2016: The Year I Chose to Make Margarita Instead

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, OR lemon cheesecake, OR lemon curd, OR lemon chicken, OR margarita!

"I've heard that you're no longer working at XXX, so where are you attached to these days?"

Since the beginning of this year, friends, relatives, students, and acquaintances have asked me the same question many times. My reply would always be :

"Oh ... here, there, and everywhere. I'm actually teaching part-time."

At the very mention of the tabooed word - part-time, their faces would immediately dissolve into a pitiful and sympathetic expression, much similar to the expression that a full grown adult usually receives after the earth-shattering discovery, "Oh (gasp), you mean you're not married? But why?"

They will then proceed to console the unfortunate soul by saying, "It's OK. Give the economy some time. I'm sure you'll find a full-time job soon." Or, in that second instance, they would say, "It's OK. I'm sure you'll find the right person soon."

On one hand, I am sincerely moved by their concern. Seriously, I am far from feeling offended at all.

On the other hand, I have been trying very hard to explain to almost everyone that even though holding a full-time job and having a life partner may be the society's norm, some of us have actually grown quite comfortable not doing either, or both.

Let's begin with the second issue: Back when I was in school, many friends had assumed that I would eventually make a good wife. Erm, to be more accurate, a good housewife. Why? No, I was never a sex-bomb nor someone with a drop, dead, gorgeous figure to attract half of the male population. I never even had that cute, sweet, and innocent face most of my classmates were born with.

A female Inspector Gadget

Where, when, how, and why then did this notion exist? Perhaps that honourable nomination for 'a good housewife' stemmed from the way I held the broom while sweeping the class, or perhaps it was the way I held the toilet brush while scrubbing at the bowl with all my life. My family never had a cleaner or a maid, so we were trained since young to do housework. As a result, the broom and the brush always looked like natural extensions of my hand. Thus, some friends thought that I would perhaps some day make a rather convenient housewife ... something like a female version of Inspector Gadget.

When I hit puberty and started to develop even more shock absorbents on my derriere, friends used to tease that I would be very fertile, and thus, make a good mother.

Yup, you could see that our sense of logic (along with our understanding of biology) was very much screwed back then ...

Kim Kardashian vs. Angelina Jolie

Decades have passed since and I have yet to prove any of the above hypothesis right. No one knows if I would make a good housewife. And no one knows if indeed people with big bums are more fertile than their skinny counterparts. The last I checked, Angelina Jolie still has more children than Kim Kardashian. Or that I would not be a terrible parent who ends up having to bail my kids out of the lockup once they hit their rebellious teenage years.

You see, most people at my age would usually be married, with kids, and working full-time. I, on the other hand, have none of the above.

While the rest of the world may regard an unmarried and childless female as pitiful, I beg to differ.

In fact, it is this year that I finally decided to take full advantage of what people may have deemed as my 'disadvantages.'

If you had known me well enough, you will agree that I am a workaholic. Despite all the grumbling about marathon marking and pathetic pay, I actually LOVE teaching. And I guess I'll be teaching (or nagging, whichever term fits your definition) till the day I breathe my last. I have images of myself being hooked onto the life-support machine and still struggling to use my sepet eyes to 'enlighten and educate' every visitor who sits next to my deathbed.

This penchant for teaching does not only extend to my students. Unfortunately, it has spread to every area of my life. I feel like I need to 'teach' my friends, my colleagues, my relatives, and more drastically ... my immediate superiors. Perhaps it is also due to age but I had long passed the stage when I was 100% submissive and could tolerate being pushed around at work (or anywhere, for that matter).

Towards the final quarter of last year, I felt I had to resign to save whatever was left of my sanity. I did not like the idea of people bringing out the worst in me all the time. I realised that I was becoming more of a bitter and resentful monster day-by-day, and I should like to think that this monster is NOT my true self.

I had not really dared to discuss this with many fellow colleagues because I knew that they would lovingly tell me to think twice, and I would eventually lose all guts to reprint the resignation letter ("Reprint"? Ah ... but that's the story for another day).

