The Bro Who Never Says 'I love you'

"... Dad can't never learn that we are all adults now, can't you see that, Cil?
Just like me, the memory I have in my head when I think of you is just when you were little. So when mom was busy with something, she would put you on the sofa and told me to keep an eye on you so you wouldn't roll and tumble down on the floor... hahaha... really. That's the thing I remember when I think of you.
But now you are all grown up,
and getting married.
It feels surreal..."

A chunk of email from my big brother, who always calls me 'Cil' as in short for 'little'.

Funny he remembers me that way, I remember him playing the role of a big evil giant and chasing me and my friends around when we played in the yard. The person who tied the blanket around me neck as a cape and told me to run around being superman. Then he's made me a sword when I told him I want to be a kungfu master.
He's my saviour when it comes to guys. Put senses into my head. Diverted me from being a whiny, prissy little princess I could have been & told me to kick back the six graders who bullied me at school. He was the one who held me and said it's okay to not be the top three in the class, he was in the bottom three in his class and he was doing fine. He said all sort of politically incorrect advice, but without him, I wouldn't be the person I am to day.

He put the reason behind so many decisions in my life.

He's my hero.

The big angry evil giant in the yard.

I was washing my hands in the restroom when I glanced at the mirror and saw the reflection of my hair.
Black hair, black shiny hair
... and I saw a strand of gray hair there.
At least I thought I saw one.
I tried to look closer but couldn't so I decided that I should grab my hair on that spot and run back to my desk and ask my coworker who was sitting right next to me and also my best friend in the office to look into it, find the darn thing and plug it out.
So with one hand up above my head,... grabbing a small group of hair strands up in the air, while the other hand pushed the door open, I walked out of the ladies room when,... of course,
Yes of course,
the DBA of the company came out of the men's room and saw me holding my hair up in the air.
Nice.
Can't get geekier pose than that.
These things seems like, only happen to me.
So I dropped my hair. Smiled. And said: "Hi, Rob".
And he gentlemanlikely smiled back and said "Hi, Bluecactus."
Then ever so coolly I walked away cursing inside.
Stupid gray hair.

Monologue in Supermarkets

Another friend is leaving me. Leaving the country.
I sank myself in my chair by the wide open window facing the dark blue sky.
Michael Franks.
Light breeze.
Half eaten doughnut.
I should feel at ease. Tonight is, after all, a gorgeous night.
Yet, I'm anxious. I start to fear the prospect of living here.
Friends left, one by one.
Loneliness.
I never thought I would ever fear loneliness. I 99.99% of the time always enjoy some solitude.
But I guess, I'm more afraid of the long term effect on it: wandering in the supermarket talking to myself. Like some people do. My roommate and I have concluded that they had lost their mind because they were lonely, and got nobody to talk to, hence, the monologue.
Sad...

Cold feet I'm not.
I'm just questioning of why there are so many negative notes on marriage. So many warnings and bad jokes about it.
Like someone said to me years ago: There's nothing better that you'll find after marriage about your spouse. Everything will go downhill after that.
Or, men, you can never trust them. You have to be careful.
Or, marriage is a lot of work.
Or, Over the years, your husband will break your heart. Over and over again. You'll see.
In four weddings a funeral, the boy didn't marry the girl even though they lived happily ever after.
Juliet died, Romeo took the poison, then darn it! She's back to life.
Seems like the more I see it, the more I feel like there's always the twist at the end.
Whatever happen to sleeping beauty after she got married to her prince?
We'd never know if she'd get along with the in-laws. If she gained a lot of weight and the prince went for someone younger and slimmer.

I don't doubt my boyfriend, in fact I do believe that he is the one. If there is such thing as the one. But then again everybody who set foot in a church or mosque or temple or marriage court or reception building.... wherever they held the ceremony, most likely have the same belief as I do that the person standing (or kneeling) next to them is the one.
Yet,... Tom divorced Nicole, J-Lo dumped Ben and Nelson Mandela is a widower.
I was told by my boyfriend that he read that the highest percentage of divorce reason falls under: financial problem.
I thought: really? I thought it'll be for something more obvious like infidelity,... or STD (which lead to the suspicion to infidelity anyway). Because that would be the most painful heart aching scenario, I would thought. But, maybe then most people would rather got STD than being poor.

