Letter to JMC

Hola mi quierido JM!

I haven’t written a letter to you in such a long time, and I figure that now is the perfect opportunity to write to you, given the 30-letter challenge and the fact that your birthday and mine just passed, marking 3 years since we got together in Mannheim!

Thinking back on the past three years (wow! 3 whole years, that’s almost or maybe more than 1000 days!), I guess we can say we’ve been through quite a lot together. From meeting you as my housemate in Germany as we both were on exchange in Uni Mannheim, to complaining to F about your and Fer cooking too much chicken and how the entire apartment would fill up with the aroma of chicken, perfect if you’re having dinner but not so if you’re in pyjamas ready to hit the bed! I remember the first time F told me that there were 2 Argentines in our VG, I wondered to myself what on earth Argentines look like. (Sorry I had no idea then, I just knew Argentina was very very far away).

Then I remember bumping into you in the kitchen when you would be preparing some breakfast of cereal and milk (or maybe something else with orange juice, or dulce de leche) and we would just chat, not too long, maybe just 5 minutes, but it always felt like we connected in a way. The next memory I have of you is the queue for Oktoberfest tickets, and how I arrived with Crystal, Jingying and some others at 6+am, to find you and Fer camped out right at the front of the queue. Someone even took a photo of you both sleeping on the ground in the cold winter morning. It was hilarious – and I thought to myself – “Gawd! these are my housemates!!” Honestly I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

Then one day in the kitchen – I can’t remember who started the conversation – but we started talking about travel plans, and I mentioned that I was headed to Barcelona the following week, and you said “So am I!” Turned out that we were both flying on the same airlines, just one day apart. The last day in Barcelona, we flew back on the same plane, and bumped into each other with our respective group of friends just outside a shopping mall. I also remember how you told me you were amazed I didnt know how to greet people with kisses, and how I would only hug instead of making the sound of a kiss in the air. These encounters seem a little silly but somehow they always remind me of Mannheim and how we first met.

We got together sometime between your birthday and mine, and while it was crazy, knowing that I would probably not see you after we both went back to our home countries when the semester ended, I somehow thought to myself that I had to give us a chance. So during that december month of 2007, we travelled, we went to Heidelberg, Dresden and Paris, and we grew much closer. I started realizing the person you were – your depth and your understanding of life that made you want to take chances for something that was worth it because you understood the shortness of life and how important it was to appreciate and grab opportunies presented to us.

The last few days of December (particularly prior to our New Years’ trip to Paris) were unbearably tough. As the ticking clock started sounding louder to the end of the year and to the close of exchange, I felt my heart breaking as I realized it might be very possible that I may not ever see you again. I went to Paris heavy hearted, while at the same time also feeling so lucky to be able to spend New Year’s with you, in the city whose name is synonymous with “romance”. We parted in that horrible bus station in Paris, and I was crying buckets, as you waved goodbye from outside the coach, hands in your ski jacket.

Arriving back in SG, I read your emails from different parts of Europe, and we would rush to schedule timings to skype, because it felt so empty without talking to each other. When you told me you thought it was worth it to try to continue with a long-distance relationship, I was so happy I almost cried. That April of 2008, I took my flight flight to South America, Argentina, where I would spend the next two months as a graudation trip. I enjoyed myself so much, with your family and friends, that when it was time to leave, I felt so upset, and wished I could stay for another 2 more months.

Back home, I started work with SCB when my IG program started. During the last 2 years since then, we both travelled to and fro Singapore and Buenos Aires, but finally decided at the end of last year that we should both stay in the same country, we agreed in the end I would go over.

This year, two years after the first April that I arrived in Buenos Aires, I took the Malaysian Airlines flight via KL, Cape Town and Johannesburg, and stepped foot here, where I’ve been for the last 7 months.

Thank you for your love, patience, understanding and care every single day, even on days that you are busy, and when things may not be going so well for you. Thank you for surprising me with a rose on the first day of Spring, for lying to me that you were going to do something else when you were actually preparing breakfast for me, and thank you for always thinking about how I would feel.

Te amo, y beso grande,
Tu Cuquito.

Her Exchange Adventure!

So happy and proud of Jinhua – one of my best friends in the world since i was a kid – who’s going to King’s College in London to do her law exchange! You’re going to have the best time of Uni life there I SWEAR!!

Love you babe!!! Enjoy enjoy enjoy!

Argentine: Defined?

