It's halfway into autumn and the temperature has been peaking at about 18 degrees. There is an unmistakable chill of winter in the air, and the cold reaches into my bones and I soon forget what the warmth of the sun feels like.

The children blithely run about in tatty t-shirts and tiny shorts. Aren't you cold, I ask. They respond with a look of incredulity on their faces that makes me wonder why I bothered to ask in the first place.

Watching them play, I often think about how much I missed out on as a kid. I remember spending a lot of time doing homework, attending art and tuition classes and going to the library, but I never had much outside time. 

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I had an unhappy childhood, but I didn't climb any trees or trap insects in bottles and I never learnt how to ride the bicycle.

At the age of 27 I am still experiencing many firsts in my life. You're never too old, right?

“While we try to teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about.” - Angela Schwindt

Since the start of this year, I've made it a point to buy the Big Issue from vendors in the city.

The articles in the magazine are intelligent and informative, but more importantly it's nice to know that half of the money I pay goes directly into the vendors' pocket and helps them to help themselves.

Here's a blurb about how the Big Issue works-

The Big Issue Street Magazine Enterprise is a unique business solution to a social problem; using the publishing model to produce a quality product, the sale of which provides opportunities for homeless, marginalised and disadvantaged people to make positive changes in their lives.

On our way to the Grampians from Ballarat, we had to drive through the rural town of Ararat and we decided to make a pit-stop at the infamous J-Ward gaol.

J-Ward gaol (an obselete spelling for "jail" used in Australia) started out as a goldfields prison in the 1850s, as a response to the influx of immigrants to the area during the Gold Rush. When the gold ran out, its was converted to temporary housing for the criminally insane in Victoria, before becoming an extension of the Aradale Lunatic Asylum. It was in operation right up to 1991 and is now a museum to preserve the lives and stories of the criminals who were imprisoned there.

We were given a one-hour tour by a volunteer who explained to us the history of the compounds, The fascinating stories of the criminals and their experiences in the goal.

He even threw in a ghost story for good measure. In the governor's bathroom, he alleged, lives the restless spirit of the governor who had died of a heart attack on the second step from the floor of the old kitchen.

Before the tour, E and I had wandered the grounds on our own and had taken pictures in the very same room. I am relieved to report that the photos came out normal. ;)


My mum might say "Aiyoh, bad luck!"

You can view more photos from the J-Ward gaol here!

"There had better be blood" by Charles William

The overactive imagination of rival brothers land them in trouble.

"Fish Lips" by Duane Fogwell

A story about love, about family, about fish fingers, and a game called Yahtzee!

This is E's favourite entry-

"Falling Backwards" by Harrison Murray

A man stand naked and alone in his torn apart living room. A kitchen knife lies limp amongst the broken glass on his floor. How can unraveling the pieces help change what has already happened? Can regret overcome fate?

And the winner of the competition-

"Shock" by Abe Forsythe

A broken Man awakes to be confronted with his life, and the choices he's made. His past, present and future collide as he faces the inevitable...

E and I thought that the Thai food festival was on today at Fed Square, so we skipped lunch to save our stomachs for a major Thai street feast. You can imagine our disappointment when we found out that the event was on the 21st of March and not February. Doh!

Instead, there was a growing crowd in front of the big screen and we decided to walk up to the "Info Tent" to ask them what was happening. Turned out there was a live telecast of Tropfest (the world's largest short-film festival) in the evening, so E and I quickly headed to Chinatown for dinner before going back to join in the merriment!

The trailer for the event had a hint of "Stranger than Fiction" (one of my favourite movies staring Will Ferell and Emma Thompson) and pretty much set the tone for the 16 shortlisted candidates-

Because everyone has a story to tell.

Some of my favourites included "Happenstance" by John Marsh, "There Had Better Be Blood" by Charles Williams and "Fishlips" by Duane Fogwell. Hopefully they will be available on YouTube soon so that I can share them with you. :)

Once upon a time, I used to like karaoke.

But I no longer listen to the radio and have no idea who the latest stars or hits are, except when friends recommend them to me or I stumble upon them on YouTube or someone else's blog, and my musical tastes are probably stuck in the nineties and noughties.

This means I only ever sing the same few songs over and over again, which makes it a bit of a bore. Plus there's so much else I'd rather be doing then stuck in a poorly-ventilated room having overpriced diluted drinks and hearing other people warble and wail!

