Food for Thought

I am surrounded by foodies. I befriend them, I work with them, I have dated a few. But try and pretend as I might, I am just not one.

As a child, I'd shudder when I smell 'lor bak' (braised pork) being cooked for dinner. I don't like the smell of pork. I won't buy pork for cooking when I lived on my own. I am not one to talk in anticipation about the latest restaurant in town. I'd trawl food sections in magazines and blogs so that I can keep up with one of the foodies I am dating and yet the first press releases I'd ever worked on was on food. I recall having to search the thesaurus for the various words to describe how food tastes: sumptuous, delicious, scrumptious. Of course there are now modern variations of such vocabulary: delish, fantabulous, etc. I don't think I did too badly on the work front.

I eat to live. I eat for energy so that I can think of solutions at work and have the strength to meet deadlines and manage a team. I eat so that I can attend networking events, cocktail parties and bar launches which take a hell lot of energy out of an introvert like me who prefer to hole up in bed all day and write with a glass of vino by my side. Or have a good, quiet and intellectual conversation about the world-at-large over a bottle of wine. 

Whilst others view food in terms of texture, colour, presentation and all things to do with gastronomical delight, I view food in terms of fibre, vitamins, minerals, simple and complex carbohydrates. I can go for days without food but I have difficulty going for days without caffeine, adrenaline, words to express myself and of course, vino. 

I don't detest food. I am just not into food, just as I am not into designer brands or fashion. My choice of clothes had always gone by the principle of 'timeless, simple, classic', so that they can last me for years. I am still wearing things that I'd been wearing ten years ago.

A nerd at heart, what excites me is when someone talks to me about topics such as pharmaceutical drugs patent law, about the concept of feudalism/ capitalism/ communism, branding, the latest trends in social media, etc. I'd sink my teeth into topics like that (pun unintended).

Which was why it was baffling for people around me to understand why I had to force feed myself. The world is made up of different types of people who react differently to circumstances. I'd gone for more than 10 days without food, not because I am anorexic but simply because I don't have an appetite and everything that I put into my mouth taste like ash. But I have no issues sipping on a large glass of soul-numbing, full-bodied vino so that I can let my inhibitions go: I write better with it, I host events better with a glass of vino backstage and I even salsa better with a sip or two of wine. 

I even have nicknames for them:

1) Red wine - rose-tinted antioxidants

2) White wine - soul-numbing cooler

3) Champagne - I'd always fondly called them 'my liquid sunshine'

My lack of passion for food has of course landed me in physical trouble. I became malnourished, too weak to even walk. Replacing calories from food with madmen-inspired cocktails and liquid sunshine, which is what a lot people from industries who thrive on 'brains must go with looks' do, has landed my body in big trouble.

Hence I am penning my revelation about my relationship with food. Can I develop a passion for it? No. Just as I can't develop any passion for some really nice men who have come my way. I eat to live, I live for passion and for subjects that make my eyes light with fire. 

Today, I am eating so that I can heal my internal organs, so that I have the energy to stand up, slip my feet into my 3.5 inch heels and swagger through life again.

~ Angela M Tan (Feb 2014)

Dance With Me [VI]: The Importance of Sisterhood

This has to be one of the most important lessons.

Having lived as an only child for almost a decade, I’d learnt to be my own best friend at a very young age. But I found sisterhood in other little girls.

As a child, I recall waiting backstage for hours before showtime and together with the other little girls, we would play low-maintenance kiddy games such as “chop chilli” or “zero point” to kill time in our horrid stage make-up and costumes. Other times, we would sit around the instructors or older kids who would tell us ghost stories which would make us so freaked out that we would go to the bathroom in twos and threes after each scary tale.

Whatever the activity, we always had a lot of fun. Since little girls have practically no problems (besides homework and exams), we didn’t share woes about men/ family/ work so there was no need for us to pour our hearts out when we sit together but the feeling of being part of a troupe was a grand experience for an only child.

