Pickles n' Tickles by JJ

WHAT a testing month it has been. A family medical emergency had me under a lot of stress just before my move to the middle east next week. Thanks to all the prayers and positive energy channeled our way along with expert advice and care, we have a better idea on what's going on with my dad for the next course of action. Well, there's going to be close monitoring with medications in the following weeks but the temporary relief provided by science, information and intuition is good for my stomach more than anything else.  My stomach and I have a long history together, mostly unpleasant, nevertheless there's been way too many moments in my personal medical history to ignore them. For those who know me well would also know of my chaotic digestive system. I feel like my stomach  has a built-in aquarium with bubbly fishes swimming in it most of the time.  Stress - the mother of all fuck-ups, is its biggest nemesis. It's like I can feel the stomach ooze out burning a...

HOUSEWORK. Chores. Sorting out things. Vacuming and mopping. Washing and drying. Just generally keeping the house dust free. I wish I could stay in rustic, little hotel rooms everyday so things are always organised for me when I return from lunch. But my home is not a hotel room and unfortunately, I'm the maam and the maid all rolled into one little person covering an area of 1,500 square feet! It's a tough job when you have to juggle chores between a full-time job and it doesn't help to have a billion microscopic dust particles that seem to have a hundred sets of feet each to invade the living space right after a cleaning session. I hate those conniving, tiny bastards.  My favourite spot is the floor space behind the sofa on a sunny day.  It's not like I live in a particularly dusty country. Apart from the stupid haze, thanks to a certain neighbouring country for their clever handling of forest fire or whatever it is that they keep burning annually, my countr...

This is a post from a year and half ago. Was feeling a little down over the death of our double heart transplant girl  yesterday.  ----------------------------------------------- DURING work at the University Hospital last week, I took a moment at the mortuary. In the lobby stood a lady concealed in an over-sized dark glasses with arms folded across her chest solemnly. Another group of people had just arrived, making their way hurriedly pass the glass door to the reception area. Now I didn't know their stories and their sorrows weren't mine but my heart went out to them. Said a silent prayer for the living and I exited the area not knowing that in a couple of days I'd be rushing through that glass door myself.  Just less than a year ago, a lady friend of mine had lost her son due to hospital negligence.  At 51, she's buried her parents and a 29-year-old son. Burying  anyone  is not easy but to bury one's own child? That's like against the very order...

NOW that my hair is considerably long by my standard, the styling options are endless. I'm delighted that I could, for the first time in my life, braid my hair! French, Dutch, Fishtail, Waterfall, Five-Strand braids. You name it, I learn them all on YouTube and practice on my life-size Barbie, Mek Zhin. Additionally, hair accessories like bands, hair vines and fancy pins are also catching my fancy. On the flip side, some of these things can be so dear given the materials used and its workmanship. For an example, a simple hair vine at Evita Peroni costs something like USD 170. Ridiculous. Some pearls and beads woven through wires. How difficult can that get? So I decided to take matters into my own hands!  I had some fresh-water pearls and some shiny, black bicones. I wish I also had some diamantees to spice it up a little but the black and white combo is quite classy on its own. Using a long strand of clear nylon string, folded into two, I put in the pearls. The challenge was...

AFTER about 10 years in the company, I have resigned! It feels strangely liberating and I never knew a resignation could present me with this incredible sense of freedom. Suddenly, I'm faced with choices. It's like ending a long relationship, not a long, bitter  one but just one that has lost its sparks. The last time I left a company, I didn't resign. I fired myself instead. That, my friends, felt sooo  good it was like releasing myself from an abusive relationship. I was jobless, penniless and almost homeless after that but boy, walking out of that office did feel like I'd grown magical wings.  In my oversized  'minx', and a  Petaling Jaya mug courtesy of the girls. -2008- But life can't be bad all the time. Four months later, I joined the paper, slipping into my dream job. Then on, life has been a roller coaster ride of a million experiences I wouldn't trade for anything else in the world. Work was work but more than work itself, all I eve...

I'VE always been fond of oils. The good kind that doesn't settle in your underarms and abdominal area to create that jiggle factor of course! When I was a kid, my mom used to douse me, body and face, in Johnson's Baby Oil. I went to school with Johnson's on my skin, and I continued using it into my early 20s. For those who're wondering...No. It didn't leave my face oily because I usually had a thin layer of talcum over it.  Culpeper Oils  Culpeper replaced Johnson's when I started working. I got a big bottle of Jojoba Oil as the base, which I mixed with drops of Rose Geranium and Lavendar oils, batch by batch. Sometimes I also added my treasured Rose Oil. So I went to bed each night with this mix on my skin and my friends were like 'I can't believe you intentionally slather oil onto your face!'.  But I do because oil on skin is soothing + I love the mosturised feel it gives my skin in the mornings. Meandering through the skincare ...

WE had a strange sleeping arrangement when we were kids. My childhood bedroom was also bedroom for my brother and mom. Since dad worked night, it was just the three of us home. So we slept with mom even when there were rooms for us. Mom usually had her little son next to her in that big bed by the window, and I was put in the single bed which was across the room door. Basically, my bed was just, say, three meters away from the door, which was always kept open.  The thing about open doors is that they are creepy. You switch off the room lights, the room goes pitch-dark at once but it eventually warms up when the street light or moonlight seeps through the window. Then you see familiar shadows on the wall. Perhaps of a gently swaying mango branch just before a midnight shower or of bats dashing across the porch like what I used to see on our wall. There's always activity and life even when you're safe and sleeping. But the open door will always be dark and mysterious. No shad...