Still Thinking…

This entry will be so anti-thetic to the World Cup fever that is going on worldwide right now, that I am compelled to write a disclaimer just so that I can avoid the brickbats later. But hey, I am going to write it anyway.

I realise quickly this morning that hormones AND spectator sports do not mesh like boiled potatoes and butter. I ditched watching this morning’s World Cup matches just so that I can view Game #6 of the Stanley Cup – between Edmonton Oilers and Carolina Hurricanes. Edmonton, for those of you of who do not know where it is – is in the middle (almost) of Canada – Alberta to be exact.It is a big city with skyscapers, complete with the biggest mall in North America to boast. Being in Alberta means that they share the same clouds as the very same beautiful scenery you saw in Brokeback Mountain, as the movie was shot there. Ah those gorgeous lips…the river banks that is! I love the backdrop of that movie, although I must admit I could not survive the entire movie as it was too errr…slow. Macam cerita Hindustan.

Anyway back to the hormones. Game #6 was held in Edmonton, so you can imagine the Canada-patriotic crowd. The stadium was electric, it had computerised signs flashing across the stadium saying “You are in Oil Country!”, which is not a pun because Alberta is an oil-rich province, so the guy who once told me that Arabs rule the world because they “pee keluar minyak” can now put a shoe in his mouth. Bah.

So just before the game begin, an operatic singer came out to the ice, accompanied by 2 RCMP men in their No.1 gear, singing the Star Spangled Banner for Carolina. The crowd cheered, there was an obvious sizeable number of American fans in the Canadian stadium, and I – err, cried. I reached for a box of tissues nearby quickly before MIL and SIL wake up and see me in tears listening to the US Anthem, and just as I finished wiping the last of my tears, the same operatic singer broke out in the Canadian anthem.

Oh my. The stadium was roaring and thunderous with the proud singing of the anthem. The singer, automatically put the mike in the air and let the Canadian fans sing the rest of the anthem for him, and what a proud moment it was! By this time, my hormones were totally out of control and I was hyperventilating. My tears were like Niagara Falls as my mind battled with sanity, reminding that it is only a game.

The fireworks cracked when I caught myself opening my mouth singing,”Ooooo Canada we stand on guard for theeee….”. I closed my mouth, and then there was the repeat chorus. I was ashamed, but it was instantaneous this time.With tears rolling and nose now almost clogged, I sang AGAIN!…”Ooooo Canada we stand on guard…(high octave this time) fooorrrrr…..theeeeeeeeeee !!!!”.

Yikes ! Next thing I know I had an inner voice chiding me,” Oi! Singaporean kelong!!”.
Sigh.

Someone please stop me from watching anymore ice hockey. Not when I am having PMS.

What a day it has been! A day like this is not good for a hypertensive person like me, because my blood pressure is going nowhere but upwards! See how many exclamation marks there are in this first para?!! Need I say more?!!!

Anyway, it is Monday here in Canada, and DH is working from home. The blood pressure outburst started with a gut-wrenching game between Italy and Ghana, thanks to the World Cup. Yes I know, it is ridiculous to even think Ghana will win when it is Italy they are fighting against, but I am a great believer in the underdogs ok?! See, that exclamation mark again! Sigh.

I was shouting and screaming at the TV screen, almost hoping that the screen will shout back at me. I remember World Cup 2002 really well, when it was the June holidays in Singapore and my nieces and nephews were over most of the time. That was great fun!

A few hours later it was time to watch Game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals, which is – get ready for this, between Edmonton (Canada) and Carolina (USA). Canada has always taken pride that ice hockey is their game, that men slashing ice is a very Canadian thing, and about the only activity that Canadians take part in unabashly to beat each other up. There is so much beating up with the stick between the players, you won’t believe it. As a Singaporean friend of mine just asked yesterday over MSN, “Kenapa dorang tak pukul ajer sampai mampus?!”. Hmm, let me think about that one.