It’s like having sisters.

We didn’t choose to be part of the same dance troupe. We were thrown into the mix together because it was a school activity so we had to make do and try to coexist – we'd practice, warm up and dance together. We'd also get punished together for misbehavior. Sometimes, we don’t get along but we know that we have to make up and make do - because it is part of sisterhood.

My real sister came along when I was 11 and today, I consider her one of my best friends. She has seen me as the geek, the bully and the meek but still she loves me as her sister. And likewise, I love my sister, butt and all ;)

Along the way, I found other sisters – in school, in dance, at work, in faith and sometimes in taxi queues. They have all been part of my life’s journey. Sisters serve as my voices of reason: they lift my spirit when I am down, they sit and hear me rant, offering their shoulders to cry on with no prejudice and some sisters even stick up for you – even when they know that you are in the wrong - simply because they are your sisters.

Men sit together and bond but sisters bare their souls through sharing their experiences.
Sisters are important to a woman’s growth in life. They teach you about female loyalty, about the importance of admitting to your mistakes, about self-acceptance, about family, about multi-tasking and most importantly, sisters teach you about the beauty of being a woman.

That’s the magic of the yaya sisterhood.

I am glad that I have sisters :)

Ps. Thank you sisters. This is for you :)

Dance With Me [V]: Always Stand Tall

Have you ever noticed the difference in the times you slouch versus the times when you stand with your back straight? I feel a distinct difference when I keep my spinal column erect – more positive and confident but most importantly, a sense of pride.

For the first two months under Mdm Lee Shu Fen, my first dance teacher, I remembered three key daily tasks – stand tall, chest out, chin up. I figured out why later – all these verbal commands that rang in my head for the rest of my life led to good posture, which were fundamental to finding your body’s centre of gravity – very important in dance. Mdm Lee used to say that if we remember these three commands in our daily lives, we would always walk with a sense of pride.

“Be proud of who you are”. She used to say to us in Mandarin…

Having a sense of pride is important. I am proud of my country and abhor peers who openly criticize my nation in front of foreigners. I once heard a young Singaporean exchange student exclaim to her Swedish peers in a crowded Ya Kun (the local coffeeshop), “Singaporeans are so stupid. They love to queue… dunno why they are like that!”

Such a silly girl! She was shaming HERSELF by critisicing her own countrymen!

I have travelled extensively and did part of my education out of the country of my birth and I am thankful each time I return home. These were the shores where my South Chinese forefathers settled on four generations ago and there must be a reason why they didn’t return - not to China, not to Indonesia, where they first landed and stayed for a few years. Our family found stability (and no racial discrimination nor corruption) in this city-state - just as I feel a sense of security, comfort and acceptance in this tiny red dot.

My countrymen have no qualms about me lasping into my “la” and “le”, the common Singlish (Singapore English) expressions that stemmed from Bahasa Melayu and Mandarin. I speak a splatter of English, Mandarin, Hokkien, (bad) Cantonese and order my food at the local nasi padang stall with no issues in my lousy Bahasa Melayu.

In spite of being trained to be assertive, having worked in multinationals for the last decade, I have no issues relegating into my Asian roots when I address my peers in Japan and Thailand as “san” and “khun” and politely ask for help rather than DEMAND for things to happen.

Regardless of the number of foreign performing arts group that visit my city-state, I will still give my support to the local artistes - I respect them for their courage in pursuing their dreams and for believing in their art.

I once bumped into a former uni mate, who is Singaporean-Chinese married to a Frenchman, at the now defunct Kallang Stadium when Chang & Eng (a real story of the ill-fated Siamese twins) was showing and her exact words were: “We bought the cheapest tickets because this is a an ALL Asian/ Singaporean caste.”

My theatre companion then was a Singaporean-Chinese guy, who bought us tickets in the front few rows, just because it was an ALL Asian caste. Chang & Eng also turned out to be the MOST touching and unforgettable musicals I’d ever watched.

