<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939</id><updated>2012-02-01T12:53:19.850+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Rambles</title><subtitle type='html'>my personal chalkboard to ramble away life's simple pleasures....</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>38</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-1819245722971750218</id><published>2012-02-01T00:19:00.007+08:00</published><updated>2012-02-01T12:53:19.860+08:00</updated><title type='text'>How's it so far?</title><content type='html'>So I was told 2012 is THE YEAR FOR THE THOSE BORN IN THE YEAR OF THE BOAR. I had the maximum 5-star rating. A great year I was promised by a Chinese geomancer who read the highs and the lows of all the 12 Chinese Zodiac signs during a CNY programme.  Black and blue is my auspicious colour (easy, at least they are not asking me to wear a fushia boa for good luck).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much for a great start, spending the first few minutes on the throne, and now nursing a stubborn cough since the second day of the Lunar New Year.    After I have wished and shook everyone's hands at the strike of midnight, I disappeared into my favourite room in the house.  I emerged several minutes later wondering what I ate wrong and where my relatives were...they left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still coughing as I am typing this.  I wonder what the year ahead is going to be like.   I am liking it very much so far. The mood around the air is great,people around me are happy. Other than the cough, my cheeks are ruddy, hair is looking great, skin with a slight hint of the sun.  I have been told to be cautious as those born in the year of the boar will be rather attractive...this year only.. so cash in or not?  Not taking it literally of course but I knew what it meant.  I could sense its going to be a pleasant year with less squabbles, a more harmonious ambience within the household.  Less power struggle as I can see I am going to be the one to take the back seat and let others drive.  I am tired and want to spend more time on me.  I want to see my friends, see my aunt who is visiting from Australia, take my God-daughter for a meal, have ice cream with my buddies, travel with my family, do things at whims and at my fancy.  My boys are independent, they need a break from mummy.  She nags and at times erratic.  That's me.  I can be so predictable and unpredictable all at the same time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Into my 40s officially, I have earned a certain right to be who I am.  Take me as I am.  Love me, love my imperfections.  Perfection is such a ugly word, as life was never meant to be perfect.  Those seeking for one is not for this world.  Be thankful for who you are, be thankful for the people around you.  You'll be amazed who could turn out to be your worst enemies and someone you least expects becomes your best friend through some unexpected turn of events.  Treasure those people as your paths are meant to cross.  Sometimes they will make you a better person through their outloook in life, through their sharing about parenting or becomes a mirror, someone to keep you in order.  I could deal with that.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other than this cough, I guess its been a great start.  There's love in the air, the mood is good, career is stable, colleagues are great, why should I complain, and if it ain't broken, why fix it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever your zodiac say of you, keep it at the back of your head just like the occasional nagging you get from mum.  Don't be foolish to place your last $100 at the casino just because your geomancer tells you to.  Yes, I have been a foolish girl but have learnt from it that why I can now say this.  Learn from mistakes but there's always the good and bad lurking side by side.  Too bad, they need to coexist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2011 was a great year, many happy moments to remember.  That's already a part of history.  Look ahead and seek new adventures.  Be brave and take bold steps, big big strides. In retropect, you can dare say, "at least I tried".  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its going to be a busy year for all.  A blog entry at the end of the month for a start.  Afterall, its therapeutic for me.  A way to unwind, recharge, download, offload my thoughts, to be in sync with the heart.  That's all that matters and I know there'll be a few reading this.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its late, I need to recharge, ready to face the world again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good night folks.  Sweet dreams! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-1819245722971750218?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/1819245722971750218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2012/02/hows-it-so-far.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/1819245722971750218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/1819245722971750218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2012/02/hows-it-so-far.html' title='How&apos;s it so far?'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-138777667855581588</id><published>2011-12-30T14:01:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-12-30T14:13:50.089+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Goodbye 2011, Hello 2012</title><content type='html'>Alright folks, just when you have gotten used to writing 2011 on your cheque books, its time to make the same mistakes again come 2012.   The year, the weeks, the days, the hours, the minutes and the seconds are ticking way too fast for me, for you, anyone with me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not sure how many of you like me have a cluttered work desk but in the midst of piles of papers, there's a photo here, a picture frame there, a piece of drawing your child did at play group, a sketchy penmanship of your 5 year old that says, Happy Mother's Day?  Memorabilia to remind us of the passage of time.  Then it dawned on you that your little child is now turning 13 and ready to embark on another journey.  It  daunting to be reminded that the clock is indeed ticking mercilessly.  Everyone is aging, coping with wrinkles, age spots, greying hair and whatever comes with becoming a year older.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a few hours, we welcome 2012.  To some, its a radiant new beginning, to some, another dark, painful year, with nothing to look forward to.  Some have great pay bonuses while some will wonder if whatever little they have will see them through the month.  Its been like a long distance run for me.&lt;br /&gt;At some stage, I pace well.  At times, I sprint and many times I pant.  Its the uncertainty of the physical and emotional momentum that we are often not prepared for.  We don't know how far the drop is.  But we just close our eyes and hope we survive the fall.  Isn't life all about risk-taking?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kids had great gifts this Christmas; a smart phone, and mp4 player, a nintendo wii, Nike Pegasus (while my trainers are in dire need for a trip to the cobbler).  Its all about the kids isn't it?  My biggest wish for 2012 is to see my family happy and indeed, they are.  No skiing trips but Hong Kong was just as awesome.  The company was all that matters.  I just make sure they know mum and dad work really hard to give them a well deserved gift and their obligations is to be good kids and to do their best in school.  A good friend had to be away on work stint for most part of the school holidays, as it comes with the job.  To make a living, to provide for the family.  If you don't give your family the best now, then when?  The fragility of life is very frightening.  There may come a time when we can no longer provide.   Embrace them while they are clingy for they will not be so very soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New year resolutions are archaic.  I never make them and never will.  Do yourself a favour, don't.  Live for the here and now.  I hit the gym less than 10 times this year and the scales didn't lie.  I enjoy my food escapades with my family way too much to be worried about whether I fit into my Levis.  So what if you are a couple of inch wider, not gonna hurt anyone?  You know your own body better than anyone.  Listen to your body and take good care of it.  Eat all you want but know when to stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nope, I am not going to fret the small things in life.  Be happy you still have a job, your children, spouse, parents, friends, best friends, lovers and that they are all well, and truly be happy inside.  We are all communal beings, no man is an island.  Reach out and talk to someone.  You never know you could save a person's life just by opening up to him or her.   Be a better person, be generous, don't talk behind each other, hard to do but try.  I am still struggling with this for the longest time.  Don't talk about others because we are also easy targets for gossips.  Its so hard to be good, so easy to be bad.  If there's ever a need to make a new year's resolution, let this be one.  To be a better person, period.  That alone encompass lots of elements to make the world a better place to be.  There's always a way out, just open up your world and get out of that dark tunnel.  To those short-sighted, narrow minded, selfish people, I hope you'll be enlightened in some way.  Be nice and don't take unfair advantage of people.  What goes around, comes around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To all my acquaintances, friends, siblings, colleagues, my closest friends, my husband, mum and dad, have a Funtastic &amp; Happy 2012.  Let the good times roll.  I wish you and your family well, hope to see you more often and looking forward to hear your happy stories.  Cheers to all and to my special ones, I love you dearly...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-138777667855581588?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/138777667855581588/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/12/goodbye-2011-hello-2012.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/138777667855581588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/138777667855581588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/12/goodbye-2011-hello-2012.html' title='Goodbye 2011, Hello 2012'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-3862918091998395838</id><published>2011-07-14T15:59:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-14T15:59:59.849+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear 16-year-old Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe width="480" height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_4jgUcxMezM?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen=""&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-3862918091998395838?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/3862918091998395838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/07/dear-16-year-old-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/3862918091998395838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/3862918091998395838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/07/dear-16-year-old-me.html' title='Dear 16-year-old Me'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://img.youtube.com/vi/_4jgUcxMezM/default.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-3004274834959047724</id><published>2011-07-07T00:58:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-07T18:53:53.612+08:00</updated><title type='text'>What Matters Most is Love...</title><content type='html'>Many of my friends and acquaintances whom I "see" regularly on Facebook have posted photos of their children, including myself and tapping open their photos to reveal the beautiful interaction between parent and child and the deep bond my friends have with their children.. indeed heartwarming. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The imminent day will come when we grow old and eventually fade from this earth, how will our children remember us? Have you wondered what the eulogy would be? If there's even going to be one for that matter? Being the positive me, assuming there is. What would your children say about you to the world. Have you influenced their lives greatly or are you one that your child resent and not wanting to be associated with? Or rather to be a person who have made such an impact to the people around you and to be immortalised in that very brief eulogy, so people will know you, as a person, a spouse, a friend.  You will be surprised how little people know about you.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a very profound thought which I recently had.  Being a person who cares about what others thought of me, I want to leave this world knowing I have touched someone's life. Even if its just one person, it will make my life worth living.  I may not be that rich tycoon to donate a hospital or fund a school project but closer to home, have you made a difference to your child's life. The child will know when you are nagging and when you meant well.   Will your child proudly profess to their own children when they become parents one day say,  "you know what, my mum and dad was there for me, for richer and for poorer...", just to borrow a line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have evolved to become greedy, self centered people that we often use monetary or material rewards to barter trade time with our children. We get too engaged in your career building so we can hoard enough for our childrens' needs. Nothing wrong but what message are we telling them. What seems so right can turn out to be so wrong.  Are we giving them the wrong signals. As parents we work hard, I'm sure we want our children to appreciate the long hours we toiled , the overtime we do, the late night staying up to finish a presentation. They must know that it's not a given. My parents don't owe me an education.  Count your blessings if you are born into a well to do family, your parents can buy you an education but the boy who helps his dad deliver newspapers at the break of dawn, he has just as much a rewarding life than anyone out there.  He is emotionally rich in his relationship with his father.  He loves his dad enough to offer his time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't born with a silver spoon. We've had our ups and downs.  I never once blamed anyone for having lacked anything. It was something that has to happen to make me who I'm today, not a charmed life but a complete person, one who has been through some test in life. I can tell you this now that I have done my homework in the dark. Been there, done that. But with that brief episode in my life, I can appreciate basic things I now have.  I can only say it doesn't matter how little or how much I have.  I have now a shelter over my head, hot meals on the table, a lovely family with a caring spouse, my folks are well, charming siblings, a niece that adores me and my boys to keep me on my toes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To me, there's so much one can have, and one can have only so much.  My agenda in life is simple, to bring up my children to the best of my ability, give them the time they deserve. Engage them in your conversations and don't think they don't understand what's going on. They observe but they may not tell you what they see, why should they?  Keep life simple, we really don't need a whole lot of things. It will all come to nothing one day. The intangible things like time, feelings, thoughts, kind gestures, they'll go a longer way than most material things, and people remember you through that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you live a life like a hermit, you will die a hermit.  Stretch out your hands and reach out, show a little love, tell that person he/she looks well, share a story, be that listening ear, be humble and ask for help, smile and say thank you to the person that hands out the free papers every morning at the train station.  Not difficult.  The petite lady at the train station gives me my papers and with every copy she greets, never ever missing a beat.  That must have been a record breaker for the most number of times a day one says "good morning sir/madam".  I was having a quick lunch one day and 2 ladies who seemed like foreign domestic helpers wanted to share a table.  They were so polite that I was slightly embarassed.  "May I share your table?", one of them asked, that did it for me.  From now on, I will use this phrase, rather than "anyone sitting here?", see the difference. We learn from one another, never be a snob.  Good manners reflects good upbringing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing else matters like loving your loved ones like there's no tomorrow. Enjoy the moment, seize every opportunity to tell them how much you appreciate and love them. Better to let them know when you can than when you can't. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't be afraid to love...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-3004274834959047724?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/3004274834959047724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/07/what-matters-most-is-love.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/3004274834959047724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/3004274834959047724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/07/what-matters-most-is-love.html' title='What Matters Most is Love...'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-2771647450032467674</id><published>2011-06-25T09:46:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-25T10:29:48.989+08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Bucket List</title><content type='html'>I am sure you heard the expression to "kick the bucket".  Makes me ponder what will be in my bucket list. Its quite thought provoking.   Its about things I want to do, goals I want to achieve, places I want to visit before I die.  So inspired to start my very own list here.  I have yet to have 10 most wanted things to do let alone 101 things to do.  But I think 101 seems a good number to work on.  It may not be some some out this world goals like visit NASA space station but little things like grow a plant, paint a picture, something so trivial yet I never got around to do it.  I get caught up with daily routines and start giving myself all sorts of excuses.  Then before you know it, I will start regretting not having done this or that after knowing how little days I have left in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am starting one now, just randomly recording things I wanna do at some point my life.  It gives me some direction and meaning to my short existence on this earth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not in any order of preference...life isn't about rules remember&lt;br /&gt;If there's any chance I can get some help in achieving these goals, I'd love to hear from you, could be a suggestion on a place to visit etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  Take my mum and dad on a holiday&lt;br /&gt;2.  