Soon after, a slim ang-moh (white guy) with facial hair and canvas bag walked slowly toward me and said “Rudy?”. “Nick!” I replied. We shook hands, with smiles. We chatted a bit as an icebreaker while waiting for Gene. Nothing heavy, just this and that. I found him friendlier than I expected. He did inform me previously how unsocial he can be. To me, he seemed normal, decent, and an all around nice guy. Basically, harmless.

After a while, Nick decided to give Gene a call to make sure he’s not lost. As he hung up his phone, he assured me that Gene was getting off from MRT as we spoke, which meant he’ll be in full view in few short minutes. We kept gazing to the direction where the exit of the Somerset MRT Station was, right opposite from where we were standing, the lobby front entrance. We did that for quite sometime. Yet we still didn’t see Gene came out from that exit. We began to get worried. Did he get lost? Did he go to a different exit? Nick said the lateness was to be expected and something about Gene following a Filipino time. I nodded. Not sure what I was agreeing with.

It was about half hour after I met Nick that we finally saw Gene, entering the building from the lobby front entrance instead of from the MRT station exit. He was wearing black and smiling with embarassment. He was a bit out of breath, and wet from sweat. Apparently, he got off at the wrong station. One station after, to be exact. And then had to quickly walk all the way to the mall, outdoor, under the heat of the sun, while worrying about him already making a bad first impression. Poor guy. He apologized as he approached us. I extended my hand and said “Gene? Hi, I’m Rudy”. We shook hands, with smiles.

Since neither Gene nor I could decide what to have for lunch, Nick recommended German food instead. We quickly agreed, as we all probably were hungry and just wanted to sit down somewhere. Naturally, both Gene and I let the Austrian picked and chose what to order, since he would know best. But realizing that he didn’t order anything green, I jumped in to suggest a salad. I’m glad I did. I was hot and in need to eat something refreshing. And it was good. Mixed fresh mesclun greens with sun-dried tomatoes, green olives, and fresh mozzarella cheese, all tossed together in tangy vinaigrette.

Nick ordered a sausage platter for us to share, and German apple soda to wash them down. It tasted more like ginger ale, which I liked. I noticed Nick and Gene hardly touched the salad. Both went straight for the sausage platter. Nick went for a second helping before I knew it, but Gene barely touched both foods. I kept thinking, “please, please eat the damn salad”. They eventually had some, but very little. Realizing them not a fan of the salad, I decided to finish it myself and let them have the rest of the sausage platter. Well, after I had my share of the sausages, of course. There were 4 kinds of sausages, complete with a generous helping of sauerkraut. The slimmer ones with cheese filling were my favorite. They were the most flavorful. Nick didn’t recommend us consuming the skin of them sausages. He peeled them off and consumed the inner filling only, with a dab of mustard sauce. I started to do the same but thought “ah, what the heck” and ate them all. I was hungry.

Gene and I sat next to each other, right opposite from Nick. I quickly noticed how young Gene was. I never asked about his age but I can safely assume that both Nick and I are at least a decade older than him. Easily. I also noticed how dark his tan skin was. I haven’t met many Filipinos before but he looked darker than most Asians I know. And I know plenty. Maybe this is why Nick thought I was so pale. Sitting right next to Gene made me look even paler than I already am. I even wore a white shirt that day, hoping the whiteness of my shirt would make my pale skin looked less pale. Guess that didn’t worked.

The lunch went well. We chatted. We ate. We laughed a bit. We chatted some more. Well, I chatted more than they did. I don’t know. I always find myself talk a lot when I’m happy or when I’m trying to avoid awkwardness. Nick had no problem chipping in to the conversation. He kept trying to convince Gene that the good old Sillypore is not the best place to stay and find work. Gene, on the other hand, was rather quiet. But easily befriended the waitress that waited on us. She was a Filipino, after all. Maybe he was shy. Or maybe he thought we were a couple of old weirdoes. I didn’t know which. I didn’t care much either. I wanted my first xangan meet-up to be a happy one and so I made myself happy. By talking too much.