Yes. We are a very young nation - we may not have the best athletes and the best artistes in the world but all systems have faults. Having grown up in the 80s when the “No Spitting, or FINE S$1000” campaign was in force in my country and having witnessed the spread of SARS in Asia in 2003, I am a firm believer that there is a reason behind the madness.

In a short span of 45 years, my country has emerged as the world's fourth leading financial centre and it's economy is often ranked amongst the world's top ten most open, competitive and innovative. My motherland is also a highly cosmopolitan World City, with a key role in international trade and finance. I grew up with some great friends who are non-Chinese because Singapore has a diverse population made up of Chinese, Malays, Indians, Asians and Caucasians of different ethnic origins.

I feel a sense of pride, and stand a tad bit taller each time I clear the customs at the Singapore Changi International Airport, knowing that all I need to do to get home is to insert my passport through the electronic scanner and that many other people in the undeveloped world would kill to me in my shoes, not to mention OWN my passport.

Dance With Me [IV]: Blindfold Yourself

If you are a salsara or simply a person with your own mind, you would be able to identify with this post best.

I am both of the above. I have always enjoyed shopping alone because I tend to think that I don’t need a second opinion.

Why complicate simple things with contradictions?

I picked up Salsa, Bachata and Merengue in 2005, after my Jazz instructor Dino quit the scene. I figured it was time for me to try something different, to get a life out of my consultancy job which sucked the soul out of me.

Thus, I signed up for my first Salsa class with one of the bankers that I was working on the same project with.

This was what I was told on my first lesson.

“Ladies, allow yourself to be led.”

*GASP!*

Salsa, for a female, requires one to literally be blindfolded. I am not kidding. But it really required me to allow my partner to guide and lead me and permit myself to be half a step behind.

Coming from a dance background where I was trained to find my own centre of gravity and to figure out biomechanics through trial and error on my own, this was not easy. I trusted no one but myself – I once did, until a dance partner let me go in mid-air when I was unaware and I ended up with an injured ankle.

Take the above metaphorically.

Until today, I have issues trying to follow any man that asks me for a dance. I need more than one whiskey on the rocks to let myself be led with no resistance on the dance floor.

I got through lessons 1,2,3,4,5 and led almost every single man that I partnered with. Then I graduated into level two and three and after a number of impromptu invites to Union Square, the local Salsa club, I figured that I was hard to lead - a number of men have told me that.

But.

I have found partnerships in a few good and rare men. Some of whom have the capacity to truly lead and gave me the sense of security to let myself to be led. These were the rare occasions where I allowed myself to be blindfolded and see where the music takes me.

The experience is different but it feels nice to be led, on my own free will sometimes.

Dance With Me [III]: I Believe in Butterflies

Have you ever felt butterflies? The fluttery sensation you get in your stomach before you step on stage, before a presentation, before an interview, the feeling you get when you come face to face with the person of your dreams.

My first “butterflies” experience was when I was about eight. It was my first dance performance. When I stood waiting in my wing to make my entrance, I felt a strange sensation - a fluttery feeling in my stomach.

It's the butterflies.

I willed them to go away but they stayed, fluttering their wings to the pitter-patter of my fast beating heart.

Then, the music started and something, almost a supernatural force took over. I entered a realm that I’d never known, and I saw, heard and felt only the energy that emanated from the bodies on the stage that I was part of. It was as if I was in a trance. So absorbed into the music, the rhythm and beat of the tapping and stomping of feet, the movement of the bodies was I that I only came to my senses when the music stopped and the applause came.

That was the awakening - the mysterious butterflies that takes you into an unknown, unexplained zone.

Throughout my adult life, I used the butterflies as my gauge. In work and in relationships, the butterflies told me whether or not I am steering towards the right realm. Logic can only give me the facts and figures but butterflies tell me how my soul feels.

