Rewards program

Today was spent rewarding myself for working... well, maybe not so much working hard as working smart ;) First stop was the Suntec Convention Centre for a sale event by an online shopping site I'm subscribed to. I arrived at 11 a.m., an hour before the event was scheduled to start and was welcomed by this monstrous queue.

While waiting for our turn to enter, Marlon got a crash course in women's designer handbags (he can now tell a Miu Miu from a Balenciaga, which is all that matters to me), a briefing on my color preferences (classic/subdued or bold/striking), and an assignment in my plan of attack.

We finally got to enter the event at 1:30 p.m., not a moment too soon. Let me tell you, things can get ugly when dozens of bag-crazed women are made to wait. Inside, the atmosphere was buzzing but civil—no shoving, grabbing or arguing, thank goodness. The strategy of choice seemed to be grabbing three or four bags, walking around with them while trying to decide on one, and making multiple return trips to a shelf to see if any women had discarded a bag that you were looking out for.

In the end, I narrowed it down to Subdued & Classic vs Bold & Striking. While I was vacillating in front of the mirror, a very fasyon Chinese woman ran up to me and grabbed my arm. She whispered urgently, with eyes wide open,"You HAVE to get the orange one. You have to. It's DIVINE!" and ran off.

It was in this fashion that Bold & Striking won! And so I am now the proud owner of a brand new Balenciaga Arena Covered City bag in the happy, juicy hue of orange!

Thank you, my clients! Thank you!

After a recharging lunch of kinilaw na tanigue and salpicao at 7107 Flavours in Marina Square, we headed off to Orchard Central for Fash Bash, a thrice-yearly bazaar. I miss market and bazaar shopping scene back home, so I check these things out whenever I can. I was curious about the local designers advertised, but when I got there it was really the young Thai jewelry designers who made me drool!

After much going back and forth between stalls, I chose this pair of delicate, handmade gold-plated earrings from Thai designer Fontips Tangviriyamate. I fell in love with the delicate workmanship of the intricate but organic-looking pattern, and the curved wire extending way below the earlobes was a unique touch that I really liked. (One woman asked the designer if she could cut the wire short. Anobuh! Kasama yun sa concept no!)

And with that, my personal "rewards points" are fully redeemed! My shopping moratorium starts now!

On Everton Road

Over the last two weeks, I've been working at a production house that's situated in one of the nicest neighborhoods I've seen in Singapore. And by nice, I don't mean affluent. There are no jaw-dropping paeans to modern architecture, no Porsches or Beemers parked in the driveways—no driveways, in fact. I've seen quite a few of those here (and it always amazes me how these types of houses aren't locked away behind village gates) and they didn't charm me as much as this neighborhood did.

Tucked away in a cluster of streets near Chinatown and the central business district of Tanjong Pagar, these old shophouses on Everton Road aren't rented out to businesses as many of their kin are. They are purely residential, as far as I can see; the production house is there only because the owners live in the attic.

The first time I came here to edit, I saw elderly residents gathered together, sitting on ancient wicker chairs on a doorstep, chuckling among themselves and trading some afternoon gossip. And seeing that was nice.

Fueled by my love for old places, I made a point of coming early for one edit session so I could walk around the narrow streets and take photos of the charming details. Of which there were many.

From old, earth-hued tiles, to walls awash in delicate pastels faded and chipped by time and neglect...

To surprising pops of colour...

An assortment of gates, grills and guardians...

And even the luckiest fire hydrant in all of Singapore! The Chinese would disagree with me, though, since 8 is their thing. With the little bag of java hanging from its arm, it could even be someone's favorite coffee corner.

"Everton Road, please," I told the friendly auntie who was driving my taxi the other day. (Yes, there seem to be an increasing number of female cabbies here!)

"Ah! Going to the shophouses there, is it?" she asked, smiling. "I like that place, you know. It's a souvenir. It reminds me of the old days. It is a memory of how Singapore used to be."

Disappointment & pride

The events of Monday filled me with disappointment and shame. I became glued to my Twitter feed after sundown, becoming more and more disappointed, angry and incredulous with each 140-character assessment of our media and police's antics. Yes, I use the word "antics," because nothing really sums up ludicrous actions like sledgehammering a bus door for 45 minutes, or televising the SWAT team's movements for the hostage-taker to see, than the same word that is used to describe what clowns do in a circus ring.

