so not a morning person...

The breakfast room can get very busy and noisy. I really do not like kids in the morning, especially loud, whiny, expressive ones. Some days I can tune them out; most of the time I amuse Luuk with my grumbling.

Once he leaves for work, I fill my cup with a second helping of coffee and sit outside where I hope to find some quiet amid the thousands of airconditioners hanging out of the surrounding buildings, honking horns on the street below, and the crows that dare to sit on the chair across from me and caw expectantly.

I always thought crows were the mean birds of the city, but the pigeons actually stole more from the crows than the other way around. Funny.

I saw a black pigeon with one single random long white feather in his wing... I wonder if random feathers on birds are like moles or freckles on people. Or spots on dogs.

And why do city pigeons seem to always have messed up feet? Ten points to the best answer.

Real rain.

There must be something basic or elemental to the pleasure taken in listening to rain fall. It's like staring at a bonfire. I could do that for hours and my best sleeps have been to the sound of rain and thunder. Soothing. Therapeutic. Fantasical, in a way.
Watching tropical rainfall from the 13th floor out our window over our pigeon-poo-covered patio is just plain lovely. If the pool weren't on the 9th floor or if there weren't thunder and lightning, I would be swimming in the rain right now.
This is one of the things about the tropics that I enjoy the most. Warm temperatures and heavy straight-falling rain. This is what I miss when I am in Holland, the land of fizzy rain and feel-it-in-your-bones cold.
Sigh. I love this kind of rain.

Take a walk down memory lane...

Last night, Luuk went to bed early cause he wasn't feel well, so I looked for ways to quietly entertain myself in our little hotel room. I started reading my old blogs. I began with the first I ever wrote, continued on through goodbyes to Dordt, the big move to Holland, my oh-so-long year as an aupair, driving lessons, university struggles, wedding plans, homesickness, frustrations, questions about God, and finally up to the beginning of this past year where the memories were still fresh enough to less interesting to read through. The experience was... well, I can't say cathartic or therapeutic cause that would assume I still had some pent up emotions, tensions, or issues to work through from the past three years... but it was something akin to that. As I read, I could remember so many details that I had forgotten. I could picture the very situation, dream, or feeling that had created the necessity to write it in the first place. I relived so many struggles and small triumphs in a matter of minutes before I moved on to the next entry. I realized just how much this blog has been my therapy. It keeps me sane.
And I read through every comment left by fellow blogger friends. Wow do I miss some people right now. The feeling of nostalgia accompanied me through the whole session and didn't leave even after I finally went to bed.
I have a private journal where I write all the thoughts and feelings that I dare not share with the world. It's the kind of journal that is mostly dark and depressing and doesn't really remember the details of my life, only the worst parts of it with only occasional relief. It's not the sort of book I would like to reread through. So I am very glad today that I have kept this blog. This has become the sort of journal I can reread later when I am old, forgetful, and have grandchildren to shock with stories of my youth.

So, yeah, just thought I'd share that with y'all.

The modern child.

This morning at our buffet-breakfast included in the room deal here at our serviced-apartment building, I filled my bowl with papaya and watermelon. A full cup of some incredible coffee, of which origins I have yet to discover, in one hand and a piece of toast in the other, I enjoyed a quiet wake up to the day. The tv shared a news piece on the detrimental effects of high-heels, in the background. Fellow residents from different countries and cultures chewed quietly at various tables spread strategically through the room. A mother and her approx. 2yr old child walked into the room and I groaned. I dislike children in the morning. They are loud, whiny, and annoying, too early in the day. But this one seemed quiet enough, so I smiled at him and went back to sipping my coffee. He noticed the tv on the wall. Tugging at his mother's sleeve and pointing at the tv, he asked, "Obama?"

Kusu

This past weekend Luuk and I took a boat, fashioned like what I would imagine an old Chinese sail boat for royalty used to look like, to a tiny island of Kusu. It is small. I know people who's yards are bigger than this island (no, not in the Netherlands).

Anyway, story goes that years ago some fishermen were caught in a storm and would have died were it not for their rescue by two giant turtles. These men built a shrine on the island where the turtles brought them and today this island contains a Buddhist temple (where a family lives and spends their days watching tv next to shrines, candles, and fat smiling Buddha statues) and a strange haphazard semi-open completely yellow 'building' of sorts on top of what looks like one giant rock. People come to the island to climb the 152 steps up to this yellow place to ask the gods or ancestors or turtles to give prosperity, luck, and/or children. It's especially good luck for a newly married couple to climb the stairs, pay a few dollars, and ring the bell.

The island also contains a turtle sanctuary with seriously a good hundred or so turtles of all sizes. They are not afraid of people. In fact, they scramble straight to you in hopes of being given some of that nasty looking red crap we were handed to share with the turtles. Some of those turtles have some pretty freaky looking mouths. But they are still cute. Especially their little bums, with their fat legs sticking out of their shells and that cute little tail... (Teehee!). If they were more interesting, maybe I'd adopt one.

The website describing the island claimed that people loved to come here to swim in the beautiful lagoons. When I think lagoon, I think lush tropical trees on either side, backed by cliffs and waterfalls, with clear blue fresh water in the middle with perhaps a shiny fish or two... Well, it wasn't exactly that...but good enough. Sunshine, palm-trees, sand, water...what more could we want? And all this with almost no one in sight. We bought lunch from the family at the temple and spent the day reading next to one of the lagoons facing the Singapore sky-scrapers across the water. That's hard to top.

But we are gonna try: 28 Feb, we are on our way to Vietnam!

Interesting...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/7871783.stm

What does one do to deserve coming back as a lizard?

I made a friend at the Chinese gardens yesterday. A black lizard 3ft long appeared repeatedly in front of me during my walk through the bonsai section. He flicked his tongue a couple times and staring at me, crawled carefully to his next hiding spot. I didn't know lizards could swim. Now I do.

Day before last, I checked out the trippy Haw Par Villa, where I was informed that there are ten courts of death for those who lived bad lives. Different sins require different penalties. Robbers get the volcanic pit; gamblers are turned into blocks of ice; ungrateful bastards get their hearts cut out; and gossips get their tongues removed. After all this, the punished sinners are sent to an old lady who gives them tea that causes forgetfullness so that they can go on into their next reincarnate lives in whatever form they deserve without remembering their punishments. Ah, yes, that'll teach them.

The day before that, I visited the Sultan mosque, where I was given a scarf to cover my shoulders and received a tour and story of the mosque from a friendly teenage boy. I found out that little boys blush when you shake their hands in a mosque. Or maybe it was just that boy.

Today I go in search of Holland Village. That ought to be interesting.