Anyway, I am not a quiet spectator when it comes to games. I scream and shout and hold my tongue from cursing all the time. I know better than to curse, because there will be thousands of others will be doing that for me. As I am writing this, there is still a good 1 hour left to Game 4, and North Carolina is leading, and I already having a headache – a major sign that my blood pressure is up. My left chest wall is in pain too, which only means that my heart is thumping a tad too fast.God,pls dont let me die watching a game. It is so …err…uncool.

If you see another post on this blog, well, you know I survived the cup-mania today 🙂 And I promise there will be no more exclamation marks!

Whoops…there goes one.

Now THIS is what I call production value.
Go to www.worldonfire.ca

Way to go Sarah, this is why I really, really admire you.
Should have said Hi over that bathura, eh?

I stood there perched on the tail-end of the boat, and felt the wind blowing aggresively against my already-dry skin. The wind was wicked, with a menacing black cloud hovering above the 24-footer. We are approaching death, I say to myself – as I whisper a silent prayer. The skipper’s deep panting did not move me one bit, in between the climbing waves and the pendulum swings, I was at one with the elements. Ah bliss, amidst danger. You cannot be more centred than this.

That would be the voice over if I ever have the guts to be on a clipper like that, documenting their round-the-world journey which is ending soon in a few months, with a camera in hand. But alas, I am no gutsy sea-farer, neither am I someone with a steady hand. In real life, Uja will be screaming in a tense situation like that, praying yes, but with my Ayatul Kursi all jumbled up as I repeat it over and over again. I would be panting too, but only because my heart is racing, and my mind tumbling 360 degrees thinking of when the KL studio apt will eventually find a buyer, and if DH will be able to find his missing socks.

I had lunch with KYC, my galpal from secondary school, and 2 other guys who are here to launch the Victoria-Jamaica leg of the round-the-world clipper race. KYC is joining them for only a month, but the other 2 guys – D and C are what STB (who is sponsoring the $1.2 million boat btw) call the round-the-worldlers. They have been on the boat since September last year, slicing the ocean waves from Liverpool to China, from Australia to New York.

The worst wave they have hit so far was apparently 6 metres high, They told of how there are days when their food was running low, and the 18 man crew survived on spaghetti and soy sauce. I don’t know how I would be if I am in that position, I get really grouchy when I am hungry.

They race 24/7. Even at night, the boat is racing. The Singapore boat is currently 7th in the race of 10 boats from various countries, not impressive to the competitive beast, but hey, it could have been worse. With months and months of being on the sea, I can imagine how much they really miss good lip-smacking food.

And so the Thai lunch yesterday was heaven. D, a Brit who has been living in Singapore on and off, even asked for ‘sambal’ from the Canadian waiter, who of course looked puzzled. I had wanted to pack for them sambal ikan bilis for the journey, but alas KYC had packed her own big bottle of sambal belacan for this leg. How heavenly that would be, when the waves are slapping against the boat threatening to capsize it with the next yank, you are trying to breathe in between hot, fiery sambal belacan and roti in your mouth 🙂

For some, it is the ultimate cool thing to be on this boat. KYC has always been one cool galpal, though I am nowhere near her cool factor. I know DH would be on the boat in a heartbeat if he is asked, he has this strange theory that his initials, which happened to be S.E.A means he is meant to be one with the ocean. He dreams of fighting the big wave, boat tilting close to 90 degrees, the same way how George Clooney did it (almost) in that unforgettable scene in The Perfect Storm.

We are lucky that we know the real guys who actually do this with such finesse. Not many people I know get to be so close to their dream like DH did yesterday. Too bad we didnt have time to pose for pictures on the boat.

Me? I would hum and haw if someone ask me to be on the clipper. If someone, anyone, can guarantee me fries and gelato while riding high on the oceans, I may, err, consider.