I tendered, and to cut the story short, I was officially JOBLESS by 29 December 2015. Friends and relatives were very worried about me. it was not a common practice to resign before securing a new job. To make matters worse, they had heard that the economy was bad:

Established educational institutions were freezing their staff intake. Some were downsizing their full-time lecturers. Why wasn't I worried? Why didn't I apply to more places? Why wasn't I attending as many job interviews as I should? What would I do for a living, then?

God has a peculiar way of dealing with people. With me, He has always allowed me to be swamped with so much work that I do not have the chance or time to worry about many trivial things in life. Not until things are pretty much settled and there is no more need to worry about it, anyway. Believe it or not, I was still finishing my final round of marking two days AFTER my last day at work. It was only then that I realised that I would be free as a bird, and ... WITHOUT A JOB!"

Ironically, I tried to share some of the concerns my friends had for myself, yet I couldn't.

And they got even more flustered when I constantly replied, "Oh, no worries. I'll just tidur bawah jambatan (sleep under the bridges). After all, I have been paying income tax and road tax for the past few years!"

Don't you agree that this charcoal painting by Rudolf Boogerman looks very realistic?

In truth, I was just too relieved to be free. I wanted some kind of rest. And somehow, it was difficult for me to explain to everyone why I deserved that rest.

As the new year began and everyone started with their usual rounds of resolutions, I finally put my finger on the reason why I was not as worried as my friends thought I should have been: My condition was very different from theirs.

Let me put it clearly:

a) I am not married, so I do not need my husband's approval before I make decisions.
b) I am childless, so I do not need to worry about my children's expenses.
c) I do not own a house, so I do not need to pay for installments.
d) I do not even drive a new car, so I do not need to pay for my 9-year old Myvi.

So you see, while the fact that I am husbandless, childless, houseless, and new-carless (if I may coin that term) seems to be a DISADVANTAGE to most people, to me and at this time, these are my ADVANTAGES.

2016: The Year I Took Advantage of My Disadvantages 

I can take that rest, because I do not have these burdens to bear. Not at this time, at least.

And the beauty of it all? I have been exposed to a whole new world of FREELANCING, which can be darn addictive, mind you! As a result, I now have more confidence, more freedom, sometimes more money, and most of all more quality time and energy to spend with my family members and loved ones.

I know that I will look back at this year in time to come and truly appreciate the meal-times I spent with my parents, the chats I had while catching up with friends, and the out-of-classroom lectures I shove into everyone who comes to me for consultation.

I may still die a pauper in a few years' time, but hey, I am not going to worry about that now. In fact, I just want to take time to sit back and thank God for all that He has blessed me with.

People say, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade". This is partly true. But if you feel that lemon meringue pie, lemon chicken, lemon cheesecake, lemon curd, or even margarita fits you better, go for it.

After all, lemonade is NOT the ONLY option in life.  

Naughty Names and Funny Folders

Some time towards the end of last year, I was forced to do some housekeeping on the  company laptop. I had tendered my resignation and it was just a matter of time before the laptop would have to be returned to the company.  

In that process, I came across some of the most incredulous folder names, some of which I had totally forgotten:

One of my friends once shared that she had a "JIC" folder. When I asked her what the acronym stood for, she replied, "Just In Case". Apparently, she had stored all her backups in that folder. (This was, of course, back when Cloud was nonexistent or not popular). I thought that was very smart of her. I am ashamed to say that my backups, on the other hand, were scattered among folders such as "Miscellaneous", "Desktop", and "Rubbish".

Then there were, of course, important office documents such as "Office" or "Bonus and Workload Crap" where I stored all my years of KPIs and appraisals. I grudgingly recall those days when the company had occasionally loaded me with "Editing Nonsense" just because I happen to teach some English/Literature subjects. Somehow, the management had refused to believe that Literature Lecturers SHOULD NOT be confused with Copywriters, Proofreaders, or Editors.

But perhaps the folder that puts a smile on my face now is the one labelled "Mad Fella". In that folder lies all irrelevant documents created and demanded by one of the more overzealous superiors.