Now, why would I still getting married after all this rambling?
Being a sceptical one once myself, I do wonder.
And I don't have an answer.
But I'll be damn if I don't try, jump down, dive and test the water.
Like the rest of the fools in love.
Because for every commotion like J-Lo and Ben, there's a Charles and Camilla.
Even when the rest of the world glare at them, I don't think they care.
And, they live happily ever after.
Then I shall, live up to the possibility that I will too live happily ever after, with better fashion sense, hairdo and without stealing someone else's husband.

Amen...

Today I went to my boyfriend's sister's house for her birthday party.
She is married to an American guy, and she invited her friends, who mainly are married to American guys.
Actually... to be honest, the only women in the party with Asian dates/spouses are: me and my boyfriend's mom, which made the party interesting actually, because most of the American guys don't speak Indonesian and the ladies were talking in mixed language, Indonesian and English.
I sat there amongst them, strangely feeling deeply intrigued.
I observed the language and tried to dissect the sentences, how much the English was used and how much the Indonesian. Then I tried to think if English only was enough to make the sentences make sense to those who don't speak Indonesian.
Interesting. The guys did seem to understand by the nod here and there.

Although, one of the American men actually lived in Jakarta for almost 10 years. That one guy spoke Indonesian, good one, with slang words, saying "Nggak" instead of "tidak".
Then, I don't know who started first, those American guys started talking about their experience in Indonesia.
Some of the guys have actually been to more places than I am, an Indonesian citizen. one has been to basically everywhere in Indonesia, including the island outside of Java.

He was comparing experience with another guy who's been to Ujung Pandang. He mentioned sitting by the sea shore in pure darkness and just consumed by the little lights of fisherman boat. He bought a boat and went to the sea. He talked about the air, the breeze, the street vendors. How he learned about the different sounds of the passing food vendors and guessed what they were selling.
Took a becak ride and felt so bad for the becak guy. The other guy even offered to take turns to pedal the becak (I kid you not).
How he snorkeled in glass clear Bunaken sea.
How he loves Jakarta, every single section offeres something that is totally different.
Indonesia is muggy, hot, humid, but it is much alive.
It is a very lively place.
They laughed, they talked and they were being very passionate, warm hearted with their memories, just like talking about a hometown. How they bought 'ikat' fabric directly from and old lady whose hand were tainted by natural indigo. Then they visited Jepara and were in awe with the wood works. How one of them learned how to love durian (It took several try), and still couldn't stand jengkol.

The more they talked the more I missed home.
And for the gazillion times, I feel sad about all the things I need to sacrifice to be here.
And there, right there, he said, his home is Indonesia, "That's my kampung".
I just smiled, but think "Dude, ... I feel you, man... I totally know what you mean."
And the homesickness crept in.

Wives and Lovers

Get this:

Day after day,
There are girls at the office,
And men will always be men.
Don't send him off
With your hair still in curlers.
You may not see him again.

For wives should always be lovers, too.
Run to his arms the moment he comes home to you.
He's almost here.

That is a chunk of lyric from 'Wives and Lovers'.
1963.
I wonder really, what's up with that lyric. And that part about men will be men, is very discouraging for someone who is getting married, like... me.
If that is a song coming out today, women will beat the heck out of the composer.

And who is the composer, one might ask.
He is the one and only Burt Bacharach.
Ironic, actually, because I love his music so much, he's like demi-God for me. Don't know him? Well I bet you know these:
The Look of Love
Do you know the way to San Jose
Close to You
Walk on By
I say a Little Prayer
Raindrops keep falling on my head
Alfie (yes, also the soundtrack of that movie about that good for nothing playboy)
and the list goes on.

