One thing we have in common is we're way too curious about food.

This is how we ended up going round Amsterdam eating or drinking:
bitterballen (fried meatballs of unknown meat content)
croquette (sold at vending machines in a fast food chain called FEBO)
frikandel (minced horse meat in the form of a hotdog minus the bun)
pea soup (so thick you can stand a spoon in it)
Dutch pancakes (there was one version which resembled pizza, with fillings encrusted in the pancake)
Dutch fried eggs (I especially love the one with shredded cheese melted in sunny-side-up eggs on top of bread)
jenever (fiery diesel-like liquor)
salad (just because they hide a huge slab of bread under the mountain of vegetables)

Now, if only I can convince you to eat luncheon meat.

On the plane back to Singapore, we checked out the inflight movies-on-demand. Though there were better films you could've watched, you chose to watch the ones I've not watched yet. Just so we could play the same movies simultaneously, and look over and grin at each other during the funny scenes.

Thanks for the lovely vacation.

Jetlag. Camden market. Pims. Virgin Megastore. Fish & chips. Mushy peas. Jetlag. The Monument. London Bridge. Thames. Tate Modern. Jetlag. Blogging just past 6 in the morning while eating chocolate truffles. Amsterdam soon. Nowhere else I'll rather be than here with you.

Yup. It's the last-minute post before flying ritual. I've managed to convince the check-in counter girl that I don't need to check in my 20 litre backpack cos it weighs a mere 7.8 kg now (and especially not when I've lost luggage 3 times on long haul flights with separate airlines). I'm not sure what I've forgotten to pack, but I've done everything down to remembering to wear ear studs (just so the earholes wouldn't close; yes, so anal). It's a bit embarrassing to blog at the internet terminal, while everyone else seems to be doing something more important like emailing or googling on some destination or other.

It's Friday night, I'm bound not to be able to sleep much on the plane, and who knows when I can next blog. But in 17 hours, it'll be your face I'll see.

Tonight I'm winging my way to you.
All I want to do is hug you close.
Hold hands tight like paper cut-out dolls.

Everything else can wait.

A long overdue baking analogy about work.

I'm trying to complete as much work as possible before taking off this Friday night, but everyday some new challenge would pop up.

Today's bizarre problem:
"Yes, I'm preparing a recipe for this cake.
No, I didn't bake that cake.
You need a recipe for that cake and that baker is no longer available?
And I have to give you the recipe for that cake because it's from the same oven as my cake?"

So after a heated discussion, my team is going to do the necessary evil just to get it over and done with.

Ga. And you are sipping granitas on the other side of the world.

Life this week.

I've sidetracked again. Rather than finish every book I've been reading, I've started on my 5-year-old copy of Bill Brewster and Frank Broughton's "Last night a DJ saved my life: the History of the Disc Jockey".

I watched my first F1 match from start to end. I'm the sort of non-fan who gets really engrossed watching matches though, and can't hold any decent conversation till it's over. I have no idea why.

I also like Ratatat's "Seventeen Years" a lot, though I can't find the music video for it.

5 more days till I hit the airport again.

There is something intensely private about the way Glenn Gould played piano.
He looked so out of this world.

Favourite of the moment: Gnarls Barkley's music video for Crazy.

Vijay has found Singapore's ranking in the world of happy countries.
We're 131st.

And he's even found the UnHappy Planet Index!

Today, I read in a Filipino newspaper that Philippines was ranked the 17th happiest country in the world (and Singapore wasn't listed in that article, though other South-east asian countries were). When I finally reached home, I tried searching for this article online but didn't find it. Instead, I found an earlier article, which claimed that Philippines was ranked 7th happiest country.

However, whether 7th or 17th, I'm quite sure that Filipinos are happier people than Singaporeans. There is a gentle tolerance in them that I admire but can't really understand. A colleague explained matter-of-factly how he got stuck for 2 hours in traffic (on a journey which normally lasted 45 minutes). Another one mentioned how 16 years back, he had to chase an ice truck down to buy a block of ice home (they had no refrigerators then). Or how certain areas would have electricity only 8 hours a day.

Somehow I found this level of patience would be unfathomable here.

