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.

Back to school

I feel like I ought to be writing an essay called "What I did this summer." I started working in June, upon my return from San Francisco, and it felt much like going back to school after summer vacation.

I had intended April, May and June to be my "break" -- but it didn't really turn out that way. I worked through my break, and I say that with gratitude and joy. One of the things that kept me clinging to my old job was the fear of leaping into a void of nothingness... no work, no income. I was wrong and for that I could not be happier. It was nothing like when I first started out in Singapore. What a difference two years can make.

Then again, this summer was like the ones I had when I was younger. I was never really idle.  There was always Rep or tennis or Spanish or art lessons. Heck, even the summers without parent-initiated activities were jam-packed with boy-watching.

This time around, going back to school was more like transferring to a new school. Getting used to new teachers, classmates, new ways of doing things; maybe not making lifelong friends right away, but anxious to do well and be liked. Even struggling and doing well at the same time.  

But I had my summer vacation (the first I've had since leaving school almost seven years ago!) and it was a good one. And even now that the summer is over, the sunshine seems like it's here to stay. 

Why can I not blog?!?!?!?! BLOGGER WHASSUP?!?!?!

Coming home by the numbers

19.9 kilos in checked-in baggage (up from 16 kilos at start of trip)

13.1 kilos in hand-carried baggage (from 0 kilos at start of trip)

2 checked-in suitcases (up from 1 at start of trip)

16 hours of flying

1 movie

4 hours' layover in Hong Kong

1 cup of coffee

1 chocolate toffee cookie

1 day lost

9 degrees warmer

1 love-starved cat

3 consecutive liters of water

1 12-pound Le Creuset enameled cast-iron Dutch oven
1 art print
2 funky lunchboxes from the MoMA store
2 new notebooks
2 Alcatraz tin cups

2 new pairs of Nine West sandals

2 vintage maxi dresses

3 pairs of leather boots (1 unused Calvin Klein in pristine condition)

3 bottles of wine (1 red, 1 white, 1 dessert)
1 wedge of Mediterranean-flavored jack cheese

6 small bags of Ghirardelli chocolate, as pasalubong

1 new Kenneth Cole bag

1 kilo of clean laundry (thanks JD!)

1 slightly squashed lemon layer cake, packed in a Tupperware (thanks Chris!)

1 extra-large found acorn

1 three-dimensional letter "D" (do not ask)

12 new books (includes used books from second-hand bookstores)

2,408 digital photos

8 o'clock bedtime

2 Bay Area-lovesick travelers

unmentionable amount of pounds around the middle

Dear Bay Area

You know, you remind me a lot of someone I know: Europe. But with outlets.

And sinful diner food like cinnamon rolls dipped into egg batter, fried up as French toast and served with icing sugar, whipped butter and maple syrup, a breakfast that is so ridiculously decadent it could only be an American invention.

But it's French toast anyway so that's Continental too right? Yes, I thought you would agree. Then there's the wine and the cheese and the artisanal chocolate and the weather...

Can the husband and I live here? Please? Our friends would absolutely love it. I'm asking for them too, you know. So you know I'm not being selfish.

Just let me know. Kthxbye.

Love,
Currystrumpet

And she's off...

Today's post is brought to you by Blogger's Remorse!

It's been crazy in the Paul-Plazo household these last two weeks.

After scrambling to get my Dependent Pass (which I now have! I am no longer a tourist in Singapore! Long story...) Marlon and I flew off to Beijing for an exhausting but definitely... interesting five days. I would describe most of it as fun although there were more than a few lost-in-translation moments, the occasional bouts of frustration and fatigue, and even an open-air lovers' quarrel for all to see. What the holiday pictures don't show, eh? 

marlon and i in beijing: having fun but a little overwhelmed, tired but still going

At the same time I was being yanked onboard a three-month freelance contract that I haven't officially signed yet because I don't have the right work papers sorted out (again, long story...). 

I rushed back from Beijing to a pile of work from said freelancing gig. I am working from home these days and am so surprised at how much I am working for a job that I am not even officially yet on (again, long story). I really get how everyone I'm working with needs me to come on board because they are all so damned busy! I've been doing as much as I can, but it's been a struggle to work with just a few days sandwiched in between trips -- plus the other, odder factor of me not being officially onboard and asked to work from home till the contract is signed. Long story... 

Long story seems to be the story of my life these days!

It seems like I was just struggling to onboard myself a few days ago, and suddenly I have to quickly and thoroughly turn over what little work I've done (which seems like a lot to me already!) before I disappear to San Francisco for the next two weeks. 