There is, apparently, a definition for the word “Argentine”, which is mostly a joke invented by other countries in Latin America, and also mostly true. It goes like this – “An Argentine is an Italian who speaks Spanish and desires to be like the French.”

Doesn’t sound south-american at all. In fact this saying sounds as if it was trying to define a mix of European nationalities. But this is also where the truth lies – Argentina, one of the latin american countries with the highest percentage of its population being caucasian, since most of its people are descendents of Italians and Spanish. There are also descendents of Russian, Jewish and other races, but the majority can rightly be said to be from Italy (especially the South) and Spain. There had been a campaign organized by the people of Chile and Argentina to kill all the indigenous people in both countries many decades ago, with the objective of spreading the Spanish language and infiltrating the land with the new-found culture, resulting in a rapid diminishing of the indigenous culture and languages. Since then, Spanish has become the national language in Argentina, spoken by everyone, including the small remaining indigenous minority. In order to trade, work, get about your daily life, Spanish is essential.

Ok, now I have covered the part about Argentines speaking Spanish. Why are they called Italians then? Although the direct descendents of Italian immigrants do not make up the entire population, Argentines in general are extremely similar to Italians in terms of their gesticulations, and mannerisms of speech. They speak loudly, gesturing always with their hands, giving you little personal space, and are flambouyant in their speech. My argentine friend sometimes even makes the mistake, when he is overseas, of assuming that some Italians he sees from afar are Argentines, and the truth is only obvious to him when he hears them speak. Fine, the Italian description makes sense then.

What about the part of them wanting to be like the French? Remember that Buenos Aires is almost always referred to as the “Paris of South America”? This is mostly attributable to its very European architecture which define the city, constructed by or under the strong influence of many European designers and architects which came here to exchange ideas, learn and teach, especially because Buenos Aires was one of the cities most open to foreign culture. Don’t forget also that 100 years ago, Argentina was one of the richest countries in the world, because it exported alot of cattle, grain and other commodities to other countries. Up till 15-20 years ago, Argentina had always aspired to be like Europe, which just by nature of being important and one of the largest economies in the world, gave it an economic and cultural model to follow. It associated more with European culture than with South American culture, and hence, other latin american countries saw Argentina as snobbish and always trying to be out of its league. In a way, the general mentality of Argentines are that they are superior to the other South American countries, and like the French, who are synonymous with arrogance and self-assumed superiority, the Argentines behave likewise. Perhaps that is beginning to change.

Some one to two decades ago, the governement and the people in general realized that it would not do for them to constantly emmulate a culture and an economy that was not theirs. In comparison, Argentina would always be the underdog compared to an economy like Europe, and so, there started to be a shift in mindset and cultural mentality. Argentina started to realize that they wanted to pay more attention and give more value to the culture which was theirs, without the influence of any foreignors. They started focusing on things which were uniquely Argentine, like Tango, gauchos, and cumbia. It was also more recently in the 1990s when there started a widespread scale of teaching Spanish as a second language to foreignors in Argentina, and even more recently that more foreignors started discovering and realizing the beauty of both its cities and natural resources. But more than that, Argentines have been adjusting their emphasis to aligning more with South American cultures, and looking to other South American economies for guidance, such as that of Brazil and to a lesser extent, Chile.

I think the definition of an Argentine might be beginning to change, but it is still only in its infancy. There are many things which Argentines still proudly retain and hold tightly as their make-up and essence. But there are also some things which they are letting go.

And the French work 35-hour weeks?

After working for 30 hours straight without sleep, Juan arrived this afternoon, having been given the rest of the day off. First time he was back on a weekday for lunch; first time I could see him when the daylight was still shining. So despite a whole day of not seeing him, at least I can see him now : )

So he worked 30 hours in a day; and somewhere in the European continent called France, the people work only 35 hours per week? Tell me, where is the fairness of all this?

Volcanic surprise!

Europe never fails to surprise! It seems to have claimed centre stage since the Greek crisis emerged late last year, and the ECB and the Euro have been the highlights of news reports. Now, in another uprising, the Icelandic volcanic eruption that stranded so many passengers going to and fro Europe, has managed to leave the crowd on the edge of its seat, not sure what to expect next.

Just when we thought the euro was about to cut its losses from a potential loan package for Greece from the Eurozone, the ash had to cloud the optimism, and that plan had to be delayed. Airline companies are also estimated to lose US$200 million a day from all the delays and cancellations of flights. So many people have been stuck at airports; honey-mooners have had to delay their trips, and businessmen have to resort to buying vehicle passenger tickets on ferries in order to find an alternative to returning home.

