Down here

After spending so much time thinking about which place to choose, guess where I ultimately ended up? 

A different city altogether.

My new adventure has begun!


Just givin a quick holler to let y’all know I’m back. Got loads to tell :)


Okay, here’s a very stupid question, but I gotta ask it anyway.

How do you have wine and cheese?

I mean, literally, how do you eat that stuff? Coz I’ve never been to a wine and cheese party. Do you eat the cheese in slices? In small chunks? What kind of cheeses? And is it cheese-wine-cheese-wine, or is it cheese-cheese-wine-cheese-wine-wine-wine-floor-cheese-wine-wine?

By now you know I’m not very well cultured and would rather have pork cracklings and satay on the street.

But still I need answers…


I pray… that I am completely disease free. Will have a medical checkup soon.

I’m careful and always use protection… but maybe my saliva is not toxic enough, if you get my drift.


In the continuing saga that is my career, I just received another offer for permanent work in a competitor firm… in Melbourne.

I know! When it rains, it pours! Can’t believe my luck.

Shucks, if circumstances had been different I would have grabbed this opportunity without batting an eyelash and tendered my resignation already. But. I’m faced with a dilemma. See I already said yes to the internal offer in Auckland. 

Thing is, while this job offer in Melbourne is very tempting, I would have to start from scratch yet again. I’m the new guy all over again, and I would have to work my way up from the grime.  On the other hand, while of course I do have to prove myself to my bosses in Auckland, at least the relationship is already there. And by God, it’s soooo hard to build a good relationship with your boss. There’s good relationship, and there’s “good relationship that gets you to places.”

And I really don’t want to burn bridges. After all, it was I who requested for the international transfer.

But still, no matter what I say, it is very difficult to let go of the Melbourne offer. I mean, come on, that’s Melbourne, right? All relocation expenses paid, that sort of package. So I still haven’t actually said no. I’m still waiting for, I don’t know, maybe for Zac Efron to come knocking on my door and also make me an offer - of carnal pleasure.

I’m very thankful I’m getting these opportunities. They just sort of happened, all at once. 


Oh my god, i just dropped my iPhone and scratched it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Oh my god, i wanna cry.

Oh my god, why, why….

Just 1 freaking day and this happens…


Omigod, I love my new toy!

Yesterday, after three agonizing weeks of sleepless nights, FedEx finally delivered to me my iPhone 4! I’m in heaven. I can die now.

I had it delivered to my office and it so happened that my boss saw me at the reception receiving the package from the Fedex guy. He knew instantly what it was because previously I had mentioned to him that I ordered the phone from Apple’s online store. (My boss is an Apple fanboy so he’s always in the loop about anything Apple.) When we reached my desk he suddenly announced to everybody that I just got my iPhone! Everybody, about 10 people in total, flocked to my desk all of a sudden. It was a very funny sight. Somebody even brought out a camera and took photos of me while unboxing the phone - with everybody’s eyes on me watching my every move. I had planned to do the unboxing in the privacy of my home and savor every moment but because everyone wanted to see my phone I was suddenly put on spotlight. Very funny moment.

So far I’m loving it. The images are crisp and sharp and seem to pop out of the screen. The interface is sleek. However, the antennagate issue is true- if I hold the phone with my left hand, the signal bars would significantly drop. Even with a plastic case on. Solution - electrician’s tape. It’s crazy that you would have to do that, yes, but thing is, while the bars do drop, it remains to be seen whether that drop would actually result in significantly more dropped calls. Per Apple’s press conference a month ago, the iPhone 4 has more instances of dropped calls than 3GS - but only by less than 1%. Which is, like, nothing.

And it’s cool that there’s a Tumblr application on the App store. Right now I’m writing this post on my phone.

I still love my Blackberry - that thing is a must have for business - but I think I will love the iPhone more. So yes, I’ve switched!



I have exactly the same black frames that appear to be made of wood (but it’s not, it’s plastic). And I got it for just $8 from the streets of Taipei!



I have exactly the same black frames that appear to be made of wood (but it’s not, it’s plastic). And I got it for just $8 from the streets of Taipei!

What I really want to know is…

… can you really find love from hooking up with guys from gay chat sites?

I mean, I’m there, and I’m looking for some serious lovin’ myself, so does that mean there are other people on the same boat as me?

The red dot

Celebrated a friend’s birthday yesterday. Birthdays are always fun. There’s food and booze and drugs and orgies and stuff. 

As if.

When I was a kid, I’ve never experienced having a birthday theme party thrown for me. Back in the days, I’ve never even had a real birthday cake - you know, the ones with very colorful icing and my name written on it like “Happy Birthday Justin!” My mother confirms that the year I stopped talking to imaginary friends and grew a conscience, they stopped all the happy birthday hullabaloo altogether.

I know. My parents are tyrants who violated the International Bill on Human Rights.

They are a practical bunch, my folks. And cheap. My clothes were usually hand-me-downs from my older brother. I’ve never owned a Game & Watch, which in the heydays, was the quintessential cool thing ever. My brother had one so yeah I hated him. On our birthdays my parents would prepare some pasta, ice cream, other favorite foods but I can’t remember an icing-laced birthday cake ever making it to the dining table.

What I do remember- and I shudder when I do- is this horrible Asian tradition that they enforced on us their kids.

About two months before our birthday, my dad would buy a cute little chick and grow it until it reaches its fully meaty potential, which is right on the birthday. In the early morning, as soon as we wake up, my dad would call out the birthday celebrator to the kitchen. The unsuspecting child would proceed to the kitchen and see for his own eyes the now-full grown chicken being decapitated. The fowl would quiver in our dad’s hands until it stops moving. The blood spilling out from its neck would be drained into a pan. When this dreadful scene is over, my dad would motion the child to come over, and, dipping his thumb into the blood-soaked pan, paints a small red dot on the child’s forehead. From the blood.

I think I experienced this macabre tradition twice in my childhood before I threatened to sue my parents for child and animal abuse and emotional scarring.

In both cases, however, I would happily munch on the very meaty fried chicken laid on the cake-less table.