When we finished the salad and sausage platter, Nick and I were considering ordering something else to fill our not-yet-full stomach. Two dishes, after all, are hardly enough for three guys. After collaborating among ourselves on what to order next, we found that Gene actually preferred something sweet, as he has a sweet tooth. And so we opted for a dessert instead. Nick ordered a dish that consisted of lightly sweetened fried-sponge-like cake pieces accompanied with chunky plum chutney-like jam to dip into. It was good, but Nick assured us that it was not as good as the real stuff back home. Gene, however, digged into the dish with much happiness and satisfaction. He probably ate more pieces than Nick and I combined.

I then got a text message from my friends indicating that they were on their way to see me. I was supposed to meet up with them at 2pm. And it was around 1.45pm. They were on their way straight from the airport to meet me, as I had the keys to the apartment that we rented for our stay in Sillypore, and I had to show them how to get to the place as well. I explained to both Nick and Gene that I won’t be able to stay long. And so we asked for the check. Nick surprised both Gene and I by paying for the lunch. Nick, THANK YOU.

As I was about to get up from my sit, Nick surprised me one more time – he brought out a fountain pen, a Nakaya no less, for me to try. Knowing my huge obsession for fountain pens, he took the trouble of bringing out his three beloved fountain pens, a Nakaya and two Montblanc, for his new friend to play with. Once again, I felt sorry for Gene, who sat there watching us and probably wondered what on earth so great about pens. I had only wished Nick would informed me beforehand that he was going to have me try his Nakaya with flexible nib. I would gladly bring my very own Nakaya with soft nib for him to play with in return. Ah, next time. It was also a pleasant surprise to learn that his two Montblancs were far lighter than any Montblanc you’ll find in store. Just like Japanese pens. They were probably the vintage kind. Hard to find these days.

I must say it was the prefect way to end our gathering. Once again, I have to thank both Nick and Gene for putting up with me. Even only for an hour and a half. Hope to see them again in the near future. The next time, I’ll make sure to devote more time for the gathering, bring my own fountain pens for Nick to try and let Gene do all the talking. But I would still order salad

I can’t remember how many times I’ve been to Singapore, or ‘Sillypore’ as Nick (@beowulf222) would like to call it. Each time I queued up at the immigration line upon arrival, I STILL get told to go to the far end of the room, where a separate immigration desk is, to have my passport and data rechecked by the officials. I always ended up waiting by the sitting area like some illegal alien who’s not supposed to cross the border to enter the country. After a wait, an official will approach me and ask questions like… “how long will you be staying?”, “do you already have a ticket confirmation for your flight back?”, “what’s the purpose of your visit?”, “where will you be staying?”, etc. The usual stuff. Formality, really.

On each visit they would give an approval, stamp my passport, and allow me to enter the country. Yet each time I come back, the same treatment is waiting there for me like a moth to a flame. The reason? They said it’s got something to do with my name. That it is very common. Sigh… maybe I should change it to Rudolf Hitler or something, and see if they’ll ask me to step aside this time. After all, Rudy IS a short for Rudolf and both with the same initials R.H.

I didn’t get to my lodging until about 10.30pm on the night of my arrival and didn’t go out to look for dinner until half hour later. Lucky I stayed in Chinatown. There were still plenty of food vendors opened for business in late evening. I helped myself with some Kway Chiap – extra wide rice noodle in light broth, accompanied with braised tofu, pork belly, pig ears, pig intestines, and eggs, all in a thick sweet-savory soy gravy. I washed them all down with some homemade iced barley drink. Good stuff.

I got back around midnight but didn’t sleep until about an hour later. The next morning I woke up feeling rather tired. I didn’t sleep well. I was feeling apprehensive about the xangan gathering. My first and only. So far. I almost had my first gathering back in March when I planned to visit Bangkok. I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to meet up with Chris (@christao408). I even contacted him about it. Then the plan got canceled. I felt bad, for I told Chris that he would be my first. Sorry, Chris. I told myself that I would need to make it up to him. I would like to make that trip to Bangkok. Just don’t know when.