Once upon a time, in a galaxy not too far away, I used to only want to jam if the guys in the band let me sing Angel by Sarah McLachlan as the first song for the two hour session. The guys, all of Raoul, Carl, Melvin, Cheong Soon and the gals – Samantha and Sharon, would kindly oblige, broke into an acoustic drummy version of Angel and I will sing away. Only after that, would I start singing THEIR songs, often not doing justice to their beautiful melodies and insightful lyrics of course. Then again. Imagine Angel being sang almost every weekend that we jammed, sometimes two times a week, and that only made Melvin decided “Hey! Let’s do Angel in reggae!!”. And we did. We mutilated the song, that goes without saying. Yes Sarah, please forgive us.

I used to be so crazy over Sarah McLachlan. I still am. Her music, her voice and her soulful emotions when she sings beat any other singers I know. Including Natalie Merchant. Jamming with a band was a childhood dream, so when I got the chance to do so with the guys, the first song I performed publicly was Sarah’s – Building a Mystery. During my news journalist days, I used to tell people I would be the first to hand in my request to interview her, if she ever comes into Singapore. I have even campaigned for some other female journalists/colleagues to save money and come with me to the US, just so that I can attend Lilith Fair, an open-air concert hosted by Sarah McLachlan which features and celebrates female singers. I never did go to Lilith Fair, neither did I ever interview her.

Yesterday, something strange happened in between my roti and basmati rice at a rather subdued looking Indian restaurant on Main Street. DH and I just arrived from Toronto after a week-long documentary festival and we were tired and hungry after the five hour flight. MIL and SIL, who fetched us at the airport, suggested brunch mama-style, at a litle do called Himalayas Indian Restaurant in Vancouver’s own mama-town. The place was something like Singapore’s New Woodlands Restaurant at Upper Dickson St, run-down looking but you know the food is good.

We thought we were the only ones there, as it was pretty early (and a Sunday morning too) – about 11 am. There was however, a table of ten people next to us. I didn’t take a second look as to who they were – they looked like a typical mix of Indian and Caucasian family. My basmati rice and potato vindaloo were beckoning me, so I succumbed to it.

In between bites, I glanced at that table. Of all my years of admiring her talent and fantasizing how one day I would meet her backstage, interview her or even jam with her, I never thought I would have my first meeting with Sarah McLachlan with bathura in her hand. She did not have a mike with her, neither was she strumming her guitar or hitting the piano keys. She was just plainly, eating her mama food. She was with the Indian side of her family (her husband is Indian, in case some if you didn’t know) and they, like us, were enjoying their mama brunch too.

I didn’t do what I would have expected myself to do. I did consider going up to her, snap a picture, ask for her autograph, you know, that kind of thing. DH reminded me that it is her family time, and we should not be rude and disrupt that. I could not let go of my roti in hand, curry in mouth, as it was the only comfort I have now that Sarah is just a table away from me, and I don’t get to say hi. Our eyes did lock for a bit, and I figure she’d probably notice the colourful flower top I was wearing that I got from the Island Shop at Tangs. Yes, the one that made the Jalan guys called me a walking garden. If she asked, I would have gladly told her how much it costs. Affordable, Ms McLachlan, especially with the kind of money you are making with your royalties. If it is of any consolation, she was wearing something flowery too – a bell-sleeved pink top with large flower prints made of soft chiffon. If we don’t have a good singing voice in common, at least we like flowery tops. Hah.

We finished our meal and decided to leave. DH was hurrying us a bit, the moment he realised that MIL and SIL were excited too that Sarah was there. As we walked out of the door, MIL said, “Well, that’s it.” What a closure, albeit a painful one for me. We laughed at how we probably parked beside her car, and we should take a picture of her car instead. Yes, call us a family groupie.

It was only when we reached home and I excitedly shared the story with BIL and his wife, that I was told how celebs love to live in Vancouver because no one disturbs them in public. Canadians are apparently like that, very respectable of their privacy and their personal space. But hey, I am NOT Canadian – so technically I can be different, no?

I heard that Robin Williams, who has a house in Vancouver, has often been seen jogging along False Creek. Now, where are those jogging shoes? I can jog in style you know, if I sway my hips a bit more when I run.

