Thursday Blues

I woke up this morning, and my mood took a sharp turn for the worse.

All I want to do is to go back to sleep.

I want to be strong, I really do.

And I'm trying really hard to be.

But I'm afraid I am just not.

Mondayitis

It's the first Monday since I got back to Melbourne, and I'm already having a bad start to the week.

It all started with a lousy dinner on Sunday night.

Now we all know how crucial a good Sunday night dinner is to help to reduce those Monday blues, don't we?

Or is it just me? *Shrugs*

Last night, against all my better judgements, I allowed myself to walk into Pacific BBQ Cafe on Lonsdale Street (sister of the famous Pacific Seafood BBQ House in Richmond) because I was lured by the crispy skin roast pork displayed in the window and Wen had craving for roast duck.

Maybe I've just been away for too long that I had forgotten all about the kind of crappy service we get in HongKie restaurants around here, but seriously, the customer service was shocking!

First we were asked to share a table, which I hate, even when there were plenty of empty seats around and the place wasn't even full.

While we're on that note, I'd like to mention that Wen and I had concluded that 3 is the best number to dine out in Chinese restaurants (those without a white table cloth and wine glasses) in Melbourne. You will most likely get a table with 4 seats so you will have some personal space without feeling so crammed up like you're gonna knock something or someone over all the time, and you will have some distance from the other tables so you don't have strangers sitting next to you listening in on your entire conversation.

(Oh my God, did that just sound as sad as I think it sounded?)

Anyway, back to my story about my bad Sunday night dinner.

With a little luck, Wen and I actually got a tiny table to ourselves. Before we could sit down and take our coats off, the waitress was ready to take our orders. Not to mention that she insisted on speaking to us in Mandarin without asking if we understood the language even when we placed our order in English.

Okay, fine, I admit I'm being a tad bitchy about this, though I didn't show my displease at the time, because I had a horrible weekend with some really annoying guests in my apartment.

Our food came, my barbecued pork (char siew) and crispy skin roast pork were juicy and succulent, no complaints there. But the moment Wen put down her chopsticks, when she's barely half way through her roast duck noodles, a waiter popped up from nowhere, extended his arm, and wanted to collect her plate! Wtf?!

Every 5 minutes, I swear, the same waiter would appear and ask if we were done with our food. Now this all happened when the restaurant was not full and there were plenty of empty tables around. How rude is that?!

Oh, and we are not slow eaters, in case you're wondering.

Wen and I got so annoyed with him asking every 5 minutes that we simply let the waiter collected our plates when we were not even finished. I figured maybe he was just really eager to do his very important job of sending as many plates back to the kitchen as possible. *Rolls eyes*

After our plates were gone, I took a sip of my Coke with lemon, and the bill came without us asking for it. In under a minute! That's gotta be a world's record or something.

It was just slammed onto our table, without any explanation. And the same waiter started harassing the customers in the next table for their plates.

I understand your need of super fast turnover of tables in order to make as much moolah as possible in one night, but did you really have to be so blunt and abrupt while you're doing it? Would phrases like "please" and "thank you" kill you, really?

And maybe, just maybe, you can relax a little and give your customers a break when the place wasn't even full and there was clearly no line at the door?

Funny thing is, I don't see anyone rushing this Caucasian couple who's been there long before us and were slowly enjoying their meal with a bottle of BYO red wine.

It disgusts me sometimes how us Asians treat our own kind but would go out of our ways to lick the bottom of shoes of someone with a different skin colour.

And then there was this creepy man who kept staring at our table. He wasn't in his uniform, so initially I thought he's a customer waiting for our table, but turned out, he does work there. So maybe he's like the second phase "attack" after the waiter?

He was staring so rudely that I actually stared back at one point because I was that upset! He looked away for a bit, but started staring again soon after, inching closer to our table like an irritating fly.

The horror dining experience ended when Wen and I got bored with this seemingly impossible battle defending a customer's right to their table so they could at least finish their food and drinks that we decided to just leave.

And you'll be proud to know that we didn't tip that night. :|

With a bad weekend and a bad Sunday dinner in my pocket, I woke up this morning only to find that one of the annoying guests whom I've been trying to avoid like the plague is still in my apartment, and shows no intention of leaving anytime soon.

