29 years! I feel sentimental and have been rushed by one of those "new year resolution" moments where I am compelled to dissect my existence thus far, plan what I need to right about my life and make some resolutions. And then…i find myself failing in all of the above, massing an impromtu dinner of Inseaders and housemates and carting everyone off to Cafe de la Musique - one of these nice-ish cafes that thinks it’s Hotel Costes but out in the 19 arrondisement, where there is eh…nothing.

Turning 29 is not life-changing in itself (after all, it’s but another day, the first day marking the next 365 days before one turns yet older again), but the implications of getting older are. I feel impatient but lazy - meaning, I want changes (a new and more challenging job, strength to run a marathon, cut an album, make new friends, travel the world) but yet, I am not all too jazzed about making it happen. Is this mid-life paralysis? Or that I am waiting for change to happen to me so that I can behave in a reactionary fashion and be it good or bad…just to deal with it? It’s been difficult taking job calls and being asked succint questions such as, " why are you motivated to join our firm? which country do you want to be in?" Questions, which I have no clue how to answer because I don’t know. But I wish I knew - does that make it better?

The presents scene was slightly better - in all my 29 years, I have NEVER received a Claypot nor quail’s eggs as birthday gifts (yes, they were both from the same person but of course). So, I had to wear the claypot, just to know what wearing a claypot as a hat felt like. It’s heavy. I did get a bomb-ass, bomb-ass original Al Green record from Benoit, which even has a "healing" track - for those that have been unlucky in the love department. I bought myself 2 dresses, 1 pair of shoes, a mandarina duck bag and wallet as a birthday/graduation gift. And I got a marc jacobs wallet too - based off a random walk-by window comment "I love that wallet…why can’t it go on sale." Hey, not bad at all. Hints do work?

Birthdays with no cake are boring. I should have gotten a cake or gone dancing. That seems to summarize my life these days - "I should have". That’s the first thing that needs changing - switching "I should have" to "I will/ won’t".

gumby and pokey get an upgrade - hello to the palm tree from brazil and to the girl from ipanema…i mean, the giant chicken from ipanema.

I read this book some time ago called 1421, which was a semi-scientific (and i mean this very loosely) novel talking about the prolifilation of China and that in truth, it was really China that "discovered" America, before Columbus - how upsetting it must be cos that would make Columbus day totally moot.

But one of the most catching "small proofs" that there was a Chinese presence in the world was the lowly…chicken from brazil that checked out to be asiatic in origin. but i have no clue if any of this was true. don’t take my word for it…or eh…the ex-sailor who wrote 1421.

It’s always interesting to see how your friends photograph you. my two opposing sides, as shot by peishan.

this is a summary of my existence: this cheap tiled dessert shop, the ravaneous eating and displaced facial expression. Some have Cartier and LV and I have a skull n crossbones badge.

and sometimes I think I actually pull off hot and sexy. *shudder*

Continuation of Gumby and Pokey - The kicking of Gumby (part of the kids can be so nasty series)

if i had made any threats about becoming a cat woman, i have now done one worst. I started reading astrology websites for validation of my measy existence. and that, is truly sad, if not encouraging, when it’s "accurate". Well, hard to say no to Gin’s recommendations.

Apparantly, my failed relationship was a match made in the stars, that receives a 4 out of 5 rating. "This is a sassy, exciting pairing of two similar souls." Erh…yes, which is why i am sitting here dishevelled and penning this blog. Ok, this has got to be untrue….i am not reading it anymore. but for those that want to laugh, click here.

Despite Satre’s arguments that this world is random, I think we all hope that there is some kind of structure - even if it’s astrologically designed. For what is the point of utter freedom, if everything is to be in a random form? Or, this could be my smelly-old-catwoman talk.

I’d really like to thank all my girlfriends for listening to me whinge/bawl/complain/sigh/go manic, and whom have nothing but the bestest things to say about me or to me. I have gotten offers to have Elephanccinos (my fave!), free visits to Norway, kaya toast…prawn paste chicken at tiong bahru…man, i am touched beyond belief. You guys rock and I can’t wait to come home. And perhaps for once, there is too much love to go around. i love you all…and you know who you all are. very much

In between bouts of melancholy and motivation, i decided on retail therapy as the best form of strategy. Whoever said that money can’t buy happiness is dead wrong, tell that to my new purchases. If I have to be single and unhappy, the least i can do is to have a new haircut and to-die-for skinny jeans. If only Marc Jacob would go on sale…

Catching up with ex-insead buddies is a great feeling, especially when you know how set they are for life - great job in the horizon (some are thinking of purchasing property already), back with their partners of choice/ still with their insead partners of choice, while others have managed to upgrade their brand of cat feed (happy pets = happy owners). It is all good. And me? I think I am back (finally) to the drawing board of searching for an internship and hoping that someone out there will see the genius in me and give me something meaningful to do for 3 or so months.

