SAPIMALAS

Bali: Now

2012-01-19T04:20:00.000-08:00

"In Bali, everything is about “fun”. People has all the access for that easily. If Alcohol is not satisfying enough, you can combine it with weed, or move to drugs, or just run into sex, or all of them. “Get wasted” they say. Sooner or later you would be dragged to see things they way those people do ” see man or woman as simply a potential sex buddy” instead of trying to see who they really are.

In another part of the island, some people come to find “answers”. They practice meditation, they do yoga, they eat expensive healthy food, they go to ashram to find some Gurus to tell them what they actually already have inside.

After 6 years, i still find it so difficult to find something that is real in Bali. Left alone to find real people. The local seems to keep losing their true identity, and the comer finds it as heaven to just exploit and destroy the nature of the island."

Those are excerpts I borrowed from a friend's blog, the talented Sita Teofani. She has lived in Bali for a few year and now tell the tale about her love/hate relationship with this cosmopolitan island. Her words mirrors my sentiment on what Bali has become. Sex. Drugs. Alcohol. Endless parties. Exploitation. Traffic. Over-population. The island, if She could talk, will surely grumble on the weight She has to carry.

I'm afraid for Bali. I'm afraid for this tiny island that everybody wants to own and pillage. I'm afraid what will we become in the next decade.

Will we persist? Will we be strong enough to absorb and re-create the best of current condition? Will we have a strong, wise and smart leader who think more than just his governing period and what he could benefit from it? Will we, as Balinese, able to unite and intelligently have our voices heard? Will we be able to criticize what needs to be criticized, focus on what's important and able to see beyond our limitation?

Ubud Writers and Readers Festival 2011 picked a wise quotation from a wise Balinese priest, Ida Pedanda Made Sidemen: "...idep beline mangkin makinkin mayasa lacur, tong ngelah karang sawah, karang awake tandurin..."

"...my intention now, pursuing the life of simplicity, (since) I don't have any ricefield, I (shall) cultivate the land within myself"

It is time, isn't it my fellow Balinese?

"Already am, always was, and I still have time to be"

2012-01-06T23:15:00.000-08:00

2011 was an exciting year. A nuclear plantation leaked, few dictators were either couped or dead and economy went ballistic but for me 2011 was a year of wonder, travel, excitement, too much weddings and luckily only a few funeral.

Travel check list: Perth & Fremantle, Penang, Singapore, Vietnam (Saigon, Hue and Hoi An)

Notable performances: The Best of Andrew Lloyd Webber Musical Show at Burswood, WA; Zee Avi concert at Hu'u, Bali; ASEAN - Russian Symphony Orchestra of Young Musician at Bali Theater; Amiina performs live soundtrack to Lotte Reiniger's shadow puppet animation at National Museum of Singapore

Rather special museum experience: "van Gogh Alive" at Art Science Museum Singapore. Picture yourself walking or sitting with a moving blown up high resolution image of van Gogh masterpieces while Debussy was being played as the background music; a tour inside The Blue Mansion, Penang

Well, being: 30 days challenge hot yoga class successfully done and I now managed to do the boat pulling pose for 30 seconds straight.

Family milestone: two cousins got married (which means this year the spotlight will be directed to yours truly, ahem) and one of my best friend also said 'I do' in the most spectacular fashion: 3 days Indian wedding feast

Notable films: Micmacs (French), Heartbreaker (French), The Cove (USA), An Education (UK), 40 Years of Silence (USA), Midnight in Paris (USA), Hiphopdiningrat (Indonesian), Star Trek (USA), Dogma (USA), Jane Eyre (U.K), Easy A (USA), All About My Mother (Spain)

Notable books: Holy Cow (Sarah Macdonald), Cafe Scheherazade (Arnold Zable), Smile When You’re Lying: Confession of A Rogue Traveler (Chuck Thompson), The Best of Everything (Rona Jaffe), The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver), American Gods (Neil Gaiman), One Day (Mike Nicholls), The Book Thief (Markus Suzak), Beauty and Sadness (Yasunari Kawabata), A Storm of Swords (George R.R. Martin), How I Live Now (Meg Rosoff), Babette’s Feast (Isak Dinesen), White Rose, Red Rose (Eileen Chang)

Favorite new found activities: hot yoga, monthly book swap, morning yoga by the sea, self taught myself SEO optimization, letting my inner Nigella loose in the kitchen, ikebana, Sanur Film Nights screening on a bamboo house, bush walking, vineyard tour, ANZAC Day dawn ceremony, tie dye making

Notable food/drink: Asam Laksa at Guerney Hawker Center, Penang; Beef Pho at a random eatery on Saigon; Vietnamese Fresh Spring Roll (so much so I now able to roll it myself); Nasi Kandar and Banana Leaf Indian food at Penang; BOH Teh Tarik (less sweet); Old Town Cafe Ice Black Coffee; Lie Yen’s Salty Chicken and Pork at Jakarta

Notable series: Downton Abbey, Hot in Cleveland, The Game of Thrones, The Walking Dead, Modern Family

Decadent experience of the year: one night stay at Marina Bay Sands, Singapore

I hope 2012 will grant me more experiences, things to explore and learn, places to go and interesting people to meet. May 2012 will keep my beloved close, healthy and safe despite the dire Mayan prediction. Most of all I hope 2012 will be a year for me to grow.

“…What made the beauty of the moon? / And the beauty of the sea? / Did that beauty make you? / Did that beauty make me? / Will that make me something? / Will I be something? / Am I something?

And the answer comes: Already am, always was, and I still have time to be.”

(poem "Here I Am" by Anis Mojgani)

Hoi An Love Affair

2011-12-05T05:29:00.000-08:00

My 7 days trip to Vietnam was unevenly split. One night in Saigon, one night in Hue and four nights in Hoi An. I’m glad I made that decision. Four nights allows me to really going around the UNESCO Heritage List old town, riding a bike everywhere and admiring the beautifully restored shop houses. After five hours jolty drive from Danang with bus, Hoi An was really what we need. The sun just set and the paper lanterns were lit up all over the town. Tourists were out for dinner and I felt immediately at home.

French travelers were everywhere along with backpackers, all drawn to the serenity and relaxing vibe Hoi An offers. It’s not difficult to imagine what the town was like 200 years ago. There was no trance thumping bars, happy ending massage parlour, Seven Eleven or all those tourist trap that could be found in major South East Asian cities. My four days there was like a whirl wind of romance. I have fallen in love with her on the first night. I could write a lenghty essay on her gracefulness and charm but pictures might be the best way to tell her story, ‘the town for walkers and primitive vehicle users’.