Own a convertible&lt;br /&gt;3.  Visit Holy Land&lt;br /&gt;4.  Sponsor an orphan&lt;br /&gt;5.  Write and publish a book&lt;br /&gt;6.  Decide on my final resting place&lt;br /&gt;7.  Make a time capsule for my boys&lt;br /&gt;8.  Renew my marriage vow&lt;br /&gt;9.  To tell someone "the hell with you"&lt;br /&gt;10. The world is too big, so I wish to travel half the world instead &lt;br /&gt;    (I had dreams about São Paulo, so Brazil is a must)&lt;br /&gt;11. Ride on a horse&lt;br /&gt;12. To be on a Harley on a freeway (my hubby will not ride on a 2 wheeler ever)&lt;br /&gt;13. Get on top of the Empire State Building&lt;br /&gt;14. Go skinny dipping&lt;br /&gt;15...... oh I think I can go on and on...this is fun...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-2771647450032467674?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/2771647450032467674/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/06/my-bucket-list.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/2771647450032467674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/2771647450032467674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/06/my-bucket-list.html' title='My Bucket List'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-1323918043248288247</id><published>2011-04-25T01:15:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-04-25T01:15:55.840+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Marriage….is there a used by date? (Part One)</title><content type='html'>In a couple of hours, my cable network will be devoting the entire week to the wedding of the century.  In 1981, Princess Diana and Prince Charles charmed the entire world with their fairy tale wedding.  Prince William, the very fact that he is a prince makes the world sit up, plebians like me want to know how pompous the royal wedding will be.  Prince William marrying  a commoner would have earned him a few extra brownie points.  This was the only thing that made me realized that the monarcy has opened up and have accepted that love meant everything, doesn’t matter Kate Middleton’s parents merely owned a party planning business albeit a rather successful one.   I will be witnessing it on telly for the second time, the first when I am 9 and now 31 years later.  To some, it may be their first.  It will be a educational ride for my boys to see how being born into a royal family, the whole world wants to know you, every single detail that goes into the planning, consisting of security, logistical and every iota will be scrutinized.  For me, it will be to know what Kate Middleton’s choice of flowers would be.&lt;br /&gt;With so many weddings you hear about, there’s just about as much number of divorces you know about.  Some even very close to home.  Think about that aunt of yours, a friend, a sister, a brother or even yourself, who has been through a amicable or ugly divorce.  Its so common these days, maybe we should have legalise a drive-thru divorce kiosk.  I am sure somewhere around in this planet, some entrepreneurs are already cashing in on this one.&lt;br /&gt;Not dwelling into the contractual obligations in the legal proceedings of a divorce.  I just want to know at which point do you say, “listen up mate, I think I had enough of you, I don’t think I am going to spend the rest of my life living with you, goodbye, see you in another life!”  I doubt there will ever me such a statement uttered to an ex-spouse.  Surely there must be some good times to cherish, right?  So how can you turn around and tell this person whom you stood with before the justice, pledging that “only will death do us part”?  What happened to the vow?  If it didn’t mean anything to you, why say it?  Does that mean, marriage is simply an institution?  Maybe marriage is passé.  Two people in love, living together, have children, why is the marriage paper necessary?&lt;br /&gt;We hear their stories, biased and often we don’t get to hear both sides of the story, its almost impossible to empathise with one and not feel anything for the other.  Human beings are not made to be impartial.  Lawyers are paid to be partial, so they need to take sides.  I want to be on the side of the “victim”, but how sure are you that the other party is not the “victim”?  A lawyer friend of mine discouraged my son from taking Law as a profession.  Its tough and its miserable, I quote him.  My friend refuses to handle divorce cases, it painful he said.  This comes from someone who married a public prosecutor.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe human beings are like any other animals, made to mate with multiple partners.  So every marriage has a use by date…is that it?  Having said that, I often marveled  how some folks stay married for 50, 60 years.  It’s so amazing, when two people, still holding hands like when they were 16 years old, still got the hots for each other when they are old and feeble, its often an awe, to wonder how they are made for one another probably until they reach the end of their lives.  Quite recently, I read of an elderly couple in Canada winning the lottery.  They were richer by several million.  They gave away their winnings to charity.  They are clueless on how to use the money and quite frankly, do they really need the money?  That is 100% charity, 0% greed.  I would just cringe, oh, just give me 10%, that’s all I need…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marriage with a used by date?  How did that happened?   To be continued……&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-1323918043248288247?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/1323918043248288247/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/04/marriageis-there-used-by-date-part-one.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/1323918043248288247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/1323918043248288247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/04/marriageis-there-used-by-date-part-one.html' title='Marriage….is there a used by date? (Part One)'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-4484587681252541650</id><published>2011-04-19T10:38:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-04-19T10:46:28.389+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Invisible Mother</title><content type='html'>It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I’m thinking, ‘Can’t you see I’m on the phone?’&lt;br /&gt;Obviously not; no one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I’m invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more! Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this??&lt;br /&gt;Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a clock to ask, ‘What time is it?’ I’m a satellite guide to answer, ‘What number is the Disney Channel?’ I’m a car to order, ‘Right around 5:30, please.’&lt;br /&gt;I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -but now, they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She’s going, she’s going, she’s gone!?&lt;br /&gt;One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from  England . Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, ‘I brought you this.’ It was a book on the great cathedrals of  Europe . I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription: ‘To  Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.’&lt;br /&gt;In the days ahead I would read – no, devour – the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals – we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.&lt;br /&gt;A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, ‘Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof, No one will ever see it. And the workman replied, ‘Because God sees.’&lt;br /&gt;I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, ‘I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does.&lt;br /&gt;No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no cupcake you’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will become.  At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.&lt;br /&gt;When I really think about it, I don’t want my son to tell the friend he’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, ‘My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for 3 hours and presses all the linens for the table.’ That would mean I’d built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, ‘You’re going to love it there.’&lt;br /&gt;As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;- a friend whom I least expected sent me this, came at a moment when I felt so vulnerable, so exhausted and everyone just wanted a piece of me.  I cried as I was reading this.  At times, it all gets too much.  Behind the facade, I struggle to be the best mom, the perfect wife, the exemplary worker, to be in touch with my Saviour.  How can one handle so much just to keep it all together.  I have always felt invisible, but now I know someone is watching, God sees. That's all I care.  If you can, share this with a someone you care about and let them know that they are appreciated.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-4484587681252541650?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/4484587681252541650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/04/invisible-mother.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/4484587681252541650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/4484587681252541650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/04/invisible-mother.html' title='The Invisible Mother'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-7083362164517147122</id><published>2011-03-10T15:11:00.006+08:00</published><updated>2011-03-10T17:15:27.940+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Passage of Time</title><content type='html'>I was struck by how time was ebbing away while I was at mum's place over the weekend.  Mum's place was always an escape for me.  Going back to my former bedroom which dad now occupies, I could almost re enact the memories of my childhood.  My room overlooks a playground,  this very playground my son fell off the playground equipment  4 years ago and had to be whisked off in an ambulance and treated for fractured tibia and fibula. There was also a multi-purpose court for badminton and sepak takraw and a row of shops which has now changed hands many times.   There was once a video rental shop where mum constantly patronize to get her Hong Kong drama series fix.  The mama provision store sit directly below my living room, where we bought our freshly grated coconut, beer and ciggies for visitors.  Gopal, the shop owner who counts mum as a regular regular and allowed us to buy these questionable items without questioning.   I swear we were tempted to knock 3 times on our floor with a bamboo pole and Gopal would send up our groceries.   Some things never change, I still tell my mum, "hey I will meet you by Gopal's shop".  I wonder where he is now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mum has a knack for making the house look pseudo new and  refreshing although we've had this home for close to 25 years.  She rearranges the furniture, just little adjustments here and there and viola, a new look.  We think mum's a genius, a Martha Stewart or sorts.  The house recently got a fresh coat of paint after some retrofitting works (home improvement scheme from the govt).  Mum's thrilled she got 2 new toilets, new pipes, new kitchen floor, a new fire proof door and wrought iron gates which was literally falling apart.  I was hoping to win a big lottery and buy my folks an apartment but since I don't see that happening anytime soon, the new fittings was just what my parents needed.  On hindsight, mum always made the home very cozy even though we don't have expensive furnishings.  The softness of the tea lights that illuminate the home was enough to make you indulge into a sweet slumber.  The harshness of fluorescent lighting can be such a killjoy to anything.  Everything looks better fuzzy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So going back to where I started, going through some of my personal belongings still boxed up in one corner of the bedroom, lies old photo albums, school yearbooks, the odd Home Economics textbook, a stack of birthday cards, letters, diaries, autograph books, things I have forgotten that I even had.  Its almost surreal to read those old aerogrammes from old friends, diary entries that still amazes me.  Recalling places I have been, food I have eaten, people I have been with, movies I have seen, with who and where.  What really amazes me are my primary school friends still remembers me after 30 years.  I begin to wonder if they remember my smile or that I was a nasty girl hanging around the old National Library before school hours, not necessarily to borrow books but also to do with some boys in white uniforms with green badges who hung around the vicinity.  Reminiscing, I miss that library down at Stamford Road.  You almost feel like an academic doing your research in that massive landmark, every book that came with a library card and date due stamped on the first page.  Its all so personal back then, now my librarian is a machine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a part in all of us which yearns to go back in time just for a day, to relive the moment, to unite with friends we left behind, to say the things we didn't get to say, to tell them how sorry you were, how much you actually love them but because of choices we had to make then.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I became aunt to a new born baby on Valentine's Day.  My younger sister delivered a bouncy baby much to the delight of everyone in the family.  Its been almost 11 years since we last had a baby in the household.  About time I thought.  It was such a thrill to hold a baby.  I have almost forgotten how to hold one, to smell them which I feel almost obliged to do.  These new born have that unique scent that can never be replicated.  My baby sister is now a mother.  Feeding and tending to her child, she's now so complete, no longer the little girl I used to know.  She's all grown up and ready to embrace motherhood with all her heart and soul.  Describing the pain she had to endure without an epidural.  While just few short years ago I was listening to her talking about her varsity days.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am somewhat of a hoarder.  I have problems parting with things that may mean very little to some people.  I will even keep a stub of a train ticket or a cinema counterfoil.  I'd see them once every few years, noticing much they have mildewed and eradicating the occasional silverfish which was chowing up my photo album.  My boys are actually enjoying reading what my friends wrote about me in autograph books some 25 years ago.  They asked if I still kept in touch with this person or that person.  Some I said are in my iphone contacts but many I have lost touch or moved to another country or worse, left the face of this earth.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are "priceless", I quote my primary school friend who saw my posting of a movie advertisement which I have kept and dated.  I did that for a short while.  After the watching the movie, I'd go back to the papers, cut up the ad, stick them on a notebook, date them, rate them and who I went the move with.   I am sure my friend didn't remember ever having watch that movie let alone with who.  I now understands why mum still keep a denim jumper that my sister wore in the early 70s.  The same jumper I wore, then my younger sister, its ridiculous.  But some things just last forever don't they?  Now where did mum kept that woolen booty I wore as a baby.  I am 100% sure its around.  Now should I  even wonder if my mum  kept my sister's dried up umbilical stump.  I like all things old-school, don't blame me.  I just cannot keep up with the latest gadgets.  I have problems managing digital photographs, but getting better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time, ticking away mercilessly.  Listen, that second just gone.  If you don't freeze it, don't over estimate that memory of yours...but I do wish time could be slowed down especially when you are happy and yearn for precious moments to linger a little longer. I am not ready to deal with my son's acne problem.   That explains why people say "funny how time flies when you are having fun".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-7083362164517147122?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/7083362164517147122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/03/passage-of-time.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/7083362164517147122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/7083362164517147122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/03/passage-of-time.html' title='The Passage of Time'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-8966679307743080438</id><published>2011-01-20T17:18:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-01-20T17:26:30.593+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Parenting...my style</title><content type='html'>Over the last few weeks there were some thought provoking media I came across which dabbled on the topic of parenting.  I decided to reflect on my  own style of parenting.  Wall Street Journal and New York Times does its best when you like to ponder over opinions. Amy Chua, Professor of Yale Law School guarded her children with an iron fist,  dragon-lady, child abuser...call her what you want.  She is now subjected to critics, several detractors that slams her style.  Strangely and from her claims on a lot of Chinese parent, her  system works, so what can you do about it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know which style of parenting is more widely adopted, but with any relationships, there's no right or wrong and its none of our business to judge.  Our very own parenting style would be equally subjected to scrutiny.  If a child excels in school, displays good character and ability, then we immediately assume that he was well brought up and it reflects good parenting.  Then its vice versa. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dad was self employed and runs a company selling American stainless steel cookware. He was   a busy man but gave us what I thought was adequate attention.   Mum was a housewife and she took care of most of our needs.  All three of us were mostly given the liberty to manage our homework.  My sisters and I had the opportunity to learn classical piano but I wondered if it was ever our choice. For me its was "sister did it so I should too".  It never lasted.  We never had tuition even though my second language and math were just mediocre.  It was only later in junior college when I needed to get a pass for my second language did my parents offered to hire a home tutor for me.  Even with that extra help, my foundation wasn't adequate to see to a pass.  We spoke mainly English and dialect at home.  Mum spoke fluent bahasa malayu and Dad was bilingual.  We watched lots of Mandarin programmes, Cantonese drama serials but mainly it was English pop songs that blasted from our boombox.  English sitcoms like Family Ties, Different Strokes, The Cosby Show were our staple.