Another question was, how did his wife treat him after the release of that song?
I, myself, might:
A. Put curlers everytime he's around just to annoy him
B. Give him the spare key so he can open his own door.
C. Put on make up and find another guy
D. Find a job and flirt with other men
E. Divorce him and get half of whatever he is worth
F. Pull that 'girls will be girls' stunt (cat-fight his face off)

I greet my boyfriend without make up, let alone a dress and I also demand a hug (sometimes).

So Burt, you're talented and loaded, but if we're living in the same era and I'm some hot shot big somebody that you have a crush on, I'd still going to have to say no way Jose.

Bye bye Greg

Greg Maddux is leaving Chicago.
Now, first of all... what do I know about baseball anyway? Besides all the rambling from my boyfriend about his frustration on his beloved Chicago Cubs.
I don't consider myself to be a baseball fan, and I might not be writing this right, but one thing I know is that I think Chicago Tribune sucks. For a company that owns and runs a major league baseball team, it should run it as a fan. Rooting for it, bet their lives against it, rather than keep on trading people to get... what? A better deal? It's all back to the money, huh?
Chicago tribune doesn't give a damn whether the club loses or not. All they know is that, sucks or not, the Cubs is a well oiled machine. It's a garden beer, might be the only place where you can drink in broad daylight without anyone judging you.
I'm pissed.
I'm very upset.
I don't even know why I'm upset.
Maybe also because Greg Maddux is one of the coolest, most good looking pitcher I've ever seen.
Sigh...
And the curse continues...
Bring in the goat.

Inked Up?

"... Maybe you can stop by and get inked up. Cool?"

An ex-coworker, emailed me and asked if I want to join her tattoo party.

I don't think I will ever want to get 'inked up'. I used to think I want one, but then my boyfriend said, if I get one, he might get one too. Not sure if he's joking or not, but the thought of my boyfriend get 'inked up' is not necessarily thrilling, I like him tattoo-less.
Besides, there's a needle involved in the process. Not a big fan of poking myself unnecessarily.

I once asked a friend whose boyfriend had several tattoo and one of them was a dragon: " Have you ever think that when he gets old, the dragon might shrink into a worm?"
I really think it was a legitimate question, but she laugh out loud thinking it was a joke.

Well, anyway,... another weekend went by and I, the slave, will have to start again tomorrow.
Sigh, the joy of being an adult.

I remember campus.
Not the one in Chicago.
But the one on the other side of the world.
I had long hair, then I cut it short.
I remember sleepless night before presentations.
I was never a public speaker. I knew what to say, but the silence got in the way. Froze my words.
I remember scheduled Saturday calls, with a high school sweetheart. I sent him letters.
He sent me tapes.
I loved him. But then I grew apart. Adulthood crawled in and shoved me questions after questions.
Doubt after doubt.
Then I stopped loving him. I loved someone else.
I cared, but no longer loved.

I remember feeling guilty. I let him still called me once in a while.
Drunken with alcohol and emotion. Called me names, profanity, breaking appliances, then hung up on me.
I bore it, because I crushed him, and hence, I deserved it.
Then I got heartbroken.
Karma came instantly.
I was tired of deception, arguments, anger, tears and courtship.
I remember I swore off men.
And I went away from it all. Started fresh in a tiny empty apartment with a view to a parking lot.

I started with 2 friends. Both picked me up at the airport.
Six luggages.
I sent my parents home and I didn't cry.
Then I have another friend. And old acquaintance.
He called for old time sake. Then we met up.
I remember going to the lakeside. All I talked was my heart and how it scarred.
He's a good listener. Mainly because, he didn't judge. Didn't take side. He just sat and listened.
Then we all start having weekly fun, me, him and another old friend. We were best friends. We still are.

I remembered ended any form of communication from the past.
I was done mourning.
I also remembered noticing one morning that I was no longer angry. No longer in pain. No longer hating.
I read somewhere a long long time ago: The opposite of love is not hate. It's ignorance.
I no longer hated him.
I just didn't care anymore.