I was particularly disturbed by the media's relentless pursuit of the scoop and how it contributed to the downward spiral of events. I didn't follow any of the live streams, so I don't know really how the network I came from handled its coverage; I read a lot of criticism against its rival network, though. I was also horrified at how many members of the news media shrugged off responsibility later on, justifying their actions and claiming to be "just doing their jobs." It leaves me with a bitter taste in my mouth; after all, we are human beings before we are whatever we do for a living, and "professionalism" is not the only thing we can and should exercise in the pursuit of our work.

As a Filipino working overseas, I am a relentless cheerleader for our country, often replying to questions like "Are you from the Philippines?" from foreigners with "Yes! Have you been? You should visit!" I take the pains to send detailed emails full of suggestions and advice to acquaintances who tell me they are considering a visit, and I often tell coworkers about life back home, not just all its absurdities, but all the things I love about it.

Sinisikap kong maging magaling sa trabaho para makilala tayong mga Pinoy bilang magaling, masayahin, mabait at mapagkakatiwalaang mga empleyado at katrabaho. And all it takes is one rotten egg to ruin all the efforts I, and many overseas Filipinos like me, have made.

I went to sleep horrified, angry and disappointed, and hoped that when I woke up the next morning I would have reason to be proud. I did, and even if I was disappointed — if we were all disappointed — I still find many reasons to be proud.

I won't go all becky on you (these sisters have the market cornered on that!) but I was proud of our girl Venus and thought that she did the best that she could under the circumstances. Her answer doesn't change the fact that she's a beautiful woman and a spirited fighter, and gives us much to think about in the way we Filipinos view language, intelligence and class. The decades-old argument about allowing our beauty queens to use their native language resurfaces with new strength, and I hope it's something the powers-that-be will consider and embrace.

With both of these vastly different events, disappointment has been bitter, and strong. But it has not had, and will never have, the strength to overpower my pride in being Filipino.

So bike me

Recently, Marlon and I put together a list of things we have yet to do in Singapore, made up of things we feel we absolutely must do before we leave (bakit kaya? Umaambisyon lang). On the National Day holiday last Monday, we finally got to cross one item off the list.

That item was "bike at ECP." East Coast Park is a long stretch of beach on the, you guessed it, east coast of Singapore. It's really popular for rollerblading, biking (or as they prefer to say here, cycling), camping and good old-fashioned beach bumming. The shores of home have spoiled me for life, so this is far from my top choice for a beach. But since learning how to bike, and biking through wine country in Sonoma last June, I thought I could finally give the bike lanes a try.

After a little online sleuthing, I decided that a worthy goal would have to be a nice way to end the day: a sunset stroll along the scenic boardwalk at Changi Point.  To get there, Marlon and I would cycle through Park Connector Network, a bike/footpath that links East Coast Park to Changi Beach Park. All we had to do was rent a bike from one of the PCN stops along East Coast and drop it off at any of the pit stops on Changi Beach. So we did, and we were off!

East Coast Park was packed with people that day, being a holiday. After a few kilometers of cycling, we slipped out of the crowd and stopped for a big carby lunch at the Mana Mana Beach Club. It was a familiar name from our visits to Bintan—we'd stayed there a couple of times, enjoying the chill vibe and superb wood-fired pizzas. Unfortunately, this was more like Polo Club Seaside Branch, without the pizzas :P

One of the reasons I don't like East Coast Park is the view. Something about the fleet of ocean tankers parked meters from the shoreline just ruins it for me. I don't understand how people can swim in this water—not when it's plain that all these tankers are dumping their waste water into the ocean within swimming distance from you. 

You know how, at our beaches, the ocean gradually deepens to a sapphire blue as you look farther out to sea? Here, it doesn't. It's just a flat grayish green, with just a faint tinge of blue, all throughout. I know it's the only accessible beach for a lot of locals, but for me it just feels like swimming in Manila Bay. I saw a lot of affluent locals and foreigners all dressed up in their flowing boho/tropicana caftans and chunky jewelry and designer flip-flops for this beach; kung ganito lang ang tropical paradise, wag na lang.  

So imagine my wonderment when, biking further and further away from the crowds, we found a beautiful little cove with actual white sand and clear blue water! I was thrilled. Pwedeng pwede na 'to! There was only one other couple around, plenty of shade and grass, even a little rocky knoll with tufts of grass. Pang-Koreanovela lang. I wouldn't mind biking back to this lovely secluded cove on another Saturday afternoon for a bit of sunning and swimming.

