Best Friend

I received a label last night over my head after an msn chat.

I enjoy being a sponge, but I haven't really allowed many people to be a sponge for me.

What is a best friend?

Apparently everyone should have a best friend. But how come I hear of people having a few best friends? I know someone at uni by name who is a best friend to at least two friends that I know personally! What then is this value of a "best friend"? It's confusing.

I remember back at primary school, I had 3 very good friends. Bizarre as it sounds, all of us have first names starting with "S". One Punjabi, one malay, and two chinese girls make up this circle of friendship. Halfway through primary three, an Indian girl was placed in our class and soon joined our clan. And her name started with "S" too. We had a lot of fun together, until a few of us got promoted to class monitors, then later prefects. Others remained class monitors, even through high school.

I have never considered anyone of them to be my best friend. Sure, they were my very close friends. But how much I knew about their personal life I can't be sure. We talked about boys, laughed when anyone of us received a gift from a male, and copied each other's homework. Okay, that was me when I was in a desperate situation. Attending tuition class every single freaking weekday during that time was torture. I blame that for homework incompletion and sleep deprivation. But then again, I shouldn't complain since I aced my high school grades. Well, I could have done it with my own strength. The tuition teacher was only reinforcing what I already knew. Smart ass me. *Ouch!*My inner self just kicked me for being arrogant. Alright, I'll keep those thoughts to myself. They can be edifying sometimes, you know.

Back to the topic of "Best Friend". I never had one, and probably never will. Considering I don't open myself too much to other people, other than being talkative about things not relating to personal life, I'm happy not having a best friend. If he or she comes along, then I'll be the luckiest person on earth. Someone you can share very personal things, cry in front of, and whine for no good reason. A boyfriend or husband shouldn't be that best friend. Alright, I see imaginary bedroom slippers being thrown at me right now but hey, how nice to have a girl friend or guy friend know your other secrets and give you extra aid to life's messy journey?

I do make a good sponge. If any of you need a listening ear, I'm here.

Little by little

I have started to run again. Limited to the treadmill, of course. I know the physio said I shouldn't run just yet, since the ankle-clucking sounds still persist. But exercise is not exercise if you don't have that hot warmed-up feeling, especially for me who finds it hard even to break a sweat. Either I have clogged up pores or non-working sweat glands. Still, I pride myself in carrying a sweat towel in the gym, wiping away non-existent sweat drops from my face and neck. I'm grateful I don't stink after a workout. Jealousy rages within as I stare into the congested room while slowing my treadmill speed to a slow walk. I used to enjoy boxing the wind and kicking my imaginary enemies in that taibox class. Now, I can only observe from outside while being comforted by the television screens for entertainment.

I had realised how unhealthy I've been since moving to Australia. At least in hot tropical Malaysia, I still played badminton or smacked a ping pong ball on the table with my siblings. My mum pulled me out of swimming lessons when I was still in primary school, for fear of my nose playing up again and causing my sinus to worsen. Seriously, I don't see a connection between swimming and sinus. Okay, both of them start withh "s" but that's besides the point. I remember the speacialist suggesting to mum to allow me to go under the knife. That was so out of the question at that time. The big move to Australia probably saved me a lot of energy blowing my nose off my face, because I hardly ever do it anymore in the mornings, save for when I'm back home, of course.

Five years in Melbourne, and I barely remembered a time when I actually did any proper exercise. I don't like jogging. Period. But I don't mind running in the vicinity of the gym walls. I'm weird, I know. And I've only stepped foot on a treadmill when I moved to new south wales (note the insistence of stating the state instead of the actual suburb I'm living in now). Anyway, reflecting back this year since I embarked on a totally new journey and job, I can proudly say I have exercised by whacking tennis balls, kicking and boxing air religiously for two to three hours a week, and playing competitive netball once a week. Of course, these were all active before my disappointing ankle injury. I guess bowling doesn't count, huh?

A Mexican affair

Baked cheesy nachos...yum.
Buritos that had too much floury taste. Lousy quality.
One corona, earned by spitting out some Spanish words for "One beer, please!"
A couple of tequila shots.

A Friday night that was.

Arty

Ever feel like going for an art exhibition? Unlike others with creative imaginations and transparent views, I can't understand these disillusioned arty farty type work. Instead of confining themselves in the vicinity of four concrete walls, the sculptures decided to come out to play - at Bondi beach.