Death is not a favourite topic in anything – be it in conversations, blogs, columns or commentaries. I for one, am only willing to talk about it if one is staring right in front of my face, and I have to deal with it with as much acceptance and dignity as I can. That has happened several times in my life, but only 3 of the deaths were impactful to me and manage to drown me in an emotional abyss so deep, that my psyche automatically reaches out to leap – maybe just because by nature I am a bubbly person – not wanting to sink into sadness or unacceptance of what God has ordained.

The 3 deaths were that of my father, my cousin and a classmate. I lost Abah to a bout of stroke when I was 10. I had fond memories of him, one of my favourites being the one when he carried me over his shoulder just so I would not wet my newly-white canvas shoes over a puddle of water when sending me to kindergarten class. I remember how he would chide my sister and my elder cousins for scolding me when I was naughty, because I was his golden girl. I used to sleep with Abah and Mak on their bed, right up till I was 9. I recall how I would I wake up in the middle of the night, feeling humid and hot, and Abah would lovingly reach out for a file of old newspapers and fan me with it. We didn’t have a fan then. I really appreciate what little memories I have of him, and so when he passed on – I was sad and thought I would be lonely. I vividly remember the day of his funeral, when my 10-year old mind wandered off as I stared out of the window – thinking how I would miss my Abah so much that I would go to his grave and dig it up. Well, I didn’t. I was blessed with so many people around me I hardly feel alone. I grew up very loved by everyone, and until today – I thank God for all that.

The second death that I had to face head on was that of my cousin.I was 22 then – young, adventourous and finding love. I was in the midst of a heartbreak and decided to run away from it all, during the 2nd-year semester break in September 1994.I had told a campus mate that I wanted to have some peace and fun in New Zealand, which I love for its scenic beauty, and my favourite elder cousin Kak Wati would be my partner in crime.

On that fateful day, Kak Wati, myself and an old friend drove along Burkes Pass in NZ in a rented car, and it was a beautiful, gorgeous day. There were rolling mountains and deep valleys and we were soaking in the mood with music, chatter and jokes in the car. The crash was not forthcoming.

The car tumbled and was overturned. I lost Kak Wati at that very instant, and even as I write it now, I am still shaken by the memory of that incident. I could not understand then why my life was spared, how I only had a scratch and a small rib fracture, while Kak Wati’s 30 yeard old life then was taken away, in a flash. I dealt with her death well, but I cannot allow myself to remember the incident without knowing there will be a flood of anxiety creeping in me, like it does now. On a recent trip to LA, my nieces and nephew asked me about how ‘Cik Wati’ died, and I could not even finish my story with them. Ayad, my 16 year-old nephew, thanked me for what little information I shared about it, even though I was choking with anxiety half way. I appreciated that, and was secretly proud of his sensitivity.

The third, which was one of the most painful – was that of LL, a classmate whom I remember to be one of the funniest, happy-go-lucky girl in TKGS then. She was in NCC, and was popular, and when we all parted ways after our O levels in 1988, I lost contact with her .

Ten years later, I was in the car on the causeway heading back to Singapore. A g/f called me and said there is an obituary in the papers and it was that of LL’s. I could not believe that she has died, until I reached home and saw the picture on the obituary myself. Then we were all only 27. The next day, I had planned to go to her wake with the other girls after work, and we started coordinating car pools.

Just as I was packing up to go, I had this strange curiosity to ask a colleague, Chin Hon, who was covering crime stories in the newsroom then, to check with the police on the cause of her death. I dont know what I was doing, it was as if some strange energy just pushed me to do it. As a crime reporter, he would have access to information from the police not often allowed to be published in the papers, what we would call as off-the-record. I had an inkling that I am heading for an off-the-record piece of information.