I went out by 9am, so I could be at the HSBC bank by 9.30am when they opened, to run some errands. Afterward, I crossed the road and walked a few blocks to reach Mt. Elizabeth Hospital for my doctor’s appointment at 10.30am. I was hoping that I would bump into Nick. He previously informed me that he too would be at the same hospital for his appointment at around the same time. But I didn’t.

I had about a half hour wait at the doctor’s. Not only that, he also wasn’t giving me an easy way out. I was hoping that he’d allow me to reduce my medication from every 3 days to every 4 days. Turned out he insisted that I should go back to taking my meds to every 2 days instead. Bummer. I hate medicines. He said my Rosacea condition is getting worse since he last saw me. I told him that I have been eating right and followed his instructions on staying away from the sun, and any source of heat, including eating chilies, drinking alcohol or hot beverages, sitting in saunas or steam room. I avoided all that. So I should be in a better shape. Yet after he checked my skin up close, its condition told him otherwise. He then prescribed me with some more medicines to last me many months and told me to come back when they are running out.

I got out around 11.30am. The xangan meet-up was scheduled for 12 noon. There was still plenty of time, for the location is only a couple of blocks away. I went straight to 313@Somerset Mall, where I’m supposed to meet-up with Nick and Gene (@oxyGene_08) for lunch. As I was early, I went to the basement of the mall to get myself a haircut. I loved that place. It’s a hair salon franchise from Japan, called QB House. It only costs you SGD$10.00 for a haircut. You enter the salon, insert your $10 bill into a machine and it will spit out a card, and then you wait for someone to be ready for you. And they always ready for you right away. You then give your card as prove of payment, and then he/she will have you seated and get busy with your hair instantly. The haircut always finishes within 10 minutes time. They end the session by using a vacuum-like tube with brush end to suck-in and brush-off the excess hair on your head, forehead, face, and neck. Simple, clean, no fuss, fast, and no tip. Just the way I like it. You can keep the comb they used for your haircut as well, as a memento.

Once done, I quickly went up to the lobby level to wait for Nick and Gene. I was still a little early. I looked around but no familiar faces in sight. Nick knew that I’ll be waiting for him near the lobby entrance but I decided to send him a text message anyway, informing him that I have arrived. He promptly messaged me back saying he’ll be there in 10 minutes and that he has confirmed with Gene on our meeting point. And so I waited and kept my eye on every single guy that passed by, hoping that it would be either Nick or Gene.

After an intense chat with a pit-bull, and a brief tango, I struck a conversation with a hard-of-hearing bloke. It’s been too many years since the last time I signed. My signing was very rusty. But I understood him and he understood me. He was surprised to learn that of all the people in the room, I knew sign language. With embarrassment, I quickly told him that I only knew how to sign few words. I explained that I learned signing back in college, as part of an elective, and haven’t been practicing since then. He smiled. Knowing that was all the conversation we will have, I too smiled back. And I woke up.

I haven’t touched “how to sign” instructional book that’s been sitting on my bookshelf for many years. Nor have I thought about it at all. I never did start looking into further my practice in signing by playing that CD-ROM I purchased ages ago. I have the resources, book and cd, yet life seems to always get in the way of our (previous) priorities.

I organized my bookshelf this past weekend. Sorted out books and whatnot to their categories. I organized my junk shelf by shelf.
Top: documents, statements, letters, receipts, knife-bag.
Upper-middle: fictions, travel books.
Middle: photography, pottery, language guides, misc. books.
Lower-middle: food novels, reference guides, textbooks, food comics.
Bottom: cookbooks.

I realized I have way too many books than I have the time to go through them. I looked through some as I organized the shelves. Brought back many college memories. Memories of living abroad. Memories of another life I had. I kept thinking back about my ability to sign. The one more thing I have yet to accomplish. Along with Chinese and Japanese.

There sitting on the middle shelf, Chinese language exercise books I’ve done from taking classes in the past, next to Japanese language reference cards, next to “how to sign” book. I should set new priorities in life. Learn languages. Again.