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't recall mum and dad ever coming to parent teacher conferences (was there ever one during my time?).  Not that they didn't want to but it was never required.  I guess we didn't cause much of a stir in school to warrant a school visit.  So long at the end of each semester, we brought home our report cards without a comment like "your child is seriously......  We usually get good comments from teachers anyway (ahem).  That was probably good enough for my parents to know that we are not going to join the secret society.  When it was time for us to enter secondary school, any school was a good school.  Co-ed it was.  We had a "no boys allowed" policy for the longest time.  My 18th birthday was the only exception, and that's the moment when my folks finally worked that out, that at 18, I need boys in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were allowed to buy casettes, pop magazines, fill our bedroom walls with centrefold pin ups of idols, peeling off paints at the same time.  We kept our rooms relatively neat and if my memory didn't fail me, my sister only had 2 girlfriends for a sleepover. It was convenient as we had 4 bedrooms, so rooms were more than enough. But never the other way around.  My parents always had issues with that, and I have somewhat adopted their style, sleepovers were restricted to  cousins.  My first sleepover was when I was 17 and we had to bunk with my buddy after a night at the disco.  We took turns to wash our ashtray smelling hair, chatted till 3am, and waking up late morning with breakfast prepared by the lovely mother of my buddy.  But that's also because we didn't want to pay for midnight surcharges which for a college student, extravagant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although mum and dad were strict, they had reasonable curfews.  We had to be home by 11pm.  I think now that I am married with a family, I have quite naturally kept to that curfew.  Not that I am a party pooper, but I just have obligations to my family and I don't think anyone should fault me for that.  I guess because I was brought up in non-traditional Chinese family, which resulted in what we are today, I can conclude that  have had a pretty decent and happy childhood.  My boys are allowed to stay up late during school vacation, watch TV, play computer games, the freedom to choose their CCAs, select their own clothes, have the latest toys, eat whatever they want.   I am guilty of bargaining though and some form of barter trading.  I give them the freedom in exchange for good grades.   I don't expect straight As, but would be a real bonus if they did come home with As.  I will get really mad  if I felt they have not put in their best effort and that is when I take away privileges.  I have been chatised for being so laid back, my expectations of my children so low.  I never once bought a cane and never will.  I have never spank my children and never will.  I have never yelled at my children and never will.  I respect them for who they are and I expect the same from them.  Every child is unique and the last thing you want is a clone.  If you want your children to be your friend, you have to befriend them first.  You get to their level and then you will understand why they do the things they do.  Children want to be independent just as adults, we don't like to be caged up or dictate their every move.  Children do know what they want and what they don't want.  Eg.  Son No. 1 was approached recently by the head mistress to stand for election for the post of Head Prefect.  The boy politely turned down the offer and apologised that he was happy to just remain as regular prefect. Simply because he felt the need to focus his attention on his school work. Some parents would have jumped and trust me, I was a bit uncomfortable about his lack of interest in developing his leadership skill and was getting too cushy in his post.  I queried him, heart to heart, why he turned the head mistress down without much consideration.  He then told me that he would need a lot of time campaigning, and the opportunity cost being time away from homework, plus he may not necessarily get elected.  While I don't necessarily agree with him, I respected his decision.  Now he is happy and even happier to be a campaign manager for his classmate, like Joe Biden for Barack Obama, a running mate.  Another scenario, both the boys  were asked if he would like to go to Suzhou for an immersion change programme.  Heavily subsidized and great opportunity for learning outside the classroom.  I was like, "go go go, good for you" but the boys were like "no no no, not good for us without mum and dad!" They were not ready to travel without us, well so be it.  "Another time then," I said, "whenever you are ready".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To me, even with a best fool proof formula of parenting, the best input may not equate the best output.  We will not know how our children will turn out.  There will be lots of trial and error, mistakes big and small.  We just have to give it our best shot and pray for God's blessings.  If you think you have done your best, then by your personal standards, you have.  So what if you pay thousands for violin lessons, you can't force your child to join the orchestra if he has decided to be banker, instead he display his stradivarius in his office.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gotta go get them home from sports practice, I leave you with this thought....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-8966679307743080438?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/8966679307743080438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/01/parentingyour-style.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/8966679307743080438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/8966679307743080438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/01/parentingyour-style.html' title='Parenting...my style'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-855178159191544558</id><published>2011-01-08T09:45:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-01-08T09:45:57.937+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dick &amp; Rick Hoyt</title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/dDnrLv6z-mM?fs=1" frameborder="0"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speechless, this clip will blow you away....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-855178159191544558?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/855178159191544558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/01/dick-rick-hoyt.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/855178159191544558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/855178159191544558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2011/01/dick-rick-hoyt.html' title='Dick &amp; Rick Hoyt'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://img.youtube.com/vi/dDnrLv6z-mM/default.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-6870220483013076664</id><published>2010-12-30T15:52:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2010-12-30T15:52:24.683+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Michael Bolton - The Best Of Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ganyeVCcuyI?fs=1" frameborder="0"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stumbled upon this video, a big fan of Babyface who first sang this song.  I never like covers but this groovy track together with this stylized video, Michael Bolton did it for me, with his heavenly voice, makes me wanna fall in love all over again....enjoy. Note: The lady is Ashley Judd.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-6870220483013076664?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/6870220483013076664/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/12/michael-bolton-best-of-love_30.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/6870220483013076664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/6870220483013076664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/12/michael-bolton-best-of-love_30.html' title='Michael Bolton - The Best Of Love'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://img.youtube.com/vi/ganyeVCcuyI/default.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-1073969899094649979</id><published>2010-12-30T15:41:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2010-12-30T15:50:00.681+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Michael Bolton - The Best Of Love</title><content type='html'>Stumbled upon this video, a big fan of Babyface who first sang this song.  I never like covers but this groovy track together with this stylized video, Michael Bolton did it for me, with his heavenly voice, makes me wanna fall in love all over again....enjoy. Note: The lady is Ashley Judd.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-1073969899094649979?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/1073969899094649979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/12/michael-bolton-best-of-love.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/1073969899094649979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/1073969899094649979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/12/michael-bolton-best-of-love.html' title='Michael Bolton - The Best Of Love'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-7504634162277466074</id><published>2010-12-11T10:58:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2010-12-11T12:26:20.759+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Its all about the Family</title><content type='html'>You can't ignore that Christmas is creeping in again.  Every little craggy nook, every mega mall you step into, your heartland shopping plaza, even your neighbourhood vendors are cashing in on the all too familiar commercialism we had for many years associated with the birth of Christ.  Look, we are even among the top 5 countries for the best lit street.  To me its just lots of fluff and a dream come true for shopaholics and a huge bill for the tax payers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some very very serious spending takes place at this time of the year, fat year end bonuses creating snake queues at cashiers, vacation teens working overtime, impatient shoppers waiting to have their gift wrapped are a sure sign that the economy is moving fast and fury.  Guilty or doting parents snapping up the latest toys, making sure their children has the latest toy, not to be outdone by the geek next door.  Year-end corporate dinners pumping up hotel profits, home parties decked with turkey, hams, log cakes, free pouring wines there's really reasons to be jolly...plain and simple.  We want to be happy, even if its just for a while.  But be prudent how often you swipe that little piece of plastic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love Christmas.  For the simple reason that its less of a fuss than Chinese New Year.  I am not being the pseudo westerner here but I think as a child, the memories I had, rushing to help mum set up the Christmas tree, to be mum's finest helper.  As a child, you are not aware of spatial distribution, so I would have the part of decorating the tree with whispy sliver of cotton wool. I mean how fun can it be to rip open red packets, finding pieces of notes.  We didn't understand the value of money, not knowing money could actually multiply if you put in the bank.  Christmas comes with spirit of giving and receiving.  If you ask me, I prefer to be on the giving end. It nice no doubt to receive a gift but to receive a great gift, I am not too sure, we always console ourselves that its the thought that counts.  A great gift at this juncture of my life could be a car, doesn't come with a humble price tag.  But a thoughtful gift goes a long way, a bag of coffee beans will send me to 7th heaven simply because you know I can never go by a day without coffee.  There's a sense of happiness when you know the person is actually enjoying your gift.  I can appreciate how one can succumb to a migraine just thinking what to buy for a loved one.  That's why I configured, if you can't get a great gift for someone, don't just get one for the heck of it. I will thank you for not creating another piece of clutter in my home because recycling gift is not my style.  I was thankful my family members agreed on a "gifts for children only".  It was such a huge burden off, both monetary and psychologically. But today's children are really brats in sheep's clothing.  They don't believe in hinting what they want anymore.  Under my tree are two big boxes, I can tell you now, inside are 2 nerf guns picked up two weeks ago by my children, beautifully wrapped without an element of surprise.  Now they are both absolutely disgusted that Christmas is still a few days away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And speaking of gift wrapping, if there's one thing I could do after I retire, provided I don't suffer from arthritis, I wouldn't mind manning a gift wrapping counter.  Although I know how it makes a huge difference between wrapping your gifts at home and wrapping before countless pairs of impatient gawking eyes.  Gift wrapping could be rocket science for some, but don't be a scrooge, buy your own gift wrap paper, take it home, get your wife, girlfriend or mum to help.   Women have a knack for such things. We are just better with cutting and pasting.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its so easy to forget that you don't need to wait till Christmas, Valentine's day or a birthday to get someone a gift.  Best when he or she is caught unaware.  It does makes the recipient blush that you are thinking about him or her when no one else does.  It doesn't have to be anything luxe, the simplest, most meaningful gift you'll ever give will be something given with your heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas always conjures a sense of peace and serenity, although missing a fireplace, its always been more of a cosy celebration of the family, emulating the togetherness of the nativity....for me at least.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gifts, feasting, trimmings are all just a fraction of the spirit of Christmas.  Family members coming together to share a simple meal, catching up over mum's dishes, in my case celebrating daddy's birthday as well, to be able to spend yet another Christmas with my family should be the greatest Christmas gift I ever want.  Bring on the Christmas cheer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joyeux Noël!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-7504634162277466074?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/7504634162277466074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/12/its-all-about-family.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/7504634162277466074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/7504634162277466074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/12/its-all-about-family.html' title='Its all about the Family'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-8067570867633639774</id><published>2010-10-11T16:23:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2010-10-11T16:25:14.567+08:00</updated><title type='text'>A MOM'S LIFE - Delia Ephron</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;Take your plate into the kitchen, please.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take it downstairs when you go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don’t leave it there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take it upstairs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is that yours?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don’t hit your brother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m talking to you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a minute, please. Can’t you see I’m talking?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, don’t interrupt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are you doing out of bed?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go back to bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you mean, there’s nothing to do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go outside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read a book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turn it down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get off the phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tell your friend you’ll call her back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hello. No, she’s not home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She’ll call you when she gets home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take a jacket. Take a sweater.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take one anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone left his shoes in front of the TV.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get the toys out of the hall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get the toys out of the bathtub.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get the toys off the stairs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you realize that could kill someone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hurry up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hurry up. Everyone’s waiting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will count to ten and then we’re going without you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you go to the bathroom?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you don’t go, you’re not going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why didn’t you go before we left?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you hold it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What’s going on back there?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stop it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, stop it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t want to hear about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stop it or I’m taking you home right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That’s it. We’re going home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give me a kiss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need a hug.