Tenderly...
- Screaming "FUCK YOU!!!" across the bungalow.
- Climbing out of windows
- Running across the gravel grounds like desperate insects
- Opening doors and peeping out constantly to check what's happening
- Stepping out  repeatedly after check-in time to "get drinks"
- Hiding in a bungalow toilet
- Lying on the the sofa with her ass curled up facing the door (no panties on)
- Trying to smuggle an engorged condom filled with water out of a bungalow. God knows why.
- Shouting "PENISSSSSSSSS!" through open windows

It's 1.19am and I've just finished doing "roll-call" for the night.  More like I just finished gutting about ten boys and two girls for antics they were doing throughout the bungalow grounds when they were supposed to be sleeping.  Kiko and I worked in a pair.  I gutted out the rats scurrying around, and he fried them with pool laps and grueling physical.

The penis kids came in a pair of two. An American boy from Texas named Connor.  And a 15 year old Canadian boy called Charles who, earlier this evening dinner, came *this* close to hitting one of the other resident wardens.  Angsty boy.  Case in point, just to spite me as I dragged him out to run laps round the pool for his penis monologue, he started yet another.

"So you really enjoy doing this, huh?  What, you get paid like $5 dollars an hour?  That must be a real..."
-He smiles, rubbing the fingers of one hand together in a money gesture-
"... a real lot of money you must be earning!"
-Short pause-
"And what, what you like doing this to kids?"
-He points to himself as he puts on his shoes-
"Your job's so easy man, my 13 year old brother can do it."
"So I'm gonna run, huh?  It's alright.  I need a workout anyway.  COME ON LET'S GO!!"

On one level, I felt like reaching over and physically assaulting him up.  It wasn't so much what he was saying (tactless as it was), but it was that sick smirk he had on his face.

Just as that urge came floating up, a small voice on the inside told me to keep quiet.  And as I did, patiently waiting for him to put on his shoes, another strange feeling started welling up--I don't know why.  I started feeling genuinely sorry for him.  It wasn't going to be me or the few laps stupid laps he was going to run around the pool.  Eventually, something else in life is going to knock him up real bad.

It's 1.53am.  Someone just hollered "PENISSSSS" again.  The sound's reverberated through my closed, double panelled windows.  Goodness.  Well, I'm going to bed--God will have to work the night shift for me on this one.

Coming of Age Around the World: A Multicultural Anthology
She could not stay here any longer. Touching the things of her infancy and childhood, the constantly coursing and seething water and the rocks covered with slime, she sensed that she was pushing herself away from them, breaking natural links forever, yet at the same time she was engraving these things in her memory, so that many years later she might find strength them in a moment of weariness...


Probably she already understood a thing or two herself: it is impossible, after all, to go away and to return just like that; never again would she be the person she used to be, neither on the knoll where strawberries grow, and sometimes raspberries, nor in the refreshing water of the pond, though this quiet glad would surely entice her more and more as the years went by, and each homecoming would be a return only to the past, to the violet clover, to the rock in the millpond and to the three oak trees, because there would no longer be such things in her life.

-Juozas Aputis, The Glade with Life-Giving Water
-----
Question: how much of us change when we live away from home?  And how much of us remains the same?
***
Found this book chucked in the toilet cabinet in the Residences--some kid had thrown it away and the cleaners had salvaged it.  Kept it.  I found it lying alone in the toilet store cupboard.
***
A best friend once complained how when he returned home after six months of student exchange, everyone was quick to slot him back to the person he was before he left.  "Life here wants to treat me as it did before I escaped" he gripped, "And, selfish as it may sound, I will not stand and accept that.  Accepting it is adapting to it and adapting to it, is tantamount to forgetting."


Tantamount to forgetting.  Those are hard words to play by--but they ring with a certain truth.  When I came back from my semester-long student exchange in Holland,  no one seemed willing or interested in listening to my stories.  They asked for the sake of asking, but I could tell the questions were polite ones--because just as I started talking, that familiar, absent glaze quickly filled their eyes.  They weren't really interested--they wanted to continue living their own lives, sticking to their own thoughts, mulling over their own matters.


