What is it about travelling that can be quite lonely? I used to aspire to be one of those fast-walking, always in a hurry executives with a Berry in one hand, swiftly maneuvering their Tumi carry on case through the airport crowd.
Now I am one of them, but I sometimes dread it. The social chatter, company dinners, the facade one puts up in the many hushed conversations in hotel lobby lounges. I especially hate foreign hotel rooms, and can hardly sleep well. That's been a problem since I was a child, this inability to fall asleep in a foreign place.
And tomorrow I face a room full of more questions on the 3 reports I'm going to talk about.
The Fullerton hotel is surprisingly not as impressive I thought it would be. The room is small, the size of my room at home, which I'm happy with at home, but not for a 5-star hotel. But I'm just happy with the small things - finding a nice enough laundry bag and toiletries to hoard and take back home.
Ahh the little hobbies that keep life simple.
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Would I date a guy who likes the simple things, and doesn't mind staying at home? Well, I've tried dating "exciting" and all i remember of our times together is hanging out in nightspots with like 30 other people I've never met before. He'd probably stay out late drinking, and after awhile I'd get tired of tagging along, preferring to stay at home, and sooner or later, we'd fall apart.
Not too exciting then, huh? But how do you bring exciting to the guy who likes simple things, mix em both together and find a cocktail mixture for a life together?
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Sleepy already. Time to sink back into the sheets and dream a little dream.
Good night.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
all the simple things
I just emerged from one of the worst results week ever. End-February is usually not a good month to pursue anything at all, not even sleep, because that's when almost 100% of companies under one's coverage choose to release their full year '10 results.
And the way those companies approach this is akin to a horde of bargain-hungry old aunties making a concerted beeline for that cheap bag in Chatuchak market.
The last day of the week was finished off with 3 companies reporting and all I did Friday was stay on an adrenaline high pushing out note after note after note. I thank the cheeses that 2 were in line and only one resulted me in having to scurry panickedly to their head office in KL Sentral in a thunderstorm on PUBLIC TRANSPORT to listen to why their earnings were 65% above my forecasts.
By the time all the notes were finished and I handed over to my assistant in India to do the housekeeping and standardizing and formatting, it was 230am. I'd been working for 19 hours.
Then tomorrow I fly out for a week on the road to Singapore and Hong Kong, with my reports and game face in tow.
After an excruciating time, you know what's the only thing I want? A hairwash. Visit a furniture shop. Sleep.
The phrase 'all the simple things' is really underrated.
And the way those companies approach this is akin to a horde of bargain-hungry old aunties making a concerted beeline for that cheap bag in Chatuchak market.
The last day of the week was finished off with 3 companies reporting and all I did Friday was stay on an adrenaline high pushing out note after note after note. I thank the cheeses that 2 were in line and only one resulted me in having to scurry panickedly to their head office in KL Sentral in a thunderstorm on PUBLIC TRANSPORT to listen to why their earnings were 65% above my forecasts.
By the time all the notes were finished and I handed over to my assistant in India to do the housekeeping and standardizing and formatting, it was 230am. I'd been working for 19 hours.
Then tomorrow I fly out for a week on the road to Singapore and Hong Kong, with my reports and game face in tow.
After an excruciating time, you know what's the only thing I want? A hairwash. Visit a furniture shop. Sleep.
The phrase 'all the simple things' is really underrated.
Monday, February 14, 2011
har, no old newspapers ar?
That was what the incredulous Bangla slash Paki slash I don't really know what race worker from the main contractor's office said to me, crouched by the base of my backyard wall.
This follows two weeks of uncertainty over whether the leaking water from my unit (which caused a dramatic lift breakdown a month back) was due to my renovating contractor's error or the main contractor's (if it was the latter, it meant no huge repair bill on my hands).
After establishing that my own contractor did not hack the pipes in the floor (where the supposed leak was coming from), I was pretty happy to sit back, take leave and let the main con drill / fix / hammer / dig whatever needed to be done. Do not fancy waking up to leaking tiles and smelly water.
The worker asked me for old newspaper and I realized that I had glossies upon glossies of InStyle and Elle Decor, but not a shred of old newspapers anywhere.
Moral of the story, however abstract and meaningless it may seem -
1) Print is going down the toilet in favour of digital media, as the younger population takes over
2) Always doggedly pursue a matter and postulate all avenues of possibilities to ensure you achieve your aim of passing the blame to someone else. I spent days drawing mental issue trees in my mind trying to come up with different scenarios which had the highest likelihood of resulting in me not having to pay for repairs.
So this is what I'm spending Valentine's Day doing. Listening to drilling sounds in my backyard area with my legs propped up on my sofa bench, popping kuih bangkit in my mouth and wondering if I should chop off my hair.
This also means, I am not at work.
Ya-the-HOO!!
This follows two weeks of uncertainty over whether the leaking water from my unit (which caused a dramatic lift breakdown a month back) was due to my renovating contractor's error or the main contractor's (if it was the latter, it meant no huge repair bill on my hands).
After establishing that my own contractor did not hack the pipes in the floor (where the supposed leak was coming from), I was pretty happy to sit back, take leave and let the main con drill / fix / hammer / dig whatever needed to be done. Do not fancy waking up to leaking tiles and smelly water.
The worker asked me for old newspaper and I realized that I had glossies upon glossies of InStyle and Elle Decor, but not a shred of old newspapers anywhere.
Moral of the story, however abstract and meaningless it may seem -
1) Print is going down the toilet in favour of digital media, as the younger population takes over
2) Always doggedly pursue a matter and postulate all avenues of possibilities to ensure you achieve your aim of passing the blame to someone else. I spent days drawing mental issue trees in my mind trying to come up with different scenarios which had the highest likelihood of resulting in me not having to pay for repairs.
So this is what I'm spending Valentine's Day doing. Listening to drilling sounds in my backyard area with my legs propped up on my sofa bench, popping kuih bangkit in my mouth and wondering if I should chop off my hair.
This also means, I am not at work.
Ya-the-HOO!!
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