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Make your bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clean up your room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Set the table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need you to set the table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don’t tell me it’s not your turn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please move your chair up to the table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sit up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just try a little. You don’t have to eat the whole thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stop playing and eat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would you watch what you’re doing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Move your glass. It’s too close to the edge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watch it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More please. That’s better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just eat one bite of salad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You don’t always get what you want. That’s life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don’t argue with me. I’m not discussing this anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go to your room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, ten minutes are not up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One more minute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many times have I told you, don’t do that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where did the cookies go?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eat the old fruit before you eat the new fruit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m not giving you mushrooms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve taken all the mushrooms out, see?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is your homework done?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stop yelling. If you want to ask me something, come here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;STOP YELLING.&lt;br /&gt;IF YOU WANT TO ASK ME SOMETHING, COME HERE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ll think about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ask your father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We’ll see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don’t sit so close to the television.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s bad for your eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Calm down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Calm down and start over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is that the truth?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fasten your seat belt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did everyone fasten their seat belts?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m sorry that’s the rule.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m sorry, that’s the rule.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry, that's the rule!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-8067570867633639774?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/8067570867633639774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/10/moms-life-delia-ephron.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/8067570867633639774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/8067570867633639774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/10/moms-life-delia-ephron.html' title='A MOM&apos;S LIFE - Delia Ephron'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-7200632090686781438</id><published>2010-10-07T11:54:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-10-07T12:01:25.983+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Brevity...</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta equiv="CONTENT-TYPE" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt; 	&lt;title&gt;&lt;/title&gt; 	&lt;meta name="GENERATOR" content="OpenOffice.org 3.2  (Unix)"&gt; 	&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;o:documentproperties&gt;   &lt;o:template&gt;Normal&lt;/o:Template&gt;   &lt;o:revision&gt;0&lt;/o:Revision&gt;   &lt;o:totaltime&gt;0&lt;/o:TotalTime&gt;   &lt;o:pages&gt;1&lt;/o:Pages&gt;   &lt;o:words&gt;775&lt;/o:Words&gt;   &lt;o:characters&gt;4421&lt;/o:Characters&gt;   &lt;o:lines&gt;36&lt;/o:Lines&gt;   &lt;o:paragraphs&gt;8&lt;/o:Paragraphs&gt;   &lt;o:characterswithspaces&gt;5429&lt;/o:CharactersWithSpaces&gt;   &lt;o:version&gt;11.257&lt;/o:Version&gt;  &lt;/o:DocumentProperties&gt;  &lt;o:officedocumentsettings&gt;   &lt;o:allowpng/&gt;  &lt;/o:OfficeDocumentSettings&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt; 	&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:donotshowrevisions/&gt;   &lt;w:donotprintrevisions/&gt;   &lt;w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery&gt;0&lt;/w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery&gt;   &lt;w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery&gt;0&lt;/w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery&gt;   &lt;w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt; 	&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt; 	&lt;style type="text/css"&gt; 	&lt;!-- 		@page { margin: 0.79in } 		P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } 	--&gt; 	&lt;/style&gt;  &lt;p align="JUSTIFY"&gt;Brevity....&lt;/p&gt;def: shortness of time or duration; briefness: the brevity of human life&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Did you realised how quickly this weekend went by?  Mum came by on Sunday, made her a long black, chatted over leftover mooncakes.  We browsed old magazines with mouth-watering recipes and discussed  how she thought making green curry was as easy as ABC. Mum has been harping I should learn some of her signature dishes and gets pretty disturbed that I have not taken an interest in learning how to cook our all-time favourite dishes.  I showed her recently taken pictures of her grandchildren at school, their achievements and how they were doing in school.  We later had dinner,  shared a plate of mee goreng with her and sipped teh-chinno.   It was a moment I cherished.  Time, whisked away every second, never to return.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="JUSTIFY"&gt;To make a point, you yearn for a fun packed weekend as the work week had just been plain weary, all you needed is to have some interesting read by the pool, about lifestyles, motoring, cooking, food reviews or what a sommelier's last meal would be.  Morbid.   Then, on the front page of Sunday Times, reporting a hit and run accident in London causing an premature end to a young life all of 20.  Not an ordinary girl she was, she was an exceptionally bright young lady pursuing medicine in Cambridge, a darling and star student that would do Singapore very proud.  Probably a top notch surgeon after she graduates with top class honours.  Nope, it was not meant to be.  Wrong place, wrong time.  She is dead.  That gets you thinking A LOT.  Brevity of life. Period.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="JUSTIFY"&gt; I lost a classmate in 2006 to cancer.  We met when when we were 14.  Full of zest for life.  She literally pranced while the little bells attached to her purse jingled as she walks.  Her parents are food stall owners but in our 21 years of friendship, she never once brought us there to sample what her parents sold for a livelihood.  Their daily takings that would eventually see her complete her university education in Singapore and then an all expense paid Europe trip as a reward.  She should have been more proud of them than anything else that mattered to her.  Among the five of us in our clique, she was the only one that made it to university. We knew she could go very far.  As commerce was her strength, she worked for a local bank after graduation.  She shared a Mercedes coupe with her husband. That was their baby.  With her condition, she could never conceive. Not that she wanted to, as she is widely travelled, having children on tow, milk bottles and diapers would dampen (pun not intended) any trip.  She wasn’t ready.  The months preceding her departure, her husband continued piling her with overseas trips.  She maintained normalcy, shopped for wigs, went for facials, and I remembered our last meal together with another close buddy.  “Hey girls, when I am gone, you two must continue this makan thing ok, there’ll only be the two of you.”  About a month later she didn’t know who we were.  Brevity, she left us prematurely at 35.  I was with her a day before she passed.  I couldn’t understand life and why she wasn’t lucid anymore.  I wanted to shake her so badly as I wanted her to know I was there to see her.  Morphine was her only comfort.  We took our leave reluctantly as her husband needed more time with her than us.  But we knew that was the last we will see of her.  Ironically, her husband remarried that same year.  He gave us a whole new meaning to “move on in life”.  I couldn’t fathom the logic and I obviously cannot count.  I am side-tracking here, but its rather disturbing.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="JUSTIFY"&gt;Why do I kiss my boys before they go to bed each night?  God's agenda has and will always be a mystery.  Kiss and make up, never go to bed feeling resentful over someone. Tomorrow may never come.  Have you ever notice how lovely your babies are they are asleep.  They are the most beautiful creatures.  So serene, so innocent.  God forbid, don’t ever take them away from me.  That’s also why I tell them I love them forever and ever amen.  Two and a half months ago, I received a rude call on a weekend informing me a student from my the school I worked at fell six floors from his apartment.  But I just saw the boy on Friday? He was only ten and what was going to happen to his twin?  They were inseparable and how would his mum feel?  I cannot imagine a mother losing a child and I refuse to understand.  The only word that came to mind was WHY?  It was the saddest weekend ever.  The twins were always playing “guess who am I” with me at the office during snack time.  Pure and innocent.  Taken with such cruel abruptness.  No more guessing games and I don’t even know what to say to the remaining twin except for an uncomfortable hello.   I miss the boy.  I miss seeing them together.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="JUSTIFY"&gt;Do not fret the small things.  Make the trip to see your friends, relatives, visit mum and dad.  You don’t need a reason to see them.  Wanting to see them is already a reason.  Life isn't a drama series, predictable and always at the same time and channel.  Embrace the real time, the here and now.  That is what matters.  Procrastination gets you nowhere, only regrets.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="JUSTIFY"&gt;You will reap a more meaningful life if you consider the fragility of life and its brevity.   I have to stop now as I need to go tell me boys something….&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p align="JUSTIFY"&gt; &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p align="JUSTIFY"&gt; &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p align="JUSTIFY"&gt;   &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-7200632090686781438?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/7200632090686781438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/10/brevity.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/7200632090686781438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/7200632090686781438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/10/brevity.html' title='Brevity...'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-1795741502733535988</id><published>2010-10-02T23:25:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2010-10-03T10:37:29.967+08:00</updated><title type='text'>You Don't Bring Me Flowers....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Last week at the office, there were flowers everywhere. Valentine's Day is still months away and I was wondering what's with the men sending flowers to their wives at work and they all seem to want to outdo one other. To a point, I suspected the ladies buy themselves flowers, just to get at each other. They then went on to publish their gorgeous bouquets on Facebook for all to see. Honestly, I envied them to death. The flowers just screams I LOVE YOU AND I DON'T MIND SPENDING $80 ON A PERISHABLE JUST TO MAKE YOUR DAY. Flowers just have this effect. I couldn't help but felt a little jealous and so did a few of my other colleagues who are shamelessly asking their boyfriends to buy them flowers like NOW! Being a sour grape, I nudged one of them on Facebook, asking them what was the occasion? If it wasn't a birthday or an anniversary, then it could only mean one thing. THE MEN ARE GUILTY. But having once owned a flower shop, there are 1001 reasons to buy flowers. But I can also now conclude that there will be some men who will be more romantic than others, or your own spouse. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I will kill the next person who thinks white men are more romantic than our local Chinese men. But I sometimes blame the ladies for being a scrooge or maybe we are a more practical lot and we know money are hard earned and one should never waste them on things that wouldn't last. And so the men took it literally. So they would tell their men not to buy them flowers yet they all become green-eyed monsters when the secretary gets a bunch of striking red roses that adorn her desk for 3 days before they turn brown and floppy. Some men are just born to romance. They have a way to make the girls go weak and some girls just falls hopelessly in love, and get haplessly hurt when things go wrong. Although I wouldn't mind getting flowers on a dull day at work, I think I would be too stunned to get flowers that I'd be attention deficit and would just gawk at the flowers and not get back on task. But I think if I'd ever get a bunch, it'll probably be a sorry bouquet cuz my husband and I are past that stage. We don't need such outward declaration of love. Making me a cup of coffee, buying the weekend papers, sending me to work on a rainy day does it for me. The honeymoon is over but we are now going on a long haul. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I told my husband before we got married, Love Me As A Package. You can't pick and choose. I wasn't pimply, I had an ok face, I wasn't too short, too tall, but too bad I don't have Cameron Diaz legs or Scarlett Johansson's bosoms. Take it or leave it. I also accepted him for who he was. A Mr Nice Guy, an ok face, wasn't too short nor too tall, no six packs or a Calvin Klein underwear model wannabe. Personality and sense of humour goes a longer way. Someone told me to invest more time with my spouse than my children. Radical but I think this person has a point. Once our parental duties diminish, you are going to be stuck with this person till death do us part. People generally scratch the surface of things. Oh look at Mr Jones, so romantic, always this and that. But is Mr Jones the kind that would take your mother out. Be thankful your man loves your mum like his own. How he treats his mum and yours, he will love you just the same. Just look around, there's some truth. But there's a thin line bewteen loving your mum and being tied to her apron string. Subtle difference but we all know that can be catastrophic.  I have boys and I know I want to be tied to my boys for as long as I live.  We just have to know when to let go.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Do we marry our soulmates, one will never know till the very end. My parents are always on each other's nerves, yet they are together for over 40 years. They have gotten used to each other habits, good and bad. Mum tells me Dad drives her crazy, I would reply to her that that was the very reason she chose to marry him!!! I will continue to pick my husband's dirty socks, rearrange his wardrobe cuz he will continue to pull his favourite tee-shirt from the bottom of the pile and messes up. He will disapprovingly put my towel back on the bathroom towel rack, remove the shells from prawns so my fingers remain clean, rescue me from bus stops during heavy downpours cuz I hate carrying umbrellas. Nobody does it better than the one we marry.  Its simply loving unconditionally.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Nevermind if you don't bring me flowers, just bring back a tub of ice cream on the way back from the petrol station. The next time you wish to surprise your spouse, cook her a meal instead. Poor culinary skills?  Go to a hawker centre western food joint, take away and rearrange your chicken chop on your own plate, steal some tea lights from her stash, bingo, you got your instant DIY for cheats.  If you really need flowers, a single 60 cents stalk from the market has the same effect as a $60 bouquet. Or even better, give her a foot rub, hold her so close and tell her how much you love her. Who needs flowers?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;...Happy belated Anniversary dear, btw you owe me 13 stalks....one for each year we have been married...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-1795741502733535988?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/1795741502733535988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/10/you-dont-bring-me-flowers.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/1795741502733535988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/1795741502733535988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/10/you-dont-bring-me-flowers.html' title='You Don&apos;t Bring Me Flowers....'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-1860147284046452399</id><published>2010-09-29T15:13:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2010-09-29T15:16:04.017+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Rain</title><content type='html'>It was a busy morning, about 8:30, when an elderly gentleman in his 80's arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb.   He said he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am..I took his vital  signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him.               &lt;br /&gt;I  saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I  was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound. On exam, it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.&lt;br /&gt;While taking care of his wound, I asked him if he had another doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry.&lt;br /&gt;The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to&lt;br /&gt; the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife. I inquired  as to her health.&lt;br /&gt;He told me that she had been there&lt;br /&gt;for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer's Disease.&lt;br /&gt;As we talked, I asked if she would be upset if he was a bit late.&lt;br /&gt;He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.I was surprised, and asked him,&lt;br /&gt;'And you still go every&lt;br /&gt;morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?' He smiled as he&lt;br /&gt;patted my hand and said,&lt;br /&gt;She doesn't&lt;br /&gt;know me, but I still know who she is.'&lt;br /&gt;I had to hold back&lt;br /&gt;tears as he left, I had goose bumps on my arm, and thought,&lt;br /&gt;That is the kind of love I want in my life.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;True love is&lt;br /&gt;neither physical, nor romantic.&lt;br /&gt;True love is an acceptance&lt;br /&gt;of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be.&lt;br /&gt;With all the jokes and fun that are in e-mails, sometimes there is one that comes along that has an important message. This one I thought I could share with you.