Then one boring day, I randomly chatted with someone.
Amazingly we had something in common.
My high school sweetheart.
Then the mystery was revealed. He wasn't faithful anyway.
Parties and girls.
To think about all the blame I bore myself of that breakup, bore his anger by the phone. All the name callings.
I was angry but relieved. Life is weird, I hadn't even been in any chat room in years but that day.
So he deserved being dump after all.

Then I remember enjoying being single.
Single-hood is awesome. I don't get why some people get nervous being single.
Then almost after a year, I remember a first kiss after the third bottle.
Then dates.
Puzzled on why he didn't sway and swoon me with words.
Amazed by how I could still feel he cared.
That was new for me. I couldn't explain.
I remember ice skating, drowning in the city lights. Picnic by the lake shore. Learning guitar.
I remember feeling loved and most importantly, happy.
I think I know why fate let me had all that heartbreaks.
So I get smarter and smarter when choosing for 'the one'. It is tricky. Sometimes we are blinded by the bling bling from outside, mislead and we overlook the inside.
But not anymore.

I have graduated.
I got an A.
A plus.

Chain of Thoughts

So, Okay, last weekend might be one of the weirdest weekend I've ever had, though, alas, I can't really completely reveal why it was so damn surreal but exiting and tense and interesting.
I, for the first time paid attention to that Hummer commercial. Guess what their motto is.
"Restore your Manhood"
Hahaha... I'm sorry, it feels like Hummer actually implies that it is the ultimate panacea of your manhood problem.
Buy it. Then you're a stud.
Funny enough that I once read somewhere that the more you show off about your car, the bigger problem you have inside. Because the big car, is the compensation of what you are lacking of.
Got it?
Wink.
Do you really want to buy a car that implies that you are trying to "restore your manhood"?
Anyway,... I went to a friend's place and weight myself in the bathroom (because I'm too afraid to buy myself one and get obsessive over it).
And Oh... holy cow...
I AM a cow.
I really need to get some exercise and cut down on dim sum. Seriously. I think that's what killing me the most. Chinese food. Oh how I luuuvvv dim sum. And I don't exercise. Bad. Baaaaad.
The mystery of my shrinking pants was revealed. They didn't shrink. I expanded.
Bloody hell...
Someone promised not to touch alcohol again. Ever. EVER. And I have to respect that and drink all the booze by myself. But what is the fun of drinking by myself? I'll find out.
And lastly, I hurt my right arm and wrist playing too much PS2. My wicked boyfriend played halfway and when it got to the difficult part, he went home and asked me to finish it up. Nice. So I played and played, and got butchered, over and over and over again.
Now I think I have carpal tunnel. It's either that, or I am a hypochondriac, because I also think that I am an obsessive compulsive, anemic and have arthritis.

I forgot how complicated the procedure of dressing up can be.
I went to my boyfriend's friend wedding last Saturday & found it very tedious to dress up.
Maybe this year, that was the only time I used foundation and compact powder.
And I underestimated how long it would take me to dress up and when my boyfriend came, I'm not entirely ready. Psst... I got carried away chatting with a couple of girlfriends.
So the commotion went like this:
Shower (duh!)
Pedicured
Filed finger nails
Dried hair: pulled straight... changed mind,... took out curling iron. Got the bigger roll... didn't work as expected. Get the smaller roll. Waited in vain for 15 minutes... then realized: the switch was off. Switched it on.
Continued with pedicure.
Lotion. Lots and lots of lotion.
Looked for foundation. Scrutinized if there is an expiry date. Nope. Good. Shall I take the chance? Hell yes, there's no time to go to dept store now.
Applied foundation.
Brushed powder.
Defined eyebrows. Then realized I haven't plucked my eyebrows. Nice. Plucked eyebrow. Wondered why that my non-existent eyebrows decided to showed up together when I don't need them to show up.
Eyeshadow session.
Applied cheek blush.
Eyeliner. Held breath. Pray that I wouldn't sneeze when applying.
Mascara.
Lipstick.
Now, back to hair.
Curled, section by section. This was maybe the only time I was kinda annoyed I have so much hair.
Hairspray.
Get dressed.
Boyfriend buzzed from downstairs. Buzzed him in.
Looked for purse. Found purse. It's so small, my wallet didn't make it through.
Asked the classic question: How do I look?
Boyfriend gave the classic answer: Fabulous.
Perfume. not too much. I don't want to kill the crowd. Just enough to let people know I don't stink.
All this activities made break into sweat. My face started shining from it.
Re-applied powder.
Decided to bring the whole make-up pouch.
Grab shoes. Grab purse.
Run out from the apartment.
...
Wishing I was a man and thought of what I could have skipped the whole morning.