Ten Things to do in Hoi An:

1. Rent a bicycle and get lost.

2 . Go to the An Bang beach and chill with the locals.

3. Fine affordable dining. Try Cargo.

4. Find the Satay Lady under the Gazebo. Roll your own satay spring roll.

5. Make a dress or a suit.

6. Shop in the market. Bring home the best fish sauce in the world.

7. Learn to cook. Try Morning Glory.

8. Do me a favor and stay in Haan Hotel

9. Eat seafood by the river when the sun goes down.

10. Make a lantern. Lifestart Foundation Tour & Craft Lessons.

Tomb Strolling in Hue

2011-11-02T07:34:00.000-07:00

Hue is our next destination. The old capital of Vietnam kingdom, chosen hundred of years ago because of its strategic location right in the middle of dragonish geography of Vietnam. After a serious delay courtesy of Jetstar, we landed on a small airport of Da Nang and continue our journey to Hue by car. Flying is just not as fun as driving through the land especially if it was as scenic as the trip we took. Our driver, a silent Driving Miss Daisy type, was not much of a company but he was being complimented by his sister side kick, a bubbly Vietnamese girl whose name just lost me completely. She talked and asked me so many questions along the three hours trip including ‘why you no marry’ to ‘how rich are you’. Even coming from a country where curiosity toward stranger was the norm, I still found it rather winchingly uncomfortable. Nobody ever asked me ‘how rich are you’ back home. Along the up and down hilly ride, I saw many small shrines by the road which apparently to honor people who died on the road which was not such a great surprise considering how they drive their bike there. The big question is: if they build a shrine every time somebody dies, will there come a day when the hill would just turn to be a big hill of road kill shrines?

Arriving in Hue at night, starving and dusty, we were welcomed by the owner of the Huenino hostel we stayed in that night. Wait, did I say hostel? It was better than hotel. Try to name one hotel where you were welcomed with cold towel, orange juice, hot soup and a cake upon your arrival and enter a spotlessly clean room with fragrant sheet. That night I had a short but memorable meeting with a couchsurfer, a sweet and by far the best English speaker I’ve encountered, Ngan (spelled ‘Ngeng’). She told me about her life, her work, Vietnamese war and what she dreams about to be. I could see Vietnam in her. She’s growing to be a cultivated English speaker, eager to welcome change and development and more tourists and although scarred by the war and at times uncertain to step forward, will find its way to be big.

We joined a half day tour to visit some of the tombs scattered around Hue. I hate to join this kind of tour but considering the limited time we have, few stops to incense stick stall ormartial art performance had to be accepted. Tomb of Minh Mang and Tomb of Khai Dinh are two of the best examples. If you have a limited time, do visit those two because all of the tombs are similar. Although they are called tombs no actually bodies of past emperors were buried there. The compound has lakes and leafy gardens to sit down and enjoy the view (which was clearly out of the questions for me at that time since the tour leader already waving his flag around). The renovation was partially done so it was nice to see the actual form before the flashy paint job covered it all.

Tomb of Khai Dinh was in fact quite recently made and therefore more “Europeanized” than the others. It was located on the top of a hill so it was quite a hike to go up. The Emperor was guarded in his after life by stone knights, ministers and general. The white stone used in the facade has grown black over time and serious restoration is needed but it retains some of the charm.

Before leaving for Hoi An, we managed to try the local cuisine. We tried bánh bēo, a canape of sticky rice, shredded shrimp and crunchy pork skin, eaten with a drop of fish sauce. A special mention need to be made for Vietnamese fish sauce. It was good, so good in fact, that I have adapted the Vietnamese habit of adding fish sauce in anything that I ate during my stay. I loved it so much I even took a bottle of home along with the instant pho, soy sauce and dry spring roll skin.

Rediscovering Saigon

2011-10-27T00:01:00.000-07:00

Call me patronizing or ignorant but I didn’t have any notion or high expectation about Vietnam. All I know of the South East Asian country was what American made it to be in films, books and Miss Saigon. Only later I found out that the Vietnam War was called the American War by the Vietnamese or ‘Vietnamee’, as they called themselves in English. The Tour of Duty was consisted of four cities, recommended by friends: Ho Chi Minh – Da Nang – Hue – Hoi An (in that order). We sleepily landed at night, Mum tailing me. Tan Son Nhat Airport was better than expected, better than our lousy “international airport” in Jakarta. It was Saturday night when we landed and have motorcycles honked us all the way to our check-in. We were supposed to stay in Saigon Mini Hotel, reviewed to be a quiet place, far from the madding crowd. For reason I can’t understand until today, we’re being moved to another hotel, which is next to the Saigon Mini other branch. This one is located exactly on the tourist street: Pham Ngu Lao.

The whole street reminds me of Bangkok’s Khao San Road with more motorcycles and incessant honking. The sellers are rather quiet and not as pushy as the one I encountered in Kuta. Bars, beers, backpackers from all ages and destinations meet and mingle there. Soon, we were in a serious mission of finding the best phở, which was found few blocks away. The portion was generous, the smell divine and the beef broth was so tasty we gulped them down like water. The incessant street noise lullabied us to sleep, much to our surprise. It must be the phở doing its magic.

Ho Chi Minh or romantically, Saigon, reminds me of Paris. An uglier step sister but created by similar DNA marks. Wide avenue, green small parks, “Notre Dame” Cathedral, even French names on some of the streets and especially the baguette sandwich or re-baptized as bánh mì. I love how the old buildings are still actively in used. The beautifully preserved post office with art deco tiles is definitey my favorite building. I rather wish I have longer time to explore the city and try all the food. Alas, Hue and Hoi An awaits.

Tips #1 bring dollars, big and small note. Hotel gave high exchange rate if you pay in dong.

Tips #2 try to take well marked and good reputation taxi such as Vinasun or Mai Linh.

Tips #3 if you ever find yourself stranded in Tan Son Nhat with few hours to kill, go to the Parkson mall across the airport for better shops and better price eateries. You can even watch a movie in the cinema there.

This Weekend Will Be..

2011-10-03T00:30:00.000-07:00

funfuckintastic.

Pardon the f-word. Can't help it. October has always been my 'do-not-disturb-me' month since 2007. Ubud Writers and Festival is the sole reason. This lit groupie has been going around the island in a rampant buying trip to get as many books as possible and have them signed later. I will be in Ubud on Saturday and Sunday, attending as many session as possible and jotting down the smart lines those authors throwing to the audience.