&lt;br /&gt;The happiest people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the best of everything they have.&lt;br /&gt;I hope you share this with someone you&lt;br /&gt;care about. I just did.&lt;br /&gt;'Life isn't about&lt;br /&gt;how to survive the storm,&lt;br /&gt;But how to dance in the rain.'&lt;br /&gt;We are all getting older&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow may be our turn&lt;br /&gt;GOD BLESS!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-1860147284046452399?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/1860147284046452399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/09/rain.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/1860147284046452399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/1860147284046452399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/09/rain.html' title='The Rain'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-1699400223674458032</id><published>2010-08-29T23:55:00.010+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-31T00:10:50.782+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Leading by Example...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;After a not so satisfying kimchi instant noodle supper, looking at my time its 00.31am on a Monday morning, I wonder why am I up so late. Other than some EPL legions who are still glued to their Mio remote at this time, I think most of you are alseep by now. Looking at the dwindling number of people online through Facebook, I guess its time to kiss your weekend goodbye and face another guelling week. Happy are those who just got their paycheck, not so happy are those whose paycheck are going towards bills, cars, utilities, credit cards, mortgages etc...endless...but isn't that what people generally do? Money don't grow on trees I suppose.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;I don't work in a high stress level environment, in fact I can say I consider myself at times overpaid, underworked (I hope my employer is not reading this). I guess I can conclude one thing, I do manage my workload given the same 9 hours everybody gets. I vaguely remembered having to cart home any work home on any given day. I spent 180 days a year in casual attire as there's only 180 school days a year when I need to wear "office attire"). No teachers, students, parents for the rest of the time. I only have to OT on some days when there's events happening at work, and never have I claimed a single cent on OT or rather correction "cannot claim. You gain some you lose some. Just drum it in; don't shortchange your employer. If I have to leave early one day to attend say a wedding, I 'd just have to put back the hours back on another day. Conscience clear. Period. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Money isn't everything. My first paycheck as a secretary was $800. Then, it was a gargantuan sum. I gave mummy a fix monthly allowance and gradually increased it over the years. After I got married and had my own family, I continued to give mummy what I still call till today "cake money". Mummy is a homemaker and she gets an income from her children, simple as that. That's only fair. Just a few days ago I was having a conversation with a friend and our topic of discussion was whether we should expect our children to take care of us in our later years. Are they obliged to in the first place? A generation ago, I would say yes, but I cannot say the same for the next. Never take your children as an investment.  As with any investment, always factor in the element of risk.  If the stocks are in your favour, you reap the rewards.  Invest in a bad stock, you will be left all alone, but always make sure you have a contingency plan. Having a place, regardless the size, make it your own.  Never live with the fear that your next night might be somewhere in the streets.   Never take for granted that you will be well-liked by your children or your in-laws.   It has happened, just look around. Some don't have a choice.  So why are some people still blaming themselves if they feel they have failed in bring up their children well and have somewhere along the way forgotten to instilled in them some sense of filial piety.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;I asked my son today if he was keen to go to Sydney some day. He curtly said no and instead wanted go to China. Before I could ask him why, he proceeded to say that he wanted the entire family to go together. All of us also means daddy, mummy, brother, uncle and grandma. For those who don't know me, I live in an extended family. On many occasion when we are discussing where we should go during the year end vacation, my mil (mother-in-law) would usually opt out should we decide to go to a "western" country. To her, her asssumption that all western food contains dairy which she finds revolting and will never find the place suitable if the cuisine does not suit her. So came the reply "so mama can also come with us". He knows his priority even at such a tender age. You can't help but love this kid. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;For a very long time before and then after marriage, I wanted my nucleus family.   When we are young, we are blinded to a lot of things. I felt I needed a lot of personal space. A lot of my friends didn't understand the mechanics of my family and wondered why I compromised on having to live with my in laws.   To cut a long story short, I love my spouse and I respected the way he wanted to live, that's with his parents. I secretly hope my kids in a few short years would have the same inkling to such an idealogy although I won't be too surprised if they wanted the pioneering spirit like me and have the conviction to pave their own way of life, to have their own place sans parents. That too I would have to respect their decision and not expect that they would want to live with me when I am old or worse old, feeble and sick. All I am asking is that I would love to see them often enough and have regular meals with me. Not being too unreasonable, I should think. On hindsight, living with my in laws have been more a boon than a bane for me. I go to work each day knowing my kids are not latch key kids and assured that they are well looked after. I could even have some rare occasion to meet friends without lugging my kids with me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;I have showed my children what its like to live in an extended family, I wonder if they will want to do the same when its their turn to be parents themselves and have children of their own. Would they want me around to look after their children and cook a warm meal for them when they come home from work. Do the laundry, iron the school uniforms, among many other chores.  Generation gaps prevails but if both parties are willing to see from each other's perspective, garner mutual respect for one's individuality, avoid being control freaks, I thing a lovely relationship can be possible.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My agenda for my kids are simple.  Their duty is to study hard, earn their right, be respectful, there's a time for work and a time for play.  I'd rather have a child with average grades who ace in his or her EQ.  I will not acknowledge one who ace all his or her papers but lacking in basic social manners and clueless about how to be a human being, one with empathy and total respect for anyone, right down to the person who comes to clear your table at a hawker centre.  A word of thanks surely ain't that difficult.  Being honestly sincere goes a longer way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So, if you ask me how to raise a good kid,  just look at yourself in the mirror, you are their living example and with God's grace, you LEAD by EXAMPLE.  My sons actually taught me this...its their prefect motto.  So very true...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-1699400223674458032?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/1699400223674458032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/leading-by-example.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/1699400223674458032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/1699400223674458032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/leading-by-example.html' title='Leading by Example...'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-2183994704957805682</id><published>2010-08-24T15:47:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-24T16:07:45.305+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Embracing 40....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In a couple months time, I will be turning 40.  Assuming I live till 80 (very optimistic I am I know), that means I  would have lived half my life. Most women for some reasons are really  uptight when you ask them about their age. For me, you don't have to ask  I will tell you, voluntarily. I mean what's the point of hiding your  age? Most people have been to school and are able to count, even if they  can't, their estimation cannot be that far off.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;People  will also tend to ask you, so what have you achieved? In general,  people will judge you on your career path, the kind of home you own, the  car you drive, the bling you wear and what time piece you have on your  wrist. Never will anyone ask how you have lived your life, how  meaningful it was or have you made a difference to anyone around you.  Sadly that's how it seems in the broader scheme in life. I have never  been a go-getter. I hated Shenton Way life. My very first temp job was  at Citibank and it was the coldest place to work and I don't mean the  air con temperature. I quit after 2 weeks. I never fit in. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My  first permanent job was through a friend whose uncle heads an insurance  agency. I knew I wouldn't go very far being stuck on the 16th floor of  Cathay Building as a secretary. Being a green horn, you merely take  instructions and never question. So at 21, I tried sales. How are you to  convince people to buy insurance when you are barely out of school.  After 1 year of peddling financial products, I knew this wasn't for me. I  hated figures and I hated telling people that they may die prematurely.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;My  sister was a flight attendant with SIA and I wasn't at all keen in  leaving my parents alone and worrying about my sis and I should both of  us decides to embrace the "great way to fly" slogan. They were desperate  for crew members and standing at 1.63m, I am techinically 5cm  overqualified. Mum was trying to discourage too by saying I was clumsy  and would definitely overturn beer in that tight galley. She's right, I  can be very "lun chun", meaning clumsy in Cantonese. There goes my  "travel around the world" dream, whooosh, out of the window.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;As  a child, when I go to Daddy's office, Daddy was MD so I had total  liberty to do whatever I can in his Somerset House office, the very  building with the famous goreng pisang (I can still remember). I would  roll a paper into the manual Olivetti and would pound away and type THE  QUICK BROWN FOX JUMPS OVER THE LAZY DOG. If you can master this sentence  on the typewriter, you basically qualifies as a secretary or a typist.  All 26 alphabets are there. I would then open the ink pads and stamps  away with the rubber stamps which says URGENT, PAID, in red ink, black  ink, blue ink and on the table much to my dad's dismay. I would sit on  Daddy's director's chair and try to see how far back it goes without the  chair toppling over. Yes, I can be naughty.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Along  came a job opportunity at an international school to temp for a  Principal's secretary who was off for maternity leave. What was to be a  two month assignment became a 17 year assignment and still counting.  Nevermind I had to do loads of mailing, typing, copying, meetings,  answering queries from parents, teachers, students, I was happy. Not  only I engage with adults, the international students I got to know and  knowing I am their "Miss Sharon at the office" was enough for me. Some  of them I have watched them grow from a Kindergarten child until their  graduation in High School. I never wanted to go back to Shenton Way.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I  have not seriously dated anyone so technically I never had an ex. I  really liked a boy once for a long time in secondary school but he was  just not available. He liked a girl name Karen. Then came junior  college, again I liked a boy but he was interested in a girl name Caren.  You know what, I hated that name for a really long time....to think my  name rhymes with it...There were a few boys in school whom I did go out  with in groups though. I knew my tall dark handsome was a tall and  unrealistic order so I scaled down my expectations cuz I knew I needed  someone who could make me laugh, I didn't need a trophy boyfriend  although having a gorgeous guy in your arms could make lots of girls eat  maggots and cringe in pain. I didn't have a long checklist for my man.  Someone to laugh with, takes care of me, loves his family, loves my  family, loves me for who I am, was all it took for me to walk down the  aisle with him. Next month we celebrate our 13th anniversary. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In  July 1999, Ryan arrived after 38 weeks and was delivered c-section. No,  I didn't chicken out on a natural birth. It just didn't happen as Ryan  was breeched. I chose to have a LA instead of a GA. Not a bad idea to  actually engage in a conversation while having the gynae cut you up,  carry a baby out of you and stitch you back. Frankly, it was rather easy  and I told myself, I could do this again...barely when Ryan was 9  months old, my GP congratulated me again. Ryan was going to have a  brother. Marcus arrived before the end of 2000. I was never meant to  experience labour pains and natural birth was only textbook knowledge  for me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The boys  have been the best thing that happened to me. As a couple, we both share  equal weight in parenting. Having mutual respect for parenting styles  is the essence to a happy marriage and family building. If I could  afford to have more children, I would love to have maybe another child.  Even if I could I would have one 8 yrs back, not now as I am now about  to enjoy and to pursue my hobbies, interests. With a baby, its not  impossible but limiting. So it was a blessing both Ryan and Marcus was  born close to one another and now able to bond and look out for each  other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Until my  boys are just a bit older, I would love to spend more time seeing the  world, try new things, climb Mt Fuji, see windmills and tulips, visit  Holy Land, walk the Great Wall. Meanwhile I will just have to start  saving, and hope my life will be continually blessed with good health,  love and happiness. What's your dream?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a parting shot, coming back to the realities of successful and gracious ageing, you try to stretch and slow down the process of ageing.  You get sucked into believing whitening creme will eradicate age spots and pigmentation.  Colouring your hair is no longer a choice,  you cope with loosening skin  cellulite and droopy eyelids amongst other parts of the body that droops.  Meanwhile, before I  am become too challenging for photoshopping, I'd better book a make-over with Glamour Shot to  freeze time, have a few nice shots for my children and grandchildren to remember me at my prime, I'd call it Sharon at its best.   Bring it on, at 40, I  think my life is just beginning.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-2183994704957805682?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/2183994704957805682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/embracing-40_24.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/2183994704957805682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/2183994704957805682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/embracing-40_24.html' title='Embracing 40....'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-6187650699042773165</id><published>2010-08-18T16:59:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-18T17:02:06.747+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Me and My Global Friends on UN Day 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2HcDvThKLg8/TGuhXoW6O4I/AAAAAAAAAFY/z9uKMn5_5KM/s1600/UN+Staff+Group.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2HcDvThKLg8/TGuhXoW6O4I/AAAAAAAAAFY/z9uKMn5_5KM/s320/UN+Staff+Group.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506672396733135746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-6187650699042773165?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/6187650699042773165/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/me-and-my-global-friends-on-un-day-2009.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/6187650699042773165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/6187650699042773165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/me-and-my-global-friends-on-un-day-2009.html' title='Me and My Global Friends on UN Day 2009'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2HcDvThKLg8/TGuhXoW6O4I/AAAAAAAAAFY/z9uKMn5_5KM/s72-c/UN+Staff+Group.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-3569775701840683317</id><published>2010-08-14T18:52:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T18:52:44.993+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Glenn Medeiros - Me minus you equals blue (Me-U=blue)</title><content type='html'>Simply magical, so nice, so nice....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object style="background-image: url(http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/TQOX7dzQY6w/hqdefault.jpg);" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/TQOX7dzQY6w?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/TQOX7dzQY6w?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-3569775701840683317?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/3569775701840683317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/glenn-medeiros-me-minus-you-equals-blue.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/3569775701840683317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/3569775701840683317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/glenn-medeiros-me-minus-you-equals-blue.html' title='Glenn Medeiros - Me minus you equals blue (Me-U=blue)'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-3889716229702620468</id><published>2010-08-14T18:39:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T18:39:36.792+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bryan Adams and Barbra Streisand - I Finally Found Someone</title><content type='html'>Dear Paul, Happy 13th Anniversary on 28 September (1997), Sharon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object style="background-image: url(http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/tK4peuAODtc/hqdefault.jpg);" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tK4peuAODtc?