Mr Heckler

Mr Heckler2

Can you believe at the age of 50 I still get hecklers?

Although it may not be for the reason you have in mind.

Just this last Sunday, I was at my neighbourhood coffeeshop to buy lunch for my kids and myself when, as I was walking past a queue at a food stall, I heard a chap call out to his friends, “Hey! It’s that lady!” (Actually, it’s happened a couple of times before with heckling whistles and personal space invasion sort of thing…)

I ignored it. Was he referring to me? Could it be because of the way I was dressed?

I sweat perspire easily in Singapore’s hot and humid weather so it is not uncommon for ladies like myself to dress for comfort when they are simply visiting neighborhood shops. I guess my shorts were shorter than usual and my tank top was tighter and thinner than usual. Whatever. (Time for a wardrobe overhaul, anyway.)

“Hey, it’s that lady!” sounds like he knows me even though I have no idea who he is.

Then I realized—It’s my blog! That guy and his friends must be reading my blog! Awesome!

And considering the fact that my blog is more or less inclined towards feminist underpinning, I can understand how men in general may construe the message I would like to convey as biased towards their gender.

Guys, you cannot be more mistaken about this.

Without men, what’s the use of us women empowering ourselves? It’ll be rather redundant, don’t you think?

And besides, wouldn’t you guys like to unburden some of that load to us women with regards to how the world is being run at this moment in time? (And that goes for the spiritual aspect as well.)

Take a load of your back, so to speak. Take a break…Put your feet up…Let us women take some of the responsibility so you can enjoy the ride at the back seat for once…waddaya say?

Anyway. Mr Heckler, thank you. You’re an angel. (I have sent you nothing but angels.) Without you I wouldn’t have known there are men reading my blog. And I’ll have nothing to blog about today. Ha! Your pride has a little dent at the moment?

Either that or you are badly in need of eyes transplant.

Purpose #1 – In order for The New World to be realized we need the cooperation of both men and women.

Purpoe #2 – And ladies? If you want respect, then dress like you respect your Self. (Then what about your, “Once you care what others think of you, they own you” thingy?) You care about you. Aka “Believing in your Self.”

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Big Bang

Danielle is a die-hard fan of the Korean Pop group Big Bang (she and millions of others…)

When the boy band was in Singapore to perform for F1 the other night, she was beside herself. She was so restless.

Danielle: *moan* Mum, they’re here. They’re here.

Me: You lah. Never keep track of their schedule. Tickets were probably on sale a year ago.

Danielle: *MOAN*

She began to have like breathing difficulties. You know, like she was doing the Lamaze breathing exercise for women about to go into labour.

Me: What are you doing?

Danielle: I’m breathing the same air as Big Bang…*inhale*, *exhale*, *inhale*, *exhale* (hands up and down)

Me: *rolls eyes*

My daughter and I–we’re like sisters…we’re both insane.

And here’s another anecdote that just happened a while ago. While the three of us were having lunch I gave her permission to listen to her Korean music while at the dining table. (The Sunday afternoon was too quiet…)

The song on her iPhone boomed at me. It was Bad Boy by Big Bang. The first two lines were in English.

Me: English song one ah?

Danielle: A few lines only.

Rene: *munching*

Me: Got subs on video or not?

Danielle: Dunno. Check loh. Why?

Rene: *munching*

Me: The song is shouting at me.

Danielle: Huh?

Me: You’re a messenger, you know or not?

Danielle: Do I get paid?

Me: Of course.

Danielle: What?

Me: Joy

Danielle: I don’t want you.

Me: Haha. Very funny.

Rene: *munching*

Here’s the video. And remember I don’t know what this is about. For now…

Rebonding

I just had a haircut. Two, actually.

You see, I have intolerable, irritating, drives-me-crazy, bad-hair-365-days-a-year, frizzy, unmanageable, naturally messy wavy hair. (Any woman who tells you she’s happy with the hair she’s born with is lying.)

I’ve resorted to “rebonding” a couple of times to boost my self-esteem. Many women will agree with me when I say, rebonding is the second Christ for hairdom. Hallelujah!

According to one website—“Rebonding is a chemical hair treatment that makes your hair straight, sleek and shiny. It is a process where the chemical bonds in your hair are broken, rearranged and bonded back again permanently using very strong chemicals. It is one of the most damaging things you can do to your hair.”

I agree with the damaging part, although I know I’m not alone when I say, better damaged hair than walking around looking like Don King.

Anyway. It’s a wonderful self-esteem and confidence booster when your hair looks good. Although, I have to admit there are a couple of things I’m not exactly a fan of when having this hair treatment:-

One—the sitting time at the salon which may take up to at least 4 to 5 hours. (I watched The Hurt Locker on my iPhone one and half times at my last session.)

Two—the unsightly regrowth after a few months. The “unsightly regrowth” is another way of saying, “Oh no! The I-hate-the-hair-I-was-born-with is showing!”

And three—even though rebonded long hair looks nice, Singapore’s hot and humid weather forces me to always have it tied up. (“Ayoh! Always tie up, then keep long hair for what? Then pay so much some more!” says my hairdresser.)

Time for a haircut.

But the haircut I had last Tuesday was not to my liking.

And it was because I betrayed myself.

I brought along a sample picture of the actual haircut that I thought would suit my face and hair texture without resorting to rebonding. The hair expert thought otherwise.

So instead of relying on my instinct and insisting on what I really wanted, I betrayed myself by giving away my ownership of my hair to the hairdresser. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by doubting her expertise. Lucky for me, she finally gave up on selling the rebonding treatment.

I always forget that my hair only looks good right after a visit to the salon. But once I’m home and there’s no one to blow-dry and tweak my hair into place and slap on all sorts of miracle creams and lotions after a shampoo, it’ll go back to its original chaotic mess. Aargh!

I had to use the flat iron (so much work) to make it look half decent and the sleekness only lasted as long as Mr Humidity didn’t wreak more havoc to it.

And I realized the haircut (after natural air dry) didn’t suit my face and hair at all because it brought attention to my sagging cheeks (I’m 50, okay.)

I woke up Thursday morning, one look in the mirror and I thought, That’s it! I’m gonna have to get this fixed even if I have to look like GI Jane. 

I was the first customer of a salon at a nearby shopping centre.

I told the hair expert my woes. This time I insisted on the cut I really wanted and threatened to go somewhere else if he didn’t comply. (Like as if they’re going to declare bankruptcy at the loss of your patronage. Get real.)

Luckily, I didn’t have to do a GI Jane. I look better and I feel better too. Somewhat…

Without rebonding, I still have to work hard to get my hair to look really nice.

I dread using a hair-dryer and a flat iron because of my weak right shoulder. But like Mum says–no pain, no gain.

I am considering rebonding again…

Purpose #1- Change doesn’t happen by chance. You need to work at it. 

Purpose #2 – Your ideas about what is right and wrong are just that—ideas. They are the thoughts which form the shape and create the substance of Who You Are. There would be only one reason to change any of these; only one purpose in making an alteration; if you are not happy with Who You Are.” ~ CWG Bk 1

Purpose #3 – To have peace there must be chaos. 

Purpose #4 – If women weren’t vain, civilization as we know it will cease to exist. I’m kidding! More like—If you feel good within, you’d want to look good outwardly too. It’s called self-confidence aka belief in your Self.

And I’d like to dedicate this post to my late twin brother, Rene, whom I shall “rebond” with someday…

Twins