Still, the job was a huge and unexpected blessing so I'm doing my best to shut the complaints and to do right by it and The One who gave it to me. And there's no way I'm complaining about this trip because the tantalizing tandem of discovering new places and seeing old friends simply fills me with such anticipation. 

So I'm off again, and looking forward to a trip that will be every bit as exciting (and hopefully, a wee bit slower) than life on the ground, here at home, has been the past two weeks. 

Wifely steps

Today marks my first stint as a guest blogger! When the sunny and inspiring Toni of Wifely Steps asked me to write a guest post to celebrate the 7th anniversary of her marriage (and by extension, her blog), I leapt at the opportunity.

The theme was, naturally, "Wifely Steps." There were so many things I could have written about, but one thing I was sure about was that nobody needed to hear marriage advice from a newlywed 28 year-old. So I wrote about the first wifely step I ever took. It was a wonderful opportunity for me to reflect on the journey and remind myself of my choice. Sharing what I wrote with Marlon got me a googly-eyed look, a big bear hug and a whispered "Thank you" - all of which were nice too.

Reposting from Toni's blog (different pics there)!

Deepa's Wifely Steps

I’ll let you in on a secret. The biggest wifely step I ever took was precisely two months and twenty-five days before I became my husband’s wife.

The diamond ring was on my finger, the wedding date was set, the honeymoon flights had been booked – and so had my one-way ticket to Singapore. Marlon, who had gotten a kick-ass job in Singapore, had been based there for the entire four years we’d been dating. Since we both agreed that the Singapore dollar would give us a better financial head start in our shared life, the moment we had gotten engaged, moving there became a foregone conclusion.

The thing was, I didn’t want to move. I loved my life. I had a career that made me creatively fulfilled, ecstatically happy and financially rewarded, a tight-knit family of females with whom I shared everything, and a large, loving and irreplaceable network of friends (a choir, actually) made my life sparkling and vibrant.

Unlike many Filipinos who would leap at the chance to live and work abroad, I was staunchly in love with life in the Philippines – with our people, our beaches, our Salcedo markets and Cubao Expos and cheap finds at Landmark, and damned if I was going to give it up to start from scratch, jobless and friendless, in a country about the size of Quezon City.

Marlon and I with the Singapore skyline

But when I said yes to Marlon’s proposal, I – by default, almost – also said yes to Singapore. We were overjoyed at the prospect that we were finally going to be together after four years of physical separation, but there were trepidations underneath the happy surface. I was not too excited about being lonely and financially dependent (at least until I got a job). Marlon was worried that I was someday going to resent him for being the reason for the disappearance of my wonderful life.

After a while, I realized I had said yes without really making a choice. And that beyond putting on a brave face, what I really had to do to start our new life together with no fears, no doubts, was simply… choose.

So on October 4th, 2007, only two months and twenty-five days before our wedding date, I really, truly and freely chose to move to Singapore. I wrote Marlon this letter, excerpts of which I will share with you.

Dear Marlon,
This is what I see. I didn’t choose Singapore. 
I chose you. I chose to be with you… no matter what that looks like.
Starting out, that was all I really wanted. I realized now, I’m finally getting what I really want. 
Coming into this marriage, you are my biggest commitment. I’m not committed to where we’re going to live, what we’re going to do, how much we’re going to earn, what we’re going to do with it. I’m committed to you – my best friend, my partner, my husband, the one true love of my life. And I’m committed to being with you – finally, forever. With that commitment in place, the rest just follows. It’s just details. It’s just circumstances. So I can rattle around and drive myself nuts about circumstances. Or I can see that I’m finally getting something I want with all my heart. Something I said I’d have no matter what, damn the torpedoes. You. You in front of me on December 29, and by my side for the rest of my life.
So there’s nothing there for me to do, or be, just yet. That only means I haven’t created it yet – and that I still can. Thank you for giving me the space to do just that in our relationship. Thank you that my life as me, Deepa, doesn’t end when our marriage begins. Thank you, because I know creating my life and sharing it with you will be so much fun. Thank you, because whatever game I choose to play, having you on my team will enable to me to kick some serious ass.
Thank you, because who you are to me is someone who is worth it. Thank you for being such a beautiful person, in the face of whom a beautiful life is almost relatively easy to give up. Thank you for being the beautiful person who is the beginning of a beautiful life where I am moving to.
I love you. And I choose you.

Making a real choice freed me to be truly happy on our big day

To date, that has been my biggest wifely step, from which all my wifely steps have followed. Some of those subsequent steps have flowed with grace and ease while others have been taken in awkward fits and shaky starts. 