As promised, the continuation of Gumby and Pokey - 2 friends apart.

I may be going deranged but anyways…for shits and giggles.

The saga will continue…

Given the reduced readership of my blog of late (due to my graduating from Insead), I feel almost safe to make today’s post and this post is just to help me emote, to ensure that i am still somewhat alive and most of all, just to help me sleep because I have not slept in about 72 hours now. in all likelihood, this blog will go private in a couple of hours (as soon as i figure out how to enact the privacy function), but i thought it would be important to get it out there anyways.

Like all tumultuous events in life, things move at an unexpected pace. overnight, 9-11 changed the world, shifting U.S foreign policy, heightening every individual’s fear of terrorism and changing the world’s airport and domestic security operations. Watergate, Hurricane Katrina, Tsunamis, Asian crisis, Enron - it was a jolting affair, where the community is hit without any knowledge and as quickly as it comes, it alters daily living: how one breathes, how one perceives and how one moves to protect one’s personal space, increasing their personal fears - ironically, adding to a wealth of already-accumulated fears from life (bad performance reviews, failed family relations, watching a lousy movie etc).  we must die very wretchedly…

Being alive one minute and dead the next is another example and , being coupled in one instance and then made single the next. How does one pick up the pieces and move on? Is it simply a matter of burning all photographs, erasing that person’s name from your daily vocabulary, or as one of my friend’s suggests "drinking till you are drunk, but not quite to not know what you are doing, but enough to go home with the wrong person.", or is it about going out there and placing yourself in a "meet new people" situation, where one behaves awkwardly   and wears the scars of sadness, suspicion and emotional torment? Perhaps, it’s a multi-forked Endeavour to enact all of the above.

I haven’t been able to write and have been cursed with a despondency that makes me fairly unpredictable, from bursting out in tears in the metro, to non-response at other people’s well wishes. In the movie Alfie, Jude Law says that it is never a good idea to be alone for the 12 days of Christmas, because that is a celebratory time, a time where everyone hugs and shows affection freely and one therefore, should never strive to be single. I would add another event to this - never be single on one’s birthday. Being single to one’s "almost 30" status is minging. It reminds one of how so many of your friends are secured with a partner, perhaps even in a marital status that they can rightfully swim in and you are just out there, wondering if investment banking is the right thing to do (still) and if you will turn into one of those cat-people/ career women whom claim that their swinging 30’s "is the best thing ever" and make comments such as "i love my job and my life." and where the daily routine is to eat less than 1800 calories and go to the gym or do fun things like classes for sexy pole-dancing (for liberation), rock climbing (for physique) and speed-dating (in hope to meet someone, but if not, just to feel silly). my god, i can’t be one of those women…it’s too unfulfilling and almost placating - to whom and for whom, i don’t know, but it’s patronizing for the soul and simply said, it passes the time, but not in a particularly life-changing or contenting way.

upon coming back to France, I receive an invite from Alison and Gillaume to head to Fleche d’Or and watch some french indie bands. in between dancing to The Pixies, and watching a pretty cool act - Brooklyn, Alison and I start whinging about love and relationships. I ask her her opinion of the Satre-de Beauvoir partnership and she (a french girl) pukes out her mojito and starts laughing. "Oh no no no, you cannot date anyone who believes that. That is Crap. Simone de Beauvoir was utterly depressed and in the end, it was just some kind of intellectual discussion between them." This is good advice, and makes me feel better to know that I did catch on to something. I had read her books and seen the transformation of (all) her female characters, all tortured and all dying a little everyday, inside, from what they feel is the passing of love and hence, life. Perhaps, even for the modern woman, the two are inextricably tied. And in thinking about a woman’s happiness, which stems from sovereignty (of course), it isn’t quite complete if there isn’t someone to share it with. Alison and I agree that yes, women do seek partnerships (not necessarily marriage) where the need to contribute and the need to be needed is quite important. Why is there miscommunication between expectations among couples? Is it because men are so devoid of human insight? The formula seems simple, women are easily contented and made happy with their partners when it appears that their partners need them in their life - be it to go to the supermarket together or simply, just to be around for emotional support. A somewhat simple formula that gets crowded in today’s world of "We should not make suboptimal choices for each other.", "if one has to try, then it’s not meant to be." or worse, " my inability to commit  is a revealed preference of my indifference curve. I don’t want you to give up anything for me" (sorry, I had to blog this one - too good to pass up).