Now that I am on freelance, no one has yet inherited the "Mad Fella" folder. Nonetheless, teaching in three different institutions means I have at least 3 different email accounts and another 2-3 e-learning sites, all of which have different web addresses, login names, and passwords. All these are, of course, in addition to the usual logins and passwords to my personal emails, Facebook profile, Internet banking, and other online sites. For this reason, my current laptop has a file named "Passwords for Life". Before you consider hacking into that file, do be informed that I am not silly enough to save any logins or passwords of sites that are in any way linked to cash. =)

I also have another folder entitled "Tried, Tested, Proven" where I store all recipes which I have tried, tested, and ... proven.

It turns out that creating folders with weird names is not an exclusive art. When I asked around, some friends have mentioned that they too, are guilty of having in possession folders with rather suspicious names. These include "Do Not Open" (pretty obvious), "Ladies Training", "Blackhole", and "Greed". Just when I was about to conclude that this person was actively involved in human trafficking or cross-dressing, he explained that "Ladies Training" was actually a training file for a brand line, and as dodgy as "Blackhole" may suggest, it is merely a folder of articles which that person would want to read sometime in the future. "Greed" apparently contains details of debtors. (PM me if you need his contact.)

Perhaps I am not so weird, after all. But then again, I seem to notice that I have quite a few erm, strange entries in my phone, too.

Have you ever experienced this: You bump into someone at the mall and although you remember his/her name, you cannot immediately register where you first met this person. Was he/she a friend from primary school, secondary school, Form Six, undergrad, masters, the first office, second office, church, blah, blah, and blah? You begin to exchange updates about various other friends that each of you still keep in touch with, only to realise that half of that list are people not common to BOTH of you. When you come home, you excitedly tell one of your close friends that you bumped into that person. To which your close friend may answer, "Huh, who's that?" Once again, you realise that this friend does not know your other friend.

A real pigeon-hole

That is why I tend to compartmentalize and pigeon-hole my friends (sorry, guys). Unless you are a very close relative, I tend to bestow the same last names to everyone within the same organization or place where we first met. Of course some of these names may overlap, considering that some friends were with me at different phases and spheres in my life. Jennifer from institution ABC will be recorded as "Jennifer ABC", whereas Jennifer from XYZ will be known as "Jennifer XYZ". This method is not foolproof, though, but I'll save that story for another day.

When I scroll down the names in my phone, I see entries such as "Bank Nonsense" (I seem to like the word nonsense quite a lot), "DO NOT PICK UP", and "SPY". Other people claim to have "DO NOT PICK UP" in their phones, too, but upon checking, we realize that it is not the same person. Other creative names include "2 AM stalker" and "3 AM stalker". For unknown reasons, these two unidentified people have called me at those hours and had refused to say anything. I was half asleep in front of the TV when the first call came through. My brother decided to pick up the phone and save that caller as "3 AM stalker". It was therefore very natural for me to save the number of the next person who called at 2:00 AM but refused to say a word as "2 AM stalker". 

Almost the same time as I was asking around for weird entries in other people's phone, an advertisement came through via SMS at 3:45 AM one morning. It just so happened that I was catching up with my pile of work while seated in front of the telly (again), so I decided to 'punish' this person by leaving missed calls in his/her phone ... one hour later, at 4:45 AM. And another at 5:00 AM. The last one, just before I got ready for work at 5:45 AM. Call me Ms. Vindictive if you must, for I can tolerate spam messages but not at 3:45 AM in the morning! I then saved this caller's number as "Idiot @ 3:45 am".

One friend had an equally long and strange entry in her phone. Someone had called her at 12 midnight saying, "Do not leave me, Joanne!" Although she insisted that she wasn't 'Joanne', he did not believe her and kept calling. She saved his number as "Guy looking for Joanne". Other funny contributions include "Spam", "Blacklist", "Pervert", "Reject", "Gym (Do not answer)", and even "Sloth". I think if I were to go about asking for more, the list will be endless.

So what do you think? Is this a weird practice or do you also have naughty names and funny folders saved in your electronic gadgets?

Memory - A Double-Edged Sword

This post is certainly long overdue. How often have you heard someone saying something and in the next instant, you suddenly find yourself immersed in a moment of enlightenment and are filled with endless inspiration for the next blog post? The ideas come crashing violently like an avalanche but that will be the exact moment when there is nary a laptop/electronic gadget nor a piece of paper and a pen around for you to record these precious lil 'nuggets' before they slip away. 