Which made me realise, maybe the life abroad is really a solipsistic one indeed.  And maybe it's necessary to have a tempered self-consciousness in order to make that very endeavor successful.  Temper your change to anticipate being slotted back into the same mould when you return.  The changes that we go through shouldn't push us to expect certain reactions, actions and attitudes of acknowledgement from others.  If we react with disappointment to the convenient actions, maybe it means we just haven't lived or understood enough.


What is it to understand enough, though?


I'm thinking it's about what you know you have learned, and how those lessons have made you better no matter how painful.  It's also not just about being better towards yourself, but towards the people around you too (service).  To me, maybe that should mean what being out there means.


Living is self-centric--and maybe its true fulfillment paradoxically means serving others, in order to serve self.


Thoughts?

Children's Logic
Cate, my five-year-old niece counsels her one-year-old-brother:

"If you really love mama don't kick her okay? Cos she gave birth to you."

(!!)

Bungalow Number Six=Mi Casa (My Home)
One and a half weeks into staying at Bungalow Six  (the Spaniards pronounce it "bhung-gah-low", in a very orh-beet sort of way....) I'm still in the thick of getting the space spruced up.  Here's a sneak peek into the small grot hole I'm trying to make home.  And yes, I think I am using "grot hole" correctly!  (Credits and salutations go to Mr Jeremy Chong (aka Gemma) for the etymological trace. Hahahahha)

Living area view from my room's door.  Note the mess.  The extreme right door is the main entrance.  The second is the door to the bathroom sink, bathroom, and the door within (you can see a sliver of it), the toilet.  The door in the middle of the picture leads to Kiko's room.  Yes, the door frames are so small we constantly have shoulder shrug exercises!

View from the front of the main door.  See how the windows open up to a fence and half the back of another container?  The sofa's still filled with loads of stuff (mostly my bags).  Gotta clear out the cupboards before I can put my stuff in them (no storage space here).  Oh, and one reason why it's so dark is because half of the lights don't work at the moment :S

Immediate left view of the living area--table, defunct tv, defunct stereo system, laptop in foreground.  Mess mess mess!  In the right mid-background, you can see a sliver of a peek into my room.  Which is also, btw, a mess :P

See?  This isn't half that bad--I had packed a good bit of my clothes.  Yes, save for underwear. Haha.  I have two windows that also look out to a fence--beyond which there are padel courts in full open view.  It also means that I have to draw the shades every time I change!

A closer look at the crap on the floor--most of it came from the kitchen cabinets.  There was a mega-watt lamp, spray cans, cables, calculators (?!) etc. etc.  Very strange to be under a kitchen cabinet.  And obviously also very dusty.  Big black bag on sofa is mine and filled with tennis shoes... Yes kiasu Singaporean.  What to do?

Kitchenette.  Sink is badly in need of a scrub.  Note to self to buy detergent, soap and scrubs when at Carrefour next!  Also am very disappointed that the gas stove and oven doesn't work.  Apparently they decided to cut gas because kids misused the stoves and two fires happened.  Tried asking the maintenance manager about it but I'd be surprised if they can supply gas to just one bungalow!  That means I'll be left to my trusty little... electric stove.  Sigh!

Lastly, kitchen cabinet above fridge.  Stuffed with fluff.  I just cleared the First Aid box and 3/4 of the medicine was expired!  So much for maintenance.  Box in bottom left of the picture with the BCN label is my trusted little thermo cooker, with my electric mini portable stove next to it in black and red cases.  I don't care, I'm going to cook my Singaporean food.  I have to!
-----
*Snapback*
Craving of the moment:

Wan tan mee tar with hiam jio and green chilli ♥ ♥

It's only been two weeks but there are days when I really miss home food.  For example, they had a Spanish version of fried noodles (what they called "Chinos pasta") the other day for dinner, and I got so excited I hurried back to my bungalow with a plastic teaspoon to scoop out some homemade belachan I had brought in a bottle!  Bee hoon doesn't taste complete without chili man.

