It's been a month...

For cryin' out loud! Has it been a month since my last post??? Whadda???!


Such is the life of an expat mom. She doesn't work for a living, but she gets blindsided by a million other things that keep her from, oh, well, doing nothing. That's what people perceive, right? Women who do not hold steady jobs and have partners pay for the cost of living must lead perfect lives filled with housekeepers and nannies that keep their enormous homes magazine pictorial-ready, their children spoiled by endless travels to beautiful five-star resort destinations, their days filled with obsessive commitments to maintaining a size zero... Yeah, right!


The last time I convinced myself that lifting 40 kgs of groceries and walking two city blocks to where I parked my little Mini, I hurt myself. Literally. Within the hour, I had a raging fever, chills, nausea comparable to post-chemo treatment and general at death's door symptoms that three doctors within the next week could not de-crypt. It was just, oh, one of those bugs... So I guess my idea of sucking it up and pretending it was a work-out was a baaad idea.


I did attempt to get on my second-hand exercise bike for at least 30 minutes during the week, with the intent of catching up on my tv viewing (which is non-existent for the most part since there's a ban on tv and computer games in the house during school nights). It was fun to get up on that bike during the Rugby World Cup. My favorite teams run, I pedal faster. But that was about two weeks worth of tv. And it's been a struggle to keep up with this boring pursuit.


Why don't I just get on a regular bike, you ask? How about the fact that it rains every bloody day where I live! No kidding! Don't get me started on how horrible the weather is here. Two monsoon seasons. TWO! Humidity is always above 90%. Things grow fuzz here if you forget them outside the house for a day... I better quit while I'm ahead...


And as for my fabulous house... it is all relative. I call it our "little chauffer's cottage," our little two bedroom number because in my spoiled mind, it is effectively a two bedroom house with a nanny room and a converted garage that is functioning as our junk room. Fine, it sits on 15,000+ square ft of land. But that's not all usable land. We sit on a slope surrounded by tall, brittle trees that don't let in much light and crash everytime there's a thunderstorm. There's so much lightning around this island during the rains that our roof has at least a dozen lightning rods and you have to go around the house straightening the pictures on the walls and working the circuit breaker. And did I mention it rains everyday???




Not to sound like I am seriously afflicted by affluenza, but really, you should see my neighbors' houses. They're mansions that have at least one, if not two guest houses, you know, for the servants? Or their gym equipment. I really do think our current old place used to house their horse and carriage (as evidenced by the dutch door at the back). Anyway... it's not public housing, and yes, I should be more grateful. The wildlife that try to invade us can be considered, well, a bonus of sorts. So far, I've had monkeys go through our garbage bins, a monitor lizard wander into the living room, lizard poop on every wall and mosquitoes that bring on welts to the boys (and that's with the regular fumigation). I do love seeing the tropical birds though. The other day I spied a cockatoo! And a large, bright yellow bird that I still haven't been able to name.



Sigh... who wants a perfect life anyway? I'll take all this, plus the loving hubby, faults and all, and the precocious kids, sleepless nights, worry and all that comes with it. This is my life. I should be so lucky.



:)

Aaaahhh... some peace and quiet

I love the internet. From the very time I created my own username and password back in the day when Yahoo! was just a search engine and mIRC was the chatroom to be in, when 28kbps was considered a fast connection and you could actually use your own name in creating an account and find that it is still available... Those were the days when people look at me incredulously for announcing I buy things online (not that the big corporations actually sold much online those days; remember the term, "brick and mortar?"). I've always lived by, on, with, the best possible internet connection I could get, with usually the second-best, hahah, top of the line computer model available (with the belief that the latest models always charge ultra premium for first-user privilege).

A lot has happened since those days of free music downloads and Acrophobia and random internet chats... These days, you still have random meetings, but now you can get plugged into literally thousands of people with a simple security setting: "For Everyone." Put up your own page, or in most cases, several pages of self-aggrandizing commentary, on the myriad sites dedicated to social (and some claim, snicker-snicker, ehem, professional) networking sites and, voila! You've got 1496 friends, and that's just the ones you've approved this month.

I must admit I eschewed Friendster (thank goodness! one rock star I respect says it's just like a palengke - an overcrowded, noisy wet market), Second Life, and all other social networking groups, thinking perhaps the internet is getting to be a very crowded hawker market catering for everyman's inner pop tart, indeed. I have been quite content to stay by the sidelines and relish other people's online emotional undressing - the kind that inspires fanatic comments and vicious criticism alike.

Every person who thinks he or she can "write" is always embroiled in a secret self-criticism and a need for ego sustenance at the same time. Rare is a generous writer. The worst are selfish "fluff" (self-professed) writers. So when I make yet another attempt at a blog, I wonder at my own intent. And really, all I want is some peace and quiet. Not an internet space where my mother or mother-in-law would freely wander about and read up on my angst as a midlife-crisis'ing expat mom. Funny how people think the internet is real estate.

A good friend recently nagged me about putting up this blog. And I thought, hell yah! I'm no Brangelina; what do I have to worry about? I am going to create a blog and join the millions of soul-baring, time-killing, unwanted opinion-giving, allegedly web-savvy, networked online producers... With an option to edit. Ooohhh... that felt good, admitting to that...

Welcome to my mind's vacation house. Get lost.