Not being able to jot your ideas down is one thing, but not having the TIME to actually string these ideas together in your blog is another. When you finally do get to sit down and type, all the beautiful phrases you once had in mind disappear into thin air. You are, then, left with a writer's block.

Calvin's idea of a Writer's Block

... but I digress ...

... but maybe not, since the subject of this entry is on MEMORY, after all.

I seem to notice a strange obsession with the powers of memory in at least two recent TVB dramas. In one of these series, a traffic police officer has an excellent mental storage known as her memory palace in which she is able to visit and recall every minute detail about encounters she has had with practically anyone. She is nothing less than a human computer who can even mentally record the file number of each case.

Speed of Life

In another drama, a private investigator does the same. She is able to travel to the past (albeit in her mind) to look for clues which she may have missed out initially. Both women managed to solve many cases thanks to their extraordinary memory.

Eye in the Sky

Perhaps it is a coincidence that both characters are female. But then again, perhaps it is true that women do have better memory, and therefore, have better excuses for holding grudges. ;)

Well, I am a woman but sometimes I can have the memory of a potato. I may climb upstairs to my room or stand with the fridge door ajar and not remember what I had wanted to get from there in the first place. That is why I have learned a very useful skill in life: CHANTING my way to my destination. Granted, it is only applicable under 3 special conditions:

a) if you wish to retrieve only ONE item

While it is acceptable to chant, "salt, salt, salt, salt, salt" till your hand is safely wrapped around the salt shaker from across the table, there is no way for you to chant your entire shopping list. That's already singing a complete song, and you may end up with enough materials to produce an album.

b) if your destination is not too far

Even if it is just one item, you cannot be chanting "bread, bread, bread, bread, bread, bread," as you drive 7 km to TESCO.

c) if no one distracts you along the way

Remember the story of the dog that lost its precious bone after barking at its own reflection in the water? The very moment you open your mouth to speak to anyone is the exact moment when your memory spills out.

I often chant "Orange, orange, orange, orange, orange, orange ..." until I reach the refrigerator. I have also gone "phone, phone, phone, phone, phone" all the way to my room. Then there are times when I come out of my car and go "wallet, wallet, wallet, wallet, wallet..." If you do not know me, you will certainly think I am a wacko.

In fact, now that I have blabbed so much, I have forgotten the main point of this particular entry ...

I have to admit: Our memory is a very strange thing, indeed!

If my memory was that good, I would have aced every exam in school. The truth is, I have forgotten my fair share of important historical dates, scientific facts, grammatical rules, and mathematical formulae. Birthdays I can remember; anniversaries are not a challenge, but useful and important information? Nah, no way. Let's just forget about it.

Yet, I seem to have quite a peculiar collection in my personal memory store. The more nonsensical and trivial the information is, the more vividly I tend to remember. These are merely the tip of the iceberg:

i) I vividly remember refusing to walk down the aisle as a flower girl for my aunt's wedding when I was only 4. There was dry ice all over and I thought the adults must have been crazy to insist that I walk through what seemed like a 'smoky fire' to a 4-year-old.

ii) Embarassingly, I only started weaning myself off the milk bottle when my parents forgot to bring the bottle along on our very first trip to Penang. I was almost 5 then. I wailed so much but was too disgusted (and maybe even too egoistic) to accept my aunt's offer to use one of the bottles that belonged to a kid she took care of.

iii) When I was in Standard Three, one of my classmates misspelled Port Dickson as 'PORK Dickson and was reprimanded by our class teacher (who usually drew 'swimming pools' in our exercise books after drifting to sleep while marking). For some strange reason, our teacher was wide awake that day.

iv) This same best friend of mine had to literally sew me up in my pinafore when I was 11 because the zipper had given way.

v) When I was 14, the lady who sold fruits in our school canteen had commented that the natural colour of my hair was too light and had predicted that my entire head will turn gray ere long.

vi) One of the things I have brought home with my very first salary as a promoter was a big bag of Washington apples from Tops Supermarket.

All these information are non-beneficial. They cannot be exchanged for money nor can they be used to edify anyone. Even so, I think they will remain in my memory for a long time.