Yes.  I miss indian rojak, mee pok, hor fun, popiah, kueh tu tu, ang ku kueh!! AHHHHH!  Stop the flashback, stop the flashback!!
-----
*Snaps back*
Sarah looks at you.  Takes a deep sigh and smiles a tired, slow smile.

Back to mi casa--I'll be sure to post up more pictures once the place is in better shape.  Things are definitely picking up, but I still need to unpack those ghastly big bags in the living room.  Easy does it, one step at a time!  Stay tuned folks, and keep me in your food prayers :)

Teenagers should be called pests with limbs in disguise
Being a resident warden--as like with any other job, has its fair share of inane idiosyncrasies and brain-numbing frustrations.  Particularly when it entails handling hormone-raging, EQ-stumped teenagers acting more like cockroaches than human beings.

A particular conversation ensued, this evening when I was doing check in.

A group of 17 year old teenagers sit outside on the steps of their container-bungalows, talking.  It is 10.15pm. Roll-call time.  They know they should be back in their bungalows.  I approach them.


Me: Alright guys! It's time. Bed time!
They flash me a "God,-you're-so-retarded" look.
Them: Come on! It's only ten fifteen! We check in at ten thirty!
Me: Nope, check in is at ten fifteen.
Some of the girls start whining
Girl: But come on!! We're 17!
Me: Oh wait.  How old?
Girl: 17!
Me: Oh really?  You're acting like you're 7.
----
Andrew, a big, tall Australian boy who religiously gives me problems every night--comes hopping up to me whilst I'm in the thick of check-in--read: very irritable.  Andrew is grinning from ear to ear.


Andrew: Can I please have some toilet paper?
Me: Toilet paper?
Andrew: Yes I really need some.
Me: What is it now Andrew.  You come up with something funny every night.
Andrew: (still hopping and grinning) I really need to go take a crap.
Me:  I see.  But aren't always full of crap?
"Owwwww!!!" His roommates start howling in delight at the diss.
Me: -so what difference would it make?
Andrew pauses--momentarily stunned.  Then grins again.
Andrew: I need to get rid of my old crap to get crap afresh!!

I swear.  These kids drive me up the wall.  After this happened, Kiko and I made four boys run around the swimming pool for 15 minutes for making derogative whooping sounds at me from their bungalows.  In the end, they sadly got their butts whooped instead.

Gaudi's Sagrada Familia--An Essay in Pictures

Having some time to spare before the madness all begins, I skipped out to Barcelona for the day to visit the infamous Sagrada Familia.  I almost got shot by a few friends the last time I came home without having visited the place--so I thought I'd better give it my dues.  In the end, it was the Sagrada Familia that totally bowled me over.

The first stop for the day was the La Broqueria--the oldest wet market in Barcelona.  I knew I had to get some lunch before I continued any further.  Broqueria is always fun because there're so much to see--both for the wet and dry sections.  It's kinda like the Spanish version of our Chinatown market.  In other words, lots and lots and lots of FOOOOOOOD!!  From fresh, succulent cherries,

to mmmmlicious pang xie pang xie!! Yum yum....

to pristine cod (strangely) kept in cold water.

I even caught an artist doing plein air.  I stood there for a good fifteen minutes--mesmerized.  His name was Juan Bueno--and he held his pen with a loose, strange kind of dexterity only possible to particularly talented artists.  Really amazing.

Spoilt for choice, I settled for pizza in the market.  The hawker had newspaper articles stuck on the front of his oven.  Being the typically well-trained Singaporean sucker, I took it as a sign of culinary expertise.  Unfortunately, I also forgot that only the most desperate hawkers resort to such means.  It was the saltiest pizza I've ever had.

He probably shakes a little of his sweat into his dough.  Marie Pang!  His bad pizza made me miss yours!!

After the salt-overdose, my tongue was quickly turning into sem-bueh.  I sought relief--and came across an old-fashioned Spanish "watercooler".

The accompanying plaque: "In commemoration of the inauguration of the La Merce Festival on the 24th of September, 1959.  These tiles are made from original pieces of pottery from the festival."
La Merce is one of the oldest and biggest festivals in Barcelona, held towards the tail end of September.

Still unsatisfied, I continued looking.  Look who I ran into on the way :)

I settled for a small scoop of strawberry Gelare: EUR1,35.