I'm especially super excited to meet and hear from these authors:

Trinity 'The Naked Traveler' (whose blog I've been reading for few years about her adventures or misadventures as the rare breed of Indonesian backpackers. Her writing has always been fun, inspiring, enjoyable and self-deprecating)

Agustinus Wibowo (another breed of Indonesian travel writer/photographer who has a deep love and interest in Middle East countries)

Junot Diaz (I've only read one book of his but it's enough to made me in love with his work)

Alberto Manguel (the Father of All Bookish People and Thing. I hope they will sell his books because it's been almost impossible to find those).

Andrea Hirata (the Indonesian literary wunderkind who one day just started to write and writing is what he has been doing since then. A musical show based on his book just recently performed in Singapore).

and the others.... talented writers, poets, musician, artists who comes from the farthest corner of this globe and made it to Bali. I will see you all later.

How to Be a Good Tourist in Bali

2011-09-02T23:23:00.000-07:00

Dear fellow Indonesian,

First of all, please don’t take this open letter too seriously. Treat it as a loving, concerned letter your wise Tante Dewi might sent you after she heard how you misbehaved in your vacation. Have you ever heard of a complain made by your friend who just came back from Bali with his family: “Oh the Balinese are awful! They ignored us completely when we ordered and served the bules first even when we obviously arrived earlier”. I can’t deny it happened before and it will happen again. You can blame the post-colonial mentality or you can ask that friend of yours this question: “what did you do to get such treatment?”

You see, born and bred in this small island, I’ve seen you, my dearest fellow Indonesian, here annually, repeatedly. My brother even joked that there are 3 kinds of citizenship in Bali during high season: WNI, WNA and W.N.L (based on your car plates get it?). It seems like some sort of a national reflex in which Bali will be the answer whenever someone asked ‘where should we go for the next holiday’. I totally understand the urge of not thinking during holiday. Aren’t we all just love to not thinking of where to go next, how to get there or where to stay? No research needed. Just pack, bring your Nintendo gaming kids and voila, you’ve arrived in Bali. It just can’t be easier than that... except there are thousands more who thinks like you. Hence, the shocking, horrible, congested traffic from airport to Legian, where you’ve booked your hotel. Even locals and expats alike, are either hiding or fleeing the island whenever this happens.

The first best advice I could give you, one comerade to the other, is this: do not come here during high season or God forbid, peak season. You’ll have to pay extra for the flight and the hotel. You’ll have to queue in every porkish restaurants you’ve planned to eat and trust me, licking your pork ribs while being surrounded by impatient pork vultures who wish they’re beside you sitting and licking, is one of the most unpleasant eating experience you could have in your life, as experienced by yours truly recently.

Second advice: go outside Kuta for real Bali experience. Yes, yes, I understand it is very hard to come to Bali and not posing in front of Hard Rock Hotel. It’s unimaginable. It’s like going to Paris and not see the Eiffel Tower, or some sort. Kindly know that Kuta is not Bali. It’s a No Man’s Land of drunk Australian hipsters who barely legal to consume alcohol or first time backpackers who didn’t know any better. There’s way more of Bali than that. Hire a driver and stay far away from the crowd, that’s where the real Bali is. Go north, south or east. Hike, bike, swim and walk. Shut down your BlackBerry for a while and stop updating your Facebook status. Take the iPad away from your kids. Be a family. Chances are you’ll meet some of the nicest locals you will ever meet in you travel.

We know now that you’re a good tipper, easy spender and your wives shops for the whole neighborhood. Yes, we learned our lesson not to just counting on the Australians since that awful thing happened on 2002. We learned to bend our rules and put up with ten people staying in just one room. But really, it is so easy to earn our respect (you don’t even need to raise your voice and waving your platinum card). We couldn’t care less how much money you have back home, that’s not how we judge you. When you’re in a crowded restaurant, please wait to be seated, lower your intonation and volume then wait patiently. We’ll come. A nice, simple gesture like calling the waiter ‘bli’ or the waitress ‘mbok’ will get our attention. We tend to serve you even faster if you managed to not wearing the barong or bintang shirt. FYI, no self respected Balinese will wear those outside their home.

Bali is shrinking. There are more villas and less rice field. God knows what will happen in a decade. We might be known as The Island of Villas instead of temples. One thing for sure, you should know that as Balinese we have a high pride. We can put up with anything: Dutch, terrorists, Bakrie. We’re being called ‘noble savages’ all those years ago, not for nothing. We can smile our widest smile to you and ignore you completely if you’re being rude at us. One thing we can’t put up is when you’re being disrespectful because we do take it personally. After all, being on holiday doesn’t necessarily means we also let our manners on vacation either, aren’t we?

Sincerely yours,

SapiMalas

p.s: This is my personal observation. All the characters and places mentioned are real. However any resemblance to actual person is purely intentional (you know who you are, you rude bastard who cuts line at my queue and staring at me while I nibble on my pork ribs).

Don Draper is Coming Back on 2012

2011-07-28T23:37:00.000-07:00

All of you Mad Men fans, let's lit up our herbal ciggies and drink our whiskeys for hear and behold: Mad Men will be back! After a nerve wrecking limbo, we will soon get to see Don embarking on his second marriage with the tall, tanned and lovely Megan. Well, we still have another six or so months to actually see all of them back on screen but as long as they're back, no complain from me.

Meanwhile, perhaps we can all enjoy playing dress up with these classic cut and Mad Men inspired collection from Banana Republic and the talented Mad Men's stylish Janie Bryant.

Hunting Books in Bali Part II

2011-06-30T00:51:00.000-07:00

Two years after Hunting Books in Bali Part I, I finally able to sit down and write a decent entry. Ubud as the art, culture and spiritual center of Bali has the best selection of books in the whole island. Travelers actually go there to read and contemplate, in between their busy schedule of meditation, yoga and aura reading classes. The annual Ubud Writers and Readers Festival also help to spark the literature virus to the small town. In no particular order, here they are.

Pondok Pekak Library and Learning Center

Aside from being the best library in Bali, where you can borrow books with all sort of genre during your stay in Bali, Pondok Pekak also offers art classes like Balinese dance, carving, painting and music. They have a very comprehensive collection for Indonesian interest. There’s also a special section books for sale with a very good price. I found some real treasure there (Frida Kahlo’s biography and The Memory Keepers Daughter). Deposit is required.