Some have been fun – like learning to cook, assisted by my husband the kitchen god, or buying him a Playstation 3 for Christmas (to the horror of many wife friends), or simply allowing myself the joy of saying “Yes” when my husband says to me, “Let me take care of you”, or easing into the role of obsessive-compulsive itinerary planner for every trip and holiday (and both of us being peripatetic travelers, believe me there have been a lot). 

Sharing childhood memories with Marlon at the Grand Place in Brussels

Others have been challenging and difficult – like this past weekend, when Marlon and I found ourselves having a “who-would-have-thought-we’d-ever-be-here?” moment at the Great Wall of China. I, the sleep-till-noon-sloth, pushed myself to complete the entire trek up the mountainside, climbing hundreds of steps on a stone staircase with practically a vertical incline in a dress and Chucks, because I knew there was nothing more my adrenaline junkie husband wanted than to reach the top of the Great Wall.

At the summit of last weekend's trek up the Great Wall of China

Starting my life as a wife began with a choice. And each wifely step I take every single day is just that, too – a choice. Even if the choice is inspired by my husband, or by our shared goals, or by my love for him or his love for me, the choice is always mine to make.

And I know I – and my wonderful husband – wouldn’t have it any other way.

Dear Amsterdam

I have made a decision to not obsess about you for the next few weeks.

That means no apartment hunting, no memorizing of city maps and neighborhoods, no reviewing the little I know of how to pronounce words in your language.

That means curbing my lustful fantasies about toasty fires in white snowy winters, long walks in your Vondelpark amidst a shower of falling autumn leaves (ting alert!), hopping on a weekend train to practically anywhere in Europe from the wonder of a transport hub you call Schiphol, your large-windowed Art Deco apartments, your damnably delectable stroopwafels...

*Cough* Curbed! These lustful fantasies are curbed, I say!

I really panicked this week and thought we were about to enter into a long-term relationship within the next three months. The erratic spikes in my heart rate have not been healthy (and you know I'm all about the healthy now, what with all this biking and running that I have been attempting).

So until I have a better idea of the life you have to offer me (aside from the opportunity to finally try pot for the first time at the ripe old age of 28), we'll just have to file away our relationship as that ridiculously brilliant high school invention known as a cool-off.

Get back to me when you have something good. Okay?

Love,
Currystrumpet

P.S. My husband might be another story. You might want to have a word with him in private.

Barong answer

Lah-lah Land may have many wonderful things, but one random thing that they seem to be missing over here is the concept of indigenous fabric. Ang hirap talaga kapag wala kang natural resources.

Today, Marlon brought his barong Tagalog to the dry cleaners for the first time since we arrived in Singapore.

The dry cleaner recoiled in horror.

"Wah liao! This one confirm cannot clean. So old already leh. Fabric so thin one. Look, got so many holes already. And very yellow lor! This one ah, you give me very hard time, cannot make white for you."

Auntie, parang silk lang yan. I don't know what Marlon had to say to make them take the barong and not wreck it by turning it bright, gleaming white, but after much prodding they agreed to take it.

Sigh lah.

Girl about town

After my initial two days of sloth last week, suddenly I was all over the place!

At Robertson Quay living up to my new identity as a "lady who lunches" with K and Bianca...

Walking down to the colorful, iconic MICA Building at Clarke Quay to pay for a writing workshop organized by the National Arts Council (which I ended up not waking up for!)...

Renewing my library card and stocking up on books (Gordon Ramsay's Fast Food! Time Out Beijing! Lonely Planet San Francisco!) at the National Library...

Dashing back to Robertson Quay to judge a kiddie singing contest (!!!)...

The Alkaff Bridge at Robertson Quay, painted by our very own Pacita Abad

Semifinalists in the 4 to 6 year-old category... so cute!

Filing my taxes for the very first time at the Inland Revenue Authority in Novena (a government experience whose efficiency deserves a post in itself!)...

Skipping back to the office to attend a client presentation with one huge difference -- I get to bill the company per hour of my presence!

The poor dears seem to be cracking up without me... I keed, I keed

Heading into glass skyscraper country, dodging secretaries in cocktail dresses (nobody knows the difference between day vs. night dressing around here) and expat investment bankers...

... to visit Lilian and James' new office in Boat Quay! It's on the top floor of a shophouse, which explains the high, steeply pitched ceiling and exposed beams. Very cool. 

Hanging around for two hours (two hours! Why is it that only Pinoys are capable of being this late? Nobody I know here in Singapore has ever been that late!) at Lau Pa Sat waiting for my fellow Kapusos. 