There is only one tiny CD shop in the whole Manila airport. The last time I was there, I asked the shop assistant to recommend me a Filipino album, assuming I would never visit Philippines again. The shop assistant was probably in her 40s, and I wasn't sure what kind of music she would pick; but I was set to buy whichever she chose. Just because.

She thought seriously, and picked out Orange and Lemons' "Strike While the Iron is Hot". And so I bought that album. I still remember that it was my last purchase that trip: I ran out of money and had to pay for this CD half with cash, and half with my credit card.

Today, I visited the CD shop again. I told the shop assistant that I really liked the previous album she had recommended, and asked her for another pick. She smiled and decided on 1 out of 3 finalists. It was The Members' self-titled album.

I was thinking that it would be nice to have that CD shop to look forward to, everytime I leave Philippines.

Today I bent the truth to be kind, and I have no regret, for I am far surer of what is kind than I am of what is true.
- Robert Brault, software developer, writer (1938- )

My favourite place in the airport is the free internet kiosk. I remembered telling you once, when we were transiting at an airport, to look for a free internet kiosk. Then you smiled and said not every country has those. I answered that Singapore does, and so does Hong Kong. And you asked if I could remember any other airport with a free internet kiosk. And I couldn't.

Oh, and sometimes it tickles me how I can spend a few hours flying and watching movies, and still claim them as working time.

My personal favorite place to drown is in a pretty girl's eyes. But on a less personal level, the title's supposed to refer to how love seems to be everybody's favorite self-destructive past time. Romance is the most worthwhile misery. In the old days, sailors used to chase after sirens and drown. Drowning is sort of the essence of romance. It's not very romantic unless you're in over your head.
- Michael Leviton, My Favourite Place to Drown

At work, I try to disarm colleagues by saying I only need to ask them a quick question, but they've since discovered that it's never a quick one, and often the kind of question with multiple parts. I'm quite relentless in hounding people to give me what I need (as long as it's reasonable), and often they give in because it's much more tiresome to say no to me, and I'm so oblivious that it's no use snubbing me.

Was given a generous half day off this morning so I could watch the World Cup Finals, and I did (with mum who bet me $5 that Italy would win). Am glad I stayed in to watch as it started pouring about 30 minutes into the game. However, I don't think much of games which win due to penalty shoot-outs, especially such a close match like this. Sigh.

Woke at 8.30am though cos I slept too much the day before, and cos mum woke me (she didn't really believe that I could be given a half day off to watch the match). Still, I'm taking my time to go into work, and tomorrow I'll be in another country.

At least we watched the same game though we're apart.
It'll be another 11 days till we meet again.

I went over to watch you pack your luggage. You warned me that I'd have a heart attack watching you because you only pack last minute (in fact, you packed right up to when the taxi arrived). I helped you fold shirts and water plants, while you flitted around packing excitedly (not frantically; there was a heady delirium in the way you packed which was contagious). It'll be two and a half weeks till we meet again, and this'll be the longest time we're separated since we've been together.

I said I succumbed to writing another icky sweet blog entry about you, and you laughed when I mentioned how the guys protested against it. I kept naming things you should pack to remind you (and yet we missed out something). Still, I was astonished that your check-in luggage weighed in over 23kg.

I accompanied you to the airport. It was the first of 5 times I'll be passing through the airport this month, and next week it'll be my turn to fly. On the way to the airport, you noticed my right eye had streaked red with infection, and emptied out your toiletry kit to hunt for eye drops (but you didn't find it). We bantered over where to go for dinner and I jokingly threatened to eat at Mac's. We settled on Popeyes later, and ended up with food stuck in our teeth.

I felt so secure in your presence that I didn't cry when you finally left for your flight. Instead, I wandered round searching for the taxi stand and it was a while before I realised I should go down to Arrival Hall.

Can't wait to see you again.
Be happy. Be safe.

Sometimes the things which make you happy don't make sense, and they don't have to.

I can't explain the giddy little pleasure of thumb-wrestling with you after watching a local film on arm wrestling. Or trying out food at a new and good eatery together. Or the way we jostle to have the dominant thumb on top while holding hands.
Or just being with you, next to you.

I don't understand the dumb incredible luck of meeting you, and I didn't realise there's no limit to feeling happy.

Everyday is a new opportunity to learn something more about you and with you.
Everyday you make me smile.