It was a castle of Middle Ages era. Tall stone-brick walls and wooden roofs. The kind that Hamlet would stay in. I was a knight. An amateur one. Participating in an invasion into a castle to steal a Madame butterfly, the prize of the battle. There were knights in tights and their sword fights. Raging in extreme enthusiasm to defeat the enemy.

I didn’t wear my tights. I used it as my weapon (don’t ask). I finally reached the attic of the castle where they safely kept the prize. Fought against a couple of female guards with my tights, with ease (don’t remember what their weapons were). As soon as I defeated them, I seized the prize that laid open on the altar at the corner of the attic. The Madame butterfly was in my hand. It was a white fluffy feathery thingy. Don’t know what it was, could be a dead bird for all I know, but it was a victory.

Suddenly, all of the female guards of the castle flipped their wings. All of them. Everywhere, female human butterflies hovering mid-air signaling that I had seized their most beloved and sacred treasure. A beautiful sight.

I had a sudden urge to get out. I rushed out from the castle towards the entrance gate. From a distance, I saw the gate opened and came in a black car and a sea of Italian villagers came rushing toward me. I paused. Trying to figure out which way best to escape. I realized I had no choice but to head straight to the crowd as it is the only way out.

They were not there to stop me. More like a slow traffic that prevented me from moving forward. Yet I pushed hard. Squeezing my way through the crowd. I swear I passed a well-known female Italian celebrity chef. Immediately, I thought of food. And woke up.

I had no flippin’ idea why I dreamt such dream and what the Madame butterfly thingy was supposed to mean. But I did think of Italian food before I went to sleep. Pasta lunch I’m hoping to have later this weekend with my mates. Handmade Fettuccini in truffle cream. Or perhaps Pappardelle in mushroom ragout. I’m craving Italians lately.

Back in 2006 when I went to Japan to have my work-related visit and training at a supplier’s factory, I was given a gift by the representatives of the management, as a token of appreciation for my visit and for my company being a loyal customer of theirs for so many years. I was given a handsome name-card wallet that is made of leather and silk that I still use to this day with great pride and appreciation.

Over the years, on each rare visit by the representatives of the factory and corporate office in Japan, to our office in Indonesia, would include a small gift. Mostly a type of Japanese sweets or snack. Sometimes a bottle of sake. Gift giving is a standard practice in the business world. Well, at least in Asia. A practice that I personally enjoy, as my palate kept being reminded and educated on the quality and deliciousness of Japanese food products.

My company has been their customer for almost 30 years now. Since our first cooperation with them in the 80’s, their products have been produced and sent to us from two of their many factories. One in Japan, and another in Singapore. Lately, continuous problems of production and shipment delays on their part, from both factories, have resulted in many complaints from us and made our company a reason for them to find ways to provide a better service.

On a recent visit by the representatives of their Singapore factory, last week, we had long discussions on sales targets, production capability, future orders, and shipment schedules. They informed that an order has been sent from the president of their company, at their corporate office in Japan, that they will focus more on the Indonesian market and thus will make us a top priority customer. They apologized for the problems of production and shipment delays that they have been having for a while, due to sudden substantial increase of demands in all over Asia.

At the end of the meeting, each one of us from the management team was presented with a gift, as a token of their sincere apology. A gift that is just as handsome as the one I got in 2006. If not, better. It is another name-card wallet/case, made with a very lightweight metal (I assume aluminum) and hand decorated with a lacquer/urushi painting of Mount Fuji. Enclosed in a wooden box and with a black suede-like nylon fabric pouch included.

Some apologies are meant to be received with a little incentive to release a smile. One that I will never say no to. Is it any wonder why I love all things Japanese?

There are actually people who would consume hand sanitizer just because it is 60% alcohol, to get the buzz. I mean, don’t they have better things to do?

Reference:
drinking hand sanitizer

I do hope in this lifetime we all get to experience something similar to the essence of what this animation illustrates.

