Ever wondered how it feels like being homeless? Try this - lock yourself out on a weekday night in a Swiss city in the middle of winter. To enhance this once-in-a-lifetime experience, try wearing only a thin sweater and have with you nothing at all apart from the clothes you are wearing.
There is something missing in my life now. It is that of intellectual conversation that I always had while in London. And time and attention generously given to me by good friends always willing to understand. It is not so much that I cannot adapt here, in fact this bunch of international people are really fun to be with. But take Friday for instance, there were the 'ooohs and aaahs' of teasing. Perhaps I am just not used to it after all this time, but surely it isn't that difficult to launch into intellectual conversation rather than place this much emphasis on who's interested in who? Oddly enough I feel like a baby - 23 and at least 2 years younger than my peers. Perhaps there is more to it than meets the eye of their apparent superficiality?
Over summer this year in Singapore, I cleared out my room so it could be let out. After all, who knows when I am going back next, and it surely wouldn't be longer than 2 weeks, less to say return to Singapore for good after four years. Well, that is another debate altogether. Let's focus on this: I was clearing my room and organising my things to those which can be donated, reused, recycled.
In London, there were recycling bins just round the corner from our new apartment. It was easy - you just had to sort out your trash, take it round to the bins and someone would clear it. No superhuman effort, I would say. It is the same here in Switzerland. When I was back in Singapore last year (2006), I was happy to find recycling bins in front of every house in my estate and my dad's housing estate. But this met with a lot of criticism, at least from my parents. My Dad said, gesturing to the row of rubbish bins and recycling bins, 'Are we parading rubbish bins here?'. This year, the recycling bin at home was practically non-existent. It was brought indoors and left standing at a remote corner of our garden. 'They dont' bother coming round anymore, you have to call them,' Mom said in defence when I questioned. So it seems no one uses it at all, so much such that the government gave up. It took a superhuman effort for me just to get a phone number to call for this recycling bin to be emptied, filled with old notes from Junior College. No one knew where I could recycle old clothes and my desktop that has been left cold for 4 years - well, no one except Jacq who's obviously very much involved in the environment circle in Singapore.
I watched in despair as plastic bottles, aluminium cans and paper boxes are thrown carelessly into the rubbish bin. After a year in Qugee fervently recycling, this was most disappointing. Mom even went so far as to say 'I don't care about recycling ok, no one does!' Which met my disapproving remarks obviously. You start to wonder if this is representative of a generation responsible for causing the escalation of the climate problem, the distinctive shrugging off of shoulders, refuting all responsibility. Worse still, a leading politician openly expressed frustration over the problem, claiming there was nothing to be done unless we gave up our current (materialistic) way of life. This was mirrored in my cousins' comments concerning the problem. Singapore is too small to do anything, they say, our efforts will not have any impact. Yet again brushing matters aside. What then is our political significance in South East Asia? I was disappointed about the sheer ignorance and materialism amongst those in my generation. Is life all about pretty clothes, computer games, big cars, expensive gifts and boy-girl relationships? Shouldn't we think about the life of next generations to come? 我不禁哀声 叹气!
We met again after a long year at Juliette's house. There were eight of us at the little Apero: Juliette, Paula, Georgia, Muria, Rossella, her sister Georgiella (?), Pietro and I. And of course we talked about me, about London, about my past one year in London. So what is it about the UK in general that the Swiss find odd?
(1) Teenage girls (and even girls my age) wearing strapless tops and short skirts (without stockings) in the middle of winter, lamenting about the cold. Like WHY do you think it is cold?!
(2) How people go to the pub and get so 'pissed drunk' that you can't even communicate with them. And then they approach senseless topics so much such that you find you're the only one not talking about senseless stuff, which actually makes you feel stupid. And why? Because you're probably still sober and conscious.
(3) So you realise the next day at work that you don't actually know anything about the person you've been talking to the whole night before. It's as if he/she is a completely different person!