Ganesha Bookshop

Definitely my favorite used book shop in the island. There are many others but you can always count Ganesha for some sophisticated and interesting literature selection. Ubud sure does invites well read travelers from all over the globe. Prices started from 50,000 – 100,000 IDR and you can trade back for half the price. They recently put on an AC inside and thoughtfully provide wooden stool for a comfortable book browsing. There is also another Ganesha in Petitenget, housed inside Biku (tea house and a bookshop!) with comfy leather chair and romantic reading light.

Singabore No More

2011-06-16T23:18:00.000-07:00

I was seriously considering the title “Singapore’s Hotel Adventures” for this entry. I stayed at three different hotels (and one hostel) for four nights I was there. My luggage was creaking and wobbling by the time I reached my fourth hotel. Before my departure, I thought it would be an interesting material for a blog entry and indeed, it is.

The tiny ambitious country is one prime example of ‘what could have been’ when a determined government and citizens pour their energy to build and be the best of everything. South East Asian’s own Dubai, if you may. Broad and clean pavement where you can walk without being afraid of stepping on a hole, extraordinarily efficient public transport, impressive malls and shopping centers: everything the Indonesian wish their country could be. It is no surprise that Indonesian tourists are the main visitor of Singapore. It’s our playground to shop, transit, watch internationally acclaimed performances and lately, watching latest Hollywood movies banned in our country (long story deserved its own entry).

Five years has passed since my last visit and I feel it is time to check out Singabore, as how I fondly call her. Many have changed, of course. The new and much praised Terminal 3 at the most hospitable airport in the world, Changi. New builidings, new museums, new malls, new and projected MRT lines. It keeps on improving and amazed repeated visitors like me. Arriving at Changi was a luxury. Everything was so effortless and clear. Fifteen minutes from the moment you landed, you already can take your luggage and found your way out to the city.

I spent my first night in a hostel on Pinang St. Chosen because of its proximity to the hip Haji Lane, Kampong Glam, Bugis and Bras Basah. Aptly named The Superb Hub, the hostel only redeeming quality was the location. My private room was consisted of a locked window, a tiny bed and AC which I had to share with my neighbor since there’s not even a proper wall between us. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I could hear everything the guy next to me were doing (and vice versa). My “room” key was a lock and this is how I lock myself inside at night:

I spent my first day touring museums and Bras Basah complex, trying to score cheap books and serious culture. Singapore sure doesn’t disappoint. Five hours after I landed, I managed to watch an old animation film by Lotte Reiniger with live soundtrack from Icelandic band, Amiina; a contemporary art exhibition by talented South East Asian artists; and strolling through the chic Haji Lane. I slept with the original score of finger tapping on laptop, snoring, and late night check in complete with the owner’s explanation, barking dogs, drunken uncles and roaring scooter. Thank God for flu pills.

Second night was spent in a totally different way. If first day was yin, this time it was yang: Marina Bay Sands Hotel, the 24th floor. From no wall, I was flown into a bubble of luxury consisted of not one but two big screen TVs, my own vanity and walk in closet, Nespresso machine (!) and breath taking view of Singapore’s skyline. My brother joined me in this extravaganza and later, reluctantly to a special exhibition in the adjoining lotus like Art Science Museum. There were three amazing exhibitions at the same time going on: van Gogh Alive, Dali: Mind of a Genius and Shipwrecked: Tang Treasures and Monsoon Winds. As van Gogh’s die-hard fan, the installation blew me away. Picture yourself being surrounded by high definition projections of van Gogh’s irises, starry nights, wheat fields and sunflowers, while the music of Vivaldi and other impressionistic composer plays on. It was like being lost in Akira Kurosawa’s short film I watched many years ago. If you are a big fan of Vincent van Gogh, I urge you to come and see it for yourself.

Dali’s exhibition was also presented extraordinarily and I learned a lot of surrealism in one hour I was there than any other time in my life. For the lover of ceramic and Chinese wares, the Tang treasure would be amazing to see. I know nothing about ceramic but it was very well curated, preserved and restored. To think that those objects was shipwrecked and was buried under the sea for centuries was unthinkable. To think that it was founded in the Indonesia’s sea territory then now owned and displayed in Singapore, even more unthinkable. For the sake of the artifacts, I’m relieved. God knows what would happen to them if they are in the incapable hands of corrupted Indonesian authority. However there’s one side of me, the museum buff, who screamed ‘why’.

A serious bubble bath time, lounging at Singapore’s hijacked version of Bali’s KUDETA on the 57th floor, a deep undisturbed sleep and rush buffet breakfast later, we moved to the next accommodation Singapore was willing to offer and we could afford, an aging quiet hotel on Killiney Road, Orchard Grand Court. I had a love hate thing with Orchard Road. I love to shop there but I hate the fact that I barely can afford the things they sell. Luckily during my trip, Singapore is in the frenzy of the annual grandest sale. Needless to say, almost everybody I met on Orchard Road was Indonesian. You wouldn’t believe they’re from a poor developing country if you see the way they shop. That family with baby sitter queing in front of Gucci, yes definitely Indonesian. A bunch of well dressed and BlackBerry-ing young girls walking slowly. Yup, another Indonesian. In fact, Orchard Road is the shopping Mecca for Indonesian and thousand of them went there periodically for devout pilgrimage.

A special mention need to be make for the quiet and calmly tucked restaurants on Killiney Rd. Honestly, after my brief but memorable food trip to Penang, all the food I ate in Singapore was tasteless rubber. Then I found Killiney Kopitiam with their creation of buttery kaya toast and black coffee, which they’ve proudly have made since 1919. Few shops from there, I ate one of the best chicken rice I’ve ever eaten in my life. To think that such simple and no fuzz places have been operating there for years and so close to the touristy Orchard Road was just lovely. Indeed, most of their customers are locals and office workers.

Then to our fourth and last hotel, the 81 Dickson. There must be at least a hundred of 81 hotel chains all over Singapore, funded by ‘underworld money’ as our taxi driver cheekily said. Many are located in the infamous red district, Geylang. They’re as cheap as you can get in the inhospitably priced accommodation of Singapore. The room was small, clean and got all you need for just a sleep. The reason I chose this particular chain was its close distance to the infamous 24 hours shopping destination, Mustafa Center and Little India, which I’ve never been before. I’ve always been fascinated by Indian culture and Incredible India was my dream destination, so I was hoping Little India, a tiny world of India outside India, will cure me from the angst. And yes, I love Singapore’s Little India. The whiff of jasmine flower chains, fragrant basmati rice, and the crazy amount of musky incense smokes drifted out from each and every shop, the Bollywood songs and the colorful salwar kamiz and saris the women wears. I know it was nothing like India but such a sweet introduction it was. We ended the night by catching the last bus to Clarke Quay since my testosterone ridden brother was dying to see the “oo” in Hooters. Yes, it was a privilege to be able to walk anywhere, everywhere. In fact, walking in Singapore deserved to be recognized as its own destination.