As I waited patiently at my desk, an internal message flashed on my computer screen from Chin Hon. ‘Zuzan, you may want to come over’. That one line was enough to make me feel as if the world has stopped spinning. I knew it was not positive. Chin Hon didnt have the heart to tell me what I was about to know over the internal message. LL had jumped to her death, 7 mths pregnant.

I was very confused dealing with her death. I did not know how to position the LL I knew – a bubbly, church-going person, to the one who decided to take her own life away. I chickened out from the funeral, as my anxiety was escalating. I did not want to deal with the reality that someone I know personally and has slept in my house for a sleepover has committed suicide. Until today, I dont talk much about her or her death. This was the beginning of how I know I do not deal with sudden deaths well.This blog entry is also one of the few times I choose to talk about her death.

Yesterday, a friend told me over MSN that a former colleague in ST died in a car crash in Sydney, 2 mths ago. I don’t know him as well as the person who informed me, but I remember he had jammed with us once or twice. Thomas Lee was a very decent guy, mild mannerred and was sort of a pioneer for some of us who decided to leave news and go to tech business journalism, which I did for 2 years.

I was thinking of Thomas a lot last night. This morning, on my long drive back from downtown I thought of him again. Thomas was 36, and apparently was very happy with his new life in Sydney and doing very well. I felt sad, shocked and confused in the same tumbling way I felt about Abah’s, Kak Wati and LL’s. The puzzle is – I don’t even know Thomas that well.

Here in Canada, there is a culture of putting up crosses and flowers where accidents occur – those that have taken lives away. The crosses and flowers are usually put up by the victims’ loved ones as a remembrance for the victim/s. Along the highways where we drive on daily, there are at least 5 that I noticed. Each time I look at them, that same creepy anxiety filled me. I am indeed reminded of the fragility of life.

I understand now that I do not deal with sudden deaths well. I am blessed that I am even thinking about it,planning how to deal with it better and be more accepting, because I know of many, who do not even want to think of death as a reality. I am not sure what would be better, thinking about it or deal with it when it comes.

The latter, obviously, did not work well with me.

Its funny how the US seems so far away when I was a child but now a mere 45 minutes away by car.

We did a roundabout trip to Washington State today so that I can re-enter Canada and close the last of a string of procedures to obtain my permanent residency, and the drive was so short (45 minutes in humoungous Canada IS short!). Once we entered, we drove to Burger King, had a box of fries and then came out from another border checkpoint from a parallel street we came in from. It was hilarious for a Singaporean like me who grew up braving the tail-less Johor-Singapore causeway. There was hardly any queue.

I have always found that checkpoint officers, whether they are in the airport of super-economies or 3rd world countries are totally versatile in their mood swings. Hit them on the wrong day, when the sun is not shining so bright on them – and you WILL get it. I had a certain neighbourly officer threw my passport at me before, the moment he realised that I worked in his country. Another country insisted I filled up an entry form written in Persian. Wearing the hijab and almost always travelling alone, I am so used to being asked more questions than the average Joe post 911, and I have mastered to answer all their security questions with a smile. Hey, these guys are just doing their jobs. The best you can do is to make it a pleasant day for them too. But I have also had the luck meeting another checkpoint officer who offered me a piece of kuih the moment I reached his counter, because the Maghrib’s azan just sounded and it was Ramadan. There was also one who wrote phone numbers of who to call and who to contact if I get into trouble in his country. There was also one who notices my wedding ring and asked about it. Thank God he did not ask about my shoes, cause I hardly travel in fancy ones.

Today the Canadian officers won my heart hands down. I am certain I am not feeling all sentimental just because today is my official permanent residence day, but they were so warm and inviting (all 3 of them!) that you feel that Makcik Limah has just invited you to your home to have a cup of tea and eat goreng pisang. You know, THAT kind of warmth.

As we drove off, I looked around the area and noticed it has the prettiest lawns and along it, some pretty nice quaint houses too. The border where I re-entered was flanked by a river as well, and everything amongst the elements were saying Welcome back to Canada. I did not have the same feeling when I entered Washington State – the officers were stern-faced, the surroundings were industrial and the houses, err…not so pretty.