I dropped out of business accounting when I was 17 even though it was considered an elite programme in one of the best tertiary institutions in town. Ledgers and balance sheets didn’t give me butterflies. But I found something better the year I turned 19 – my current profession and I love what I do - exploring angles and selling a story still gives me butterflies, even after so many years. I still get a high when I see the stories I’d pitched getting published, on TV, talked about on the internet. And I still feel the thrill when I see a person I’d profiled appearing in the pages of a magazine. I don’t need the fame myself because I feel like a million bucks when I see my hard work in the media.

Waking up one day to realize that “forever and ever” is hell of a long time and that the person whom I was engaged to did not give me butterflies was another awakening.

The mysterious butterflies can never be properly explained but I know that they are there as a barometer - they appear when my soul sings and soars with every tune that makes my heart beat and miraculously disappears when there is an eclipse.

Do you believe in butterflies?

I do.

And I think that the mysterious butterflies are there in all of us but it is up to the individual to recognize their existence - so that they can come to life.

Dance With Me [II]: Embracing Change

One of my team mates at dance has quit the team – just this evening.

People come and go so this is fine except for the fact that the choreography and formations would have be adjusted to fit seven bodies instead of eight and we have five working days and two rehearsals till show-time and guess who would be bearing the bulk of the changes?

Lucky me :)

Now, the good thing about this is that I am a late entrant – whilst the rest started with the choreography since January, I joined in only after my return from Shanghai in late March. Which means what I’d learnt has been in my muscle memory only for about six weeks (versus their 20) so I can always unlearn and relearn. The short time frame is challenging but it is achievable.

I figured that it really is about sizing up the situation, understanding the loss curve, dealing with uncertainty and most importantly, embracing change.

Throughout the two hours today, most of us landed up at different corners of the stage from where we were told we should end up originally. In other words – CHAOS.

But we stayed nimble, made necessary adjustments, compromised on our respective positions, re-aligned ourselves and ta-da! At the end of 120 minutes, it all seemed to have worked itself out. The key takeaways:-

1) Ego: Respect the leader (there can be only one since too many cooks spoil the broth) and know that it is about esprit de corps
2) Listen: Open up your mind (and ears) to grasp the big idea so you can execute your role properly
3) Space: Respect the other person’s space so that you can co-exist in peace on stage
4) Courage: Have the guts to tell yourself that you can take on any challenges (and changes)
5) Agility: Have the flexibility to unlearn and relearn at short notice
6) Passion: need I say more?

I never understood why dance has never been considered a team activity in the corporate arena because every single dancer (be it amateur or professional) worth their salt knows that in a full on choreo, you can only be as good as the next person – any body/ bodies out of sync would ruin one good piece of performing art.

It’s funny how these dance anecdotes dawned upon me only in recent years. Someone once told me that I am a very late bloomer but 24 years is stretching it a bit.

Now all I have to do is figure out how to get the 60% change in my choreo and new positionings into thy system by noon on Saturday!

Tell me to break a leg!

Kindred Spirits | Light | Life | Public Relations

This is not meant to be a cryptic post but it is going to seem like it is because I am going to allow my thoughts to flow today.

Contrary to popular belief, the role of a comms manager is not a bed of roses. Comms/ PR or whatever you know and understand of my profession is not about looking good and shaking hands. It is a job that requires professionals with resilience to deal with things and situations at all levels; from high (strategic) to mid (task and execution) to low (getting your hands dirty to get something done - this includes crawling on all fours). Coming from a country that is big on education, I feel that it is important for this to be a preamble.