Tapos, kalbaryo na. Having woken up late, Marlon and I had to cover the longest stretch of road over the hottest hours of the day. But we weren't the only ones—lots of bikers, a large percentage of them ang moh (Caucasians) whizzed by as we puffed along. I had gotten comfortable enough with biking to enjoy some of the views, like this aqueduct. It almost felt like we weren't in Singapore. This was definitely a side of the Little Red Dot I'd never seen before.

The planning of the bike path was excellent. With lots of shade from the trees lining the path, and a covered rest stop every 1 to 2 kilometers, it was perfect for an easy-to-tire, newbie biker like me.

The most fun thing about this bike path was that it runs behind the entire length of Changi Airport. So every time I needed to catch my breath, we would plop down at a rest stop and watch the planes take off. 

After what seemed like eons of pedaling, we finally reached the PCN pit stop at Changi Beach Park. And not a moment too soon! If I could have thrown my bike at them, I would have. (Pero mas effort pala yon, LOL.)

And this is the route I cycled! From the blue point below to the blue point on the upper right, or a total distance of 17.9 km. It looks like almost a third of Singapore's coastline!

Changi Beach was quite homey, a lot less developed and far less packed than East Coast Park. The crowd was mostly local families enjoying a day at the beach, flying kites and barbecuing. The tankers were way further out to sea, which made me feel more at ease about swimming here. 

Then our leader Ben Linus sounded the island-wide alarm, pulling us out of our weekly book club meeting to comb the beach for survivors. LOL!

We decided to take a taxi to Changi Point to make it in time for the sunset. Buti na lang kasi ang layo pala niya kung lakarin o i-bike! I have to say, the boardwalk was one of the nicest places I've been in Singapore, and one of the most genuine. Dotted with old-timers fishing and young families taking a late afternoon stroll, the boardwalk felt laid-back, removed from the Singapore I've known for the last three years.

Parang Riva del Garda lang!

And true to its promise, golden hour at the boardwalk truly was golden. Other photographers call it the magic hour, and yes, you could say it was magical too.

A section of the boardwalk takes you along a seaside cliff shielded from the sea by trees. This was my favorite part. Frame by backlit leaves and trees, the sunset seemed shrouded in layers of fine black lace woven by Nature's own hands.

And that's how Singapore and I bonded on her 45th birthday.

While everyone else was at the big splashy shindig down at the Padang, where we were that evening was absolutely fine with me.

One for the dogs

I spent twelve hours, from 10 in the morning to 10 at night, on a perfectly lovely Saturday locked inside an edit suite. I haven't had to work on a Saturday in nearly 6 months, and I've never had to stay so late at work during the entire time I've worked here in Singapore.

I guess you could say my weekend had gone to the dogs.

Luckily, this charming little fella was around to keep me company!

Milo is the darling mascot of the production house I was working with. He spent most of the afternoon snuggled up by my side on the client couch. I was tempted to comment on how catlike he was, but then I realized that it's the other way around and that I have a very doglike cat. 

When I took on this freelance job, an ex-colleague of mine remarked: "You always get to a point when you feel miserable and hate everything and wonder why you even bothered to say yes. Then you'll remember the money. And just suck it up and keep going." So true!

Squashed

With the huge hunk of butternut squash left over from the previous weekend's portobello burger win, I made this easy fettucine with pumpkin, shiitake and mascarpone cheese.

The sauce was incredibly rich and creamy, although in hindsight I probably would have used a little more stock and a little less mascarpone. I almost shot an embolism when I weighed myself the next morning... that cheese is sin in a tub!

Saturday success

Every now and then, I like a good veggie recipe. After eating a little too much over the weekend, or one too many rich cheeses or fried foods, Marlon and I try to inject a little veggie goodness into our weekly menu. It can get a bit difficult to find something to get really enthusiastic about, as I'm very picky with vegetables. But when I came across this grilled portobello and brie burger recipe, I thought: why not?

It's pretty simple: just marinate portobello mushrooms, sliced red bell peppers and sliced squash in olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt and pepper for 15 minutes. We found these kick-ass butternut squash in the supermarket. They're huge! You can do bicep curls with these things. After making four burgers, we still have more than three-quarters of the thing left. I plan to make squash and mascarpone pasta with the leftovers.