so, in my economically-challenged way, here is my explanation of women and relationships using economic theory. What if the decision isn’t sub-optimal? What if, there isn’t an opportunity cost to hanging around (meaning, there isn’t a better activity to take on), and because wanting to do stuff together supersedes other less glamorous activities?) By that very conclusion, it’s not about giving up a basket of scarce opportunities (there is nothing i would prefer more than hanging around my partner); at this juncture, one has chosen the maximum point on the indifference curve. And of course, over time, revealed preferences or preferences for risk, goods, services, emotions change and hence, it is true that in an modern and existentialist way, we are never meant to be together because yes, over time, indifference curves shift and preferences change but i don’t buy this suboptimal argument. sounds like hogwash because any decision taken at the particular point in time is justified by one’s revealed preference and risk appetite. only then, can a decision be taken, no? In theory, the costs of regret have already been accounted for and any decision taken fundamentally concludes that there isn’t a better option and that the benefits received from love and affection far outweigh the costs of previous life choices? The invisible hand makes it possible for individual’s to take decisions, thank god for market clearing mechanisms. There shouldn’t be a feeling that one has given up anything for another person or the stress that one takes on because someone else made a decision for them?

Alison and I both agree that seeking breakup closure is probably imminently important, dating a french man would be a somewhat good idea (at least, she thinks so) and making a bomb-ass Myspace page is definitely important, since everybody who is somebody won’t be caught dead giving you time of day, unless one had a Myspace address.

I think I am being blasé, but it is a good self-protection mechanism. Perhaps, it’s the curse of running into the arms of self-sufferance (it is after all…the Asian way). With not many days left in Paris, there is ton for me to accomplish and hence I try to remind myself that I need to get dressed and I need to go out and I need to talk to people and feel stimulated by art, culture, a book or even a song.

The nature of a blog does not permit long essays and there is probably a lot more to be said, about how i feel, about how i had hoped life to be different, about perseverance and about the joys of couplehood - but, that must be for another time, since i should continue to work on my Myspace profile and upload more archived photos onto Flickr and be absorbed in head-numbing mundanities so i don’t actually reconcile with how i truly feel. Perhaps in 2007, one must strive for the deadening of one’s heart. Apparently, that makes one stronger. If what can’t break you makes you stronger, then it can only be done with the loss of soul and optimism. it’s a trade-off. This is a hardened thought and already, I begin my journey into a pessimism or on contra, what the new and upwardly mobile society terms as "individualism" and "independence" and " a power to you" status where one only needs to live for…oneself. can’t be too difficult - except the silence of loneliness can be deafening.

many have heard about the food in morroco and about the tajines, cous cous and the strength of its mint teas. But peel back the layers and up the bravery one notch for the street foods and one gets a somewhat a wider plethora of dishes.

Take note: this is what i actually ate in one day!!

For 2 dirhams, one gets…a boiled Potatoe, boiled egg and bap with coarse morrocan crushed salt.

chocolate roll - morroco has a wide plethora of sweets - tons of kids run around without teeth, i can see why. it costs NOTHING to have one of these light sponge cake with peanuts and fresh cream.

Rayeb, the freshly made yoghurt that is in between beancurd and yoghurt. tastes deliciously fresh - i had one a day and even then, had to hold myself back from having more.

escargots in a peppery sauce, only 5 dirhams! peishan was quite turned off by the sponginess of the snails. Anyone remember the episode in Amazing Race where the handsome twins had to sell snails in the Jamaa El Fnaa square in Morroco - hah! This is the same square.

this is the best lamb ever. tastes EXACTLY like kambing soup - seriously. The only distasteful thing is that every stall displays a row of sheep heads - very bizzare. I mean, to slurp yummy lamb while facing Betsy is kinda…barbaric, in my opinion.

Fish fry, fresh calamari, and the bestest aubergines in the world. With just a squeeze of lemon, cumin and salt - yummy.

close up of fish platter - tastes so good. all in 1 day’s of grazing…not bad at all.

More food - hungry yet?

Roti prata - but with salt and not sugar! still, very yummy and robust. only 2 dirhams. i still think singapore’s roti prata is superior.

while in singapore, we eat the roti prata with vegetable curry and sugar, in morroco, the prata is eaten with bean curry and if you are living it large…with strong lamb kidney curry.