After going through a bizarre two months, I got to talking about the phrase, "surrounded yet alone" with my girlfriend today. Anything that you could imagine that could cross my life took place in the last two months. Without going into more detail, I will zoom in on this week, which consists of:-
1) system crashing when typing in Chinese
2) dealing with clueless and strange people (if you factor in egos, it's double the pain)
3) meeting tight deadlines
4) vertigo (the non-blonde way of saying "*faintz*")
5) last minute concalls

It's tough and I find it hard to explain to people, even to my very patient lunch partners about what I have to deal with. But then again, every job has its challenges :)

I took a train home with my gal pal today, after having to ignore my gal pals for an hour due to a concall that I got to know about at the eleventh hour, I had to explain what transpired in the last few weeks. When I got off at my regular train stop, it was raining cats and dogs. So, instead of taking my regular solitary walk, I meandered to the cab queue and waited. I patiently waited... and after three cabs passed and being in the queue for a good half an hour, I decided to start a conversation with the girl next in line.

My opening:-

"Hi, are you staying in the East? If so, we should consider sharing a cab since they are taking a loooooooong time to arrive"

she said, "yes. I am staying at xxxx"

which is the condo opposite mine.

so we got to talking. She thought that I was in law (I was in my signature black) and I thought the same of her and we happen to be the same age and in the same profession (and situation), managing the same region. *very bizarre*

So for the next half an hour, we shared work woes, industry sentiments and for the first time in eight weeks, I realised that I am not alone!

Perhaps it is God's way of telling me that He is beside me every step of the way but I was almost in tears when we both agreed that the best five minutes of a work day are the five minutes spent writing on and sealing an envelope because it is so brainless.

I thank God that I have a community and even though I may not meet them at work, at least I meet my comrades in taxi queues.

So yes, I now have a neighbour who jogs the same route (though she has much more stamina), who has common friends with me, grew up in the same neighbourhood in the Eastern side of Singapore with me and is able to share my work woes.

Like me, Like me.

What a great way to seal the mid-week.

Dance With Me [I]: Keep Moving

I recall the first time I was told to go across the floor. I was a wee child of about eight. the music was fast and the dance hall was huge. The task was daunting but I knew that I had to move along or hold everybody else back.

Not a natural, I hated dancing at that age but if there was anything that dance taught me, it's about pushing through with what you loath, falling into familiar rhythm, locking it into muscle memory and spinning lithely around every obstacle that's in your path.

My love-hate relationship (mostly love) with dance has gone on for 24 years and anyone who has gone through formal dance training would be able to empathise with getting bruised and broken along the way. I found myself flat on the butt doing tours en l'airs many times and I can never ever seem to perform an axel jump without feeling the fear of falling (I still can't do the axel). I recall hearing my own hamstring tear like a broken guitar string once whilst I did a split and felt my own blood drain.

Like every dancer, both pro and amateur, I give myself the permission to keep trying. It's not about making the same mistakes again and again but to keep reminding myself that it is alright to make mistakes, plunge, pick myself up again, fall back into rhythm and be tougher than before.

The idea is to keep moving, be it forward or sideways. Sometimes, one may even err by taking one step forward and two steps back. But still, we move with the music because motion can alter the mind and sometimes, motion can also make one feel better about the unavoidable missteps of life.

There Is Season For Everything...

For everything there is a season,
And a time for every matter under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to throw away;
A time to tear, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate,
A time for war, and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Strength

Some weeks back, I wrote about my late mother. April 19 this year would have been the tenth anniversary of her death.

I'd always envied my friends and people around me who still have their parents around still.

God works in strange ways sometimes. I took a trip back to the land of my alma mater, Melbourne last August, to visit friends and my aunt, who is more like a second mother to me. The desire to go back to my second home was always there but I'd found numerous excuses not to return in the last six years, citing work load and lack of leave as excuses. But I was glad that I made the trip back and spent some time with my aunt for this morning, I'd just received the news that she's been sent for tests for possible cancer of the pancreas.

Being a process driven person, my initial reaction was to tell her not to panic. But knowing me so well, she actually told me NOT to panic and to pray for her, to have faith and - never to underestimate the power of prayer and faith. The women in my family are indeed tough.