Yet for some reason, line by Thoreau keeps popping in my mind: “City life. Millions of people being lonesome together”. I noticed the cold distance and lack of interaction amongst the people there. There was no spontaneity, gaiety, whatever you call it. Those small unimportant human contacts and meaningful encounters to magically color your day was absent. It was purely, strictly business. I would think twice about living there but I wouldn’t even think if somebody asks me to go there again. For now, Bali will do just fine.

Penang on My Mind

2011-06-13T22:32:00.000-07:00

If you have an expectation to read an in-depth article of Penang and its psyche, you can stop reading now. However if you are anything like me: food lover, Epicurean worshipper and old building admirer, do read on. To tell you the truth, I didn’t meet any locals and have a conversation with them about what it is like to live in historic food paradise. My encounter with the locals was so touristy and limited to shop keepers, concierge, waitress, tour guide and occasional locals on the street who gave us directions. I only had 3 days and 2 nights with more than a dozen dishes to try and old building to explore. I got no time for chit-chat.

Off we went, Miss K and I. Two similar minded culture vulture/foodie in our serious mission of eating our heart out in Georgetown. Two hours and a half later, we arrived in the tiny historic city, a living breathing, and fine example of post-colonialism study. There was a decaying Fort Cornwallis with rusty canons jutting out, British named streets like Lebuh Carnavon or Lebuh Macallum, a monument tribute for Queen Victoria. You know, the usual array of colonialism leftovers. Public transportation is quite well connected with free bus and shuttles inside the central Georgetown. We checked in our touristy well valued hotel, Cititel (mind you, location is very well situated and breakfast buffet does has its own appeal) then immediately took off so not to waste the rest of our time.

It’s so easy to walk around and get lost in Georgetown. Just make sure to keep dehydrated and use sunblock since the sun was quite unforgiving. I can keep on rambling about the beautiful harmony and the “Truly Asia” houses of faith: Goddess of Mercy temple, Kapitan Keling mosque, Maha Mariamman temple and St. George’s Cathedaral. All located close to each other plus the delightful and well presented Penang State Museum. However my favorite building as well as UNESCO’s was The Blue Mansion, Cheong Fatt Tze. If there’s one building I could gush about for hours, it would be this amazing private residence owned by an extremely rich merchant/minister/consul named Cheong Fatt Tze, Ph.D (Seriously. Read here for the complete biography). Part of its charm would be the guide, nay, Madame that took us through its past splendor. The tour lasted about an hour and was one of the funniest, most informative guided tours I’ve ever joined. The Madame joked, teased, explained and cajoled us with such a sweet charm about the mansion and what you could do with it (it’s a hotel and function hall), you wouldn’t mind the marketing. I learned so much about feng shui, Chinese architecture, the meaning of number 8 and the man behind the legend, the “Rockefeller of the East”.

Our first food was Nasi Kandar. A Moslem Indian delicacy consisted of fragrant biryani rice and assortment of meats, vegetable and soup rich in spices. Tasty, earthy and heavy: it’s perfect for lunch. Now, would it be terrible to say that we spent our nights not going around town but sitting prettily in dark theater watching movies? Because that’s precisely what happened. We were film tourists, desperate for culture and entertainment, being starved by crazy film taxation problem back home. Between Johnny Depp playing pirate and a Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s latest hilarious film, we sneaked out to eat in one of the most famous Penang’s hawker center: Gurney. The Asam Laksa was superb and worth a try.

Second day was spent in a half day tour booked through AirAsiaGo. It’s packed, well valued and gave us, two direction blind travelers in tight schedule, plenty of time to relax for the rest of the day. Tours included Penang Peranakan Mansion (another fine example of Chinese influenced mansion, similar to Cheong Fatt Tze), the majestic clan temple Khoo Kongsi and ehem, offers to visit chocolate gallery, pewter shop and batik shop. Special mention need to be made for es cendol at the back of the mansion, it was lip smacking delicious and worth a visit for its own sake. We refused the pewter and batik offer but curious about the chocolate gallery (which apparently an Asian version of Mr. Wonka’s factory if only he loved durian, mango and chilly chocolate). Take a stroll there if you’re a durian lover, since I’m sure you wouldn’t find chocolate with durian filling as good as that anywhere else.

We asked him to drop us in Chinatown. It is truth universally acknowledge that if there is a bunch of Chinese people together in one place, there will be good food. There between street stalls, plastic chairs and alumunium tables, we found the reason we came to Penang on the first place. Savory char kway teow, fried with crunchy pork fat, oyster and fresh shrimps. Hokkien Mie, a richly spiced seafood noodle with fish broth. Oyster omelette, perfectly beaten eggs with onions and juicy oysters, so soft it melts in your mouth. We didn’t talk in the next fifteen minutes, Miss K and I. We might have produced orgasmic grunts, since neighboring tables seemed to look at us weirdly.

To close our brief trip, later that night (after two films), we went to our last food center recommended by two person. Red Garden was the name. It sounds a bit whorish but we decided to give it a try. Upon entering the gate, we were welcomed by a young Chinese singer who wore bikini with a big ribbon on her butt (aha, hence the name). Old horny uncles drinking Heineken and slurping noodles was her audiences. I didn’t intend to make it sound so seedy, it was not that kind of place after all but never in million years I’d imagine myself eating while being entertained by a half naked girl, surrounded by horny uncles while there were kids running around. She was losing her voice by the time we nibbled our grilled stingray. When I swallowed my siu may and ha kaw, she was replaced by an older woman in tiger skin legging, short pants and see through tops, who half moaned her songs. I almost spurted my ha kaw from my nose when I heard it. It was that orgasmic. And folks, that’s how we wrapped our short visit.

I’d definitely be going back. I’ve dreamed of all those food ever since and trust me, once you tasted those collection of food in your mouth, there’s no going back. Penang has bewitched me with its old charm, intoxicated me with its historically rich flavor and aroma. She’s like an old hunchback Auntie who could snap a chicken’s neck and at the same time, made you a mean noodle soup in an old kitchen with gray walls and black stove. You can’t help but to miss it and asking for more noodle.