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tK4peuAODtc?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-3889716229702620468?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/3889716229702620468/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/bryan-adams-and-barbra-streisand-i.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/3889716229702620468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/3889716229702620468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/bryan-adams-and-barbra-streisand-i.html' title='Bryan Adams and Barbra Streisand - I Finally Found Someone'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-4474789819791381729</id><published>2010-08-14T18:31:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T18:31:53.195+08:00</updated><title type='text'>HUNGRY EYES - Eric Carmen</title><content type='html'>from the movie soundtrack of Dirty Dancing, RIP Patrick Swayze....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WUxxTYFf-6E?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WUxxTYFf-6E?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-4474789819791381729?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/4474789819791381729/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/hungry-eyes-eric-carmen.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/4474789819791381729'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/4474789819791381729'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/hungry-eyes-eric-carmen.html' title='HUNGRY EYES - Eric Carmen'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-5977461848449474915</id><published>2010-08-14T15:55:00.008+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T19:10:04.066+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Music &amp; My Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I have always marvelled how people created music, to write a song is not difficult but to entwine a melody to the lyrics and gel them together. What comes first, the melody or the lyrics?   I discovered I had learning difficulties when I was learning to play the classical piano when I was 7. I am good at audio learning but if you ask me to transcribe notes from a score to the piano keys, I simply can't do it.  That was the reason why I dropped out after grade one for my pianoforte exams.  I excelled in all my compulsory pieces (all of which I pretended to look at the score in front of me), all very convincing.  I basically play and learnt by ear.  When it came to sight reading (ie. given a foreign piece of score to play), I froze.  Needless to say, I did not bother picking up my certificate.  I further confirmed my "disability" when learning shorthand.  Those bean spouts strokes were unbelievably terrifying.  To convert sound to strokes, how bizarre was that?  Again, mission failed.  I took audio transcription instead and aced.  But so far no company I worked for uses a transcriber.  So  I am back to square one, but I had to create my own shorthand, a skill I picked up at junior college.  You basically drop most vowels and just put a small g to represent all the "ing", which we are all doing now in our sms, twit or whatever.  Everything was possible even if you had to start drawing a circle to mean circumference cuz only you will understand your own scribbles, no one else, and I quite like that idea. Its like my secret code.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always been exposed to music.  In primary school I was in an emsemble, playing percussion, in secondary school I was in the choir and again in junior college, I became vice-president of the college choir.  Participating in Singapore Youth Festivals in Victoria and Kallang Theatre and coming back with an award for the school was the order of the day, we gave it our best even if it was just a merit award, it was still an accolade.  I enjoyed the rush that few seconds before we come on stage -  which I really enjoyed.  Quite recently I stumbled upon a catholic website looking for volunteers to sing carols for the prisoners at Changi.  The very thought was refreshing - hey these inmates are also missing Christmas and shouldn't we bring some festivities to them, nevermind what crime they commited.  I called them up and they immediately sent me a practice schedule (I guess not many are keen).  Should be easy I know all my traditional carols, been singing them all my life.  Thing is I needed a "kaki" to come with me, one who will not call me "siow" (crazy).  She freaked me out and I lost the chance.  But I think I will try again this year, kaki or no kaki, I can do this alone...definitely.  Will see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dad introduced me to jazz and R&amp;amp;B.  He bought Miles Davis and The Stylistics.   Our family enjoyed a wide genre of music.  Mum was more into country and western and was a regular at a record store in Holland V.  Mag (my sister) and I bought every Donny and Marie album. there was.    My favourites then were Andy Gibb, David Gates (who doesn't know Goodbye Girl), Bee Gees (ah ah ah ah Stayin Alive), ONJ, Soundtrack of Xanadu, Grease.  Then came the 80s, Madonna (Lucky Star), Spandau Ballet (True), Duran Duran (Hungry Like a Wolf), Culture Club (Karma Chameleon), Wham (Wake Me Up Before You Go Go), you name it I got them all.  I miss the vinyls, there were bulky, and lots of work to maintain their crisp sound.  Humidity - their greatest enemy.  I don't live in the east, so warped vinyls I don't encounter due to the salty air. Mould must be removed with alcohol wiped in one direction or you get crackling sound when the stylus hit the vinyl.  Stylus cost a bomb and had to be treated with so much care.  But I love the fuss but I also love the convenience of compact disc. With so much music ripping these days, I am glad to say I still buy CDs, I love to unravel the CD cases, tear the plastic film, examine the reflective CD and read the sleeve, knowing who the songs were written for makes it  even more meaningful.  Enjoying music encompass all the senses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know how certain songs reminds you of certain phases and milestones in your life?  Whenever I hear "Hungry Eyes" by Eric Carmen, it will remind me of orientation at junior college.  They kept playing this song in the hall during ice breakers.  A boy I fancied liked the song by Reo Speedwagon "Can't Fight This Feeling" but he fancied this other girl who was prettier than me - how shallow..but I often associated this song to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every couple has their song.  I do have a song with Paul, Glen Medeiros' "Me Minus You Equals Blue", we had a verse from the opening line of the song...."with all my heart, I pledge my love forever" inscribed in our wedding invite and Barbara's Streisand &amp;amp; Bryan Adam's "I've Finally Found Someone" from the movie the Mirror Has Two Faces, which we used for our march in.  Whenever the deejay plays our song, it just makes us relive the moment.  Music and its power.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These days, I have lost touch with mainstream music, I cannot name one song from Beyonce, I don't know what a Green Day is and I don't tune in to 98.7FM.  Instead I tune in to oldie mouldy Gold 90.5FM, I like familiar tunes, so I can hum along if not sing.  Music do calm the nerves.  Whenever I hear Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon and Garfunkel, I sense peace and I will never forget my principal Colleen getting me to rewind the VCR to this track before our faculty meeting and we had this song played while the teachers chilled for 3 mins before we start our weekly staff meeting.  No one else will do this.  Its radical, not work related but so effective.  If ever I get to manage a team, I will take this useful tip with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can live without TV but never without music.  If I am ever trapped in an island alone, I hope I have my ipod but then what happens when the battery runs out.....? What's music to you?  For me, I can't sleep without my radio, its that not an intimate relationship, what is?  I already know what flowers I want at my funeral now I need to work on the music...hey you only die once, you better have some control over it.  Taking about flowers, look out for my next post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-5977461848449474915?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/5977461848449474915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/music-my-life.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/5977461848449474915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/5977461848449474915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/music-my-life.html' title='Music &amp; My Life'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-2097861766723564338</id><published>2010-08-14T15:45:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T15:45:00.087+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tevin Campbell - I'm Ready (1994)</title><content type='html'>&lt;object style="background-image: url(http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/wrXYlObVQ6g/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480" height="295"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wrXYlObVQ6g?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wrXYlObVQ6g?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="295"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-2097861766723564338?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/2097861766723564338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/tevin-campbell-im-ready-1994.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/2097861766723564338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/2097861766723564338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/tevin-campbell-im-ready-1994.html' title='Tevin Campbell - I&apos;m Ready (1994)'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-8115079349018529384</id><published>2010-08-14T15:44:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T15:44:36.620+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tevin Campbell - Can We Talk?</title><content type='html'>&lt;object style="background-image: url(http://i2.ytimg.com/vi/ATsmMBptA08/hqdefault.jpg);" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ATsmMBptA08?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ATsmMBptA08?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-8115079349018529384?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/8115079349018529384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/tevin-campbell-can-we-talk.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/8115079349018529384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/8115079349018529384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/tevin-campbell-can-we-talk.html' title='Tevin Campbell - Can We Talk?'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-6289631400965797380</id><published>2010-08-14T15:44:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T15:44:02.299+08:00</updated><title type='text'>TEVIN CAMPBELL "TOMORROW"</title><content type='html'>I love this from Quincy Jones featuring Tevin Campbell...never get tired of it and such an inspiring song...whatever happened to Tevin, he's got such a great voice.  His album "I'm Ready", one of the better R &amp;amp; B albums produced by my standards of course.  See Tevin, so young and in 1994 in the following videos...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object style="background-image: url(http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/WPrHx2sSdDs/hqdefault.jpg);" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WPrHx2sSdDs?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WPrHx2sSdDs?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-6289631400965797380?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/6289631400965797380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/tevin-campbell-tomorrow.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/6289631400965797380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/6289631400965797380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/tevin-campbell-tomorrow.html' title='TEVIN CAMPBELL &quot;TOMORROW&quot;'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-7849442807784930129</id><published>2010-08-09T00:55:00.007+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-09T21:08:01.719+08:00</updated><title type='text'>There's always time....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Do you hear yourself telling your friends, "aiyah you know lah, I have been so busy, where got time to.........". You can fill in the blanks with just about any reason, any excuse. But are we that busy, so busy, so damn busy to actually forgo doing things that makes us a bit different from Mrs Tan, our boring neighbour who only sits in front of the gogglebox watching some Taiwanese soap which has been running since Ah Boy was 6 years old (Ah Boy is now 11). In our one life time on this earth, don't you want to do the things you have always dreamt of doing, taking up photography, visiting a a very old great grand aunt who may kick the bucket anytime, volunteeering for your children school event or to do just that one thing you have brushed aside saying, ok I will do it one day when I find time. Trust me, that time will never come your way if you don't make any effort to materialise it. You control your time, not the other way around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I sound like a broken vinyl but I keep telling my friends and I keep reminding myself too, that life is too short. God works in mysterious ways and is capable to wreck havoc to people's lives and of course He has his reasons which I am not too keen to know. Just give me what I deserve and just give me enough time to lead a meaningful life, a life which I can say, yes I was a happy person on earth. We become de-sensitized to many things in life, because we have been hurt even by people we love or once loved. We have become immuned, like how some medication loses its efficacy after frequent dosage. We go crazy in our heads and shield ourselves from endless opportunities, we live in the past, wollow in self pity. Sometimes missing opportunities which was just right there but we were too busy to grasp. Don't misunderstand me, I am not saying you must buy that car you cannot upkeep, I mean that's being an idiot. KISS, Keep It Simple Stupid. After a hellish week at work, make yourself a coffee, take it down to the pool and read a magazine. Go for a foot massage (no threshold for pain?) or go to the hair salon and have someone wash your hair for you, a bonus if the shampoo girl gives you a head massgae. See that drop dead dress at the window display, go into the shop, get a tag and try it on. If it fits, gives you a rush and if you seriously think you look great in it, cash it. Trust me, you get such a high knowing people is going to talk about your dress and hey, we need some compliments once in a while. Worst case if its beyond your wallet and costing you a month's pay, put it back on the rack, least you tried it on. Just remember to smile at the sales assistant and tell her you'll consider and come back after you lose a few inches, you'll make her day. You make impulse purchases, I have my fair share. I have a few pairs of shoes which are still in mint condition. Why, on that spur I felt I needed it nevemind if its too sexy for work in a school and 3 and a half inches high. We have our days like that. You wondered what got into you. But what the heck, if it made you happy that moment, nurtured that endorphin which was hidden somewhere at the back of your brain.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In February, I spent one weekend lugging a DSLR snapping pictures at Arab Street. I explored nooks and corners of Bussorah Road, Haji Lane, saw people smoking funny looking pipes. Walked right into bustling Bugis Street.  Refreshing and very interesting, where have I been all this time?  I never would have encountered this if not for my assignment to capture the essence of Arab Street and Bugis.   Its "so happening" -  smacked right here in Singapore. Why only take photos when you in another country. We have such a rich heritage, I am ashamed I missed all that. You don't need an expensive camera to take good photos. I made time to learn from Jino Lee on how to take good holiday photos. That was money and time well spent and that to me is a life long learning process. The results aren't great, but I became more aware of my surroundings and I became more knowledgeable.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When my colleagues dared me to take on the forest adventure, I gave no second thoughts.  I completed my "obstacles", many times I sweared while overcoming the difficult ones.  After some crash landings on the flying fox and having sand all over me, jumping off a 3 storey platform - I conquered the inner demon in me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;There's should always time for friends. You've got your family, and I've got mine. Nobody is going to deny that. Gone are your swinging single days when one simple phone call and nice venue, some nice members of the opposite sex was all it took for an exciting night out. Meeting friends these days calls for some serious logistic planning, even months ahead, all for a 90 minutes meal where everyone rushes to talk about their bambinos. I know of people who totally shut off friends after marriage and worse after they have children. At least some of you tried. Thank you for coming. They come up with some wierd, illogical reasons for not being able to come out in the evening because they have ageing parents. If you are going like "huh?", that's exactly how I felt. BTW this is based on a true story. The only valid reason you should not go out is when you are still in confinement. I think Mark Zuckerman had this vision and that explains why he has 400 million people on FB. He should retire now. He makes people have dinner online without having to move their fat bums. Even with such convenience, there's still people not having time for FB. With twitter and any social networking sites, we know what everyone is doing these days. How cool. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Find time with friends, with spouse, with mummy and daddy, siblings, children. Connect and have a real conversation with them. I spent too much time chasing the Singapore dream, I forgot my friends and I am now rushing to make up for lost time. Stay close to those you know will go the distance with you. They are worth your time and effort. Drop them an email, even if they far away on business trips or a good friend who has settled in another country. There's nothing more heartwarming to know there's someone out there across the miles thinking of you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Time for coffee....and I am going to call my buddy now, yes I have time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-7849442807784930129?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/7849442807784930129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/theres-always-time.