Prior to lunch, we eat dry, sweet biscuits.  Homecooked lovingly (for 2 hours over slow charcoal fire) by Rashida - Lamb Tagine.

cauliflower with mustard sauce and curried vegetables with home-made bread. yummy. this is one of the most magnificent lunches I have ever had, stuck in the Atlas mountains. A treat, i feel so spoiled.

and for dessert - a rendition of the fresh sponge cake. again, home-made - the best. gives sara lee a run for their money.

Potage, morrocan style, with cumin, spice and legumes…

Snapper and rice - a somewhat haute nouvelle cusine, but tastes of buttery sauce, fried in flour and batter. By the sea in casablanca - no oysters but at least the fish was fresh, fresh, fresh.

baby donuts, for baby people. others, get BIG donuts

filled in the center with jam, and laced with fresh sugared powder…only 1 dirham! rocks.

Pastila - a sweet pastry that is filled on the inside with pigeon meat, cabbage and carrots but dusted with powered sugar and cinnemon on the top. i searched high and low for this dish man…apparantly, it must be made fresh on that day and it costs a lot more (about 60 dirhams for mine), since its a fairly intricate dish to make.

Life in morroco can be so cheap…for 5 dirhams, one can get these freshly fried sardines with aubergines…

Unsatisfied, i ask for more!

white fish with fries. yummy.

Leftover from the french colonialists - the roasted poulet - for 15 dirhams - excellent. slightly burnt skin and succulent flesh. fantastik!

since i am on my eating binge…2nd dinner consists of tiny lamb saucisses with salad, chips…all for a mere 2 euros. simply amazing.

So, what is the verdict of food in morroco? Largely, it can be trying and even boring for the tourist that goes there for its restaurants. Morrocan food is largely home-cooked, and restaurants tend to only serve the average tourists typical morrocan dishes. However, there is some respite with street cuisine as most of the population has this grub to go. What I did miss out on was the so-called French food cusine in Casablanca - which i was told is a lacklustre affair. But i mostly regret not going to Rick’s Cafe - a historical affair with Humphrey Bogart in a quintessential scene, from the movie Casablanca. would have been a splendid way to end my north africa trek. Thank you Morroco for a great food time.

Casablanca was pretty much a downer…coupled by receiving 2 calls from home to say that one of my best friend´s husband had passed away. In addition, my grandma also passed on. What a way to begin the new year. I checked my horoscope and apprantly, it would be a great year (this is the year of the Red Pig) if…

1) i have prudent expenses and save loads - eh yes…but that´s every year right?

2) have clear short term goals. it states that i am on route to becoming the person i always wanted to be (i am sure it´s not a factor of my age, having lived close to 30 years, i m not sure if my becoming process is more about that than the stars). the difficulty is in defining one´s short term goals, which brings me back to my lamentations on music school versus an internship.

3) energize the south corner of my room. put a picture of either a crane or a deer. right…must purchase compass to find out where south is.

But having said all this banter, i do feel flat and withdrawn. it´s almost like starting the new year being defeated. already. no goals, no money, this lacklustre bouncing around. the highlight of my day is talking to my mum who has given me specific instructions on how to prepare for her funeral. i kid you not, such is the morbidity of my existence.

Fes is by far, magnificent and amazing. the old city is walled in with 15 large Borj (gates) and with over 9000 streets within the medina. The medina itself houses over 780 sections, with differing tradesmen in each area. there is too much to see and each of the small streets are cool, hidden away from the fierce winter sun.

frankly, but what is amazing is the architecture of Fes, that combines the moorish designs but also chinese-like tiles. if one strips away the riad´s central fountain that adorns each mansion, it would be like any old house in China. The rues are convulated and confusing, which allows one to get lost easily - always fun and an enjoyment. The only issue is facing touts, guides and horny teenagers. When I told a local boy to please leave us alone, he said, " if i leave you alone, you walk, many other men also. its the same. you pay me money, i show you medina." what the fuck. it´s such a mission, such a mission to get anywhere without being hassled. the concept of a free woman is unheard of in this country. not to say that it is bad, but it´s just a hassle. When Chaucer said that " what women want is sovereignty, he was not referring to Morrocan women", thats for sure.