Now what’s with this Canada is pretty and inviting and the US is just hip and funky country, but ain’t somewhere-I-wanna-live feeling all about? Is it ominous that I get 2 differing treatments barely 20 minutes from each other from the 2 countries?

I know how Canadians feel about Americans generally. This, could be my investiture.

I didn’t know that it was going to be 99. Yes, 99 documentaries in 10 days. I had thought that it was going to be quite a headache to select the ’20’ documentaries I had thought would be screened at the Canadian International Documentary Festival in Toronto this May (www.hotdocs.ca) but noooooo….it had to be 99. Now I am dizzy.

I have been diligently trawling through each and every one of the synopsis to shortlist which screenings I would like to go. Hasben is supposed to make his selection too, but I am not sure if he has the patience to trawl the 99 synopses like I did. Well, I didn’t.

After synopsis 67 I realised that there were quite a sizeable number of docus on the Israel-Palestinian conflict. I felt a lil bit fed-up, perhaps the after-effects of watching the 4-hour long Route 181 documentary twice, it finally crept on me that so many ‘little voices’ were trying to speak up about the border issues. All the docus listed on the conflict were about friendships, love, struggle and everything else anti-thetic to the violence, aggression and hostility we are all so accustomed to about the two neighbours. So I ask myself, why on earth did I like this genre. There’s so much responsibility in it! As if, driving safely was not a big enough responsibility on long, winding and oh-so-tempting-to-speed Canadian highways here.

So after an afternoon of tiresome self-reflection (that perhaps I should ditch non-fiction content and go for crafting fictional characters instead to relieve me of ‘some’ amount of responsibility..hah!), I was delightfully cheered up when Hasben came back and said, ‘Its going to snow tomorrow!’. Yes, in the middle of spring, when it has been sunny and warm, with all the tulips, daffodils and cherry blossoms in full bloom, the SNOW decided to fall. Welcome to Canada.

I had a brief moment of silence in respect of the bugs and the bees who now have to find shelter against the crystals falling on their heads, but a large part of the Singaporean me was leaping for joy. When I first arrived in Canada back in 2003, it was snowing. That was the beginning of winter, and I was told that I was lucky – because Vancouver only gets 5 or so days of snow a year as compared to freezing Toronto. So to get a snow day in Spring in BC is considered heaven. And so I relish and…err…waited with baited breath for the first powder to fall.

It was a loooonnng wait. I had a tosai with the extended in-laws and later fried chicken in the car while waiting for it. Hasben tried to console me and said,”Maybe it will fall in the middle of the night?”. I nearly opted for a camp-out on our driveway, just so I can watch the snow fall in Spring, when he said that.

I never saw it. I was grumpy and grouchy and so very frustrated that the snow did not happen. When we drove along the highway the next morning, we both realised that the mountains had a slight white dusting on the tree tops, which only meant that the snow did fall but only on the mountains the night before. And so my flaky, mindless snow-chasing mission popped.

Looks like it is back to the remaining 32 or so documentary synopses to read.
Now I am back to being dizzy again. Good thing someone gave me a koyok pack as a send-off gift.

So yesterday was the day that I declared, if I can be walloping bowls of hot tom yam and lasagna in the same week, I am definitely cold-free.

I decided to stop embarassing myself by saying a meek ‘byeee’.. everytime my MIL and SIL hit the gym, totally guilt-free.I figure it would do me good to be huffing and puffing again, something I have not done since I was last in Canada back in Sep 2004.

So I cheeerfully announced to MIL and SIL that I am following them to the gym yesterday, much to the excitement of everyone. MIL reminded me to take it slow with cardio, and not stressed myself with the machines while SIL was almost hyperventilating talking about the ice-skating rink she wants to show me at the gym. BIL was at the Ruskin house too, and he was trying to promote walking near his house instead. DH was at work, so he skipped the exercise promo.