Last weekend I went out of town to pay a visit to my grandpa’s burial site for the first time, to pay respect. I never knew my grandpa, as he passed away when my dad was young, and he died in the city where my dad grew up in, hence I never made a visit to his burial site until now. During my stay there, I also visited the temple that my dad is a member of since he was a kid. There was a big ceremony there and photos were taken. That was on a Tuesday. I came back on Wednesday. This morning my cousin sent me a pic via WhatsApp that surprised me.

It turns out a pic of me has been featured on the local Chinese newspaper there (me on the very left, standing next to my relatives). The temple is well known in the city and it was a big occasion, thus the event was featured on the local newspaper. Guess now I’m entitled to feel like a celebrity for a day. But don’t ask me what the headline says, as I don’t read Chinese.

Ok, so thanks to @beowulf222, now I have the OBLIGATION to share more information on myself to the world to show them what I’m really like as a person. Not that I think anyone would care less. Anyhow, I have been tagged as a Versatile Blogger and the rule of the game is I have to share 7 things about myself and tag more people to continue this chain-letter game.

I have an awful feeling about this, though. I hope what I’m about to share will not be the ingredients to embarrass myself, or I may have to disappear from xanga and come back with a new identity. Nevertheless, I will try my best to make a fellow xangan happy. So bare with me, this is going to a long one. Here we go…

1. I was raised in a Chinese Buddhist family, grew up in a Muslim country, and educated in various Anglican, Christian, and Protestant schools. My upbringing in learning all three major religions made me realized that ALL religions are basically the same. They all have the same goal – to live in peace. However, I have decided to go religion-less and live life being spiritually instead.

2. I own >40 fountain pens and >60 bottles of fountain pen ink. All in different brands and colors. My favorites are wooden and lacquer fountain pens loaded with either brown or grey ink (yes, I’m boring). I use my fountain pens daily with a monthly rotation of 2-3 pens per rotation.

3. I own >400 books. From fictions to photography to cookbooks to textbooks. I have read only about half of my collection and yet I still buy more. I have always dreamt of having my own library.

4. I know how to ‘throw’. A term used in the world of pottery for handling/shaping clay. Yes, I have done pottery in the past and made some pieces that I still keep and use. I was inspired by Japanese pottery. And I happened to also like the Japanese remake version of the movie ‘Ghost’.

5. I have a fetish for all things Japanese. I collect their sake cups, tea cups, tea pots, bowls, wooden chopsticks, and fountain pens. I read books by Japanese authors (English translated). I even wear Japanese-brand underwear.

6. I have earned two bachelor degrees during my long youthful college years, in Human Resources Management and Culinary Nutrition. Yet none of the knowledge I have gained from the two degrees are used in my current job. Go figure.

7. Last but not least, food makes me happy. Enough said.

People I’d like to tag (simple because I have not heard from them in ages here on xanga) are:
@binakwan
@epup
@fongster8
@orchidgrass
@Rm2046
@thetemptor
@whyweare

His name was Peanut. Mistreated by his original owner in Australia, the original owner’s roommate took over the responsibility as his caretaker to provide protection and love. Few years after, when time for the caretaker to return overseas to South East Asia, she took him with her. She took care of the documentations and the cost of flight. Unfortunately, once in Asia, she was unable to have him living with her due to living restrictions at where she was staying. He was then adopted by the relatives of the caretaker, as the new owners. Peanut cried for days feeling unwanted by the caretaker whom he felt he belonged to, despite the new owners’ best effort to console him. It took a while, but he finally was able to warm up to the fact that he was at a new home with new owners who loved him. These new owners are my cousins. They took good care of him for almost a decade and made him part of the family. He was a smart and good all around companion. He knew when to ask for something and how to ask for it. He knew how to jump up to a door’s handle to open it. He knew how to tip toed quietly while his owners asleep and rush quickly to do his business once he stepped out of the bedroom. He was loved more than as a dog. He WAS a family. A couple of days ago, Peanut was rushed to the clinic due to complications. Soon after, he passed away. My cousins cried. They lost an important member of the family. Peanut died of old age, with several health problems these past few years. He was 14 years old going on 15, this August. RIP Peanut. He will be missed.