I do not only remember stories about myself but also about other people. For instance, my now teenaged godchildren, nieces, and nephews love to hear stories about random things they have done when they were only little babies or toddlers. I suppose their parents were too preoccupied taking care of them to take note of such insignificant facts.

It amazes me to think that I can forget important things but have such clear memory of other unimportant events. When I was flipping through one of the psychology textbooks a few years ago, I came across a very interesting term which may just explain what I am blessed with: a rather good episodic memory. Now don't ask me what that means. I cannot recall proper facts from textbooks, remember?

Sadly, this memory works as a double-edged sword. Along with all the warm, touching, encouraging, and funny anecdotes, I also tend to have equally good retention for bad memories. I recall the first (and hopefully last) time a person slapped my face (and for what reason). I recall my Standard Six PE teacher scolding me and commenting that my 'muka macam lembu' (face like a cow). I recall a boy in the school bus calling me a 'fatso'. I remember how a conman cornered me when I was barely 18. And many many more hurtful things that have happened all these years. Try as hard as I might, these things cannot be eliminated from my storage. If I had a giant eraser in life, these bad memories would have been the very first things I wish to erase. You see, they serve no purpose except to relive the pain and humiliation I felt at that time.

There is some consolation, though. My memory is starting to deteriorate with age. A case in point: I used to be able to remember all the 129 names of students from one of the Foundation classes. Now? All it takes is just 12 students to confuse me throughout the entire semester.

A classmate thinks that we should meet up more often to share these crazy stories of our childhood. My university roommate once said that I should occassionally remind her of the silly things we used to do while staying together. Former colleagues always enjoy talking about our fun-filled office days over a simple meal. Cousins laugh at each other's quirky habits as little children.

Sometimes I wish I could record all these down in writing, but it is somewhat impossible because as time passes, we generate even more memorable instances. We can only hope that the memories we generate each day will be sweet and memorable for the times to come. To quote Charles Swindoll, "each day of our lives, we make deposits in the memory banks of our children." Even when a person is long gone, memories of him/her lives on.

With that, I wish that you have a great week ahead filled with wonderful memories for the future!  

The Princess Who Wears BATA

"It's true," she said. "Sometimes I do pretend I am a princess. I pretend I am a princess, so that I can try and behave like one." - Sarah Crewe in Frances Burnett's A Little Princess

Little Princesses

Almost every little girl has fantasized that perhaps the parents she is living with is not her 'real' parents, after all. Perhaps she is really a princess of an obscure little country in a remote corner of the earth, exiled or smuggled away from her royal parents at birth in an attempt to protect her from villainous vultures vying for the throne. Perhaps one day, someone will come and reinstate her title as a princess.

Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps, Princess.

I would be telling an outright lie if I were to say that as a little girl I had never even once dreamt of being a princess. This royal fantasy never lasted for long, though. I guess deep down in my heart (and even as a child), I knew I was never cut out from any royal cloth and that I would have felt extremely out of place if someone were to tell me that I had royal blood flowing through my veins.  

Why? There is something safe about being able to blend in with the crowd and to be regarded as just another ordinary member of the public. I do not envy people who are the constant target of paparazzi. My definition of being at ease does not include sucking my tummy in, pushing my chest out, holding my chin up, and going around with a back as straight as an arrow at all times. Leave all that to the soldiers! 

I want to be able to slouch when my back aches, unbutton my pants or loosen my belt when I feel bloated, eat with my elbows resting on the table, and laugh so loudly that anyone within a 500 meter radius would think that a cruise liner is on its way. 

These, to me, are the simple pleasures of life.

Imagine living the life of Kate Middleton, the Duchess of Cambridge, for one day. I bet all she wants at the end of the day is to kick off those trademark high heels of hers, and slouch on a sofa with an Archie comic in one hand and a glass of colourful Slurpee in another. But then again, maybe that's just me.

Back when I was at a marriageable age, I used to make fun of my dad's table manners (or the lack thereof). You see, my dad enjoys eating. When he eats, he gets erm ... pretty excited. By that, I mean he will forget all his table manners, glue his elbows to the table, and start slurping and burping. I would then exclaim, "This is why I can't ever marry a prince! The palace doesn't allow family members to slurp and rest their elbows on dining tables." 

