coffee with sez

While waiting for Sarah in Café Nero yesterday, my cappuccino slowly thawing my icy fingers, I glanced over at a couple of young girls chatting animatedly in the window seats of the coffee shop. The comfort of their interaction suggested that they had been in each others lives for a considerable length of time.
For a split second I saw my own life and the relationships, past and present, I have with my girlfriends. Over the years those interactions have changed and one day, when I’m old, they will most likely be fewer, yet no less important. I looked at those two girls and thought about the generations of girlfriends that will follow and how they are going to impact each others lives. However, no matter how similar the camaraderie may be, they will never be my friends and I; they will never know the uniqueness of our relations and have those same dialogues, sometimes mindless, more often life changing.
I love being female (I’m in that limbo part of life where you’re not quite a girl, not really a lady and not yet a woman, hence the broader term) and all the ups and downs that ensue as a result of such an existence. To the ladies (it’s okay to use it in plural form) that have seen me through the years, thank you for bringing so much colour to my world.

sharing the moment

Despite a long and dreary winter, I’m feeling pretty warm on the inside after an entire weekend surrounded by good friends, old and new. I never thought I would fall for this city like I have, but after being a bit of a nomad for the last 5 years, I have established a life in a place that I can call home, where, for now, my heart is happy to reside.
For someone who used to require more ‘me’ time than a Tibetan monk, I have found great value in using my spare time being sociable.
Friday night saw me laughing my way through a spontaneous Chinese take-out evening with Ian, Bron and Steve before Ian took off to Switzerland to battle (or ski) the Alps.
After an infrequent lie-in on Saturday morning I ventured to Wimbledon where I met up with Kirsty and Kirsty, one of whom I haven’t seen in over 5 years. While browsing the shops with them I bumped into Steve and his flat-mate Craig and subsequently betrayed Starbucks by enjoying a chai latte (yum!) in Café Nero, in order to escape the bitter cold. From there I trekked across town to meet Bron, who spent most of the evening convincing me not to spend money I don’t have (too sensible sometimes!). We did enjoy a great meal in Burger Shack off Carnaby Street (I feel a certain fondness towards their salt and pepper shakers) and made plans to see the world whilst in The Source Café hidden down one of the West End’s many back streets.
If that wasn’t enough mixing I agreed to post-church lunch at Nandos with Erica, Greg and a few others and then escaped for some time-out in the Virgin Megastore where I got lost in album after album of rock and jazz to add to my wishlist. An out-of-the blue phone call from Ms Gibbs, V and Peeps and I shared my second Hillsong service of the day with a couple of friends who have been in my life from before I started to form proper memories.
Knowing that my week is full of similar prospects, I got home feeling whole and uplifted, ready to face the probable monotony of the work week ahead.

from glum to plum

After a heavily emotional day yesterday, I decided that I needed a change. In my irrational state I headed for the hair dye aisle at Boots. Today I am sitting at my desk with the sun beaming through the window, illuminating my glowing aubergine head. The sun never shines in this bleak city and, naturally, today it insists on tormenting me with its mocking rays. Someone pass me a paper bag.
I feel the need to explain that at NO POINT was I prompted to dye my hair red. The box showed a subtle shade of auburn and I was confident that I would come out with shiny, natural looking hair.
My horror began when I messed dye on the bathroom carpet and began to fear the heartless reactions of my ‘flatties’. There is now eternal, pink evidence of my ordeal to caution future generations of flatmates. My first ‘post dye’ glance in the mirror was one of disbelief as I focused instantly on my roots which were brilliant red. My heart sank. My day got worse. My failed attempt at a pick-me-up sent me straight to my bed where I planned to hide under the covers, far from the world. I would call in sick. Yes, that’s what I would do.
A reassurance from Ian that it wasn’t as bad or as noticeable as I thought and my wallowing simmered. Today, however, few colleagues have passed my desk sans comment. The general consensus is positive, which is a relief considering I opted for a permanent colour in my moody haste.
Apparently you’re supposed to do something called a ‘patch test’. I would say ‘next time’, but after this…there wont be.

far from the mark

Yesterday was Mom’s birthday (she now only gets younger apparently) and her wish was to see a play at the local Questors Theatre. Had she warned me that it was an offering by Caryl Churchill, I may have cautioned her as to the bizarre nature of this playwright’s works. In my ignorance, I merely agreed and made no further enquiries into what we were going to see.
The play, entitled ‘Far Away’, focuses on inhumanity and compares it to the hat-making process. The highlight was watching the ‘hat parade’ where extras were tied together, adorned with wacky hand-made hats, supposedly on their way to being burned to death. I’m tempted to use the term ‘out-there’ but it doesn’t really encompass how unfathomable this piece is. If not for the synopsis in the program (which I wish I had read before the show) my mother and I would still be furrowing our brow in intense contemplation. My 10 year old brother, on the other hand, was convinced that he had captured what the writer was trying to convey but on our appeal for his insight was disinterested in sharing.
At the very least it gave me something to write about, but, honestly, thoughts that deep go beyond conventional appeal and then who are you really writing for? I’m all for detouring mainstream ideas, but there is art and then there isn’t. This time the audience were left ‘Far Away’ asking ‘what the??’.

