The following is not an imaginary conversation during dinner.
Sophisticated Lady#1: Hi there. Where do you work?
Me: << Answer censored on this blog>>
SL#1: Oh… So what do you do there?
Me: I cannot believe that I am saying this for the fifth time this week! Power Point presentations.
SL#2: I do that too…
SL#1: Is that what you intend to do for the rest of your career?
SL#1: So what would you rather do?
Me: Something in the humanitarian field?
Awkward silence for a minute or two…
Then SL#1 picks up her packet of food, sits next to SL#2.
SL#1: (to SL#2) So do you know so-and-so who is working in your company? Have you seen him recently? Blah blah blah…
Me: (looks down and starts poking at my packet of economy rice)
Along with the tragedy that befell Cambodia when thousands of innocent civilians were slaughtered during the savage reign of the Rouge in the 70s, surely the genocide of the 90s would be Rwanda’s to claim.
Ten years after the mad 100 days of killing, where more than 800,000 innocent civilians perished, the Beeb takes a look at the events, which shocked the world, but not enough to garner any international intervention.
Two “take-home” lessons for me:
(a) Never trust or depend on anyone to help you in times of need (unless you have huge amounts of reserves, which will get your forever indebted to a more superior power).
(b) Men (myself included) are born evil.
Food for thought:
The number of people who died under the dictatorial rule of a certain Kim is still a question mark.
This may put the entire debate about the rise in transport costs due to additional security measures or the not-so-secret revelation of the day with regards to a certain non-profit organization (who had been lauded for “clever marketing strategies” in all its fund-raising attempts) into perspective.
Speaking of evil, a day after soap was re-discovered in the toilet, much to many corporate slaves’ relief (including mine), the air-condition thingy, never received any form of maintenance work, decided to go on strike.
As such, the windowless section of the temporary office, which received no fresh air ventilation other than from the malfunctioned air-con vents, has turned my work cell into a sauna of sorts.
While word had been sent to the authorities, the amount of red tape would ensure that a restoration of circulated air supply and reverting to less sauna-like temperatures would only happen in at least one or two day’s time.
So if you spot an obese 28.5 (some say 29) year-old man dressed in a purple long sleeve shirt on board a TIBS bus around knock-off time today, with a body smelling like rotten salted fish, it could well be D W. Be kind and say “hi” to him, if you dare.
The little production had given me a little new lease of life recently. However, I am fully aware that after we have done our last show, it will probably all end.
Until then, I am actually looking forward to engaging in a little bit of mickeying-around with a Brit who uprooted himself from the UK (London to be exact) 8 years ago to settle down here with his wife, in between the rehearsals. We had lots of laughs over silly expressions like “GMT”, “Lufthansa” and “Mediaworse” – all inside jokes. I also received a card from a fellow member of the cast. Though she gave it to almost everyone else in appreciation for the work they had done or as a form of encouragement, it left me pleasantly surprised.
On the love front (or should I say “crush front”), there were no developments of note between my latest crush and I. In fact, there was not even an exchange of greetings or words throughout the three hours when the entire cast was together.
Since my dad never had the habit of closing his mouth when he coughed, it may not be long before my mother starts her very own spell as well.
(This brings a whole new revelation to the meaning of the oft-spouted line during wedding ceremonies – “in sickness or in health”.)
It may not be an entirely pleasant thing to do, but as much as it worries me, I have been counting the number of intervals between his coughs, which are loud enough to wake up the neighbours.
Anyway, my weak respiratory system has finally lost the battle to keep the bug at bay and my old nemesis (even older than the D monster), the Cough, has returned. That is already despite the fact that I have been rarely around at home during the week.
Thanks to the production, I have finally gotten a taste of what make-up feels like on one’s face. In fact, I was given a quick introduction to the world of foundation, blusher, eyeliner, eye shadow, and yes, lipstick! Having all of them plonked onto my face, albeit with the make-up artist’s expertise, my face felt heavy and every little pore on my skin was like gasping for air.
Little did I know that removing the said chemicals on my face was a whole new experience (and a rather tedious one) altogether.
I don’t remember the Home Econs textbook (during my time) having an entire chapter devoted “How to put on make-up”. So where on God’s good earth did our girls learn this from?
* French for “The cough and other stories”.