Penang on My Mind

2011-05-19T01:25:00.000-07:00

images borrowed from Lechua Photography

Old crumbling shop houses. Historic streets. Richly ornamented Peranakan culture. Fantastic street food which has 1,460,000 search results in Google. I’ll be in my element. Will be back shortly with full report and possibly wider hip.

The Perky Perth Adventure

2011-05-09T21:11:00.000-07:00

Everybody I know was in one way or another mocking me when I told them I’m going to Perth. There’s only nothingness in Perth was the general agreement. Boy, wouldn’t it be great to prove them wrong, thought I. Upon reaching the crappy and ironically inhospitable Ngurah Rai Airport check in counter, I stumbled on a notice board that says something like “we would not tolerate any inappropriate behavior toward our crew”. So I asked the chatty check in staff what’s that supposed to mean (I swear I’ve never encountered such a notice before in my travels) which then propelled me to a truly fascinating anecdotes about my soon-to-be-fellow in-flight passengers. “Oh we’ve had awful cases of drunken tourists throwing up during check in or drinking the whole stuff they bought in Duty Free and went totally crazy on board until we had to kick them out of the plane.” I asked B, my travel buddy: “Remind me, why we are going to Perth again?”

So off I went (gulp), on a three and a half hours economic flight, feet fortunately able to be sprawled due to half full airplane. Luckily it was a peaceful flight with no inappropriate drunken tourists. We were welcomed by a hard-core Slim Shady taxi driver with long red beard who produced gruffly sound. Definitely not the kind of a person you’d like to meet on 4AM in the morning although he turned out to be quite nice since he helped me with my luggage. After 20 minutes of deep pervaded silence in a cab, I jumped jubilantly into my friend, Miss C’s warm hug and home. There’s nothing sweeter than meeting a really good friend in a strange, new and exciting setting. I’ve known this girl since we played Barbie together on my terrace a century ago.

She introduced me to the ridiculous public transport ticketing. Ridiculous because it takes an awful lot of heavy, jiggling coins to buy a ticket. Imagine if you’re just about to be late and the train coming and you have to put the coins one by one into the slot with your shaky hands. Perth on 6AM was awfully quiet and chilly. The only thing that opened was McDonald’s and there’s no way I’m having my first breakfast there. We spent the morning watching at people going to work in all manner and fashion. Miss C had to work and so it was me and my travel buddy, B, exploring the “city”. You can already feel the Easter holiday in the air. Everybody was restless and counting the hours they had to labor until freedom (or otherwise will be known herewith as The Super Long Ridiculous Weekend or TSLRW for short).

Being a museum buff, Western Australia Museum was my first destination. It located serenely between an art school, art museum and public library. I would lie to you if I said it was a splendid museum. It wasn’t. Aside from the glassy eyed taxidermy native animals, I found it lack the interactivity to really grab attention. Starving and slightly weak in the knee, we went to a certain famous Vietnamese restaurant my friend insisted we must eat in Northbridge St. This Pan Asian- Australian culinary trip didn’t end there. We would eat Japanese and Korean food in the days to follow and I must say they were quite good and well valued, apart from being some of the places still open during TSLRW.

First day was spent in our couchsurfer’s house, a cool dude with his beautiful dog, Ruby. By a string of bad luck, his feet were being run over by a car and then he broke his teeth on the day we arrived. Yet, he still took us kindly into his house. Our introduction was painful, at least for his part. He couldn’t talk for a few hours and so I did a Small Talk Monologue with him grumbling as answers. Poor guy. Later when he finally able to talk, he knocked on my door and said “welcome to Perth” while offering a box of TimTam. I have had a very remarkable time talking with him, his painkillers, a bottle of shiraz and his dog. We shared the same ‘leftist’ way of thinking and twisted humor. By twisted humor, I’m refering to the time we watched “Dogma”, the sickest Christianity trashing film ever made (Alanis Morisette as a loopy God!) and laughed our assess off.

There was a fantastic sunset picnic by Trigg beach with a bubbly wine. There was a very nice visit to a petit book shop in Oxford St. that might be the only shop in Perth which opens until 9.30PM. There was a serious comparative study to find the best fish and chips in Perth, or Fremantle to be accurate (definitely Kailis). There was time petting the kangaroos, a Jabba the Hut wombat and a very sleepy koala in Caversham. There was a rolling down the hill and lost in summer dream time at King’s Park. There was a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious time in Burswood, watching my first ever musical show performance live (Evita, Phantom of the Opera, Cats and the whole Andrew Lloyd Webber’s famous repertoire). There was a relaxing bush walking accompanied by two hopping wild kangaroos. There was brunch that easily could feed three persons with full course menu back home but oh-well-I-was-in-holiday-screw-it. There was wine and chocolate tasting. There was a wonderfully short BBQ picnic by the Swan River. There was even a touching dawn service on ANZAC Day (when I cruelly forced Miss C to wake up on 4AM to attend) and a military parade which later provided me with a photo op with cute sailors. So yes, basically I got the best of what Perth could offer.

However if you asked me what was the defining moment of my Perth visit, it was the people I encountered. Aside from my angelic, generous and sweet Miss C also my cool couchsurfer, Mr. J, I met quite a few of remarkable “sandgropers” (Perth is almost mostly consisted of sand, hence the name). There were three extremely violent guys outside Burswood Casino that had to be taken down by three bodyguards each and in the process created quite a scene and free entertainment for me(and a whole new vocabulary of swear words). There was a very cheerful and by far the nicest shop assistant I’ve ever met in my life who beamed and smiled even when I only bought a 20 bucks discounted dress. And to even things out, there was also an extremely rude blonde who hissed at me when I tried my best to feed the hungry beast of train ticket machine with fat coins.

Go to Northbridge at Saturday nights if you still think Perth is dull. I met an extremely drunk woman (at least I hope she was drunk) who upon seeing a solidly calm street light, just threw herself and did an impromptu pole dancing that would make Carmen Electra proud. Perth is definitely not the most exciting city to visit (if it does, why they would fly to Bali anyway?) but it has its charm, quirk and certain perkiness. My theory is that Perth is just too quiet; its residents feel that they should be the one providing entertainment for themselves.

However one question remains. What’s with those dudes who walk barefoot around the city anyway?

I Am She

2011-05-02T23:04:00.000-07:00

via from me to you

G'day Perth!

2011-04-18T06:48:00.000-07:00

Sapi Malas will be in Perth this Easter. Undaunted by negative remarks like ‘but there’s nothing there’ or ‘It’s Australia’s black hole’ , I will prove them naysayers wrong. You can have fun in Perth, I’m sure. Watch this space for my report of “The City of Light” (wait, isn’t it for Paris?) and the 8th Most Livable City in The Economist’s 2010 list. Cheers mate!

