Bear with me, I’m trying really hard to figure out if anything remotely interesting has happened in the last 2 weeks and I’m afraid to say, the moment I tried, my body instinctively sought the bed.
Well, maybe Commencement was somewhat exciting and it would have been waaaay more exciting if it wasn’t for the fact that the ceremony was held at 8pm on a Wednesday, almost guaranteeing that the only people who will bother to turn up are your parents and your fellow graduands. Excellent. Pardon me if I sound bitter, but I don’t know how else to respond to a supposedly significant day that turned into a major bore-fest which ended in a mad rush back home because bro had an online assignment to submit by midnight.
At least the parents are happy. I think. I’m basing this conclusion purely on their grins even though both were awfully tired from sitting through a ceremony where everyone spoke English – a relatively foreign language to them, well, at least to my dad. My mom sort of understood the history valedictorian’s speech and found him funny. Anyhow, I’m sure they derived some kind of an emotional high by watching me sashay (that’s what I’d like to think!) across the stage, shake hands with what’s-his-name, receive my scroll, forcibly maintaining that position while turning slightly to the camera and giving my mega-watt (that’s what I’d like to think too!) to the camera.
And why wouldn’t they? I’m the first university graduate the Phay family has since…er…forever. Ok, discarding the possibility that we may have an ancestor who was a royal imperial scholar in China hundreds of years back, I’m pretty sure I’m the first university graduate. To them, this IS the deal. So as much as I dreaded the whole Commencement ceremony because of the location and the timing, attending it regardless is meant as a sign of respect to the parents who have done a shit load to make graduating possible. Sure, they have their quirks and I absolutely want to kill them on certain days, but at least they feed me, house me, give me money when I’m broke and are not alcoholic/abusive. And for that, it is a big enough reason to be thankful.
Cheers to the family for making sure that I didn't turn into an Ah Lian in primary school and eventually making it to graduation
Great opinion piece on Mark Sanford’s scandal.
Talk about shooting yourself in the foot, I think this man has just dropped a humongous boulder on his own.
…but it doesn’t mean we should ever stop living.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself. Everything will come to an end but it should never become the excuse for not taking that first step. And if that step throws me off the edge, I guess I’d just have to made do with the view on the way down wouldn’t I?
“Tapas” is the Spanish term for “beer snacks” and it’s very common for Spaniards to eat while having their beer. Initially, I didn’t think I would ever get used to treating mere snacks as proper dinner-food but I eventually fell head over heels for these snacks, thanks to the wide variety laid out on the counter.
My absolute favourite is chorizo, a kind of pork sausage. Locals usually eat them with bread but I usually find the bread a tad too hard for me, so I bypass the bread altogether and wolf down these delicious babies.
Chorizos
And next, I wouldn’t say no to Patatas Bravas either. These are fried white potato cubes served with spicy tomato sauce. It’s amazing how well the sauce works with the potatoes.
Patatas Bravas
Next, Calamares served with paprika is an absolute winner for me. It’s actually fried (they can be grilled too!) squid with paprika and it’s one of those things that you just can’t stop eating once you got started. My aussie roomies (Kate and Jess) and I were absolutely delighted with this little dish when we were out tapas-hunting in Madrid.
Calamares
For something that’s not considered Tapas, I adore the Spanish omelette probably because it’s like a cross between quiche and the chinese omelette.
Spanish Omelette
Even if one cannot appreciate tapas, one should still visit tapas bars just so one can soak in the whole atmosphere. Eating in Tapas bars, especially the ones with cured-ham hung all around, is not meant to be a quiet affair. The place is unabashedly loud and boisterous. People shout out their orders over counters and once in a while, you get a bunch of tipsy people who have no qualms about breaking into raucous laughter. Well, it is not called a Tapas BAR for nothing after all. And quite honestly, it wouldn’t have been as memorable for me if the place had been all quiet and proper.
Typical Tapas bar in Barcelona
(P/S Obviously, these pictures are not taken by me. And why didn’t I take pictures anyway? Firstly, I wanted to conserve my camera’s battery and also, I was far too busy pigging out than actually taking pictures. Finally, I didn’t wanna look too “touristy” either. But trust me, the food is awesome! Although it’s probably responsible for the number of ulcers that I sustained after I got home. )
I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m a fan of Eminem, even though his stuff oscillates between being absolutely brilliant and outrightly offensive just for the sake of being controversial. And quite honestly, I didn’t think there was anything worthy of a second listen after “Stan” and “Mockingbird” were released. But here, he proved me wrong with his latest single “Beautiful”.