Now that I am much older, I realized that I am definitely no princess material but truly my father's daughter. I do not care much about table manners, either. For one thing, I am one whom you would regret taking to a fine dining restaurant:

My colleague and I once booked for a meal at the fine dining restaurant run by the culinary students in college. Although it was not a full-fledged fine dining venue, I was very confused when I first sat down to inspect the cutlery on the table one by one. Which pieces were we supposed to use first? What was that advice I once heard long ago: work my way in or work my way out? Oh, working certainly takes the joy out of eating!

So I did what any thick-skinned lecturer would do: stop a student (who was on waitressing duty) to ask which fork I should use for the appetizer. Yeah, I may be marking your essays and correcting your enunciation, but I jolly well know that I am no expert when it comes to fine-dining.

Being the typical uncouth Chinese guests, my lunch partner and I further embarrassed ourselves when the food arrived and we instinctively exclaimed, "Huh, that's all ar? Must have Maggi mee after this." The other drawback of eating in a fine-dining restaurant is the lack of surrounding noise. That means, almost everyone around you will be able to hear most of your conversation unless you keep whispering at a decibel that is only audible to canines. Of course, others got to hear our comments about the portion. To be fair, the serving was actually very filling. We were completely stuffed at the end of the meal. The chef had just decided to use a plate that left too much empty space for our greedy eyes. Also, it was a good thing that the main dish was fish, because if it had been chicken instead, it would have taken a whole lot of effort to prevent me from eating with my fingers. How else do you do justice to a tasty piece of fried chicken? 

Eating like a glutton

Dessert failed to transform me into a refined guest. After eating the slices of mooncakes (with the correct fork, mind you), I started scraping the bottom of the plate because I thought we were meant to eat the chocolate which was deliberately smeared over the plate as part of the decoration. After a while, I gave up. 

Even if I eventually master the arts of fine-dining in future, there are still other areas to remind me that I have a looonnngg way to go before I become a princess.

People who know me well would not dare to let me entertain important guests because they know that I have an unstoppable tongue. As much as I want to appear professional and formal even for a short moment, I will usually dissolve into my loud, boisterous, unpretentious self within 15 minutes. And that is when all hell breaks loose. I will forget that I am supposed to create a good impression, or that I should be careful with my words and ensure that I do not offend the other party. There is no point showing me the family tree or the flowchart of an organization. My tongue goes on an autopilot mode and I conveniently forget all hierarchical boundaries.

Okay, even if I were to develop excellent table manners and tame my tongue, there is still another area which will disqualify me as a princess.

I am generally quite sloppy, but I think I am sloppiest when it comes to dressing. Because my figure has always been less than desirable, it has never been easy for me to get clothes that fit, let alone any that actually looks smart. Consequently, I have developed the habit of wearing only t-shirt and jeans or even stretchable slacks (since my jeans keep shrinking, if you know what I mean) everywhere I go.

Brands have never appealed to me. While I may be loyal to certain detergent brands, I do not pay attention when it comes to apparels. If something fits, it can be Gucci, Pucci, Mucci ... I don't care. The only thing I cannot tolerate is, imitation or fake goods. I would much rather wear a pair of original Asadi slippers as opposed to fake Adidas sneakers.

The best slippers on earth, in my opinion. My cousin says there should be a pair of these in every house.

For all these reasons, I have decided that perhaps I do not want to be a princess, after all. There is too much at stake and too much for me to change. It is much better to remain as a commoner. So what if the Devil wears Prada? Even if I had married a Prince, I would have been the Princess who still wears BATA. 

Japan in Pictures: Day 6 (Saturday, 1 February 2014)

 

Since our flight back to KL was much later in the evening, we decided to extend our stay by half a day at Hotel Monterey La Soeur, Osaka. I must say that my entire stay at this particular hotel has been very pleasurable. The staff were helpful and extremely accommodating, even before we had arrived. Its locality in Shiromi Chuo-Ku is just perfect: accessible yet not too crowded.



Hotel Monterey La Soeur Osaka

It pays to print out and keep a copy of the address (in both English and Japanese characters) in our wallet. Whenever we wanted to get back to the hotel, all we had to do was to flash that address card. I had even forced my parents to carry a copy each in case we get separated and/or lost while roaming the streets of Osaka.