(4) And perhaps that's why people in London come to have two completely different personalities, one when they are sober and the other when they are at the pub. Now this addresses the point about a friend I knew from my last lab. Sad, really. Serious and obviously very well-informed about sociology by day, but turn night, he becomes chauvinistic and completely flirty.
(5) Which brings me to this last point about drinking. That people actually feel proud of getting 'pissed drunk'! For example, you might hear them boasting about themselves throwing up all over the pavement and collapsing on the side of the road such that the police have to ensure their friends get them home safely. Shame, shame.
Coming from the UK, I'm amazed and I'm impressed that the Swiss actually know the meaning of drinking in moderation. Meaning you don't lose yourself, that you retain at least a bit of dignity, that you open yourself up but still be reserved. Now when I say that drinking is a form of suffering because you lose consciousness, at least people understand.
I'm glad, I really am! I couldn't be working in a more international environment than this, and I really am beginning to enjoy talking not just during lunch breaks but also at Aperos, when people are sober enough to conduct conversation. Mmmm…
Btw, I've actually found a friend who shares the same interest in piano and classical music! Finally someone who I can talk to like I talk to Princess…
There it goes again. The last time there were what… 5-7 of us? We had close to 10 viewings and several nightmares. But it was really not that much of trouble for me as I was coped up with lab work.
Yesterday, I got as far as calling a lady and tried conversing in German with her only to know that the apartment is "schon vorbei" = already past, taken. YES, I thought, punching my fists in the air, at least that was ONE! I wasn't that lucky with the second lady, but I could at least understand "Je ne comprehend pas, Madame" = I can't understand you, Maam, in a very sympathetic tone. Well, I did manage to get help with arranging a viewing. But boy, the kitchen was dirty, there weren't any lights at all in the room, and worse, you could see dark patches on the wallpaper even in the dark. I made a polite gesture to tell her I'll call if interested.
I needed to move fast, and I still need to. Just went to view an apartment today, perfect location near the main train station (ideal for travelling), comfortable size, great landlord, window in the kitchen, but you'll still make the entire room smell if you were deep frying calamari. CLEAN. That's important. Well, I'm really the sort who loves cooking and hosting some friends once in a while. But you all know how a chinese kitchen can be. Oily, gritty etc etc. And I'm not willing to give up entirely on asian cuisine. One could say that there're other dishes you could cook that doesn't require much oil. I would like to have an oven too, and there isn't one, there isn't even space for one. There're only two electric hobs. So what now? Everything's perfect with this apartment except for the kitchen. Should I take it?
Unfortunately, that's not for me to decide. Assuming one rules out all housing agencies that require you to have a guarantor, there's still the problem with my contract that is renewed every year. So that means more trouble. And instead of deciding on the spot and signing a contract right away, housing agencies here love to take their time. They allow a month for viewings, and then decide at the end of the month who gets the flat. Pretty much like a bid. You'd sigh. So what happens now then? I should perhaps view flats non-stop then. Well, to start with, I've got two tomorrow. Let's see if it's possible to squeeze in another two the day after tomorrow. At least I'm going to take a break on Thursday evening at 8:30 for Rachmaninov with the Orchestre de la Suisse Romande.
Everyone in the lab tells me their version of the nightmare. Am I prepared for this? Well, I do'nt know how far my patience can take me, but I definitely will have to make do with it.
Bags are packed - I've managed to pack most of my summer clothes for next year. Time flies - I haven't completed the checklist. Switzerland beckons - it's time to plan my settling down there. Everyone asks if I will be back next year. When I say 'I don't know', I certainly mean I don't know. I've emptied out half my room now, including the old desktop that won't boot (Salvation army's going to come down on the 24th). I've kept most of my memorabilia in the plastic box under my desk. No clothes hang in my wardrobe, unlike those past four years.