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/7849442807784930129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/7849442807784930129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/08/theres-always-time.html' title='There&apos;s always time....'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-6056511597200472105</id><published>2010-07-29T00:36:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-02T00:01:03.744+08:00</updated><title type='text'>To Cook or not to Cook?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Flashing back to 1978, I was just a 7 year old geeky poney-tailed convent girl. My fondest memory was watching mummy baked at our Holland Close flat. Mum was a great cook but I suspected she hates washing up greasy baking tins.  So she would only compromise by baking a butter cake, not sponge cake, not marble cake just a simple round butter cake. I would watch her whip the  butter and caster sugar with a wooden spoon, while she mixes the SCS butter and sugar into a fluffy mixture, I would be on standby to polish off whatever was left in the bowl with one fine sweep with my index finger. I couldn't remember the taste of the cake but it sure had a nice brown crust on top and a beautiful sunshine yellow inside. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Fast forward to 1984 and 1985, we had to do Food and Nutrition, Fashion and Fabric in lower sec school.  Already being the foodie then, I chose to do Food and Nutrition for my O level subject. Why sew my own skirt and yikes who wants to wear a batik tie and dye blouse? Anyway, my forte was always the Pineapple Upside Down Cake, got to master the damn cake or get kick out of Mrs Singh's class.  She was a dragon lady with her embroidered punjabi suit.  She hardly smiled in class and mistakes wasn't well tolerated in her class.  My classmate once used too much blue colouring in her glutinuous rice, she couldn't salvage her portion and had to serve her VERY blue pulut inti.  I think she got 1 mark for effort.  O level results came, I knew I did well but the A1 came as a surprise.  The first teacher I ran up to was Mrs Singh.  I had to tell her I aced her subject, no one else in class did.  For once, she smiled.   But I have never baked since.  Mum also stopped baking, and our oven soon became another space to store condiments, sauces and cooking utensils, how convenient.  I helped mum stir the curry, helped her cut up bamboo shoots for her babi chin, opening cans, mince pork, julienne french beans, peel shallots and garlic.  Because mum was always in the kitchen, there was never a need for us sisters to prepare our own meals.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;After I got married, we ate out all the time, mother in law wasn't convinced I could cook.  She saw me making my own strawberry jam once (taught by Violet Oon) she probably thought I was an idiot, why make my own jam.  The total cost of my jam would have came up to $20 when I could actually get a good quality english jam for $5 at a supermarket.  As I am more tuned to cooking western which normally includes butter, mother in law wasn't a fan.  I started trying out oxtail stew and kong bak pow and have since tried so many times over the years, I have practiced enough to have a fan base for both dishes.  Mother in law is not one of them as she doesn't take pork or beef.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Again fast forward to 2009, when the home I bought came with an oven, I got excited but it took me one year to actually pluck up the courage to jump start the oven.  I decided to make marble cake.  Phoon Huat was THE place to get all your baking stuff.  I was disappointed.  Marble cake didn't rise, and marble cake found its way to the bin.  My oven was totalled.  The problem was because it hasn't been used for a long time.  So until I get someone from La Germania to check, I won't be near any baking accessories soon and I suspect I don't like washing the greasy tins as well.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;These days I prefer to eat out, no cleaning, no washing.  But I miss home cooked food especially mummy's cooking.  Her kentang bak and stir fried cabbage with eggs is such comfort food.  I'd pay big bucks just to eat those.  They are so simple to make but the simplest dishes are sometimes the hardest to master.  Mum always remind me to learn to cook her signature dishes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;as she will not be around forever to cook for me.  I should start cooking again.  I procrastinate, too lazy, no time, full of excuses.  If my boys love their grandma's cooking, wouldn't it make sense to learn mummy's cooking so that my boys would also love my cooking?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-6056511597200472105?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/6056511597200472105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/to-cook-or-not-to-cook.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/6056511597200472105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/6056511597200472105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/to-cook-or-not-to-cook.html' title='To Cook or not to Cook?'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-7242059671143035321</id><published>2010-07-27T00:29:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-27T00:34:12.058+08:00</updated><title type='text'>How Sweet It is to be Loved by You - James Taylor</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.transitioning.org/2010/06/28/love-130kmh/"&gt;http://www.transitioning.org/2010/06/28/love-130kmh/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have enjoyed Sumiko Tan's column for many many years, happy she got hitched...read the link, its really lovely...so real, makes you want to fall in love all over again...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-7242059671143035321?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/7242059671143035321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/how-sweet-it-is-to-be-loved-by-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/7242059671143035321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/7242059671143035321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/how-sweet-it-is-to-be-loved-by-you.html' title='How Sweet It is to be Loved by You - James Taylor'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-5248615601406210089</id><published>2010-07-22T09:21:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-23T18:47:23.760+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happiness Big and Small</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Have you asked yourself what true happiness means to you? Is it winning a sweepstake, driving a lamborgini or owning a good class bungalow with a prestigious postal code ? Or it could be something more intangible, like being able to contribute to a charity or a cause you are passionate about, knowing your generosity no matter how insignificant is going to put food on the table for the less fortunate and the impoverished in some third world country. Sometimes we become so fixated in our quest to be the best in everything, in our senseless pursuit to hoard and accumulate wealth that we forget what being happy, truly happy means...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I once told my friend as she was lamenting how she envied the lives of the rich and famous, or closer to home being a tai tai. To make her feel better, I asked her if she preferred a life with loads of cash, driving a Benz, wears a Patek but with no friends and missing a loving spouse? Or having a a husband who returns home after work, compliments your mediocre cooking, takes the children to the park on weekends and stops at the hawkers to bring home your favourite supper because he knows you could do with a nasty supper once in a while and doesn't mind you putting on weight cuz he'll still have the hots for you even when you are both old and shrivelled. I don't deny money can buy you happiness albeit temporarily but no amount of money can buy you that laughter from your children, having the health to do the things you want to do, to run that marathon or having a true friend who understands you for who you are and not how much you have in your bank account. Money can never buy LOVE... eg. one example comes to mind....Cristiano Ronaldo. His one-night fling cost him $20 million. He is happy cuz he is now a father and with his currently salary, $20million for a surrogate is a walk in the park. Miss "American Waitress", $20 million richer and all she needs to do is shut up and not talk to the press. But in her lowliest time she will wake up from this earthly dream and realised what she is missing and how she doesn't even get the chance to name the child she bore. The father of the child, well he's gone for sure. In 18 years time, Cristiano Ronaldo Jr. will start searching for mummy and you know what, she has been compensated and no, she don't need to show up. How sad is that?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;As this blog is dedicated to all things simple I have created my very own happiness list, they are my own and I am sure you will have your very own...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Happiness is....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;1. finding someone you love under your cover&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;2. when your partner left the car for you with a full tank&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;3. finding a missing keepsake&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;4. being there to cheer your children at the baton relay&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;5. knowing your family enjoyed your cooking&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;6. when the hotel upgrades your room&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;7. when your friend whom you last met for 20 years says "you still look the same." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;8. finding a parking lot nearest the entrance/exit&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;9. when mummy beckons you home for dinner cooking your favourite dishes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;10. getting your driver's licence&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;11. when your husbands notices your new haircut&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;12. when the jackpot machine had gone crazy and keeps paying out &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;13. when your luggage is the first to emerge from the belt&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;14. driving pass the ERP gantry 2 secs before it is activated&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;15. when I see elderly couple hold hands&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;16. realising size LARGE is way too large for you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;17. baby utters "mommy" first&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;18. knowing you carried an umbrella during an unexpected rain&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;19. finding your favourite ice cream flavour right at the bottom of the rack (rum &amp;amp; raisin)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;20. finding a mother's day card done by your child during Kindergarten. Priceless!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;21. Lastly, finding a long lost friend on Facebook.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-5248615601406210089?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/5248615601406210089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/happiness-big-and-small_22.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/5248615601406210089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/5248615601406210089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/happiness-big-and-small_22.html' title='Happiness Big and Small'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-3489702596382533630</id><published>2010-07-19T14:58:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-20T16:56:06.494+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh well...whatever....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2HcDvThKLg8/TEVf0hIwa9I/AAAAAAAAAE0/1U9RUioNM6k/s1600/companyinfo_history_img.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2HcDvThKLg8/TEVf0hIwa9I/AAAAAAAAAE0/1U9RUioNM6k/s320/companyinfo_history_img.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495904276128492498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;After a ho hum lunch of nasi padang at a dingy joint on the 3rd floor of Ming Arcade, looking at my reliable Seiko, I still have about 20 mins to check out Liat Towers, just to see how Starbucks, Wendys, Massimo Dutti and Hermes are picking up the pieces after the flood bath...it was isolated, no tables, no chairs, no life, even the crows have gone elsewhere.  Only a classy looking lady who crept out of the temporary store front instructing a worker to empty a large bucket of water into a nearby drain.  A stark contrast when the heavens decided to turn the place into a wet &amp;amp; wild wonderland, we had everything a water theme park could ask for. Water features, floating devices, chairs turned topsy turvy, a window mannequin from Dutti, a handsome looking one actually, floated out of the shop (seen from a screen capture on News, some passerby at first glance thought the flood had claimed its first  victim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This location was the exact same spot when Singapore opened its first McDonald's restaurant in 1979.  That October day saw the worlds highest number of burgers sold in the world. Wondered if it ever made it to some Guinness book records.  As we are so passionate about being No. 1 in  anything and everything.  Singaporean are in love with burgers, even better if its called PROSPERITY.  Children are brain washed and dreaming of Happy Meals even when they are in their mummy's womb. No wonder every kid recognises the golden M.  Then BK took over for many years and then Wendy's.  The third burger franchise must have offended the Gods, swept the shop 3 days prior to the official opening, cruel fate but hey s**t happens.  Now the  area is lined with sandbags and last heard they ordered some more.  Are they anticipating for the third sequel?  Its popular to have sequels these days.  For now its blaming session.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With the exceptionally high volume of  precipitation Singapore has been experiencing in the past weeks, the people at the met station and especially the ones who are in charge flood gates and creating deeper and wider 'longkangs' better be worried.  Cuz when the skies decides to cry buckets, you too will be  scurrying for buckets to scoop the elements out of your shop.  Renovation contractors please be advised that the current trend is to design your shop display at least 1.5m high.  Nevermind if your customer cannot reach the calf leather handbag which cost the same as the gross domestic product of some third world country.  You don't want to sell the Birkin for 90% discount, although some nut case would still buy soggy ones if they were for sale. Trivia since we are in the topic of Birkin bags, according to Wikipedia, its worth at least $10K (not sure which currency) and a 5 year waiting list...honestly the bag is ugly.  The metal hardware is supposed to be gold plated or treated with anti- tarnish properties, takes 48 man hours to complete the bag.  The inner lining is goat's skin, I hope the farmer extracted enough milk before from the goat before heading its way to the abbatoir.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there you go, Singapore needed more drama, we don't have Richter scales, but we have very small scale flooding which hit the headlines and falling trees.  I think another fallen tree at Yio Chu Kang Road claimed a victim today.  This is Garden City for you, and I think we just shot ourselves in the foot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-3489702596382533630?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/3489702596382533630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/oh-wellwhatever.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/3489702596382533630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/3489702596382533630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/oh-wellwhatever.html' title='Oh well...whatever....'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2HcDvThKLg8/TEVf0hIwa9I/AAAAAAAAAE0/1U9RUioNM6k/s72-c/companyinfo_history_img.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-4931193370217579982</id><published>2010-07-15T16:47:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-15T16:51:25.530+08:00</updated><title type='text'>NDP 2010 Theme Song - "Song for Singapore" by Corrinne May!</title><content type='html'>I thought last year's NDP song was crap and it was.  As a  matter of fact, not sure who sang and what the title was.  Someone must  have heard me cuz this song is an instant hit for me.  Corrine May,  based on LA would be glad to know Singaporeans have started humming the tune.  Love her angelic voice...it keeps ringing in  my empty head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sharon Lee, you are in Chicago, but I know you  heart is here.  This is for you.&lt;br /&gt;I miss my 3-room flat in Holland  Close, I think you miss your Blk 24 Sin Ming Rd too...&lt;br /&gt;..the piano,  ahhh my Kawai...wonder who's got it....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy 45th Birthday Singapore...I  know I am early...&lt;object style="background-image: url(&amp;quot;http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/oGY5ff831B8/hqdefault.jpg&amp;quot;);" height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/oGY5ff831B8&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/oGY5ff831B8&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-4931193370217579982?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/4931193370217579982/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/ndp-2010-theme-song-song-for-singapore.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/4931193370217579982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/4931193370217579982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/ndp-2010-theme-song-song-for-singapore.html' title='NDP 2010 Theme Song - &quot;Song for Singapore&quot; by Corrinne May!'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-5966825051364558930</id><published>2010-07-15T15:53:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-15T16:03:43.747+08:00</updated><title type='text'>We're Just Ordinary People</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I think that's what life is about, not all rosey but there's room to grow if you allow it to happen...