Now Everyone Can Fly (including You and Me)

2011-04-10T00:20:00.000-07:00

Traveling is fast becoming affordable. Budget airlines, internet discounts for accommodation, WikiTravel. There’s no more reason not to travel independently. I’m not trying to discredit tour and travel company here but seriously, independent traveling has been the one and only way to travel for me although that’s not the case for the majority of Indonesian. It is still difficult to spot an Indonesian backpacker abroad who came not with a bus but the signs are there. More and more of my 20something peers are going out. Inspiring blogs like The Naked Traveler or Ransel Kecil helps with the case as well as the increasing amount of guide books made by Indonesian for Indonesian available on the market.

I’m not claiming myself a die hard traveler nor an experienced one at that. I get lost all the time, for one. That doesn’t stop me. Being actively involved in Bali’s CouchSurfing scene also plunge me further into the addictive world of traveling. Wanderlust is in the air. And now we have AirAsia, the official carrier of backpackers across Asia. Let me brag a bit in this paragraph about my victoriously cheap tickets that will bring me to travel this year. I’ll be in Perth this Easter for a mere 90 USD. I’ll be in Penang the month after that, eating my heart out for 70 USD then off I’ll go to Singapore on June, right on time for the SALE (I won’t tell you how much I got the tickets for this trip because I’m afraid you’ll get frustrated and chew your shopper’s feet off). And to close the year of living ludicrously, I will be off with my darling, recently traveling addicted Mother to Vietnam on July for a mere 100 USD for the two of us. Returns. I’m unashamedly a cheap shit for travel.

As a financially struggling 20something self-employed sourcing agent/interior designer/writer, traveling for me is still a luxury as also for most of the population in Indonesia. We have basic needs that are much more important to fulfill than being lost in Prague. We’ve been taught at school that human being needs three vital things to survive: sandang (clothes), pangan (food), papan (home). I’d like to redefine it now. There’s the fourth need, an abstract but the most important of all need: the need to learn. When you cease learning, you basically stop living and none of those three needs will do you any good.

I learned about life from my travel experiences. I even learned more about myself when I’m out there getting lost and trying to read a map in a country where English is not known, then any other time in my life. It is such a shame that gap year or backpacking is not known as a rite of passage in Indonesia. I could very well imagine how good it would have been for a generation of Mummy’s Little Boys and Daddy’s Little Girls that now might have been stuck in a convenient marriage and thoughtless breeding that will drive this country into its sure population explosion. I bet my cheap tickets that you who loves to travel as much as me, an Indonesian, in your twenties or thirties and in the state of unmarried, has been in this position of being asked by a concerned Auntie: “Why do you spend all your money traveling instead of settling down, find a nice husband (or wife)?”

How could you describe to that Nosy Auntie the beautiful, liberating, vibrant jitter, lurching in your stomach when you first arrived in a strange destination, not yet unknown by you? How could you tell her the joy of meeting perfect stranger and when you’re lucky, made a lifetime connection and memory with them? How could you explain it to her that occasionally there will be times when you found a part of yourself that you didn’t even know exist, that so appealing and true and real? I guess you just can’t. You could try but she will gives you that look that says it all: this kid is hopeless. Hopefully, she’ll leave it at that.

Alcohol’s a Bitch.

2011-04-05T04:41:00.000-07:00

You think when you’ve reached your twenties, you’d be more sophisticated, worldly and knowing. Well, you just can’t be more wrong. Twenties are just an extension of your teenage years except that you own more money. Insecurities, social acceptance, peer pressure all of them are still there, those old mean bastards. It might be even more dangerous since in your twenties you have a lot more points to prove and much more ambition. Yes, I can get a raise and promotion next month. Yes, I can totally buy that (put any one word designer’s name here) handbag even if it cost me four months salary. Yes, God is my witness, I’ll be married by 27.

Back to the alcohol thingy, I spent this beautiful Saturday being drunk. I missed a late brunch by the river and a good wonderful company, because I’m too hammered to even wake up from my bed. I don’t think I’ve ever been this drunk before although there were few close calls. I’m not a party animal or those hipsters who thinks being tipsy and slurred are the way to go. There is nothing mildly cute or graceful in being drunk. Last night, I was simply having a good time and got a bit carried away. I had two fantastic, fun loving girls with me and a really sweet guy as the designated driver since we all knew deep down, the three fantastic, fun loving girls (yes, I counted myself in) would be three raving intoxicated girls as the night grew old. Fast forward to around 3 a.m, one was having a serious make out session with a toilet bowl (yes, missy I know you’d be reading this) and another two was taking over the dance floor. Then we went home. It was a beautiful misty morning as we passed few determined joggers, market shopping housewives and high school students on the way.

I was quite sober when I reached home but by the time I woke up after an urgent phone call (BRUNCH! WAKE UP!), a deep unsettling nausea hits me and the next thing I know, I was on the toilet floor, throwing up everything I swallowed the night before. I never knew our body don’t digest vodka that well. To make things worse, the nausea didn’t come in one big tsunami so I can just get it done. Oh no, they came in ripples. Six sickening and horrifying ripples which was the very reason why your parents told you not to get drunk. It is now 20.52 laptop time, when I’m writing this in a much better state and finally able to hold food in my belly.

I learned my lesson today. It cost me a splendid Saturday. As God as my witness, I’ll never be drunk again. Ever.

Sous Le Ciel de Paris

2011-03-02T07:58:00.000-08:00

It is very rare for me to find a character in a film that I could relate to. It perhaps has to do with the films that I watch anyway. I don’t think anybody could find it easy to relate with Princess Leia or Sookie Stackhouse or Hermione Granger fighting off Death Eaters with Petrificus Totalus. I’ve seen a lot of fantasy, comic based blockbusters lately and not much of real drama. Therefore I decided to watch An Education the other day. I’ve been meaning to see it since last year but I kept putting it off, saving the best for last sort of thing.

I’m so charmed by the film I’m now blogging about it. For you who haven’t seen it (shame on you!), the film is about Jenny, a charming and intelligent teenager on the late 60s London, who was bored to death by her school and strict parents. In an eventful rainy encounter, she met a charming older guy played by Peter Sarsgaard, who then managed to seduced her and her whole family with his wit, glamour and worldliness. Who the hell in the world doesn’t want to to picked up on the street by a Peter Sarsgaard anyway? I don’t blame her at all.