The other day, E and I turned up for a karaoke event organized by our friend J. Now he LOVES karaoke, in a I-take-singing-classes-and-almost-went-for-an-Australian-Idol-audition and I-know-the-words-and-the-titles-of-all-the-latest-hits way. This guy could probably operate the touchscreen menu with his eyes closed!

As much as we love J, we didn't enjoy his song choices. With most of the songs, the lyrics were cheesy and meaningless, the melodies unimaginative and repetitive. We heard Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours" butchered THREE times, each version worse than the last. After a painful 4 hours, we left early. I heard the others continued on until 4 in the morning...

I don't think I'll be singing karaoke for a very, very, very long time.

Unless, of course, someone sings me this-

My Christmas and New Year passed by in a flurry of activity- I was hardly home or in front of the computer, but I was regularly updating Facebook on the go with random photos from E's iPhone. The whole world seems to have an iPhone but me!

I caught up with friends, watched my first live football match, learnt how to ride a bicycle and went on my first bike trail along Gardiners Creek, got into a bit of a riding accident, had a huge Christmas feast with E's extended family, visited galleries and museums, drove up to Mount Dandy with Z and hubby for a hike and had lots of picnics in the parks.

I love, love, love summer!

Happy 2010 folks- it's going to be fantabulous year ahead :)

My first teaching round ended on Monday.

In 4 weeks I had grown attached to the children, and I woke up every morning eager to go to school to see their faces and work with them. Being around 7 year-olds for over 40 hours a week can really change you. It makes you a nicer person, more patient, more nurturing, more involved and life just seems so much simpler.

During my time there, my mentor teacher was nothing but praise and constructive feedback, and she treated me as an equal in the classroom and made my time there such a joy. When she gave me my evaluation report, I was really encouraged to see that she had scored me 100% and written me a glowing review.

She then surprised me by whipping out a chocolate cake and a bag full of snacks and announced to the kids that we were going to have a farewell party for me. The kids took turns to say what they had liked about me being in the classroom, and many of them ran up to me for a hug.

I can't think of anything else I want to do with my life.

There is a danger in birds of the same feather always flocking together.

If nothing else, my time in Japan has taught me to embrace differences and diversity, and my greatest nightmare has become to find myself in a homogenous social circle.

We all look the same, don't we, except we are made up of an angmoh, three Malaysians, two Singaporeans, a Vietnamese, an Indonesian and a Shanghainese (and others not captured in the photos).

But I really couldn't imagine being in a room full of Singaporeans here.

In my class there are four Chinese girls who always sit in the back of the class and only talk amongst themselves, insisting on discussing everything in Mandarin as the classes are conducted in English. A few of us have tried to talk to them on separate occasions, only to be met with awkward responses and blank stares.

The other day, we had to attend a talk at the Melbourne Museum and I had arranged to meet A midway on the tram. As I got on and sat down next to him, I noticed the Chinese girls waving at me from the other end of the tram, the first and only time they have ever made contact. I waved back politely.

"Did they wave to you when you got on?" I asked A, who is as British as one can get.

He shook his head and we spent the rest of the ride pondering why the girls ignored him, and why one of them was carrying a huge stuffed Elmo and a beach towel to the museum. (We never figured out why.)

Yesterday I had dinner at Ant's Bistro on Little Bourke Street. There was me the Singaporean, two Americans, a Eurasian Aussie, a Brit and an Irish. Our dinner conversation was animated and lively, spanning from politics to climate change to travels to personal experiences.

I couldn't help but wonder how different the dinner might have been with my Singaporean friends here.

In India we found instant stardom.

We have never met a people more curious, more friendly, more helpful than the ones we met in Chennai. Everywhere we go, we were treated with a celeb-like fascination by the locals. Some pointed from a distant, the bolder would wave and holler a greeting while the boldest came up, shook hands and struck a conversation.

At Marina Beach, we were taking a leisurely stroll along the 7km coastline, surrounded by hundreds of merrimakers who sat in groups- families, friends, lovers, classmates. Heads turned as we walked. Those with camera phones would blatantly direct it at us to take a shot. Nobody asked if it was okay; God knows why they would want a photo of us and what they would use it for, but perhaps it was payback for the thousands of pictures we have taken in all our travels. For once, we were the attraction.

Two teenage boys came running towards us.