I never really quite get it when I meet people overseas who tell me that they’ve been to Singapore and think it’s lovely. Yeah, if “lovely” is a euphemism for “boring”, then I would gladly accept that comment. Because other than culturally-rich sites like Little India, Chinatown and Geylang Serai, I cannot for the life of me, fathom how anyone can look at our little concrete jungle and exclaim that it is beautiful. Not especially when Europe is literally littered with gorgeous pieces of architecture all around.
We have the Gothic Westminster Abbey in London, the Gothic cathedral in Toledo (Spain), Gaudi’s amazingly whimsical parks such as Parc Guell, his modernist influences on buildings like Casa Mila and La Sagrada Familia. The list just goes on and on. The Cathedral in Toledo was especially breath-taking because of the number of varying architectural styles within a single cathedral. It was simply overwhelming for the senses and I can’t help but think to myself, “Wow, people back then must really really revere God. Cos I don’t understand how else to explain such great works of art!”
Gaudi’s works are equally impressive, noting that he seems to steer away from the usual rigid square/rectangular columns and blocks. Parc Guell is especially interesting because of Gaudi’s use of colourful mosaic pieces and arches that seem to resemble honey-combs.
Being impressive-architecturally-barren probably has something to do with the fact that Singapore is a very very young nation. After all, we had our humble beginnings as a fishing village and so it is not surprising that we’re “starved” when it comes to having buildings and architecture of the same magnitude and complexity as those found in Europe. But even so, I do believe that our buildings and architecture reflect the overly-pragmatic nature of our country. We simply do not have the patience to want to have something like a Gothic cathedral even if we have the means to. And I’m quite sure that if we could resurrect Gaudi and transport him to Singapore, he would probably end up jobless.
Even if we put aside how sadly lacking we are when it comes to beautiful architecture, surely it must feel really sucky to not at least have an awe-inducing landscape. Allow me to point you to the breath-taking mountains of Glencoe in Scotland. I absolutely love how the bus can travel for miles and miles and all you see are these vast pieces of green landscapes and magnificent mountains, totally untainted by modernisation.
You tell me, Singapore mana ada?
Everyone knows I’m a sucker for beautiful people. So I reckon that Europe is like THE perfect place to get inundated with lots and lots of hunks and babes. Breakfast in hostel provides the perfect timing to people-watch, it’s like the one good time when I can ogle at beautiful ladies with their blue eyes, blonde hair and tall noses strolling lazily into the hall for breakfast and I am constantly awed by how flawless their features are. However, I must add that I’m not too impressed with the British and Spanish men. Through tons of eavesdropping and stolen glances, it seems like the really good looking dudes are like me, foreigners who were out there for a vacation. I’ve only spotted one really good looking dude in this British pub near Elephant & Castle and in Spain, the one really cute guy I noticed was this guy who walked past me and asked for the time.
Which forces me to go back to the gorgeous ladies. The more I stare at them, the more I secretly kick myself for not being half as pretty or effortlessly stylish as them. And already, it’s not like I have an amazingly high level of self-esteem. So imagine my surprise when I met these random white girls in clubs who were all like “OMG! I love your tanned complexion! It’s flawless!” or this really pretty girl who exclaimed to the whole bunch of us Chinese girls (yeah, alcohol is a social lubricant so I ended up getting to know this whole bunch of really awesome ABC’s in pubs/clubs) something along the lines of “I love the Asian features! Your features are so delicate!”
Well, what this trip has highlighted is the fact that, I think too often, we’re caught up with envying other people for what they have and we end up neglecting what we do have. And these little things that we overlook may be the exact same things other people envy us for. So surprisingly, I ended up returning home with a little bit of an ego boost, knowing that the little self-perceived imperfections I have are not too bad after all. =)
Although I’m supposed to travel like a pauper, I still managed to chug tons of beer, thanks to the amazingly low prices. I’ve had beer going for as low as 1.50 quid/pint and that works out to just slightly over 3 SGD. Since I’ve given myself a 30 quid budget per day, assuming I’ve only spent 20 quid, I’ve still got a good 10 quid for beer. That’s how awesome beer drinking was over there.