Maid of Honor

Before continuing this entry, I should just say, that I just scratched out all my closest male friends.
Anybody who are not willing to wear a dress will not be my maid of honor.
Period.
Plus even if they do, I think I don't want them to.

So, one of the important things I need to consider is who will be my maid of honor?
I asked a coworker for what is common and who hers was. She said: her sister.
Well, I can't ask my sister because I don't think she cares, plus my sister is 7 years older, she won't be the kind who would get giddy, be all peachy about this. She might even ask: Does this mean more work for me?
Yeah... she's the tomboy kind, plus with two kids who are constantly running and jumping around and fighting and screaming and sigh... I don't know what else, I really really don't think she's up for it.
Don't get me wrong, I know she loves me, but she is more like a male than female. NO pun intended. That's fact. I don't think her right side of brain is really working.
And so,... that leaves me my friends.
I have a bunch of friends. Well, little bunch because I'm somewhat an antisocial. But I have really close friends that are as good a sisters. Friends who've been through all the periods of my all of my ex boyfriends (till the current one), the singlehood period, the dating period till the engagement period. People who chanted my boyfriend's name hoping that I would subconsciously fell for him. People who cheered when we finally officially dating, and people who think I have a good catch. And of course, people who (with dial-up connections) logged on for emergency chatting sessions. Yes, you know who you are.
And there is also this one person, whose sincere friendship initiated her gesture to offer her place for me to crash for two months before we moved into a bigger place, lied to some people to save my ass (hah! That's all I'm going to reveal), back me out in practically everything, and despite what she always said that she bugged me and my boyfriend on our dates, she never realizes that when she left, we missed her companionship dearly. You know that cricket sound often times played as the back sound in movies to emphasize quietness? Yeah, imagine that with me and my boyfriend sitting in the sofa looking blankly to each other.
If this 'maid' should be an honorable one, then I have plenty of girlfriends. But if I have to pick one, then she is the one.
That senorita is my good old roommate.
I have asked, and she said yes. Yay!
Now,... roomie, one of us should stay sober at the bachelorette party. I'll wear that bachelorette tiara and veil, but should we do rock paper scissor for the booze? Let's have a series of apple martinis (or pina coladas for you) and dance along the old-skool beat.

Yesterday I went to Chinatown to have yummy dimsum with some old friends.
It was raining and I was late so I ran around in the apartment like crazy and bolted out, slammed the door and headed there as soon as I can.
I headed to the highway and manuvered here and there. I know that when my boyfriend read this, he's going to scold me, but whatever... he can't be that mad to me. By experience so far, I got away with almost anything with him.
I am a quite safe driver (wipe that smile out, hunny),... as long as I am not provoked.
So, I was driving fast,... but safe.
But in the middle of the trip, the highway was suddenly packed. It was pretty bad and I spent my time being stuck there thinking what could have had happened. I bet it was an accident. Well, after a while it was pretty obvious that it was indeed an accident.
BUT! It happened on the other side of the fence. On the traffic going to the other side.
Now... my side of traffic, they are just spectators who apparently just slowing down to... yes, you guess it... to watch the accident.

I have a college super best friend, her house is only about 0.2 miles away from my place and we went to school together daily with her car and driver.
Her driver's name is Marno. Marno is a funny character. He was a man with very fewww words. And his thing was that when an accident happened, he would go to the extend of slowing down - almost a full stop - and even open the window to get a better view. I'd imagine that if traffic permitted he might have changed his lane closer to the accident.