Flor and Ian, an artist and writer, respectively, from my old department now work here, and we never get to meet up! Finally we had a reason to: the arrival of Cecil, our beloved nutty mother figure who was in town visiting her daughter, an intern at the Ritz. 

Finally winding down the week with a show at the Esplanade: Chicago! (And all that jazz...)

I couldn't take any photos of the show, so here's a picture of Marlon in this cool bamboo installation on the Esplanade grounds instead.

What a week! Busing and walking around in the scorching heat left me completely shacked... but shacked in a good way, without any pressure or stress. Despite the heat and humidity, there was an underlying sense of freedom that just gave me a really good burst of energy and powered me through the week.

This week I'm looking forward to establishing more of a routine for myself, one that includes exercise, writing (I can't completely not work!), flamenco and my domestic duties of cooking, grocery shopping and cleaning. 

Now if I could only start waking up before 10 a.m.... 

Summertime

... and the living is easy.

The first few days of my return to the couchwife life have found me taking it very, very easy. I rolled out of bed at noon on my first non-working Monday, snacked on leftovers while catching up on my stockpile of Gossip Girl episodes, and did a lot of surfing.

Having failed at my attempt to get up early and cook my husband breakfast, I compensated by having dinner up and running by the time he got home -- grilled cinnamon and ginger chicken with couscous salad. I can't remember the last time I did that and it felt wonderful to be wifely again.

Yesterday I swam a few laps at our condo's bleached-hot, deserted swimming pool. Then I did the groceries, whereupon I found that the deserted supermarket aisles do wonders to alleviate the usual "supermarket-cart rage" that comes upon me on Sunday evenings at Fairprice. In the evening I met up with Bianca and Chi to help Chi put together his Miss Greece costume for a Miss Gay Universe pageant on Saturday. Craziness!

I'm at home and really feeling like it's summer, what with these long, lazy and unbelievably hot days. I quickly learned that one of the upsides to working full-time is having the aircon on 24/7 at full blast, and not having to pay for it. Still, as I putter around in a constant sheen of sweat, I am almost giddy with gratitude at being home to experience a summer vacation for the first time since graduating from college.

On this summer vacation, I am both child and parent. I'm finding things to fill my own days -- overseas trips, exercise, lunches, visits from friends, doctor's appointments (hello Mommy!) errands and cleaning sprees. My supposed holiday is turning out busier than I expected, but I can't complain when I see the neat little boxes in my iCal filled entirely with things I want and choose to do.

It's a big change from the couchwife life of two years ago, when I had just moved here and was still trying to find work. We're financially in a better position to fund my "summer vacation", so I don't feel so guilty about leaving the house and doing things like having lunch with friends or buying tickets to shows I would like to see. There are freelance clients -- not to mention new skills and a level of confidence -- I have now that I didn't two years ago.

All in all it's shaping up to be a good summer. Now if only it wasn't quite so hot...

Change

With just two working days left until I officially leave the company, I've begun turning over my projects, introducing new colleagues to old clients, clearing files from my computer and cleaning out my desk.

While organizing my numerous work files for the next user of my poor overloaded Mac, I found this scanned illustration by one of our former interns.

Suddenly, it seemed like a hundred years ago that the company I worked for felt like a family, and the office I worked out of felt like a home.

We had office pets, for goodness' sake!


We had Da Hui ("Big Gray"), the stunningly gorgeous but impossibly cranky feline who hated to be carried, often got lost, liked to sit on top of the printer and keep watch out the window, once stank up the office with his ear infection, liked to climb on the roof and eat bamboo, who needed to be fed and watered and whose litter needed to be replaced over the weekend.

I first laid eyes on Da Hui at my initial interview; seeing him was like receiving The Sign that I needed, that I was destined to work here! Da Hui has since retired from the busy life of an office feline and now shares an uneasy but well-decorated space with James' old cat.

We had koi fish in a shallow pond, which we transferred from office to office by rolling up our jeans, wading into the pond and startling them into a cooler one by one.

We had occasional visits from Snugger, a perky, fluffy and often dressed-up white terrier who belonged to Lilian. We used to walk him at times, and my heart would melt seeing him stare mournfully at the door waiting for Lilian to come back from some meeting or other. Then I would laugh when she'd come back and he would leap on her, licking and yapping uncontrollably in a frenzy of joy.

The place I work for now seems so different from this company that once kept pets. Pets! Maybe because you really need to care to keep pets around. And maybe it's why leaving is the right decision.

Restless

Remember il ya from Philo 101? Metaphysical unease: I find myself in that state these days.

