefield to thread. Because everything about you and your life is then determined by appearing to be a certain persona over the internet. Somebody you are not in real life. You get so absorbed in the display of sentimentalism that you forget how to live without the roving eyeballs witnessing your every move. You carve the attention. And, so, you feed it. And, then you carve it somemore.

Isn’t it ridiculous and egoistic to act like you are popular and have 16,000 friends on your Friendster account, when in reality, you know only 50 people on your list, and out of that, 1 is your best friend, 3 are your close friends, 14 are your so-so friends, and the rest? Acquaintances or people you chat with over the net.

In fact, the overwhelming sense of sentimentalism that floods the internet, leads me to think: Maybe you aren’t really that close with your BFF, maybe you are only putting up an act. Maybe your life in reality is not as glamorous as you portray it to be, maybe it’s full of parties and fun, but maybe you are really feeling empty inside? Maybe you feel insecure about having such a handsome boyfriend, and so dedicate internet space to gloat over his pretty boy looks, just so that you can enjoy the attention as long as it lasts?

Okay, let’s assume that you are really, really close to your BFF or your boyfriend/girlfriend? Is there a need to post up photos of you kissing, romantic gestures on their part etc?

Isn’t the greatest kind of love the one that is not unabashedly displayed, but enveloped within the depths of the heart, to be shared between the both of you?

But, maybe I’m just really old-fashioned, and have no idea how the romantic mechanisms of the 21st century really works.

My question is: Who are you hoping to see all these? And, why?

Is it really to spread your joy (How generous of you!) or is it to satisfy a carving for attention deep inside, or an ego/moral-boosting activity?

The free anarchy of the internet dictates that today, Reality TV is not the only path to mini-stardom.

life.

I’m at the stage in my life where I’ve ceased feeling happy for someone else. Good news only serves to makes me sadder. Please, I’m allergic to happy stuff, that familiar rush of envy breaking out rapidly like pimples on an adolescent’s forehead, when I hear something I DON’T REALLY NEED hearing to. The point is, I don’t feel like feeling happy for you when I’m unhappy myself. And, your happiness only serves to highlight my unhappiness. So there.

There are a couple of reasons why Mean Selfish Bitch has manifested itself.

Topmost, of course, is that even meaner bitch called happiness, which keeps playing hide-and-seek with me. It cowers in the most unexpected places, laying quietly in anticipation. But, I never really find it. Sometimes, it gets a little tired or impatient and starts throwing hints my way, but those just flies right past my head. I don’t know why. Perhaps, the fog of unhappiness is too thick and cloudy, I can’t see clearly anymore. Happiness continues to elude me.

Moreover, I HATE my job. I only took it up for the MONEY. Yeah, yeah, what a hypocritical bitch, didn't I say before that money was the least of my concerns? But, then dear Dad cut of all fiscal supply, and while money is not the oxygen of my happiness, it helps to feed my idol-chasing obsession. So there.

In fact, I just splashed close to my one month's paycheck for a pair of concert tickets. Which I agree is a very foolish thing to do, and if I had another chance, I would definitely do it all over again.

Work is exceptionally distressing, mentally exhausting, draining. It feels like reporting back to camp or checking into rehab. You don't want to, but you have to. Besides, I signed a contract, and if I don't complete my stint, I will have to compensate the company with my one month's worth of paycheck, which I can't possibly do so because all that money went to paying for the stupid concert tickets, which I felt was really worth it.

At the same time, I’m tired of the lack of recognition. I had the fortunate acquaintance of a fortune teller during my short trip to China. He mentioned that I was always one step away from success. My personal luck hasn’t always been good. Just when I’m on the road to success, I am hurdled by obstacles. Yes, why do I feel exactly the same way too?

It’s like I’m one block away from success, despite living in the same neighbourhood. It’s like I’m one missing jigsaw puzzle away from being a successful human being. It’s like no matter what I do, success is out of bounds. Hard work is rendered useless in the face of the most unlucky person.

I once worked for a publication on a freelance basis. The editor was a middle-aged guy, he loved my writings. For a while, I felt like I was on cloud nine when he kept sprinkling praises on me like how my writing was comparable to his fellow writers. Just when I thought I’ve reached an unspoken bond with him, he quit his job. The new editor was a female, and for some time I had a little trouble, but very soon I saw my articles being published again. That feeling of triumph was exultant. But, it just wasn’t the same. I felt like I could have done more and could have performed better with the trust and opportunities the previous editor leveled upon me.

It’s okay. It’s alright. I tell myself AGAIN AND AGAIN that I don’t need to rely on the sucking up of others to do well in life. But AGAIN AND AGAIN I feel that maybe exaggerated chicanery is the only way to go in life. After all, it is not what you CAN do, it’s who you KNOW. I know of stupid bimbos who don’t even know the meaning of simple abbreviates like MIA or FYI who manage to snap a job, just because they wear their skirts five inches shorter and their vertiginous heels two inches longer.

Damn. Maybe if I’ve treated that stupid boss of mine I worked for a little better, I could have found a little success by now.

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.