Where to, from here?

It's that time of year when it's time to chat about your career development.

I'm happy where I am, thanks.

But rather, I've been encouraged to think about where I should further develop my skills and experience. In another words, think of moving to another position within the company.

No thanks, I don't think so.

After scouting around and learning about others' experience working in different areas of the plant, I realised that I've been very lucky to be in the engineering services department providing technical advice in one of the many areas of this massive place. It is, by far, the cleanest place around. I don't want to be inhaling gases, walking through dusty areas, or touching grime and oil.

I'd like to stay where I am. At least for the next two years, thank you very much.

I walked out of the manager's office - feeling confident, not intimidated, and finally realising I can really bull my way through a discussion that I hadn't really prepare for.

Message in my mobile phone inbox

Congrats on the baby boy. Wishing you all the happiness in the world. -Jus

What the?!?!

2nd Trip to Jervis Bay

Watch out for the emus!



And no, we did not try fried emu egg. It was at a shocking price of $20 and combined with flashback memories of the Amazing Race contestants struggling to finish an ostrich omelette, I passed. We bought some bird seed to feed those funny-noise-making emus, pecking carelessly into the plastic containers in our hands. This emu farm was a stopover before the two loaded cars headed to Jervis Bay.

As we sailed out on the boat, I stared out at the outcast sky. We are so screwed to have chosen this day to go snorkelling. Thankfully, we were given wet suits that amazingly floats. You hardly need to lift a sweat to swim, which was good for me because I was pretty worried how much ankle work I would need to do to move and float in the water. And I enjoyed every minute I was in the freezing cold water - schools of colourful fish, Port Jackman sharks, Dory-look-alike fish, bright fluorescent starfish, many more I just can't list! There was even a seal lazing on the beach, and a pair of dolphins swimming playfully in front of our boat as we headed back to shore.

Oh dear

I tried to impress him by balancing on my right ankle as long as I can, eyes closed. The best I could do within the one week he gave me to practice was 12 seconds.

I did 25 seconds.
And the ankle-ligament combo gave way, again, but this time, with a loud 'cluck' that could be heard. Usually I feel it, but we heard it this time round. Ouch.

Selfless

They had only just met.
She was young. White.
He was middle-aged. Black.
They had one thing in common.

A long pole from a train collision sticking through their bodies, causing them to form an awkward position.
The surgeons can only save one.

My cheeks were wet when she readily gave up hope, to save him.

Well

Well well, seems like it's been a while since I last updated this blog. Many things have since happened.

The return of the prodigal daughter
Mum almost forgotten she had a daughter. This rebellious mid twenties youngster finally remembered to call home... you know, absent-mindedness is always an excuse. An hour long of complaints and whinging soon trembled through my poor ear drums. Someone had obviously burst my bubble to mum - for driving to work just a week after I injured my ATFL (Anterior Talofibular Ligament), simply understood as just the ankle ligament; for hopping around Sydney town in crutches and bandages instead of resting the ankle at home; and for snorkelling.

The hunk
I waited two weeks to see a physio at the nearby hospital. Because of my usual procrastinating attitude, believe it or not, I only just purchased private health insurance a week before my ankle injury. There was a two month waiting period for physiotherapy services. Pretty frustrating! And I wasn't allowed to go a hospital in other suburbs, apparently you have to go to the one nearest to you. I don't get the logic.

I guess things happen for a reason, otherwise I wouldn't have met my good looking physiotherapist. =] I look forward to our weekly sessions.

The prawns
The why: Start of prawning season
The where: Lake Illawarra
The time: 1am
The catch: Three measly prawns and two tiny crabs.
The humour: One crab tried to suffocate a helpless prawn while in captivity.

The virus
It's official. My laptop is infected with various virus. And my housemate's mac is frustratingly difficult to use.

The sleepless night
Last night, Chloe refused to stop scratching my bedroom door, of which I usually close when I go to bed. Even after a spank on her ass for being annoying, she continued scratching.

Food bowl not empty -check!
Water available -check!
Litter tray clean -check!

What is wrong with you? Tired as I am, with only a few hours sleep and a 7.30am training, I decided to leave the door open, giving her for the first time the freedom to do as she pleased in my bedroom.