Mucho gusto (very happy) :)  Damn shiok man!

See the big lids in the foreground? Apparently they serve homemade natural lemonade surplees too. You know this is the real stuff when old locals totter in to parch their wrinkly lips and denture-filled gums.

On a separate note, the big steel canisters reminded me of tau huay hawkers back home.

Satiated--I moved on to the metro to get to Sagrada Familia.  Walked past the biggest... vending... machine...EVER!

Once I got out of the underground metro, I turned around and was stunned with this!

The Spaniards are so psyched about Sagrada Familia that even their dust sheets (picture, centre) have the building's motif embossed on them... high crass ah!

My tickets.

Feeling like an ant.

But still very excited :)

Here, I'm standing in front of the Passion facade of the building--the side the Sagrada that depicts the last hours of Christ--more commonly known as The Passion of the Christ (yes, that's where Mel Gibson lifted it from). The architectural style of the Passion facade is bare and cutting.  All the characters have gaunt, pained facial expressions with sharp edges and finishings.  This stands in stark contrast to the Nativity facade which depicts the birth of Christ--and which has smooth, rounded finishes, coupled with carved symbols of jubilee and life, describing the very life of Christ.

The Passion facade depicts a total of ten elemental moments of the Passion--coupled with amazing details, as of the ones below:

Jesus to Judas the Iscariot: "What you do, do quickly." -John 13:27

Scene on a door depicting Jesus praying at the Garden of Gethsemane.  You can see three disciples sleeping in the background behind/below him.

This square has 310 permutations, that all sum up to 33--the age that Christ died.

"I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End, the First and the Last." -Revelations 22:13

The doors to the left and right which this pillar holds up, actually have about 33,000 words of the Gospel inscribed in various languages, including Catalan.  Cool phrases include:

Gethsemane

The ever eternal question: "What is truth?"

My favourite answer:

♥ ♥  ♥ ♥ ♥

The inside was simply breathtaking. The pillars from the fore (cream) to the back (maroon) are made of different types of stone, in correspondence with the differing weights of the building it supports.  The central pillar (maroon) are made of the strongest rock to support the tallest tower in the Church--dedicated to Christ.  When completed, this central tower will measure 170 metres tall!


Amazing? :) It is, but notably, the tower will be a metre shorter than Montjuïc--the tallest hill in Barcelona.  Gaudi--a devout Catholic, believed that man's works should never surpass the limits of nature.

One thing amazing about the insides of the Church is the ceiling--the pillars and the extensions to the ceiling are so tall, looming and peaceful--the architecture itself was fashioned in the nature of a forest.  True enough, the details resemble leaves.  With sunlight streaming in, it makes the entire place feel like a forest.  

Despite the dust, the construction, the drills, there came so much peace in just... looking up :)

Everyone was pretty much doing the same thing.  It was so awesome some couldn't keep their mouths closed. Hahahahahha.

Credits to Charles Curling

The stained glass windows followed certain patterns of composition unique to each facade they were facing.  Certain segments of the glasses followed blue compositions to represent water (cleansing), heaven and the Holy Spirit in the bible.  Others had orange or red compositions to signify Christ's passion and humanity.  Most notably, the top and mid-sectioned windows were requested by Gaudi to be left unstained--so as to not  mix the true colour of the tiles and trencadis that coloured the tree boughs on the ceiling.  Similarly, Gaudi wanted the congregation to be bathed in natural light--in order to effect a closer connection to God.

Case in point:)

Spotlight :)

Mid section windows.  Notice how the light naturally falls on the floor?  Now imagine rows and rows of pews.  Gaudi designed the church to hold a congregation of 10,000 (2,000 choir with natural architectural acoustics included!)

Picture Revisited! Saludos to the generous Alex Maklakov
I've found someone who has a cable compatible for my camera!!  Oh, what joy!

Totally poofed from spending nearly my whole day clearing up my new crib--Bungalow number 6 at Academia Sanchez-Casal.  It's 3am in the morning, my lids are drooping.  


But till soon, photo journal of my recent trip to Sagrada Familia coming up :)