The only welcome relief is that Fes is supposedly more sophisticated, being physically in the center of morroco and once was the capital of yore, the taxis all use the meter dutifully, which allievates my need to bargain. thank god. the lack of an economy is disturbing. there are 1 million inhabitants in fes, of which, 900,000 are jobless. the men mill around, ask for 10 or 20 dirhams to " show u the way". peishan and i get fleeced for 40 dirhams this morning to enter what is an essentially…a free cemetary. it´s so trying that i totally refuse to even shop because negotiating and bargaining is such a chore. Every service or additional task requires some kind of tip, and they say that usury is a crime in islam - a toad by any other name…is still a toad and while usury is a crime, asking for multiples of money for non-services is ok. i guess, this is what the rest of the developed calls "facilitation charges" - a concept that gives bribery a good name and making it a necessary practice. i always get confused when religion dictates a form of life - only because religion survives by hinging itself on the past and the irrelevance to modern life makes it an inconvenience and results to unnecessary workarounds that aim to fulfil some arcane practice. I vote for separation of the state and religion, always.

giving the taxi driver a 50 dirham note required me to pay 1 dirham more for his troubles of changing it with some other man on the street. sometimes, its not amount, but the hassle and the principle. i have started to forget why i tip or dont tip. in my mind, i am building up a 20×20 matrix and trying to build a coherant ladder of how much tip to give for what service and why. and then, all hell breaks loose because one is so bombarded on the streets that i just succumb and pay whatever. or i am just weak, nego is not one of my strong points i must say.

Street food in fez is great, for 12 dirham (1.20 euros), i get a packet of fish fry, chips, aubergines and sardines that melts in the mouth. simply amazing. the people here get by on 20 dirhams a day and live, hand to mouth. while most wish for more money, the majority believes that god will provide and simply said, they dont really like enterprise or work very much. fleecing tourists seems to be the only du jour thing to do. this reminds me of one of those long taxi rides i had in singapore, where the malay taxi driver tells me " in life, u must be happy. allah provides. no need so much money. have children and house, that is good." eh…yes…perhaps not.

from the beautiful atlas mountains…to this.  from the pinkish mud buildings that adorn marrakech, the whiteness of casablanca is like a whole another world. casablanca. other than the beautiful name that was presented to it by the french colonialists, casablanca is minging. worse than KL, or Johor Bahru.

the port area is nice, with the cool mediterrean breeze that blows inland. from afar, the whiteness of the city walls is indeed breathtaking but when up close, its dirt, pollution and remenants of rubbish and poorly paved roads everywhere. the petit taxis are nasty, the men lecherous and their stares unnerving. i crave for the mud-flats and terraces of marrakech. casablanca is sprawling and walking is not an option, so bargaining for taxis has become a routine. i hate.

the architecture here is somewhat art deco-ish buildings. quite reminescent of certain architectural points in barcelona. but don’t get your hopes up, other than the blue of the sky and the beautiful colour of the sea, everything else is quite forgettable. it’s funny how the building materials, even on the grand Hussan II Mosque, are mosaic and mediterrean in nature but the design is essentially muslim. the mosque is huge and despite what people think, it’s not magnificent, its simply huge and singular, where every corner is an effigy of hugeness. nothing fits in my camera lens at all.

despite expecting a frenchiness, such as tons of cafes at an idyllic pace, casablanca is a busy port town, with terrible traffic and ugly cafes - that mostly sit men. as usual, the women are relegated to a few cafes, where mint tea drinking, gambling and football watching is reserved pour des hommes seulment.

to congratulate ourselves, peishan and i will head to the beach area and all i want to try is pastilla (pigeon) - a morrocan dish, and the only restaurant along Bvld de Corniche that serves this requires that women and children be accompanied by a man. are they kidding?? well, we shall see.

i wish i could post up pictures but finding a fast internet connection or even a photo cord has been close to impossible, which is a pity because nothing speaks better than a couple of shots.

i got my first marriage proposal from a taxi driver today. but having been well-prepared, i look dazed and pretend i dont actually understand french. he really tried to make it work, offering to call monthly and using the internet to chat. seemed like a well-thought through plan frankly. i am impressed, but nothing is more scary when even 60 year old uncles that roam the streets are lecherous. there aren’t many tourists in casablanca and perhaps the reason is that it’s expensive, a city that is in between being shanty and modern… it’s sprawling and even the mosque charges 12 euros for a 1 hour entrance/ tour. thanks, but since the Louvre is only 7 euros, i think it’s clear why i refuse to pay such an exhorbitant amount to see a bunch of tiles.

so a quick piece of advice, give casablanca a miss if you are tight on a budget. and if you aren’t, make casablanca a day trip and catch the night train and move on.