Why do I feel this way? I have not a clue to what’s going on in my head. You bewitched me in a way I never thought you would. Granted, I knew the risks and I took the plunge anyway. I don’t blame you. Gosh, I could NEVER blame you. I don’t think I could ever get mad at you. You made me feel like I’m worthy. Like I’m perfect in every way. I miss your smile. I miss your mesmerizing eye gaze that makes me weak each time you look into my eyes with such intensity. I miss your ridiculous attempts to be funny. You ARE funny. I miss watching you asleep. I miss listening to the sound of your breathing next to me. Damn, I miss smelling you in the morning. A-week long date with you had been such an addicting experience. I want more. I long for you to once again ask me to see you. But when? I know there is no “us” as long as you still have him. But I’ll be waiting. Patiently. Devotedly. Quietly.

he is so RIGHT!!

i don't know what it is that make some women drawn to me, ever since when i was little. i'd like to think that i have the charisma and sense of humor and wit and suaveness that some guys have to lure women. sadly, i'm pretty sure it's none of above. at times, i sense it could very well be the blank sad look on my face that may get them to have pity on this shameless and oblivious guy.

oblivious i may be, but i never miss the realization of how lucky i can be at times. recently, i have been blessed with the kindness and generosity of two sisters whom took the time from their busy family life (they both married with children) and presented me with their own hand-made home baked goods. one named Y, the younger of the sisters, made me carrot cake. another, the older of the sisters, named C, presented me with a light chiffon-like cake similar to angle-food cake that is quite yummy.

previously (last year), Y also has made me her carrot cake, knowing how much i love carrot cakes in general. it was through C that Y got to know me, on facebook. Y gave me a sample of her carrot cake, which was moist and tender, on our first meeting. then not long after, C made some with her own version, which was with chunks of walnuts for the bite and slightly more dense in cake texture and darker than Y's. both are equally good in different ways.

just last month when i saw Y again, she gave me another one of her carrot cake.

sadly, it was not as good as the first time she made for me though equally tender, but i appreciated the gesture. then weeks later, just yesterday, C informed me that she had made some chiffon cake for me to try. today the cake got delivered and i enjoyed it greatly.

then it hit me. both times, C gave me her baked goods AFTER Y gave me her carrot cakes. could it be that C doesn't want to be outdone by Y? is there an unspoken rivalry between the two? or could it be just plain friendly gesture towards me from the two?

i think i may be over thinking things. i mean, i know i'm no Brad Pitt, but i can't help but feeling a little uneasy. i have never returned the favor by buying or making them anything, yet the two somehow taken into liking me. as a friend, i hope. i feel like i should return the favor by making them pesto sauce, or something. should i worry? or should i dunk my big-head into a bucket of icy water to wake myself up?

as always, B talked the loudest and very opinionated to every single suggestion that are not his. C couldn't take it anymore and took it personally. then the war begun. A tried to assess the situation the best he knew how and tried to be a mediator. D remained partial and kept quite. it had always been this way. every single year when we got together and put our heads together for something. each behaved and acted the same way. this time, the fire burned more rapidly. the bickering went more intense. D decided to step out from the room. i too decided to do the same. we didn't want to witness both B and C went at it like they always do. god knows A has dealt with this for years now. after sometime, both D and i decided to go back and the meeting was resumed. it ended soon after, though. sigh... such drama in a corporate world.

rain season is going around like mad here in south east asia. now that thailand, malaysia, and philippines have just had their share of floods, it's only a matter of time before we, Indonesia, gets our turn. we have major floods in the city almost every 5 years. the last time we had one was back in 2007. yeah, we better get the rubber boats ready.

i had all these excitement and stories in my head soon after my return from london. i had a lot to share and with pics to back them up. then i heard about my good friend's grandma's passing. and that's only about a month after the passing of her dad. then days later, my grand-aunt was rushed into ER. she was unconscious for few days. went to visit her on monday and was told she finally managed to open her eyes a bit but was unaware of her surrounding and then went back to sleep. until now. it was said that she could very well be in a coma if her condition doesn't improve.

despite the initial jolt of excitement upon returning from london, now all that eagerness has gone. no longer i have the inkling to say anything remotely happy. not under these circumstances. i haven't even shared my pics to my family. it just doesn't seem to be a good idea. not when everyone is feeling gloomy. i have sorted out all of my pics, but somehow i can't think of a word to say about them. maybe not for sometime.