Sometimes I wonder if the weather and the financial markets are in cahoots with each other, or just simply try to outdo the other in terms of throwing everyone by surprise. The Haitian earthquake, the chilean earthquake, the Goldman fraud saga, the volcanic ash, then what next?

I think reporters and journalists have it easy; newsmakers are everywhere, everyday.

Christmas is coming, and I want..

I want to travel.
I want to see Europe again, free of worries, smelling the sweet fresh air of hope, promise, joy.
I want to walk on the streets of Barcelona, waltz down LasRamblas as I take in all the sights, the tourists just like me, and hop from tapas bar to shot bar to crazy club.
I want to stay in the large carefree apartments with the beautiful tiles from the past.
I want to walk in the cobbled streets that lead into alleys full of quirky shops.

I want to feel the sun beating down on my Venetian straw hat, as I pose for the photo by the rivers that make Venice so beautiful.
I want the colors of Cinque Terre imprinted always in my memories.
I want to lie on the stony beach, shades on with the breeze in my face, barefoot in the sand.
I want to sit facing the view of the sea, which takes my breath away, as I smell the sweetness of the seafood pasta blowing in my face.
I want to walk in just the two-piece, salt in my hair, camera in hand, with eyes crinkling and spilling with joy.

I want to walk in the Asian supermarket and smell the familiar mixes of soya sauces, onions and garlic, in the dimly-lit corner shop.
I want to be queuing at the Durum Doner shop at 3 am after clubbing at Zapattos, stomach growling in anticipation of the yummy treat ahead.
I want to skip into Lidel with a shopping cart empty and come out laden with shopping bags.
I want to amble around the Weinachtmarkts and beathe in the heavenly gluhwein, cheeks cold from the winter air, dreaming of Christmas.

I want to look at things in wonder, amazement, new and fresh in my mind.
I want to hear a different language, peek at the laughter in their eyes, the life and passion in their steps as they skip and sit on the grass, full of the sun’s shining rays.
I want to feel the autonomy and independence and security.
Yet I also want my family to feel this lightness, this flight of peace.

We’re so fortunate to be able to travel the world, where each country sings of love and romance and brilliant happiness.
The light in her eyes captured in an instant, because she found love, and a passion unleashed.
I have friends all around the world, gone to pursue their dreams, their loves, a life different from that which they were born into.
Finally one of them is coming back, and I can’t believe how fast the year has passed.

Life’s little surprises

I often remember Mannheim days with extreme fondness, with plenty of love and happy thoughts. One day I remember especially well is the day Faye brought back a cake and I saw her walking home with it, with me sitting on the number 60 bus. Somehow I knew the cake was for me. I remember being so happy when she really did surprise me in the room with it!! And to my greater surprise, she told me that Shawn my wonderful cousin had actually contacted her via facebook to coordinate the surprise for me!

I remember skyping with Shawn as I ate the bday cake, very very happy that he had actually bothered to do all that. I can still remember the exact cake, it was chocolate coated and there was a banana on the top. I loved it.

I also remember how on the eve of my birthday I was skyping with Shawn before the dinner Faye had booked me for, and she was telling me that it was just the two of us but that I should dress up cos it was my birthday. Then when I arrived at the restaurant, I got a huge shock when I saw 20+ guests gathered at the Istanbul restaurant all beaming at me! And then later at night where half the party adjourned at my hostel to celebrate and party even more.

I think it doesn’t take a lot to make me happy, just some simple gesture and kind words and I treasure the friendship/ thought for life. Faye did the same for me last year when she brought a bouquet of flowers for me for my bday, taking me completely by surprise.

I think life is beautiful, when you are surrounded by friends and family who care and share so much.

I still remember the first day in Mannheim, our first lunch as we walked through the Turkish quarters, eating at DBO doner, as we bought a sim card for communication in Mannheim. I remember drinking in the sights and sounds of the city, smelling the freshness of summer’s end ushering in autumn’s majestic entrance, the sunshine spilling though Crystal and Jengyin’s sky windows in Hafenstrasse, and their kind offers of biscuits and chocolate.

I have a sudden longing to return and see Mannheim again, to walk next to the Schloss and its large white-framed Baroque windows. To tread down the cobbled streets along the Hauptbahnhoft, and dance in Zapattos. I want to sit down behind Hafenstrasse on the grass, in the heat of summer, lying on nothing but a mat and eating butter pretzels, drinking beer and listening to music blasting from Aaron’s laptop. Watching him cook the weisswurst in the hot water and giving us an introductory course on slicing the German sausages.

