It's the highs that make life worth living-
Or perhaps, it's the highs that make the lows worth living through.
The stunningly perfect Sundays,
Driving down Angsana-lined roads, past colonial houses, windows down, aviators shielding last night's eyes, singing along to Afterlife's Sunrise.
It's simply sublime. Almost like one of those rare Melbourne summer days.
*
Last Friday I found a quirky piece of Singapore.
Walking down Arab St, wandering into shops selling Swarovski crystls, in search of feathers for a theme party. There were fuschia ostrich feathers, delicate laces, cheongsam trims, tassels and so much more. I could have spent hours trawling the wares. We had lunch at Cafe Samar on Baghdad St. It was a sleepy afternoon, and we were left alone with our falafels and tabouli while the service staff went to the mosque. The menu (Syrian/Middle Eastern)was interesting and well-priced, the food was not as authentic as I'd hoped, but the ambience was brilliant. It felt as if time had stopped, and we were sitting, amongst persian rugs and ornamental gold tiles, watching the lethargic world pass leisurely by.And I'm told it's also a great place to unwind and smoke sheesha in post-club hours.
*

The fortnight of festivities and homecomings has come and gone.
As loved ones fly back to their lives elsewhere
I recoil into the comfort of maternal bonding.
Consecutive weeks of twin-night partying at the clubs
Have eaten into my weekly QT with mom.
This week I decided to do it right.
It was an afternoon at Little India,
And over banana-leaf curry, free flow lime juice, sequinned sari, intricate ruby-crusted jewellery, and ginger tea,
We talked like we used to on Sunday mornings in Melbourne -
Me in my bath robe, plonked on the kitchen counter, coffee in hand;
She, hands always busy with something or another.
Mom and I have a great relationship-
One of cotton wool tenderness and heroic mutual respect.
And astonishing telepathy:
She always knows when something is wrong; we even ring each other at the exact same time.
The woman who has seen me through my unbelievably horrific growing pains, relationship catastrophes, and born the brunt of my mood rock and rolls,
Who has somewhat softened through the years,
And these days prefers sitting in front of the oven to watch the roast
Over a whisky on the rocks.
***
Miss Chew, who leaves tomorrow morning:
Do take care, and remember sweetheart,
You can walk out anytime. Tweak the obstinance, we'll be here to catch you.

Thanks to Andrew for giving me the best piece of music news in 2005 yet-
Brett Anderson and Bernard Butler have started a new band, The Tears. Because I mourned when I read that Suede was no more. Because through thunderstorms, car rides in boys' cars, breakups, chance meetings, and star-struck, star-crossed moments, no voice seemed more right than his.

26. Yes 26. It's also 2005. I'm still coping. Or perhaps not. It probably hasn't quite sunk in yet. So this year I decided to stay. No escaping to random island/ beach resort/ pool with plenty of deck chairs/ the cocoon called home. This year I was intent on making a memory of it. That's right. Here. I wore red sequinned shoes. And lots of Marc Jacobs' Blush. And a smile when they fucked up my table booking (I'll deal with Gabriel later). The ones who came: Wei (for playing host when I couldn't split myself into 3). Meiyin (birthdays are never the same without you). Yiling & Oliver (about bloody time). Laurel (hair fairy). Mavis (even though you don't drink or smoke). Michelle (newly found long-lost cousin). Pat & man. Duane & Charles (for telling me I look pretty at much-needed times). Sara. Mikey (for making your way here en-route to London). Val (praying that I stay safe since 14). Mom & Dad. Elvin. Marilyne & man. Jackie. Bao & woman. Bryant (naturally. I'm your Friday girl) and friends. Nic. Jeff & Haley. And the ones who remembered, and called: Harry (while I writhe in pain for that NY christmas), Andrew (for that random piece of Brett & Bernard trivia), Pam, Woon, D (I bet you just wanted to tell me you have a new girlfriend), Felicity. The parents who fed me lamp chops, dim sum, catfish and green mango salad. I felt very special this year. Thank you. *muah*
Fulfillment. Yes. Like Godiva chocolates and DHL jumbo boxes filled with next year's lingerie range.
Happiness. Yes. Like lying, groggy from beer and watermelon balls, on mom's sand-dusted 15 year old beach towel.
Fortune. Yes. That I have those who endow me with such richness of heart and soul.