I don’t know what’s so fabulous about it. They claimed it’s one of the best foods in the world. That the sublime flavor and texture of it send the richest weak on their knees, wanting for more. Especially when served on buttered toasts. So I heard. And so it’s only natural that I, an aficionado of all things weird and strange, would come to my senses and let my guard down and try at least once. And so I did.

I toasted three thick slices of fluffy white bread from a Japanese bakery and cracked open the shallow and wide tin can of “caviar”. I let the toasts sit to cool before I smothered it with some butter and spread some of that beautiful smoky-black fish eggs on top. I smelled it first. I had my doubts. I bit into the toast and the smell grew stronger. I chewed and I chewed. I finished all three toasts, figuring that it’s one of those things that take time for one to get used to.

It seemed such a world of a difference from what I was expecting it to be. It’s safe to say, though, that I am not a fan of fish eggs. Granted, maybe the toasts should be thinner and toastier. Maybe even Blini pancakes would be a better substitute. Maybe it was the butter. Maybe it was the brand of the fish eggs I got. Maybe it was at a different quality level. Maybe because it was not Beluga caviar. Maybe it was the hot and humid climate. Maybe, maybe…

All I can tell you is, no matter how great caviar is to the elite, those eggs would still smell, well, fishy. And for that, I’ll stick to Tobiko, thank you very much.

It came in the middle of the night when the lights were out many hours previously. No sound was made. It was dark but I saw it. It swung open my bedroom door like it was in a hurry. It came fast toward me, while resting face up with my arms wide open. It came to my right side of the bed and grabbed my right hand and then I woke up.

It was an odd feeling. As if someone was about to do me harm. I saw no face, just a dark image of a large shadow moving. Somehow, I had this funny feeling in my gut that something bad is waiting around the corner, waiting for its chance to strike at my weakest. I’m hoping that I’m wrong. Especially when I’m off for a vacation soon.

With plenty of pesto left, as well as the fresh mint and roasted almonds for the making of the pesto, I had to figure out the best way to use them up. And so here are what I came up with…

Spaghetti with basil-mint-almond pesto.

Chilled cous cous salad: cous cous, fresh mint, roasted almonds, flax seeds, pickled onions, olive oil, and white balsamic-apple vinegar mixed with plum liquor (this results in a taste of more like a sweet plum vinegar).

Now I’ve got to figure out what to do with the left over vinegar and liquor.

my UK visa is still in process. i won't know whether or not the visa will be granted until i get my passport back, which will be next week. the travel agency has contacted me asking whether or not i still want to keep the booking of my flight to london. i told them that i would need to get my passport back from the embassy first before i can give any kind of confirmation to them. until i get my visitor’s visa, i won't pay a cent for the ticket.

another money matter just risen this weekend. a long process of property hunting with a friend that started since last year finally resulted into a fruitful search. we found a property yesterday that we both feel positive about and are planning to purchase it for a long term investment. we plan to rent it out and use the rental payment as our second income. we'll try to keep it going for at least 10 years before we will start thinking about selling it. we should be keeping it for longer than that since property price always goes up. and we probably will. however, there is a regulation here that allows property owners to own their land for only 20 years (starting from the date of purchase) before it goes to the government, unless we apply for a renewal of ownership. if the renewal is granted then we'll get another 20 years, otherwise it goes to the government and they can do whatever they want with it. the regulation applies to everyone and goes for all kinds of land property, whether that be a home, an apartment, an office building, a warehouse, a factory, or a hotel. that's how it is here.

considering the circumstances, i think i really need to save more money than I already have. not sure how i'm gonna manage my trip to london if the plan to purchase this property is confirmed. not to mention another trip plan to korea with two other friends for next year. AND my stocks are not doing so well this year either. i need to sell off my stocks to get the funding for all of my travel plans.