 

There was just one place left for us to visit before we leave this beautiful city. Although the Osaka Castle Park looked pretty close from the hotel on the map, we decided to take a cab because my parents were not too keen on overexerting themselves just before the flight home. It was a good choice, too, as we discovered that the castle ground was much more spacious than we had imagined.
 

There is just something romantic about castles that are surrounded by a moat.

The long walk leading to the entrance

 

 



Oh, my incurable obsession with trees!

 

 

Thank God it was a bright and sunny day!

 

It was a Saturday morning, so it was not surprising to see a crowd at the park. Some were just walking about, while others were jogging and training for marathons. Then there were also children who were attending their weekly martial arts lessons.



The common hall where martial arts lessons are held



Timetable



Young children beating each other up ... in style

 

The Osaka Castle is much more modern compared to Nijo castle. For one, there are many items on display in the castle. The history of the city and the building of the castle is told through moving 3D screens.

 

Imagine how beautiful it will look when the cherry blossoms are in full bloom

 

Looking really majestic

Moving 3D screens that tell the story of the city and its castle

Another interesting attraction at the castle is the observatory deck where one can have a 360 degree view of Osaka city. The bird's-eye view shows how structured the development of the city is.

Part of the view from the observatory deck

 

 

As I was walking within the castle grounds, I came across a very interesting sight: a janitor dressed in a traditional costume. My first reaction was, "Why would they need a janitor at all?" You see, the people living in Osaka are very civic-minded. Nobody dares to throw even a single sweet wrapper on the ground. I have heard that they would usually carry their garbage with them in their pockets or bags so as to discard it at home. But I guess that is how they have managed to keep that place spotlessly clean. There are tourists, after all and sad to say, not all of us are responsible tourists. The beauty of this city is that janitors and garbage collectors are never looked down by the people. This is a stark contrast to Malaysia, where such jobs are regarded as inferior and less respectful. It is a mind set that we should not be proud of.

A royal janitor 

After walking around for a while, we decided to make our way back to the hotel. We panicked a little when we learned that there was no taxi to the airport from the hotel because it was a weekend and we had not booked earlier. In a way, it was a blessing in disguise. We were forced to make use of our JR pass for the very last time.

 

 

We dragged our baggage to the train station (which was within walking distance from our hotel) and had to switch trains at one of the stations. Then it was a straight journey to the airport terminal. I say it was a blessing because my dad was starting to have problems getting in and out of taxis. The train was a much friendlier form of transportation for his bad knees. The seats were more comfortable and we did not have to worry about luggage space in the taxi boot. Furthermore, we did not have to pay any extra cost as the JR pass already covers the distance to the airport.

 

Though it was long journey, it was our last opportunity for sightseeing in a city I have grown to love. The gradually setting sun cast an orange tinge to the blurry images moving past me. I was looking forward to go home, but a part of me had also wanted to stay. It was a good break and I would love to come back again someday. One day. Maybe when the cherry blossoms are blooming.

Sayonara, for now! Ja mata ne! See you again!

Japan in Pictures: Day 5 (Friday, 31st January 2014)

A good organization/company would surely have very clear job specifications for each position that exists. Likewise, it is important to outline the tasks each individual has to undertake when travelling as a group in a non-guided tour.

My family does not enjoy travelling with commercial tour groups for various reasons:
a) such tours are usually more costly
b) we rarely get to go to places which we want
c) we always end up rushing from one place to another

But I think most of all, our family loves the liberty of deciding where to go and when. If we were to wake up one morning and decide not to move our lazy butts anywhere at all, we can always choose to stay in the hotel (though it rarely happens because being the typical calculative Chinese we are, one of us would eventually remind the others how much we have already paid for the trip and how far we had to travel).

As with many other trips we have taken, my brother is the unofficial tour guide. He gathers information from his fellow travel-loving friends and starts planning the itinerary before we leave from home. This time round, because I was also away from work, I managed to lend a helping hand to this task. He booked the hotel, purchased the train tickets, printed out maps and guidebooks, and even made us watch travel clips on YouTube.