So, everybody on the road yesterday was pulling a Marno. And the traffic could've been faster if people would be more ignorant and just pass by. Wait,... did I just say that?
We'll... you know what I mean. I wish it wasn't anything serious and nobody got hurt,... but people... please hit the gas and just accelerate.
Thank you!
I was starving and the thought of dimsum brought warmth in my heart.
Ah,... dimsum has always been the highlight of many of my Sundays.

Soe Hok Gie

I just accidentially found out like last week that I am related to Soe Hok Gie, that Chinese decendent activist in the '60-ies. My mom's dad and his dad were siblings.
What do you know, eh?
Maybe that 6 degrees of seperation theory is right after all.

Anniversary

Today I'm officially dating my boyfriend for 4 years.
Can you believe that if he didn't make a move, I might still be single by now? Because I thought I was done with men. Men just gave me headache.
Today however, we didn't exchange gifts or dress up and go to a fancy dinner or exchange greetings card,... or letter.
He didn't buy me flowers or sing me a song while I also didn't cook him something special or write him a girly, corny poems (ugh... gosh, no.)
And.. uhm,.. I actually almost forgot. So did he. I thought the anniversary was tomorrow.

But so, we remembered, and went to a casual Thai dinner. He wore one of his ordinary shirt and I was with my flip flop.
And as usual, he was late (for an hour), then later made fun of how I drive, and I told him to buzz off.
We bickered about which CD to put on in the car. He won by the way, but that's because I was 'busy' driving.

It's just another day, but we laughed and we held hands.
And this crazy world makes sense again.

He makes me happy. No headache.
And I'm enjoying the joy ride of my life.

My coworkers called my sneezy (as in... Sneezy the infamous dwarf) and for all fairness I took it with light heart.
See, I am allergic to... something. I don't know what yet. And I sneeze daily, sometimes in marathon, series of sneezes, and my coworkers would shout in choir "bless you" and in between the sneezes, when I manage, I'd say thank you, and/or 'xcuse me.
This is very annoying because I love opening my window and be outdoor but I can see the pollen flying around in the air (yes, so besides pooping ducks in the air, I have to deal with the pollen too). Right now, those pollens are my number one suspect of my newly found misery.
Isn't my life weird, just when all my life I lived in one of the most polluted city in the world, and survived, I settled in this new, clean, full of forest preservation city and I developed a freaking allergy.
I took allergy medicine daily for maybe 3 weeks, then I forgot where I put my medicine and thought to myself, the heck with it. And I bravely faced the outside world, medicine free, only to find that I sneeze in longer marathon and harder volume. My sneezes created echos to the wall. And my skin start to be have reaction too.
Now, I am sneezy and scratchy.
I'm going to the doctor tomorrow.
I need to stop being sneezy even if I will be dopey.

I just have to log on and make a post out of this so I have the date mark of 06/06/06.
Happy Birthday, Damien Omen! You creepy kid.

Casimoro

Today was my last day in the office. The whole team is moving to another building 5 miles away and to a new lord/master/tyrant, or in the IT world is also known as: the client.
I don't have any attachment to my office, although I happened to have a corner desk next to a huge window. Office is just an office and actually I have been at war with my PC with its sad capability and tortoise-esque speed. So I'm pretty happy to move to a better environment with PCs with lightning speed.
I however had a hard time saying goodbye to this one little Mexican guy who's always around cleaning the beverage bar, filling up sugar container, making people's coffee.
He knows everybody's name and everyday you see him, he always smiles and be friendly and asks how people's days are.
I came to him in the afternoon and I told him that this is my last day there. He shook my hand with a concerned expression, with broken English he said " It is nice working with you, buenos Suerte... good luck".
He said "People come and people go, that is work. It is very nice knowing you."
I could feel the sincere warmth in his good bye. I wish I can say something else rather than, "like wise" Because I don't know what to say. I'm never gonna see him again. Should I say: "Oh, don't worry, I'll see you again." Or "I'll be around" Or... "Hey, let's exchange email addresses." I don't think he's internet literate. So that was a firm good bye, unless fate has some wicked twist for me, I don't think our paths will ever cross again.
When parting he shook my hand again, and he said something that I thought was another Spanish word, I said "excuse me?"
"Casimoro. That's my name."
"Oh,..." I smiled, " I always know your name."
Then I said bye and walked away.