After marinating, grill all the veggies and layer them on a nice toasted hamburger bun with thin slices of brie. Marlon added some wild rocket leaves to replace the zucchini, which was missing from the supermarket.

Et voila!

Success! The portobello is a great substitute for a meat patty, as it has its own yummy juices and is the perfect size for a hamburger bun. The squash is sweet, the rocket tangy, the bell pepper gives just a little bit of crunch, and the brie is, well... brie. You can't go wrong with brie! 

The icing on the cake: two burgers with a glass of Pepsi is less than 650 calories. Yahoo! I'll definitely be making this again!

Work from home

The past two days have been great on the work front. I've gotten to produce work I'm extremely happy with (good feedback is starting to trickle in, too) -- all while working from home.

So now I'm all warm and fuzzy about working from home, thus this post. Working from home is something I have wanted to do ever since I first saw Marlon's company grant him the privilege of working from home one day a week, plus a budget to set up a small home office.

Six years ago, it seemed far-fetched and decadent, like something only an deep-pocketed, ultramodern multinational leviathan could handle.

But technology has improved and mindsets have shifted. Employers are more open to the idea that you don't have to be physically present to do good work. And so working from home has become, happily, a part of my working life as a freelancer -- even now that I'm working what is essentially a 9-to-6 day job.

I love working from home for its many perks. Foremost is sleep. My morning primping and commuting time is added to my sleep time. My bed is less than three feet away from my desk, making a hasty escape from the heavy-lidded unproductive desert that is siesta time oh so easy.

Second is, time. I work at my own pace and at the times I am most productive. Although I don't like to pigeonhole myself as a morning/afternoon/night person (why would I want to limit myself?), I like to sleep late and get to thinking after a slow start. Still, I can get up early and hit the ground cracking if I need to; working from home isn't for people who can't manage their time, that's for sure.

And to be honest, I work fast most of the time. There have been times I find myself done with what I need to do and just kill time until the "respectable" hour to go home arrives. Trust me, maraming nai-imbiyerna kung mabilis ka; kasalanan ko bang hindi sila efficient? Among these are the creatures who wear their extended work hours as a badge of honor, the ultimate proof that they're working hard (never having heard of working smart).

Working from home allows me to cut out all that useless crap. If I'm efficient at my work and am done for the day, then I'm done for the day. No raised eyebrows, no wagging tongues.

Third is, simply, home. Since I never feel the need to physically get out of the office (admit it, sometimes it's a real and pressing urge, isn't it?), sometimes I even end up working later into the night, and for longer hours, than I would at a regular office.  I've had days so packed, I've had to crawl out of bed at 7am and keep to a strict hourly schedule until midnight. But I don't think I could do that at an office and still feel good at the end of the day.

I have my cat to bother or cuddle or be tormented by; I have a beautiful sunset right outside my window to mark the end of each day  The comfort of home makes a huge difference. And that's what makes working from home work for me.

Books to commute by

Since I started working in Tanjong Pagar, the central business district of Singapore, my commute to and from home has become longer. Four more stops, or at least 15 more minutes, have been tacked on to my old MRT route. Sometimes I even end up taking the bus (which I don't normally do). And because my work hours are no longer always in sync with the hubby's, I end up commuting alone more than I used to

So I started reading books on the train. They sure beat the intellectual pambalot ng isda that is the local free paper. I've managed to finish five books purely while commuting. All of them are short; the longest is Ian McEwan's Black Dogs at 221 pages.

The thing with reading on the train is that I like whatever I'm reading to be light and uncomplicated. I always see people reading heavy instructional or self-help tomes on the train to work and I always wonder how they can absorb the material properly. That said, I tried to pick books that were brief and light without sacrificing quality. So if you're looking for some light reading, all these books are highly recommended!

The first book I read on my solo commutes was this one.

It was utterly perfect: one story for every day of the workweek. I would neatly end one story at the end of my commute home and begin a fresh one the next morning. And I loved that all the stories were about music. 

This book on creativity and out-of-the-box thinking would have been really inspiring and useful given the kind of work I do, but it kept reminding me about the actual work I do! I didn't find it ideal to read before or after work; maybe I'll re-read it on a sunny Saturday morning by the pool. 

In Black Dogs, I finally met an Ian McEwan book that I didn't like. I felt strangely uninterested in the characters, which made the climax of the book (close to its very end, which felt like eons to get to) much less satisfying. I had such a hard time finishing it. But I did and I still haven't lost faith in this author.