My tasks, on the other hand, were to learn as many Japanese words/phrases I could and to be the unofficial banker. No, I was not the rich one but I was probably faster at recognizing the denominations. My KPI (Key Performance Index) items were:
a) to use up all the small change so that whatever large notes that remained would be accepted by the money-changer later on
b) to communicate with the locals (be it to ask for directions or to place orders for food).

What about my parents? After working so hard to raise both us up, I think they jolly well deserve to sit back and wait while my brother and I look for elevators, toilets, restaurants, trains, and the easiest routes for them to get from one point to another. =)

 Anyhow, it was with such cooperation that we were able to get back to Kyoto on Day 5.

On one of my brother's armchair-travel adventures, he stumbled across a place called Hozukyo. With the JR train pass we had purchased earlier, we decided to make a stop at the Hozukyo station. Personally, I would call it the Platform 9 3/4 of Japan. It was literally in the middle of nowhere. The station was outdoor and there was practically nothing except railway tracks, but the view from just outside the station was spectacular, similar to the scenes which welcomed us in New Zealand many years back.

The isolated and deserted Hozukyo station



The surrounding was very quiet and amazingly serene



Who would've guessed such beautiful turquoise water awaits us at Hozukyo? 

 

 

Our next stop proved to be one of my favourite spots in Japan: Arashiyama. Saga Arashiyama, as it is  known, is on the other side of Hozukyo station. Head over to this place should you need to get some inspiration. The short walk from the train station to the bamboo grove allows tourists to have a peek into the typical Japanese homes. The houses were very neat and their gardens were very well-maintained.

 



If you think life is complicated, look at this tree. I think the branches are much more complicated than my life. 

The houses are neatly built.

Even the back lanes are extremely neat.

 

If you have ever been to the bamboo groves in Arashiyama, I am pretty sure that you would want to return and experience the beauty of the surroundings at different times of the year. Unfortunately, the pictures were not able to capture the true beauty, so you will probably wonder what is so grand about the place. All I can say is this, "You've just gotta be there to experience it on your own." When the wind blows, the tall bamboo groves hit against each other and transform into a natural wind chime.

 

It will be really nice to see how these groves look like in other seasons.

 

 

 

Since Friday, 31st January 2015 was the first day of Chinese New Year, we decided to have our belated reunion lunch by splurging at a slightly more expensive restaurant. Coincidentally, we walked into a Chinese restaurant. As much as we enjoyed trying all sorts of Japanese food, I guess we must have started to miss Chinese cooking, after all.

 

Delicious meals from Kyoto Station

 

Before heading back to Osaka, we decided to take another detour to the most iconic spot in Inari. You may have seen lots of photos of this place. We were initially quite reluctant to go because we were rather tired after setting out so early. After all, we had seen enough temples and shrines, haven't we? Yet, it would have been such a waste if we had travelled this far and not made a trip there. Who knows if we would ever come by this way again?

 

So once more, we took the JR Nara line to Inari and got off right in front of Fushimi Inari. Though we had to walk a little further in before we could catch a glimpse of the thousands of red pillars, it was worth the short hike. We decided not to go too far because our exhausted parents were waiting for us at the entrance. It was a good thing we did not venture farther, too, for it apparently takes 2-3 hours to reach the summit of the mount and back.

 

The train station was right in front of the Fushimi Inari Shrine.

The entrance to the shrine

I am guessing that this is one of the guardians of the shrine. There is another similar sculpture on the other side.

Somehow, the scene looks more realistic and photogenic with kimono-clad girls.

 

 

Sure, there were a few other places in Kyoto which we had wanted to go but time did not permit. For instance, I wanted to make another trip to the tiny souvenir shops along the way to Kiyomuzu Dera, and my brother wanted to have a taste of Gion Street. After reading Memoirs of a Geisha, I would also want to see if today's geisha really looked like this ...

 

 

 

That night, we finally got to taste takoyaki (grilled octopus balls) from one of the roadside stalls. Every tour guide recommended this dish, so we bought some for ourselves. In case you are wondering how it looks like, here goes:

 

Takoyaki (grilled octopus balls)

 

That was the end of Day 5. It was also our very last night in Osaka, Japan. Unknowingly, we had gradually become very attached to and familiar with our surroundings and would miss this place terribly when we take the flight home the next day.