We (me and SIL) went to the gym earlier than usual, and that means we have 2 hours to workout before MIL can pick us up at 7.30 pm. She goes to a different gym, about 5 mins away – because she wants to go for their Monday spinning class with Brad.I dont know who Brad is, but he must be hot because MIL has to book him a day before just to get in his class. His class is apparently super-popular. He must be the super-motivating type of instructor. It ain’t easy leading a group of 20 to keep cycling up that hill, when the bike didnt even move and when you look around, you are still within the 4 walls of the gym hall. Spinning is scary for me, man- Brad or Brad-less.

After an hour of on the treadmill and the climber and a few arms-n-back machines later, I was tired, and so was SIL. We were hungry, and we had a hard time fighting our hunger pangs while sitting at the cafe near the gym.

We gave in. Yes, me, again. As if Tom Yam versus Vancouver Canucks was not a lesson for me just a few days ago, I gave in to a plate of ‘small’ fries. Hey it was hard ok? There was this annoying kid who was eating plates of those at the table next to ours ! SIL was strong though, she only took 2 pieces of the fries. I was embarassed – a 16-year old beat me in resistance. Damn.

We looked at the time and we had 30 minutes left before MIL finished her session with Brad, so we walked out of the gym, cross the softball field and braved pelting raindrops on my bandana-ed head. SIL said – “Come kakak, let’s eat gelato!”. I wanted to say no, but hey, this was her weak moment too – so I have to be there for family, yes?

I had a cup of of the creamy, lip-smacking coffee gelato. SIL’s was even yummier – a very thick and gorgeous cup of chocolate gelato. As I slurped spoonfuls of the gelato into my mouth, I could hear a little voice in my head humming…”Loserrrrr….loserrrrr…”. God, it was painful to have yourself call you a loser.

Heck it, I exercised ok – so I deserve a lil’ treat.

I did the unthinkable. The most heinous of crimes that any newly-landed immigrant to West Canada can do, was actually committed by me. I, the very same person who pride myself in being a great adjuster, adapter, and ever-so-willing to soak in a new country have denied, vehemently – an opportunity to watch the greats slash ice and allow myself to mesh with the thousands of cheers, most screaming at the top of their lungs (trust me, THAT is something I definitely CAN do – thanks to Malaysia Cup and F1 days) and alas – declare myself a true blue Canadian virgin. I could even do a mandi bunga after that you know, now that it is Spring here. Daffodils can make good substitute for bunga cempaka, no?

And what in heaven’s name did I trade the Canucks game for? THIS bowl of heaven.

I seriously do not know what to say to myself. DH had not one, but TWO free tickets to the game with Minnesota yesterday, but my mind was too fixated with having Thai food for dinner after waiting for him for 2 blinking hours at Starbucks. The story goes that he could not get out of a meeting, and I was left waiting at Starbucks sipping Chai Tea and fantasising hot bowls of Tom Yam Goong at the same time. No doubt I had the company of 2 girlfriends with me – but I was still daydreaming in between pauses.

So when he appeared at the Starbucks door, flashing the 2 tickets in front of my face – I swear to you, I did SEE the words CANUCKS printed on the tickets,it DID register in my head, BUT flashes of the oh-so-tempting smell of lime leaves, lemongrass, chili and celantro could not escape me. I was hallucinating Tom Yam, and DH was frantically trying to convince me: “It is the Canucks game, woman! You have never been to one before, and you always said you wanted to go! “. Well, he didn’t say it like that, but I am sure he wanted to.

My whining for food and waiting and dont-know-what-else finally made him gave in to my craving.

It is now the day after, and I am happily seated at the sofa looking out at the lawn, and damn, I should have not insisted on eating at that Thai restaurant last night. The Tom Yam and Pad Thai and Fried Rice and Spring Rolls and Fish Cakes were all so delicious, but the game at the BC Stadium would have had me tasted electric. Awesome.

Oh, did I tell you the FREE tickets he got from his boss would have cost CAD$100 to purchase?

Yes I know, slap me.