I want to return to Mannheim, and replay all the memories, so many made, and especially those with you.

Life’s little surprises, are so beautiful.

Mannheim was one of them.

The European continental story.

As often as the mind wanders to a time past and memories cased in silver, the heart stumbles upon the road winding into the garden of life, love and beauty. The frosty winter night, waiting for the tram to bring them home; the lights twinkling in the chilly dark, the jingling of the bells announcing the arrival of Christmas, they hold the keys to her heart. Gluhwein in the sunny afternoon, next to the church on the street bursting with life; the river enshrouded in the season’s mist, the cobbled streets, strong and sturdy under their feet.

So many events, so many friends, through chance encounters or similar timetables, sitting on the bus ride home, chatting, bonding, breaking the ice between the massive differences in cultures. The route to school was always new, each day bore forth a separate adventure, a different path, a unique encounter. It was the summer’s end which began the story, the scorching sun on the grand schloss’ windows. The first glimpse of Mannheim, the flowers singing in their pretty blooming heads, it was hope, and a journey whose twists were anticipated, and savored.

Bags packed and doors opened, train tickets and the travelers sauntered, into the voyage they dreamed up of; through nights and days of endless planning. Finally, the earth seemed ready, for their exploration and eager souls. The sculptures, the great stone structures, next to carefree artists; yet again spilling their love of art from the magnificent sunset onto canvas. The ancient bridge, sturdy as a rock; and there they sat, glued, to the glory of nature’s masterpiece. Rivers and canals and squares and quaint shops, they dotted the self-explored map of their adventures. The mountains and landscapes unraveled the lost history from where Mozart was birthed. It was a stunning beginning; a blindingly magnetic draw, to continue in the continent which separated two ends of the earth.

Settling down in a town now home, for months to come; the classes began, a system different yet strangely familiar. It was their first time away from home so long, so brilliant and beaming with dreams and experience. You take some time to adjust they always say, but once you have, and have found their little nook and cranny in the mould of your heart, you feel less homesick and more alive. That summer ended; and autumn took its place on stage, a gorgeous rehearsal of auburn reds and rose-burn shades. Leaves which lined the pathways and cascaded in the smooth cool breeze, landed on the ground, tracing the doorways of their hearts. Friendships blossomed and reciprocated acts of kindness brought forth the surge of confidence to do what they would never have done before. A walk by the sea in Lisbon, city of seven hills, and trudging in the sunshine. It was time of indulgence and feeling the vibes of wherever they were.

It was the winter, however, whose early chill and soon-settled nights made them more aware of life and love, of desires and longing, of a need to be met. Sitting at the stairwell, the night of the party itself, fears dissolved and will suddenly so strong, it took just that moment, after endless persuasion, to make one crucial decision. Just days before a temporary separation, that not known then, but it was a decision to stake it all and feel, the need to love and chance, to try and dare without looking back. Fighting back all tears and fears, it was in another city, where having been etched in their hearts as the seabed of their bittersweet memories, where an exchange of pieces of their different lives was made.

A jigsaw puzzle pieced carefully together, a beautiful picture, stunning and finally completed.

Gold trimmings on the leather bound book

Bits and pieces of me all around the world; residing where my close friends and loved ones are. The world feels so much smaller now than when I was little, maybe because I desperately wish it would be. All around the globe I have people to whom bits of my heart have been given to, a gift for them to keep and take care.

Sometimes I sit at the bus-stop thinking back on times past, of memories gold, and friends of old, who I love so much. Somehow the friends who you unexpectedly find like a treasured book in a second hand book store turn up at the doorstep of your life one day and by some random order, you establish a bond with them. A bond which you would never have made with the next-door neighbour, the classmate who you see everyday, or even family. And somehow, the similarly random order throws by some odd nature of life, chances for these jems to soar the world and achieve their dreams and aspirations, in work, in life, in love. And just a quickly as the precious encounter that allowed that friendship to develop and bloom chanced upon you, an equally unexpected turn of events leaves you finding that the people you love so much are suddenly so far away.