Somehow I feel I'm moving out - for good. For various reasons, I have a feeling I may not come back to this house again. It is my way of saying 'my absence is not temporary anymore.' Why? I have probably passed a checkpoint, that which allows people like us to return home after graduation. The fact that I stayed on means I am not returning home in the near future. And certainly, apart from my family, there really is no point in me staying here. I am, indeed, officially moving out.
I think I need another break. I thought I was going to find time for that these few weeks in Singapore. But no, it seems that my life at home is full of expectations and obligations, these which suppress me, suppress my personality. I am lamenting again. I replied Georgie's message today, in which I said in jest that I do not feel Xiao-ish at all. No, that was not in jest, I was serious. I am not joking when I say that I do indeed feel like I'm living in China centuries ago, a merchant's eldest daughter, well-trained to be the woman of a family, coming of age and ready to be wed. What is first exchanged during conversations about me is a list of my achievements that in their opinion show my abilithy to take up the role of young mistress (少 奶 奶). It kills the soul. I yearn to be back where freedom is, and freedom is not less than a week away…
我要反传统, 但没力气反, 我的性格根本就不够刚烈!
所以才逃避, 所以才默默的忍着…
I am still on the book 'King Leopold's Ghost' by Adam Hochschild. It's taking a little too long for me to finish this. Came across a short excerpt that is so apt today with regards to the situation in Burma:
'The white men who passed through the territory as military officers, steamboat captains, or state or concession company officials generally accepted the use of the chicotte as unthinkingly as hundreds of thousands of other men in uniform would accept their assignments, a half-century later, to staff the Nazi and Soviet concentration camps. "Monsters exist," wrote Primo Levi of his experience at Auschwitz. "But they are too few in number to be truly dangerous. More dangerous are… the functionaries ready to believe and to act without asking questions."
…"To tell the truth," said Franz Strangl of the mass killings that took place when he was commandant of the Nazi death camps of Sobibor and Treblinka, "one did become used to it."
In such a regime, one thing that often helps functionaries "become used to it" is a slight, symbolic distance - irrelevant to the victim - between an official in charge and the physical act of terror itself. That symbolic distance was frequently cited in self-defense by Nazis put on trial after World War II…'
I may be thought of by some as 'biting the hand that feeds me', but it really saddens me to see a country I so highly revered many years ago supporting such a regime, yet denying, even pretending that they condemn it, painting a pretty picture of their role in the international stage.
Went to see the screening of the international version of Expedition Linne at the Botanic Gardens.
http://www.expeditionlinne.se/
And then had a very artistic evening appreciating the highly acclaimed Lee Ang's Se Jie (Lust, Caution) with Mom. As usual they censored it, which is annoying and quite a shame because the sex scenes are essential for character development.
'Gigi' = Bahasa Indonesia for tooth (or teeth?)
Met Dad & Mr 'Pakkok' (that's what dad calls him, Mr French uncle) for the StocExpo Asia exhibition. (http://www.stocexpoasia.com/home.shtml) Passed off as a consultant, without a name card. Lots of companies showcasing their products, mainly European with a few local ones, all bits and pieces that were to be involved in building a storage tank for volatile liquids and chemicals. At least I have a better idea now what Daddy does, what his project is about and what is really involved in building a storage tank that really isn't just a huge container. Let's see… there's the monitoring systems, the Vapour Recovery systems, Vapour combustion systems, floating roofs, water treatment etc. etc. It was like shopping. A Dutch company dealing with water treatment made a really sexist joke about it being a man's business. That guy reminded me of Bobby. :D
Then went for the dreaded wisdom tooth extraction at Gleneagles. The dentist recommended I snip off the left side of my mouth that was healed over in the 2002 virus infection (the right side having been torn whilst I was enjoying a baguette in Lausanne last year). 'We won't charge you for this, you want or not? Otherwise ah, food will get stuck here and then BACTERIA will grow…' at which point I said 'okay okay, just snip it off'
I now have effectively a paralysed left mouth.