I hope that I can be as strong as all of them.

Ps. Please keep her in your prayers.

Revisit

It's been about two years since I lost my inaugural blog. The first Yellow Canaries blog was about three years old before I accidently deleted all of its contents. I do miss my old blog, which started off as a travel diary of sorts.

On the bright side, it's not a bad thing, for the old blog was full of negative memories and I am quite determined to keep this one positive and honest.

I Choose To Be Happy

It's been about four years since I'd last stepped into a pair of bindings in attempt to manoeuvre the wakes and daunting rollers in the sea.

Once upon a time, I’d never have dared to venture out at such short notice. But that once upon a time was part of a lifetime long gone and today I embraced the sun, sea (and rollers) with an open heart. Today, as I sat at the marina and gazed up at the cotton-like clouds set against the clear blue sky, as I soaked in the sun and the warm sea breeze, I felt very lucky, very alive and very very free.

It was an “a-ha” moment, a moment of realisation. That my life is good – I am not a woman caught in war in Afghanistan, not a woman who lives in a country with socio-economic situation that does not allow equal opportunities. I have been fortunate. I am a woman with choices.

Today is the day that I give thanks for life and for everyone, every incident – the negative, positive and neutral – that shaped me into the person I am today.

I still can’t swim, but I dare say that I’d once been crazy about wakeboarding and had tried most of the surface tricks that I could manage and because of the invention of snug life-vests, I’d been fortunate enough not to drown while I marvelled at sea creatures while I snorkelled.

It's taken me many years but I now understand – that happiness is a choice.

I choose to be happy.

A Note From My Mother's Daughter

In the blink of an eye, a decade has passed

April 2010 would mark the tenth year since I saw you last

You have influenced me much of my life, through my growing years, my terrible teens and as a young adult, you’d seen me with a mortar board on my head

I’d missed you so, as 520 weeks passed and I wished you were around, to watch me grow, into the person you’d always wanted me to be – focused and tough, one whom no man would now dare rough

Some mornings I awake, to hear a faint voice in my head, one that sounds just like the sing-song drawl of your voice hollering my name – to get up, get set and seize the day

I’d pass your old Singer, parked at a corner, of the home you’d created and wonder if I’d ever have your talent to plan, cut, sew and put things together in such patient manner

When problems arise and I need a sounding board, how often I wished I still have you here

If there ever is a virtual world, up where you now reside, I hope that this reaches you to let you know how much I miss you...

Sing Sing Sing!

The debut of my new Jazz shoes :)

Lessons from My Family

I am the epitomy of a cultural hybrid - Chinese thoughts, Western ed. Someone who barely spoke a word of English until I turned eight. These are the lessons that my family, including my parents, who are Chinese educated through and through, taught me:-

Lessons from my father:-

1) You can scrimp on anything except food and footwear - they help you go the extra mile.

2) Be a good judge of character; choose the right people, use them right and treat them well so their hearts stay in the right place.

3) Never let me hear you say that you need to depend on a man. It defeats the purpose of money spent giving you an education

4) A man needs to have drive

5) Marry your own kind, for you will share a common background (sure dad, if I can find one)

6) I'd rather teach you how to fish than provide you with fish everyday

7) Commenting on cosmetics:- Beauty is but skin deep. Colour comes from character

8) Always give an elder a red packet. It warms their heart.

9) Told to me in 1993, when I was 16: "I am sending you back to the village in China so that you can learn about your heritage"

10) Told to me in 1987 in Katong: "These are Peranakan houses. I am showing them to you so that you know that these are part of your lineage. Never forget your roots"

Lessons from my late mother:-

1) If you want to be upset over a boy, I will get you married off straightaway. There is no point in giving you an education

2) Never judge another person until you turn 40 (this is one lesson I haven't learned).