most depressing day of the year

Today has officially been named the Most Depressing Day of the Year in the Northern Hemisphere.
That’s a sure way to uplift the morale of a society that is already suffering the harsh realities of a long, cold winter. Trust the heartless UK media to point out the obvious and send the population into a deeper state of gloom.
The BBC reports, “Foul weather, debt, fading Christmas memories, failed resolutions and a lack of motivation conspire to depress…”
Admittedly, I awoke this morning to another grey sky and settled, unintentionally, into a disposition that is best described as ‘despondent’. My mood then only deteriorated thanks to the melancholic sounds of Coldplay X&Y.
However, when my colleagues mentioned that today had been set aside to allow ourselves to wallow, I immediately resolved to bring sunlight where there hasn’t been any for weeks. Disappointingly, my enthusiastic attempts seem to be wasted on a group of people who, unbelievably, closed the blinds on Friday at the first sign of post-winter rays.
I know it’s not ideal, but seriously, it’s just weather! I too love the sun and miss how it has the ability to warm right through to your soul. Nevertheless, true joy brightens you from the inside out, not vica-versa.

money, the man and me

I’ve been so good about staying positive this year, but alas, London life has pushed me one step too far again. I am determined to stay undefeated, so in order to remain upbeat, I fear I must vent it in the form of a rant.
I REALLY DISLIKE THE TAXMAN!!!!!
I was vastly over-taxed this month and as a result I’ve been given a phone number to call to reclaim what is RIGHTFULLY MINE! The fact that I can only expect to get my money back at the end of Feb (at the earliest) aside, I have to waste my precious time calling a number that is PERMANENTLY ENGAGED. The best is that it is my employers fault but thanks to ‘the system’ they can guiltlessly pass-the-buck and sit back as I am forced to live off bread and water until next payday (maybe a tad melodramatic).
“We’re so sorry but it is now out of our hands”. I don’t feel the need to elaborate on what I would like to retort to that statement.
Okay, that was great. I do feel a lot better now.
As a former work colleague used to chant relentlessly, I’m going to simply “stick it to the man” and enjoy my weekend. I’ll do my budget on Monday.

someone to watch over me

The last few days have been pretty great. Mostly uneventful, barr for a rather amusing incident on Sunday night on the way home from church.
It was about 9.30pm and I hopped off the No 14 bus on Putney Bridge and made a quick call to Ian. He was nearby, so I jumped onto another bus (bit lazy) to take me down the road. As I was rummaging through my bag for my house keys, my finger caught on my razor blade (I had spent the night at Bron’s) and sliced through my skin. I’m a softie at the best of times, but a cut is one thing; a cut on my finger causes me to pale instantly.
By the time I reached Ian I was in a state of semi-consciousness and the world was rapidly disappearing between stars. He swiftly rushed to my aid and I could see he was caringly fighting the urge to show his amusement at my over-reaction to the small abrasion.
The entertainment didn’t stop there. I was in no fit state to see myself home so Ian accompanied me on the bus. Halfway home, an argument over a £1.50 bus fare arose between the driver and one of three youths who boarded the bus. Now, not only was I faint, but scared too and expectedly unhappy when the driver turned off the engine and called the authorities to report the nasty little delinquent. The boy, subsequently, punched the drivers window and stormed off the bus in a state of rage.
I love London, but it is home to all types and many of them have been tainted by the struggles that life in this city throws at you. I happen to live near the dodgy part of town that is home to many aforementioned individuals.
It’s times like that I’m thankful that Ian and I are no strangers to impromptu meetings. I shudder to think what may have happened, but it’s just another little reminder that there’s someone looking out for me 24/7.
My finger is fine, by the way.

sweet distraction

While thoroughly enjoying my post-lunch bag of Maltesers it dawned on me that nothing has ever held my affection for quite as long as chocolate.
To clear my head of bland, work-related clutter, I did a bit of research only to discover that there are a lot of sad people out there! There are actual chocolate fan clubs that you can join and claim discount on ‘I’m a chocoholic’ t-shirts! Anyway, that’s just me being condescending and each to their own, I guess.
I did find this page on BBC that is pretty interesting and a little less tasteless than the rest.

