Longest flu ever

I've been sick for the past 3 weeks. The jet lag, lack of sleep plus work stress crashed my immune system.

During the first week, I had a nasty dry cough which left me with coughing in my sleep. One night, I woke up in the middle of the night in the midst of a coughing fit. I was coughing non-stop for an hour before I reluctantly got up and rubbed Vicks on my throat and chest. Vicks sure works wonders on calming a raging sore throat.

After a week of hacking and coughing, I relented and went to the doctor for a course of antibiotics and drowsy cough syrup. The coughing stopped but it morphed into a full-blown flu - achy joints, runny nose and feeling lousy all the time.

I'm back to my feet but I'm still eating the damn 'jook'. I'm so sick and tired of jook after 3 weeks of eating nothing but jook.

Yesterday, I had an enormous craving for steak that I invited Paully and at the last minute, dragged Mr. J from his workplace to Jake's Steakhouse. It was the best meal I had eaten in the past 3 weeks. The steak was so juicy and tender. The chips were crispy and salty. My tastebuds were jolted from a 3-week hibernation. Every morsel, slice, crumb of food I put into my mouth was so, so, so yummy. A delicious myriad of flavours danced and skipped joyously on my tongue.

Paully and Mr. J were amused at my swooning after every mouthful of food that they wished they had a camera.

However, this morning I woke up grouchy with a dry throat and stuffy nose- not a good sign. So, it's back to the dreaded jook for now.

I sure miss eating tandoori & naan, char kway teow, Mc D's McChicken, Haagen Das ice cream and a whole feast of food which I can't eat because of my delicate throat. Damn!

Crazy about

drawing and sudoku.

My new hobbies, thanks to France and London. Yes, I can't thank France enough for their omnipresence of art. Even the French dailies has a special section on art.

I'm enjoying myself immensely drawing everyday objects as suggested by Danny Gregory. It's great to spend 15 minutes everyday, just drawing whatever in front of me. My mind clears itself from all the monkey chatter as I concentrate on details of my drawings. And when I finish a little drawing, I'm calm, relaxed and chirpy happy.

Taking the train in London was a great bore. Plus English trains are narrower and smaller than the French metro. There's no space for personal boundaries when you are in the train. On my third day in London, I got fed up of not having something to do or read during those dreary train rides to and fro my sister's place. At the Charing Cross Station, I decided to get a magazine/novel but ended up with a two-quid Sudoku puzzle book. And I've been hooked with Sudoku.

I love Sudoku! And I love drawing!

Merci beaucoup

Before I left for France, I was inundated with stories of how standoffish and rude the French are. However, I brushed them off and told myself to not hold any misguided judgments. I mean, you got to see and experience things yourself to know for sure.

Well, let me you something. It's a huge, HUGE misconception! The French are the warmest and nicest people I've ever met in all my travels.

On my first day in Paris, a grocer at Montmartre wished me, 'Bonjour!' as I walked past his shop and the lady at the boulangerie counter served me with a warm smile and wished me, "Bonne journee".

Everytime I got on the train with my luggage, a frenchman would offer to help me stow my bag into the overhead compartment which was too high for me. And again, before getting off the train, some frenchguy would help me bring my luggage down. One thing I know for sure, frenchmen are living examples of chivalrous gentlemen.

At St. Germain des Pres, a kind frenchman walked me to the nearest 'Huit a huit' supermarket because the shops were closed and I was tired, hungry and thirsty. Plus, there wasn't any takeaway sandwich bar in sight.

At Le Marais, the falafel owner refilled my drink because it was scorching hot (36 degrees celcius) that day and I had slurped my drink within seconds.

At the Gare du Nord sandwich bar, the server taught me how to say 'oui' in the brisk Parisian accent. 'Non, non, dise comme le Parisian 'oui'.'

In Nice, a sweet frenchlady took the trouble to walk me to the right bus-stop and made sure I got onto the right bus to my hotel.

I met really lovely french people in France. I'd forever remember their warm smiles and genuine kindness.

The French taught me an important life-lesson. It's not about which branded bag you carry. It's not about how well-dressed you are. It's not about how well made-up your face is.

It's how you treat others that matters.

Creative Impulse

After reviewing my massive holiday photo collection, I realised that vivid memories were those that I hadn't bother to photograph. Throughout my trip, I was caught up in framing buildings and landmarks in the camera viewfinder.

I regretted lugging along a DSLR which was a real pain to carry in my slingover bag. Plus, it was too big to take discreet photos of street life - handsome frenchmen in suits rushing to their workplace every morning, frenchwomen strolling along with their "tou-tou", kissing couples, a group of adorable french kids in an art gallery excursion, etc. I really regret not capturing the essence of Paris. Instead, I snapped mostly architectural and scenery shots but they were good photos.

For years, I've bought various sketchbooks which remained empty until today. I've never really sat down and commit myself to start drawing. Yeah, I didn't believe in having an artistic side. Although, a drawing impulse will pop up every now and then where I find myself browsing for hours through art books in bookshops. Still, I've never stopped dreaming and talking about art.

On my last day in France, I flew from Nice to Paris and had to wait 3 hours at the Gare du Nord station to catch the Eurostar train back to London. The Eurostar platform was on a higher level from the TGV platform and there wasn't a single bench. So I had to order from the cafe on the Eurostar platform, just so I could sit down and wait for the next 3 hours.

After 2 cups of hot chocolate and a baguette cheese sandwich, I was bored from reading the french Elle magazine from cover to cover. I got up and leaned on the banister to people-watch. Soon, I found myself admiring the steel pillar in front of me.

It was my last day in France and my right wrist was suffering from phototaking fatigue. And I was fed up of attaching the 200mm lens to the DSLR before taking a photo. So, I decided to heck it and start drawing the pillar. It was my first drawing attempt since secondary school. I'm very pleased with my drawing. Not bad, eh? :)

After 2 weeks of massive art-gazing in France, how could I possibly not be compelled to draw? Seeing works of Degas, Monet, Renoir, Picasso, Leonardo Da Vinci, Van Gogh, Rodin, Matisse left me buzzing with a strong creative will.

When I got back, I decided 'enough is enough'. Life is too short to not live a rich, creative life and most importantly, life is too short to not do the things I had to do.

So last week, I went bookhunting for a basic instructional book on drawing. However, in sheer serendipity, I found the VERY book that'd teach and guide me the basics of keeping a drawing journal - The Creative License by Danny Gregory.

Danny Gregory is a self-taught artist who illustrates gorgeous images of everyday life. He has an uncanny knack of transforming mundane objects into interesting pieces of drawings. I like the way he writes, too- witty, funny and real. To know more about Danny, click on these links his webpage - dannygregory.com and a brief interview (plus a peek at one of his books) in an online magazine.

In the meantime, I'm going to take teeny, weeny, baby steps to fill up those sketchbooks that have been sitting on my bookshelf for years.

*tou-tou - doggy