3) If the task on hand is hard, take it one step at a time. You will get there

4) You had insomnia last night? No problem. At least you slept for a couple of hours

5) Never break a promise. Your word is your bond

6) Take care of other people's property when they are in your hands

7) Never dress over the top. It's pretentious

8) Bear in mind that 'money can never buy class'

Lessons from my Grandma (the Bibik):-

1) Why bother marrying young? Ever heard of the word "problem"?

2) Gay? So what? He is still blood!

3) Commenting on a sequinned tube top I picked up at Tangs: "Nice! go try!"

4) Travel while you are still young. Money can be earned. Learning and experiences are what money cannot buy.

Lessons from my sister:-

1) You need to consider if you can wake up next to this person for the rest of your life

2) Being opinionated runs in the family (this, I must agree)

Fair to Cry Unfair

Life is not fair. That is the truth.
Slap me hard on the head and remind me not to muse.
Life is unfair. Something dear gets wrenched from you.
A lesson to remind me to stay on my toes.
Life is never fair. That much I know.
For that is one lesson that I have lived thru.
Life is sometimes fair. That I am aware.
But only when I have no grievances to bare.
What’s fair, what’s square, what do I do?
Live with it, get bashed by it, go with the flow.
Going against the tide may just acquire you more woes.

Tribal Beat

I'd just watched FAME and I love this!

On Locks and Bobs - The Sequel

I chopped off the locks that have defined me all my life - at least most of it. The irony was that, even the stylist, famed for shaping bobs, tried to deter me from severing all ties with my long tresses at the start.

"I want a change". I said, as I looked at him.

"Deal. But maybe not that short", was his response.

As he worked his magic scissors on my mane, I stared at the locks that fell around the salon chair and took a walk down memory lane. I thought about the waist-length hair that I wore till I turned 14 and the disastrous bob that I acquired when I turned 17.

Now, one decade and a tad bit later, I am wearing a wavy bob - something that is fairly high maintenance considering how laid-back I am when it comes to styling. Case in point, the said stylist was midway through teaching me how to use hair-tongs to tame my wild tresses when it dawned on him to ask, "do you own one of these?", he said as he pointed to the iron rod he was using to whip my wild mane into shape.

The reply is of course negative. I don't own any mascara, not to mention hair styling equipment!

Stepping into the salon at Pacific Plaza today was part of my first foray into personal change management. It's less about the mane and what it does to my overall look but I reckoned it’s more to do with how I feel about myself.

And the good news is, I still love me! Regardless of hair length and style! And that, in the grand scheme of things, is what matters.

My Dance Performances

Dec 2007 Merengue by Andy Suarez


May 2009 Broadway Jazz - A Medly from Chicago, West Side Story and Chorus Line By Bill Calhoun

On Locks and Bobs

And so, I keep thinking about the bob that I never had. The bob that I'd first aspired to mould the mess of quasi-hay that grows at the top of my head into something I once seen on this gorgeous, confident girl grooving to Pet Shop Boys at a Fire tea dance in 1994 - the days when baby doll dresses + doc mart's combo actually worked.

So yes, I have been deliberating about the said bob for more than a decade and even though I have been known to go into short bouts of analysis about things that matter to me, the bob is one that has withstood the tests of time.

The reasons are simple. I am a creature of habit and wearing a bob may suit me for a couple of days but at the end, I weigh the inconvenience of not having tresses to tie back into a neat ponytail when I am working out, when I am doing my dance routine. I think about the lack of length to curls my fingers around and play with whilst I ponder over an issue, or having the option of sweeping my crowning glory back into a neat little bun when the testosterones take charge and command that I dress to feel sleek and professional.

The boring black-brown locks that I own may have stuck with me for more than half my life but they epitomise me - they curl in all directions when I am stressed at work, they tame to perfection when I am in cold climate and they bounce into happy curls of anticipation whenever I am all dolled up for a big do.

My locks define me. The bob, is still a distant acquaintance.