&lt;br /&gt;Click title for the video clip...great song enjoy yo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GDMpkWiex60"&gt;ORDINARY PEOPLE - John Legend&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Piano Version -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IDEAgOpHK5o&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ORDINARY PEOPLE - John Legend&lt;br /&gt;Shioker Version&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Girl im in love with you&lt;br /&gt;This ain't the honeymoon&lt;br /&gt;Past the infatuation phase&lt;br /&gt;Right in the thick of love&lt;br /&gt;At times we get sick of love&lt;br /&gt;It seems like we argue everyday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;[Bridge]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know i misbehaved&lt;br /&gt;And you made your mistakes&lt;br /&gt;And we both still got room left to grow&lt;br /&gt;And though love sometimes hurts&lt;br /&gt;I still put you first&lt;br /&gt;And we'll make this thing work&lt;br /&gt;But I think we should take it slow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;[Chorus]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're just ordinary people&lt;br /&gt;We don't know which way to go&lt;br /&gt;Cuz we're ordinary people&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we should take it slow (Take it slow oh oh ohh)&lt;br /&gt;This time we'll take it slow (Take it slow oh oh ohh)&lt;br /&gt;This time we'll take it slow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;[Verse 2]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This ain't a movie no&lt;br /&gt;No fairy tale conclusion ya'll&lt;br /&gt;It gets more confusing everyday&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes it's heaven sent&lt;br /&gt;Then we head back to hell again&lt;br /&gt;We kiss and we make up on the way&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;[Bridge]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hang up you call&lt;br /&gt;We rise and we fall&lt;br /&gt;And we feel like just walking away&lt;br /&gt;As our love advances&lt;br /&gt;We take second chances&lt;br /&gt;Though it's not a fantasy&lt;br /&gt;I Still want you to stay&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;[Chorus]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're just ordinary people&lt;br /&gt;We don't know which way to go&lt;br /&gt;Cuz we're ordinary people&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we should take it slow (Take it slow oh oh ohh)&lt;br /&gt;This time we'll take it slow (Take it slow oh oh ohh)&lt;br /&gt;This time we'll take it slow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;[Verse 3]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take it slow&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we'll live and learn&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we'll crash and burn&lt;br /&gt;Maybe you'll stay, maybe you'll leave,&lt;br /&gt;maybe you'll return&lt;br /&gt;Maybe another fight&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we won't survive&lt;br /&gt;But maybe we'll grow&lt;br /&gt;We never know baby youuuu and I&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;[Chorus]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're just ordinary people&lt;br /&gt;We don't know which way to go&lt;br /&gt;Cuz we're ordinary people&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we should take it slow (Heyyy)&lt;br /&gt;We're just ordinary people&lt;br /&gt;We don't know which way to go&lt;br /&gt;Cuz we're ordinary people&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we should take it slow (Take it slow oh oh ohh)&lt;br /&gt;This time we'll take it slow (Take it slow oh oh ohh)&lt;br /&gt;This time we'll take it slow&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-5966825051364558930?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/5966825051364558930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/were-just-ordinary-people.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/5966825051364558930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/5966825051364558930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/were-just-ordinary-people.html' title='We&apos;re Just Ordinary People'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-5795903623627386009</id><published>2010-07-15T12:33:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-15T12:42:57.452+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Embrace Life to the Fullest</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2HcDvThKLg8/TD6RaRPPdnI/AAAAAAAAAEs/CsYeJsOo2kU/s1600/Picture+3.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2HcDvThKLg8/TD6RaRPPdnI/AAAAAAAAAEs/CsYeJsOo2kU/s320/Picture+3.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493988475928540786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2HcDvThKLg8/TD6QrUfoWYI/AAAAAAAAAEk/VKyKvXkfnVc/s1600/If+Tomorrow+Never+Comes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 228px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2HcDvThKLg8/TD6QrUfoWYI/AAAAAAAAAEk/VKyKvXkfnVc/s320/If+Tomorrow+Never+Comes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493987669348735362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="file:///Users/sharon_mah/Desktop/Picture%201.png" alt="" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-5795903623627386009?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/5795903623627386009/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/embrace-life-to-fullest.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/5795903623627386009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/5795903623627386009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/embrace-life-to-fullest.html' title='Embrace Life to the Fullest'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2HcDvThKLg8/TD6RaRPPdnI/AAAAAAAAAEs/CsYeJsOo2kU/s72-c/Picture+3.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-8289229712106832829</id><published>2010-07-09T17:04:00.009+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-10T23:43:57.302+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Diet...the dirty word</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Diet is such a dirty, overused word, "I am on a diet", so cliched - I am actually quite sick hearing the word.  I am not sure if people actually know what it means.  Atkins diet, whatever diets named after the faceless person that discovered the diet formula.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Anyway this word does not exist in my database.  I think life is too short to be going on any diet.  Dieting has become like a past time, a hobby.  Just like shopping, you see something you fancy, you buy it.  Dieting has become an extra curricular activity.  "Oh I am bored and I should go on a diet because I am struggling to get into my Levis for the last half an hour, I need help with the zipper."  Putting on extra weight to some is a strictly no-no.  What makes me even sicker is when a person who weighs 45kg tells me she needs to control her food intake, because she is getting fat or become someone has complimented that she is FAT.  If the "compliments" came from a loved one or someone he or she fancies, multiply that by 100.  Huh lady, eeerrr where's the fat?  Okay okay, we human beings are naturally insecure and tell me about it, I have hang ups too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Human beings do need a certain amount of acceptable fats.  Let me tell you, I have never gone on any diet.  Dieting is all BS.  I have seen colleagues and friends who have been on yo-yo diets, looking good babe for a month, only to put it all back and more...crazy little thing called diet.  Didn't your doctor tell you to EAT EVERYTHING IN MODERATION.  I eat, I sleep, I occasionally drink, I crave for my cravings, but you see I don't eat burgers everyday, I don't ring for pizzas every other day.  If you have a heavy lunch, don't pig out at dinner time.  The formula is so simple, EAT LIKE A KING AT BREAKFAST, I cannot remember whats for lunch but I know you should eat LIKE A PAUPER for dinner.  I don't need to explain, you know why.  I am slightly below my ideal weight and I do actually wish to increase my weight a little as I feel I will look better if I could fit into my clothes better.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I enjoy the pleasure of eating  so I am not about to embark on any dieting plans, not now, not in the future.  At present I think I still look pretty decent in my 2-piece swimwear. So I am going to keep things in status quo.   I am still going to have my sinful indulgence, I am going home to have mum's signature babi chin, I will still not order skinny lattes as like my milk full cream.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I enjoy my kambing tulang soup, my vinegar pig trotters stew, my pork lard laden char kway teow, don't stop me cuz I ain't quitting on life.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So, don't be silly.  Eat what you want, eat your greens, just stop sitting on your butt all day and you will be fine.  Use the stairs occasionally instead of the escalator.  Alight one bus stop  earlier and walk home.  Carry your son's bag, run with your dog, cycle to the mama shop, save some petrol and you may actually save money and gain some healthy cells.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Good luck on your diet...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Shazza&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-8289229712106832829?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/8289229712106832829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/dietthe-dirty-word.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/8289229712106832829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/8289229712106832829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/dietthe-dirty-word.html' title='Diet...the dirty word'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-4046319389003387405</id><published>2010-07-08T09:54:00.010+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-08T12:31:57.359+08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Tryst with Food</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Most people would say money is the root of all evil, but I would say food is evil personified.  You can have your most expensive Birkin bag or suffer in your "starve for the next month" to buy that pair of Louboutins, it doesn't gives you as much pleasure than having great food prepared for you by a complete stranger.  Having a meal is usually an event itself.  After your slurp that last morsel and wipe your mouth with the tissue pack that aunty insist on selling you, you either promise to return or you promise to return at dawn with a can of petroleum and a lighter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some restaurants/hawker (sorry very mean here) don't deserve to exist, I know they make a living selling you a decent meal but sorry bro, if you want to make a living by having people put your food in their mouths, you'd better make sure the person comes back for more, maybe not the next day but if your food is still a talking point within the next 24 hrs, you got it made, I think you have something to shout about.   I can have cravings for chee cheong fun which cost $1.40.  So my point here is that cost is irrelevant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some places I have returned for at least 3 times...its got some good stuff happening.  I have not tasted everything on their menu but if their signature dishes are good enough for me, why explore the rest...cuz I am having that again on my next visit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something I need to say here is food is so much more enjoyable if you can partake with friends, people you care about.  Those who are hermits and generally don't like people, then I feel very sorry for you.  Afterall, eating involves all your senses, if you have great company to share a meal, that I think it is all that matters.  Worse care, you and your friend can curse and swear together and embark to find the next food paradiso.  I don't quite like to give ratings, so you can decide for yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Beng Hiang Hokkien Restaurant&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;112-116 Amoy Street&lt;br /&gt;Order: Kong Bak Pau, Oyster Omelette&lt;br /&gt;Parking can be problem if you are not kiasu.  Jackie Chan was here , but then again who cares.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Cafe Pralet by Creative Culinaire&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17 Eng Hoon St #01-03 Eng Hoon Mansion (Tiong Bahru)&lt;br /&gt;Order: Fish &amp;amp; Chips, wide selection of cakes.  The cooking school is just adjacent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Romano Ristorante&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10 Jln Leban, Upp Thomson Rd&lt;br /&gt;Order: Parma Ham Pizza&lt;br /&gt;Quiet, family restaurant, never crowded. Pizza are fresh and service not fast as it is like a OMO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Pete's Place&lt;/span&gt; b.1971 (voted one of the top restaurants in Singapore)&lt;br /&gt;10-12 Scotts Road&lt;br /&gt;Hyatt Regency Basement&lt;br /&gt;Order: Chopino Seafood Pasta, good salad buffet, not for people who are claustrophobic - no windows in this dungeon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Samy's @ Dempsey&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 Dempsey Road&lt;br /&gt;Order: Fish head, Masala or Tandoori chicken, lime juice, teh masala.  Warning: they try to upsell you with their sotong, prawn, they basically want to kill you with their knives.  Free flow of papadums. If you are prudent you can get away with spending $20 for 2.  Its possible but the order taker will give you a look that kind of translate to "cheapo ; ("&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Ponggol Bak Chor Mee&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blk 209 Hougang Street 21&lt;br /&gt;Order: what else Bak Chor Mee (see how some people are so good with just one arm, I have 2 and they are almost useless)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Happy Village (Tze Char)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;81 Jalan Malu Malu&lt;br /&gt;off Sembawang Road&lt;br /&gt;Order: Special tofu with gingko &amp;amp; puay leng, nonya fishhead&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Menya Shinchan Japanese Noodles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30 Robertson Quay&lt;br /&gt;#01-05 Riverside View&lt;br /&gt;Order: authentic upsized ramen, only go if you are ravenously hungry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Kushigin Japanese Rest&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5 Koek Road #01-01 Cuppage Plaza&lt;br /&gt;Order: Menu changes every week - heard LKY is a regular, and he is known to be a difficult man.&lt;br /&gt;Order the set of the day.  There's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;something&lt;/span&gt; about watching men cook, so take  the counter seats, see the man in action...the word I had in mind was sexy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Nanbantei Japanese Rest (Yakitori&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;#05-132 Far East Plaza&lt;br /&gt;Order: any bento set, I am repeating here - there's something about watching men cook, so take the counter seats, see the man in action...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Nasi Padang (so regular that I don't see their name) - I called it 125 Nasi Padang&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blk 125 Lor 1 Toa Payoh&lt;br /&gt;Order: beef rendang, sambal eggplant, fried chicken.  Go early or the staff from Philips Singapore is going to clean out the dishes. Try arriving by 1.30pm, they may compromise by selling you the gravy of what's left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAuVjBbKGs4"&gt;Chey Sua Carrot Cake&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Blk 127 Lor 1 Toa Payoh Market&lt;br /&gt;#02-30&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;affectionately known to me as "ai tan hor" ie. "you need to wait okay?"&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;- that's what she says every time I order my $3 plate.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;good luck on your wait on weekends...&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;making small talk with the stall proprietor doesn't help if you are thinking of cutting queue...its still packed in the brown paper and raffia string.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-4046319389003387405?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/4046319389003387405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/my-tryst-with-food.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/4046319389003387405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/4046319389003387405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/my-tryst-with-food.html' title='My Tryst with Food'/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668787854676837939.post-3524711304863287324</id><published>2010-07-05T19:11:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-05T22:49:31.727+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;In life, starting something or anything is always difficult. Coming into this world was tough for mummy. When I first learnt to drive 14 yrs ago, I couldn't figure out why there was this stupid thing called the clutch (auto cars are the best invention ever - any idiot can drive now). I wasted so much coffee beans because I didn't know how much pressure I needed to tamp (barista lingo) the coffee ground so I could get my espresso just right. You get my point, so to even get a topic going in this maiden blog of mine was not easy. I am clueless what will be of interest to you but I am sure along the way, I may touch a chord in your life. A similar genre of music, a common tastebud, or simply "hey I can truly understand what she went through!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I enjoy reading the Sunday Times Life section. That's the section I will grab first while I sip my Sunday brew. I envy Ignatius and Sumiko who write about things closest to their hearts and they get paid for doing that - that's so unfair. I know I am late and a newbie as you can see I am using the available template for my page, nothing fancy, cuz I am still learning to use this podium to post my thoughts. Feel free to comment, but be nice. I don't bite you, so don't bite me. Let's make this world a better place.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5668787854676837939-3524711304863287324?l=shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/feeds/3524711304863287324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/in-life-starting-something-or-anything.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/3524711304863287324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5668787854676837939/posts/default/3524711304863287324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shazzaschalkboard.blogspot.com/2010/07/in-life-starting-something-or-anything.html' title=''/><author><name>Shazza's Chalkboard</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12660864683970299761</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