So no, I guess I'm not having that great a Monday.

I certainly hope yours is a better one.

Dancing

"Dancing is...is..is...losing yourself to the music.
It's as if you're not conscious of anything else.
It's as if you become the only one in the room."
~ Ally McBeal (Ally McBeal)

I want to go dancing.

I miss dancing.

I miss loud music and skimpy outfits. I miss doing shots with funky names until I'm completely wasted. I miss standing next to the woofers blasting out bass strong enough to shake the grounds and feeling like each beat is hitting so hard on my heart that my heart is going to stop.

Did I ever tell you that I love trance and techno?

(And yes, the infamous Melbourne Shuffle. Naturally.)

It's the loneliest music in the world.

It makes you feel completely isolated even when you're surrounded by a crazy crowd, as if you are the only person on the dance floor.

Or the whole world.

Even when you're rubbing shoulders with a dozen of sweaty strangers next to you, even when the laser light show is blinding your eyes, even when the club reeks of alcohol and cigarettes, all you have to do is to close your eye, and the room is completely empty.

All the noises are blocked out, including those of your own.

Like the little voice in your head that is always telling you to do the right things or act the right way, like the voices of people and yourself asking you what are you planning to do with your life, like the questions you have been asking yourself ten thousand times a day and still don't have an answer for.

All of a sudden, the world is on a standstill, and there is nothing else left besides the music.

Only you, the loud bass, and your heartbeats.

It's defeating silence. It's complete solitary. It's absolute freedom.

It's liberating.

So yes, I miss dancing.

And I miss being young.

Bleeding

There are several wounds on my body that are healing.

One in my heart that is never going to.

And last night, you just added another one.

Right where it hurts the most.

Lost Again

"Have you ever felt like there is no solace in anything, like, wherever you turn, you're just lost?"
~ Felicity Porter (Felicity)

That's exactly how I felt when I was back in Melbourne the previous time.

Every. Single. Day.

Then I decided to hop on a plane back to Malaysia for a break.

To breath, and reboot. As I called it.

It was an incredible 5 weeks. I stopped crying, and learned to laugh again.

Being with him made me feel safe.

In the bigger picture of life, I was still lost. I still didn't know what my next step is, I still couldn't figure out a clear direction that I should be heading towards, I still didn't know what the heck I'm going to do with myself.

But even so, I felt safe. In his arms.

I came back to Melbourne 5 weeks later with a much lighter luggage, but a little more courage and optimism.

I knew that I still didn't have things all figured out, but I felt a little braver this time round.

I was prepared to give it another go, believing that even if that doesn't go well, I was prepared to be more forgiving on myself.

Until I woke up this morning, good feelings are gone.

And the same feeling is back.

I am lost.

Once again.

Not Another Smile

I had dinner with Wen in Lygon.

I picked the restaurant. Lygon Street is one of my favourite parts of Melbourne, and tonight, I desperately needed to be reminded of why I once loved the city so much.

Dinner was great. I ordered my favourite pasta, she had her usual risotto. We chatted, we laughed, and we filled each other in with things that's been happening in our lives.

As usual, I felt the need to put up a brave face and a smile. I spoke of my time off as if it was a getaway in Bahamas, I told one of the sad stories that broke my heart like I was telling a joke I heard from someone else.

Maybe it's just the Aries in me.

Maybe I just never got over those two powerful lines that I read in a poem as a teen - "Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone.".

I have welcome-back dinners lined up every day this week. Italian with Wen tonight, Greek with Cathy tomorrow, Shanghainese dumplings with Dorothy and her boyfriend the day after.

But all I want to do is to stay in bed and cover my face with a blanket so my tears can flow freely.

I just don't have the energy to fake another smile.

Sleep

I spent my first day back in Melbourne drifting in and out of sleep.

I'm not tired or jet-lagged. Sleeping is just one of my ways trying to escape from reality.

I know I've done this a thousand times before and I should be used to it by now, but I am not.

I know how people are going to tell me that it's gonna get better with time so just try to be strong for now, but at the moment, I really can't see how this is gonna get any easier.

Can someone actually die from loneliness?

You know what? Don't answer that.

I'm going back to sleep.