when in rome

I spent a bit of time on the flight home on Tuesday night wondering how I was going to cram our whole trip to Rome into a blog entry. After a bit of consideration, I decided that you couldn’t fully appreciate the experience through my attempt at conveying it and that would be a real pity. Instead I chose to share a few things that I discovered during the course of the weekend…

• 1.5 hrs sleep is not sufficient when you have to leave for the airport at 4:15am.
• I need to learn how to be more competitive and not get myself ‘niksed’ into shameful situations involving fellow Asian travelers and peace signs.
• When calling a hotel whose staff ‘no speaka da Engaleesh’ it will be very difficult to understand that your hotel booking was not confirmed. It will be even harder to acquire the address of your new hotel and putting on an Italian accent will not make the communication any easier.
• Slightly rotund, balding Italian men may try to corner you on the 64 bus and it is handy to have a 6ft 5 boyfriend who can gallantly rescue you when you are too polite to stand up for yourself.
• An FD (a purposeful ‘fall down’) among a crowd of unsuspecting foreigners at a popular tourist attraction is highly amusing and even more so watching it over and over on camera.
• An unidentifiable cocktail is best enjoyed in the company of good friends in a wine bar, off the beaten track and served by an over-the-top Italian barman who evidently spent an extended number of years at acting school. Add a cheesy keyboard-playing, pop hopeful and you have an ideal Saturday night in Rome.
• Pizzas and sandwiches bought from vendors on the roadside are dodgy!
• Arrivederci is a very complicated Italian word and is best remembered by breaking it down into separate syllables. Need any help? Ask Steve as he should have it down by now. Other words I have since had to restrain myself from using are rad, lank, bru, kiff and diblaho(!) (shot Dana).
• Bron and Margaux are great roommates if you are not looking to get any sleep. Otherwise, be prepared to chatter until the early hours of the morning and then sleep through your alarm clock, thus missing out on the decent breakfast and the Sistine Chapel (sorry Erica!).
• You are not allowed to laugh raucously in the Pantheon or sit on the steps at Vittriano or you will get yelled at by a priest and whistled at by a guard, respectively.
• Ryanair has enough leg room for a hobbit. Anyone else, unlucky.

Rome wasn’t built in a day and neither can it be properly discovered in three. But, we did our best and tossed a coin, or a few in Ian’s case, into the Trevi Fountain to ensure a return visit.

big sis, lil sis

Tonight, before the excitement of our group adventure to Rome begins, I have to say goodbye to my little sister…again…for, like, the millionth time. I’ve become so accustomed to the ritual of goodbyes that I tend to approach most farewells with a sense of nonchalance. This time it’s different. She’s fast becoming an adult and after 16 years of sibling rivalry she has become one of my closest friends.
Throughout my childhood, any rants regarding my sister and her annoying antics were typically shot down with a reply along the lines of, ‘One day it’ll all change and you’ll be the best of friends.’ HA! What did they know? She was a bothersome little horror that tormented me at every opportunity until I was ready to shake her like a sandy beach towel. I decided that my request for a sister when Mom was pregnant was naïve and proved, undoubtedly, that you need to be careful what you pray for.
But now I stand humbled and have prepared mental apologies to all those that I scorned for suggesting that Desi and I would, one day, be able to communicate in a civilized manner.
It’s unfortunate that now, when we get along so well, we live thousands of miles apart when most of our time together we spent even further apart.
I’m so proud of her for following her heart and becoming a successful jockey and it softens the blow, just a little, to know that she is going back to her dream and a place where she just thrives.
The bright pink “big sis” bracelet that now adorns my arm is a happy reminder that, far away, my “lil sis” is wearing hers with an assurance that distance doesn’t change what a lifetime has matured.

lunchbreak rundown of festivities

Rather than blog about the New Year and fall into the trap of being hopelessly cliché I’m avoiding any mention of resolutions, reflections and infinite possibilities (those references don’t count!).
My 10 day festive break was tremendously relaxing and a caffeine surplus has proved simply insufficient to nudge me back into work mode this week.
Spending time with Desi, who is visiting from Oz, has been a reality check. Astounding when you realise that your little sister is catching up to you and soon a mere 6 year age gap will be meaningless.
Christmas day was spent at Mom’s and was reminiscent of an episode of Fawlty Towers: turkey stuck in the freezer, questionable gifts from distant family members and a fitting squabble or two to keep things exciting.
Our dissatisfying New Year celebration was revived by an amusing bumper-to-bumper joyride around London in the early hours of Sunday morning. Ian and Bronwyn kept up the banter up front while Desi and I sat in the backseat absorbing the atmosphere and festivities. A predictable visit to a dodgy kebab shop at 3am and my first London New Year was summarised appropriately.
I’m all amped about our trip to Rome this weekend. My 2006 travels will be off to a flying start (please refrain from rolling your eyes) and I get to share it with some of my favourite people in the world! I’m excited.