With that said, I soon realised the vast differences between the British and the American drinking culture. I observed that drinking is one of the primary ways Brits socialise. Pretty much like how friends in Singapore would gather over a cup of coffee. I’ve had enjoyable conversations with Hannah, Andy, Gary and Pierre over a pint and they were nothing like the days back in US where drinking was like a prelude to getting high/wasted/totally uninhibited on the dance floor.
And I do like the atmosphere of the pubs in England (well, at least those that I’ve been to). They’re not rowdy or crass and usually exude a certain English charm. One would probably expect to see heaps of drunkards in England, given how much they drink but I swear, I’ve yet to see a single drunkard in a pub other than those hanging outside of Belushi’s (the pub/club near my hostel) and I’m pretty damn sure they were a bunch of drunk American or Australian hostelites staying at St. Christopher’s Village. And I vaguely remembered one of them yelling something at me when I’ve just checked in at 2am in the morning, “Hey new girl! You from Thailand???”
Er. Yeah. Just as much as you’re from Sobre-land.
So after grossing the whole world out with my puking in the club story, I thought I should say something about THE perfect moment in life I’ve experienced thus far.
Gary, a friend of Hannah, once said something along these lines: “You know, you experience one of these moments in life where you’d just pause and think: Life is perfect.” So for me, having fish & chips on Brighton beach was like THE perfect moment for me. It sounds a bit odd, really. After all, it’s just fish & chips, which is literally sold everywhere else in the world. And to be fair, I wasn’t really into fish & chips with salt and vinegar (I know!) but I guess the combination of that and the awesome beach was just too potent. For one, the Brighton beach is paved with pebbles instead of eeky sand particles, the sea is incredibly blue and the sea breeze is well…AWESOME! A tad too cold for me, but awesome nevertheless. (As you can see, I am totally not doing justice to anything here. But I am trying.)
And a close second would be just simply lying on the Barceloneta beach and bake myself under the sun. It probably helped that there were heaps of topless women around me, guaranteeing that this will be the only one time I’d get to see so many pairs of boobs. As much as I would love to share my joy with everyone, I don’t think people would appreciate me taking pictures of their boobs in a non-discreet manner. So the best I can manage is this:
So, be thankful.
And it looks like I’m cut out for the life of beach bums.
Ok, I probably should write down the major highlights of the trip so that I ( or everyone else, for that matter) can look back and laugh at myself.
So, I was invited to Hayley’s (a friend of Hannah, who is a friend from my UNC days) place to pre-game before hitting the clubs at Leicester Square one particular night. I reached her place and realised that their pet cat Molly (which sat on my lap the previous day, that poor darling) got run over by a car that morning and Tanya, Hayley’s housemate, was absolutely distraught. So it was kinda awkward sitting around talking about a dead cat while drinking. And I brought a bottle of wine thinking we’re all gonna share it but I ended up drinking the whole of it and was still drinking on the cab ride to Leicester Square. On the cab, Tanya and Becks were all like “You know what Su, when Hayley said she’s inviting you over, we’re all like, who the hell is she, what if she’s not a cool person?! But you know what, you’re awesome cos you’re so easygoing!” And I ought to be proud of that right? Except, I totally F A I L E D at being cool because just barely 2 hours into the club, Tanya treated us to a few rounds of shots and I got so sick, I ran to the bathroom to throw up. And thereafter, I proceeded to fall asleep in the toilet. Hayley came to rescue me, called for a cab, and Tanya had to literally drag me out of the club and throw me into the cab. And I could hear her telling the cab driver “She’s totally wankered!”. So much for being cool.
The morning after was NOT pretty. I had to get my ass out of Hayley’s place, take the Tube to get to my hostel. I decided to have breakfast to soak up the alcohol, got showered, packed and dragged the freaking luggage out of the hostel, onto the Tube and all the way to Bayswater to meet Hannah (who is, coincidentally, also recovering from a hangover). Try doing that with a raging hangover. It was NOT good. I stayed sobre for about a week after that incident.