"Excuse me! Can I have your autograph please?" We laughed and he continued, "I am sorry but I am here with my friends and we are playing Truth or Dare. Basically if I lose I have to do something stupid. Now I cannot go back until I get your autograph." He spoke in Indian-accented but fluent English. We explained that we didn't have any pen or paper with us so we stood around awkwardly wondering what to do. Soon, the rest of his friends (and the odd bystander) gathered around us.

"What name your country?" one asked.
"I am from Australia, and she is from Singapore..." we had answered this countless times.
"So the two of you are from different parts of the world... wow!" he observed.
"You pairrr?" another interrupted.
"Yes, we are a couple."
"Really? You really a pairrr?" he replied in utter disbelief, but so harmlessly that it wasn't offensive.
I nodded and his eyes went wide with amazement.
We said our goodbyes and departed from the group.

Minutes later, a topless Indian man who looked to be our age chased after us. He was completely wet from swimming in the sea, water still dripping from his hair and khaki bermudas.

"What is your name?" he inquired.
"T." I smiled.
"T," he echoed before breaking into a wide grin. And just as suddenly as he had approached us he shouted my name once more, carrying it with him as he ran back into the sea. His arms flailed in the water, creating splashes all around him and I don't know anyone who would be half as happy to know my name.

Hanoi has old school charm.

Our guesthouse is located in the Old Quarters, within walking distance of Hoan Kiem lake. The area is always bustling with activity; the streets, whose names we cannot pronounce, are lined with cafes where locals sit for hours over a cup of Vietnamese coffee to people-watch and while their time away.

It takes a certain kind of street-smart to survive in Hanoi. In the span of a day, E and I had been unwittingly ripped off a few times.

Like the cafe that listed their canned drinks for 12,000 VND. When E asked for a Sprite on the go, she charged us 15,000 VND. "No," he argued, directing the waitress's eye to the menu. "It says here 12,000 VND." Her smile never left her face, and without as much as an explanation or apology, she walked over to the register and handed us the extra 3,000 VND. Except she gave it to us in small coins, obviously out of spite, and E refused to accept the money and asked for notes instead. She returned to the register again for notes.

Or the bakery at the corner that sold yummy-looking tarts for 1,5000-2,000 VND each. I picked out a few and we were charged 13,000 VND, and it was not until we went back to the guesthouse that we realized that we had been overcharged by 4,000 yen. The exchange was done so quickly that we hadn't been able to calculate the exact amount.

Even at our guesthouse, different staff members gave us different prices when we ask to book a taxi to the airport for our flight to Laos. In the end, we insisted on the lowest price quoted.

Of course one could argue that 3,000 or 4,000 VND doesn't amount to much in our currency. But it is the principle behind a fair exchange that makes me indignant- I will pay what is promised me, at a reasonable premium, but not random prices quoted according to their judgement based on nationality, skin colour or dressing.

For the most part, our 8 days in Vietnam has been a real eye-opener and introduction to the Vietnamese culture and psyche. I would love to come back again to explore the countryside and less touristed parts of this country.

Ho Chi Minh city is an endless cacophony of roaring engines and bleeting horns. There are as many motorbikes in this city as there are people in Singapore, or imagine being at the intersection at the Hachiko exit of Shibuya station and then crowd from all directions coming on motorbikes.

Crossing the roads here prove to be an adventure in itself. I have never been more glad for travel insurance. We observe how the locals weave effortlessly through the labyrinth of traffic here, young and old alike. Some of the more cautious wear a helmet just to cross the road. I hold on to E hand's very tightly and hold my breath until I am on the other side.

Unlike her poorer neighbour Cambodia or Laos, this city is developing very quickly, hoping to catch up with Thailand perhaps. The people seem more upwardly mobile, and have a stronger will and determination that is reflected in their history of overcoming French colonialism and winning the Vietnam war against the Americans.

Flown proudly all over town are Socialist flags with a star or a hammer and sickle, and government-approved artwork that tells you "Uncle Ho loves you!", "Let's work together to defeat the American enemy!" and "Study hard but work hard in the field to build a better Vietnam!".

Despite the facade of prosperity (which is relative), there is something missing in this big city and I can't quite decide if I like being here.

So I've been back for 3 days and it feels like I've never left at all.

I was so reluctant to take it off!

More photos from my kimono lesson here.

In the meantime, E has been spending the last few days tearing my dying laptop apart and giving it a new lease of life. It's like having a new laptop, only better, because this one was built with thoughtfulness and love!