Oh gosh,... how I hate good byes.

Most people, if not all, with blue collar occupations are invisible. And the rest of us just never bother to greet them, or acknowledge them, or get to know them. The doormen, the cleaning ladies, the bag ladies, the bus boys of the world.
And Casimoro, he persistently offers friendship to people instead of waiting for friendship to come his way. And I'm so so so so so so so glad he did.
I'm pleased to know him.
I'm touched.
I'm humbled.
It's a privilege.

Que Tenga una vida maravillosa, Casimoro.

I have been noticing this for quite a while now that my windows are facing the direction of O'Hare International Airport. The distance between us is actually 20 something miles away and I can't actually see the airport, but everyday that I sit on this chair (aka my throne) where I do my daily interaction with the outside world through the gate of internet, I can see the planes passing by, slowing down, shifting lower and lower. Then I would just stare and guess where it came from?
Is it from Hawaii?
From Tokyo?
From Rio?
From Rome?
From Vegas?

Then a story contemplated in my head. This plane came from Rio. The people inside it just had the vacation of their life. There, it's sunny and beautiful, the sand is white, the ocean can't be any bluer, coconut trees are everywhere. And none of them has coconut fruit (because it can hit your head and that wouldn't be the vacation of your life anymore). The pina colada there is unsurpassed. People wear sarong and sunglasses. The hotels are gorgeous and the clubs are awesome, they have the best apple martinis.
Then the song "Down in Brazil" played mentally in my head "Down in Brazil, it takes a day to walk a mile, time just stand still..."

Then another plane passed by.
Now this one came from Tokyo, They have the best sushi there, I went there once,... and I went to this one beautiful temple and drank water from the well there. Legend has it that if you drink the water, and make a wish, then your wish will come true.
I made a wish there, but I can't, for the life of me, remember what it was.
I want to go there again and make another wish. This time I'll make a note and put it in my wallet.

Sigh... I crave having a vacation.

Finally the heat has died down this evening and the sky granted us some rain.
I opened up my windows and welcomed the winds to blow in. I pressed my nose against the screen to catch a glimpse of Chicago skyline to no avail. The rain blocked my view.
It's till hot and humid, but it's better than yesterday. I think I'm allergic to my own sweat, and I spent the day yesterday scratching my head.
Anyhow, my day was okay. I forgot that my boss was on vacation and spent the first few hours of my morning wondering where he was.
Is that a sign of getting old or stress?
I hope none of the above. I hope it's just the effect of the long memorial day weekend.
Speaking of getting old, I found a strand of grey hair about 3 weeks ago. I plugged it out and took a good look at it before I threw it out. The base was black, then about an inch or two it went totally white, then it's black again.
It's one confused grey hair.
Again, is that a sign of getting old, or stress?
Now, speaking of stress, I shoot some hoops with my boyfriend yesterday at a nearby park. It was pretty de-stressful. Then I found some swings in the playground next to it.
Guess what I did.
You got it.
I rode the swing.
It was even more relaxing than spa.
There was this kind of de ja vu-ish kind of feeling when I rode it. Something that felt so familiar, the tingling feeling in your stomach, the rush of wind combing through your hair. The beat that's skipped from your heart when you swing down from the highest point. It was very juvenile. My heart was pounding with excitement.
Never underestimate the joy of swing.
Getting older, I notice that I'm more afraid of height then when I was a teenager. Especially then my boyfriend pushed me from behind and I swung harder than Tarzan.

Yesterday, I found my forgotten inner child, thank God I haven't lost it.