Yet it gladdens my heart very much, to find that despite the distance and physical separation, these friendships and relationships remain, still shining regardless of time and different lives. Sometimes our workloads and busy schedules keep us from writing and skyping as much as we would like to, but each time we talk, I know that friendships dear to me matter as much to them as well. Auburn leaves started a bond that began in autumn, the season whose colours always remind me of friendship and being found. Christmas markets and the walk in the winter’s cold make me smile wistfully, at advice given and taken, and a genuine listening ear. Sitting at the desk learning another language from scratch and using hand gestures to get my point across, yes that was a chance to understand and be understood, teacher and student to friends. Dinner after work on an impromtu desire to meet up, sales sourcing for favourite brands, and make up lessons, they remind me of so many wonderful moments. Dancing across a frozen lake, chasing in the wind, hearing the children laugh and play, that reminds me of you.

The most beautiful thing about these, arent that they make great memories, but that on top of being so, they are still very much alive and remain, shining and true, like gold trimmings on the leather bound book.

In a blink of an eye

No longer unaccustomed to the hasty turning of time, not any more distressed with the furious ferocity with which the minutes become hours that evolve into days and eventually months. I stumbled upon the realization that it was already October, the start to yet another amazing finish of a certainly wonderful year.

Reviewing the yellowed pages of my journal, the scribbles upon which details, events and emotions were set, I surprised myself by the peace and serenity with which I accepted that while time definitely flew by again, this year it was different. Since Germany in fact. Right in the beginning of this fresh new year, one bursting with promises of brilliant discoveries and bursts of spring joy, I made myself the promise to live life grasping each second and experiencing it, determined to stop letting the years slip by untouched, leaving me without first being able to absorb its essence.

I spent alot of time rebuilding relationships, listening to people as they listened to me; appreciating the beauty of persons put miraculously in my life, allowing the journey to be as important, if not more weighty than the outcome. I know my learning style is dictated by experiencial learning; and nothing makes me more convicted than having been through a circumstance, and enjoying the route no matter where the final destination leads to.

This time last year, my Grandfather was dreadfully ill, so sick that it scared me to my core as I had never seen him weak, nor so heavily reliant on others for even basic hygiene needs. Only being able to hear his voice, weakend by medicine and the pain, on the other end of a terrible telephone connection was heart wrenching. I remember being on the way to Hamburg just before his brain surgery, ashen-faced and trembling hands, telling him I loved him through the telephone, a first. Over the course of the next two weeks, I spend a large amount of my time sitting at my laptop, using VOIP to communicate with my family, and making sure i was kept updated about his latest condition. God was good, and still is good; He made possible what seemed so hard to believe; He made me be filled with faith and gratitude again. My grandfather recovered and within a month of having 2 major operations in a short span of a mere 11 days, he was up and walking by himself again, when just before his surgeries he was not even able to hold a proper conversation for more than 15 seconds.

This sudden change of events left me relieved; but so much more aware of the fragility of life, and my one deep desire– not to ever take anything for granted as I didn’t want any more regrets. Life was too short I knew. I didnt want to reach a place I thought I should be comfortable and happy with, only to find that the years that had elasped in between were just an empty vacumn devoid of molecules of emotion, joy and great memories of life and its impacts.

I started off 2008 so estatic and yet incredibly sad all at once. I was freshly in love; brimming with happiness, yet devastated at the fact that I might possibly never see him again. Yet it was a choice I had taken in November, and no amount of sadness at separation could have changed my mind; I knew I would repeat everything in a heartbeat. It was a side of me that I had never seen before; and I surprised myself, more than I surprised others. It felt like a huge gasp of fresh oxygen in a much polluted environment, and since then, I’ve been high on this
hunger to reach for this cosntant high of experiencing.

Coming back to home, I let that be my mantra; I stopped being so in need of fulfilling other peoples’ expectations of me; I let myself decide and because of that, realised I enjoyed life so much more, and that people around also ended up enjoying being around me more. I did cry alot over issues dear to my heart, but I also laughed alot, let loose so much more, and felt the vibe of this phenomenon called Life. I learned to separate peer pressure from my personal desires and aspirations; to prioritize the assets in my life in order of importance ( and not in any way did that come in terms of monetary values), and then to give these things which were and still are significant to me the attention and love they deserved.

I picked up alot more lessons of life along the way, from passersby who happened to be at the right place at the right time, from friends whose rubies of wisdom never fail to amaze me, and from family and the love of my life. My openness to experience and understand instead of judge and scorn allowed me greater understanding of life and its beautifully woven intricacies. It’s October, yes; 10 months have passed, yes; but I finally feel the power of Oprah’s phrase:

” Life is NOT a spectator sport.”

Live it. Breathe it. Love it.