I’d like to think Jenny is every women. Aren’t we all at one point in our life must have dreamed about being seduced by a charming older guy who takes you to expensive restaurants, concert even Paris and woo you with flowers and gifts? The fact that this film is based on true story and a memoir by Lynn Barber made this even more incredible and heart breaking all at once. I’m blushing like a school girl when Peter seduced Jenny and grimaced upon recognizing myself on Jenny’s remarks about ‘going to Paris, wear blacks, smoke cigarette in un cafe’. She’s a Francophile much like moi.

There’s one scene where Jenny lying on the floor, singing and humming to Juliette Greco’s Sous Le Ciel de Paris playing on the portable gramophone. I was She. I was, not many years ago, that girl who always dream to get away and be magically transported. I am still that girl who can’t wait to grow up, live the world and be a glamorous vixen who smokes and putting on red lipstick. Reading Fitzgerald and too much Jazz ruined me for life, I’m afraid.

I don’t know if this entry should be tagged under ‘film’ or ‘personal rubbish’. Maybe I should just put it under ‘bric-a-brac’ to suit the French mood.

Le Parapluie

2011-02-17T07:51:00.000-08:00

Un p'tit coin d'parapluie
Contre un coin d'paradis
Elle avait quelqe chos' d'un ange
Un p'tit coin d'paradis
Contre un coin d'parapluie
Je n'perdais pas au chang', pardi

A little corner of an umbrella
For a bit of heaven
She had something of angel about her
A little corner of an umbrella
For a bit of heaven
I wasn’t losing out on the deal, of course.

Chemin faisant, que ce fut tendre
D'ouïr à deux le chant joli
Que l'eau du ciel faisait entendre
Sur le toit de mon parapluie

On the roof of my umbrella
As we went along, how tender it was
To hear together the pretty song
Which the water from the sky played

J'aurais voulu, comme au déluge
Voir sans arrêt tomber la pluie
Pour la garder, sous mon refuge
Quarante jours, quarante nuits

I would have liked, as at the great Flood
To see the rain fall without ceasing
To keep her, under my refuge
Forty days, forty nights

Trust it to the Frenchman to write a song like this. It reaches you deep and down even without you understanding the lyric. However, when you do, you get to be like me. You keep playing it over and over again; in the car, on your iPod before you sleep, trying to pronounce the lyric unsuccessfully. I love the original version by Georges Brassens which sounds very cheeky and classic but this version by Yann Tiersen and Natacha Regnier is harrowing.

I sure miss Paris.

Bad Romance and Scarlett O’Hara’s Wisdom

2011-02-12T00:03:00.001-08:00

I haven’t blogged for a while. Or ever. I’ve been so lazy all I did was putting another blogger’s post (with source stated, of course) just for the sake of posting. This blog named Sapi Malas not for nothing after all. 2010 has been quite a ride. Up and down the ~~merry-go-round~~ vertical tower of terrror like that scene in Zombieland, minus the zombie.

Since 2008 when I had two beloved leaving me for Hereafter, I’d like to think my life mirrorred Scarlett O’Hara post-Civil War. Ok, I didn’t have to dig my garden to find a piece of dried carrot (or kill a scoundrel) but now I do get why Scarlett became such a manipulative bitch and fierce business woman. Both of us need a security. Money, family, social standing. I’ve spent three years now doing business. Playing adult, trying to be slightly manipulative. Experienced my first global economy crash. I didn’t pass with flying color but I managed to keep the company floating, family fed and bills paid. Gone were the days when ~~Scarlett~~ I wore light green dress, battling my eyelashes and think of nothing except ~~Ashley~~ boys.

Except now, more than ever, I seriously need a Rhett Butler. With moustache or without, I need a big, tall, dark, worldly, humorous and kind guy who will envelopes me with love and said things like “You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how.” Aren’t we all? Despite the popular belief, made even more popular by Julia Roberts who got hit by a dashing Javier Bardem in the middle of nowhere in Ubud, Bali is not the perfect place to fall in love. I think it is the perfect place to be in love or have a mind blowing “From Here to Eternity” moments by the beach, but that’s it. For you who magically found love in Bali, you can stop reading now because this post is just a dark, twisted and cynical (albeit true) rambling of a depressive single near Valentine’s Day. For you who doesn’t and have no date for the upcoming Bloody Valentine, do continue reading.

Bali is being promoted as The Ultimate Honey Moon Destination. I went all the way to Chengdu, a nice city in Sichuan Province, China and told a teenage receptionist at a hostel that I’m from Bali. Her immediate gush is: Oh, I want to go there for honeymoon! (to which I just cringed). Grown up in Bali, I’ve seen love in all shapes and reasons. Newlyweds holding hands even when they shopped or eat, holiday flings that started in a foam party fuelled by 10k Bintang beers, Opa and Oma walking with their strollers and Birkenstocks by the beach, desperately lonely older gay man riding a scooter with a dark handsome youth, tanned and young and lovely girls meets a thick belly and even thicker wallet guys one night at a bar. Occassionally, if I’m lucky I witness a devastating love like the one I saw a few weeks ago at the airport when two lovers didn’t want to let go. Do I get bitter by witnessing all those “ loves”? Perhaps.

To be honest, Bali is all about sperm released. Some found their pre-destined place and nine months later, a baby made in Bali will be born. Some are just being spent and dumped. Ask the next sweet couple you met on the street where did they fall in love. Eight out of ten it won’t be Bali.

I’ve kissed some frogs. None of them turns out to be a Prince. I’ve given up those Disney crafted illusions and put it in a box named ‘childhood’. The frogs that I’ve been kissed are mostly commitment phobic or only interested on what I wear behind my fabulous flowery dress instead of inside me or simply a nice guy at a wrong time and wrong place. Why is it so difficult this whole dating things? Seriously. I’m easy. Just romance me, make me laugh and I’m yours.

-------pause------

---------gulping down chai tea---------

Sorry. I sounded desperate in that last sentence, aren’t I? Well, I do. I need my freakin’ Rhett Right Now. I saw a French movie few years back. Russian Dolls was the name. In the last part, the narrator said something that got me thinking. It went something like this: “ Do you know Russian dolls? At first there’s only one big doll then you opened the lid and inside you’ll find another doll, then another doll then another doll. Just right at the moment you got tired of it, you’ll find the one and last small doll that has no lids. That’s it. That’s the one for you”.

Which means that tonight I’ll dress up and go out. I’ll order some drinks and have a swell good time.

Afterall, tomorrow is another day.