I've been a huge Vonnegut fan since I first saw a battered, yellowed copy of Galapagos in my mom's bookshelf almost 10 years ago. This used copy from Green Apple in San Francisco is my latest purchase in my efforts to own all his books. It's told from the first-person perspective of Vonnegut himself, in a fictitious attempt to use controlled near-death experiences to nab interviews with dead people. He never fails to crack me up, which can make one look a little silly on the train.

Reflecting the current state of mind (a.k.a. obsession) is Ian McEwan's Amsterdam, a city that does not make its appearance in the story until the last few pages yet holds the key to the resolution of its central conflict. I had wanted to actually read about Amsterdam from beginning to end so I could start imagining myself in it, but no matter. Highly recommended.

Do you read while commuting? Any books to recommend to a fellow commuter?

An epic buy

My trip to the San Francisco book lovers' mecca known as Green Apple had set my head spinning. The cashier had already rung up my and Marlon's armfuls of books, second-hand and new alike, but that didn't stop us from heading back into the aisles. Unadulterated book lust had seized me and dragged Marlon's wallet into a blazing inferno with me in the process -- and guilt was starting to set in.

I had gotten to the point where, while waiting for Chris to finish browsing through cookbooks, I plopped down on a small wooden stool facing a corner and kept my eyes glued to the floor JUST SO I WOULDN'T SEE ANYTHING MORE TO BUY. Finally Chris finished his browsing, and we made our way through the aisles towards the exit.


And then I saw it. A single word that jumped out at me from my childhood. A beat later, the art on the cover registered and I knew I couldn't leave without having it.

The Ramayana.

One of the most vivid memories I have of visiting India as a child was reading Amar Chitra Katha's comic book adaptation of the epic Ramayana, widely believed to be the first poetic work ever written in Sanskrit. My relatives gave the comic to me and my sister along with a compilation of stories about King Vikram and the vampire spirit Betal. I must have read it countless times growing up; I know the whole story of the Ramayana by heart. 

(Image via Amar Chitra Katha)

The comic must have been written sometime in the sixties, and thinking back the writing was really old-fashioned. The characters always addressed each other as "O Rama!" or "O Sita!" and if you look at Sita on the cover with her ample curves and moon-shaped face, you'll see a very traditional ideal of Indian femininity. I always found it strange that Rama was blue, and it was only fairly recently that I found out that was because Rama was believed to be an avatar of the god Vishnu, who was also blue.

But do you think any of that mattered? Nope. I loved all the characters: strong and handsome Rama, loving and beautiful Sita, evil twelve-headed demon king Ravana (it must have been a real b*tch every time the artist had to draw all those heads!), loyal brother Lakshmana, powerful and mischievous prince of monkeys Hanuman, even the power-hungry and cunning Queen Mother Kaikeyi. I loved them and all the absurd and wonderful things that they did.

(Images via Sepia Mutiny)

Naturally when the extravagant musical Rama at Sita was staged at UP Theater in 1999, I was obsessed with it. I remember saving a spread from the newspaper that showed the stellar cast in their amazingly crafted costumes and makeup. I would look at it over and over again, marveling over this decadent reunion with old friends, over this marriage of the two halves of me: an Indian story captured by Filipino artistry. 

(Image via Gibbs Cadiz)

I've thought back to the Ramayana comics now and then, with the vague hope that I can still find a copy someday to hand down to my kids someday. Although my kids will only be a quarter Indian, I still want them to learn about it; for all the little I learned about my Indian side, it's always been a tremendous source of pride for me. 

So you can imagine how thrilled I was to find a beautiful reimagining of this (heretofore fairly obscure) childhood favorite, in San Francisco of all places. This particular retelling is illustrated by Pixar artist Sanjay Patel, which makes it all the more fantastic. 

The hero, Lord Rama

His nemesis Ravana

His ally, Hanuman the monkey god

And the center of the conflict, his consort Sita

Consort! I mean who uses that word anymore? The comic always used to refer to Sita as Rama's consort, not his wife, woman or spouse, and it's idiosyncracies like these that have stuck with me. 

I'll have to wait a little longer to pore over these beautifully illustrated pages. Marlon is reading it now, and it feels wonderful to introduce him to the characters who may have new faces, but are still the same old friends to me.