It's manifesting as a form of the Seven-Year Itch. It's got nothing to do with my marriage (which is what the Seven-Year Itch supposedly is), but with an itch to move on from Singapore. A Three-Year Itch, maybe?

I'm starting my third year here, and our friend Tinus (who lived here for six years before moving to New York, and just moved back) told me that it was about his third year that he seriously started rattling the bars of his cushy, manicured, tropical cage.

Or it could just be wanderlust. I find myself raring to move on to the next phase of my life, which not only means leaving Singapore but also starting a family. Yet I feel the compulsion to have one big adventure, a "last hurrah" before I have a baby and am thus unable (and from what I hear about parenting, unwilling) to travel for a long time. So, I spend an inordinate amount of time looking up hotels and flights and hostels and travel guides. I find myself increasingly unsatisfied at the thought of mini-breaks and weekend getaways, and am hankering for some long-term immersive travel.

Unfortunately, Marlon and I are at different stages in our lives. I've just quit my job and am free as a bird, crazed with the prospect of freedom and time, while he just started a new role at work and has yet to make his mark. So while both of us love the idea of long-term travel, the reality is that we're stuck here for a while. And those mini-breaks and weekend getaways, which don't appeal to me as much as they used to, will have to hold me in stead for at least six months to a year.

In the meantime, it's fun to plan. So here I am looking up ryokan in Kyoto, hostels in Istanbul, day trips to Abu Simbel. As they say, libre ang mangarap.

Spellbound

When Kate asked me if I wanted to watch Imogen Heap live in Singapore, I hesitated.

Up to that point I had only heard of her and listened to a few of her songs once or twice. I couldn't accurately call myself a fan. After a few seconds, I figured "Who cares?" and told Kate I would love to buy tickets from her.

It turned out to be one of the best impulse purchases I had ever made, in a long history of impulse purchases that include multiple pairs of ill-fitting shoes, unwatched DVDs, hideous statement tees from Landmark, and one too many chocolate bars at supermarket checkout counters.

Kate had bought a block for second-row seats and was flying in from Manila for the concert. The tickets were not cheap -- $140 each for Marlon and me -- and as the concert date neared I wondered if I should be listening to Imogen (or Immi, as Kate lovingly called her) more to familiarize myself with her music.

Then I thought of two things. The first was my thought bubble when I saw a particularly annoying acquaintance announce on Facebook that he had great seats for the Coldplay concert -- and that he had to rush out to buy and finish listening to all of their albums in time for the show. My thought bubble: Loserrrrr!

The second thing I thought of was that I had stopped going to concerts to discover great music. Ticket prices can be so prohibitive sometimes that we only spend on acts that we are huge fans of and thus will fail to disappoint us... music that is sure to be bankable, "worth it", safe. What about great acts that we've never even heard of? Some of the music I love to this day are from artists I had never heard of till I caught them live. Take Rajaton, for example: I can't believe I would never have heard of them if I hadn't been performing after them in Cork, Ireland. They were totally misplaced in a choral festival, but they rocked my socks and I've been a fan for ten (TEN!!!!!) years now. Same goes for Club For Five.

So I left Imogen Heap alone and unplayed until Monday night. Whereupon she completely spellbound, entranced, delighted, tickled, enchanted, haunted and moved me.

With her Attack of the Forty Foot Woman dress (and height)...

Her feathered fascinator, her bouffant hair, her raccoon brooches...

Her whimsy, her charm, her candor, her wit, her lovely Bri'ish accent, her stuffed bird...

Her miked-up wrists, her tinkling bells...

Her whistling wineglass...

Her Perspex piano...

Her singing whirly vacuum tube...

Her looper and glittery synth keyboard...

Her absolute insistence on teaching the audience a round song (the harmonies for "Just for Now") and her unflagging determination to conduct it while singing herself...

And above all, by her music, and her artistry. I don't exaggerate when I say that this is one of the best concerts I've watched in a long, long, long time.

Marlon rarely has very strong emotional reactions to music, but when Immi played Between Sheets, he hugged me tight and whispered, "This is how I feel about you. I don't think I've ever heard a song that captured it so well." Naturally, I cried.

You and me between the sheets
It just doesn't get better than this
The many windswept yellow stickies of my mind
Are the molten emotional front line
I couldn't care less I'm transfixed in this absolute bliss
Sweet sleepless, tumbling night
Oh, and the morning on the your skin and loved up light
Tracing patterns in the maze of your back
Softly, softly the goose bumps like that
And then a kiss...
Maybe another,
And another one

When we got home, he insisted I download it, that we listen to it again, and could it please be officially our song. That really surprised me. Naturally, I agreed.