The Ego Episodes

Friday, Jan. 02, 2004

Longest. Day. Ever.

In the journaling world, this would be the time for a flashback of the year that was and how lives have changed over … the year that was. It’s a time for reflection, of where we stand now as compared to where we were last year (the year that was). I am a fan of this once-a-year practice but before writing about Riding in Rollercoasters with Joyce: Ponderings for The Year That Was 2003, I thought it would be better to write about The Night That Was, that is, How I Got Wasted on New Year’s Eve.

Something that I’ve never done before until two days ago and wish never to do again is working on New Year’s Eve. Ditto, when you replace New Year with Christmas. Tell me, how are you supposed to be able to do some work when your mind is consumed with the thought of partying the night away later? What’s worse is that unlike most working people, I virtually have nothing to do in the office except show up, hang around at my desk until 5:30 pm, and spend the day negotiating with God to give me the ability to fastforward time.

So New Year’s Eve, soon after the bell rang, I practically ran out of the office and went to the KTV place where my NTU Choir friends had been singing since 5 pm. As I had to “work” (whatever) a full shift that day, I wasn’t able to join them until 6 pm. I would’ve met them at the MRT station so that we could go to the place together because not until 4 pm, when I researched for the place in the Internet and visually photocopied the digital map in my mind, I only had a vague notion as to the location of the KTV place, let alone how to go there. And as my friends would totally agree, “vague notion” connotes tragedy in Joycie’s world. Anyway, when I got to the place and opened the door to our room, they let out a scream. Yes, choir people never hesitate to use their vocal powers.

Our room had a couch, a coffee table, a big tv, a computer and a remote control, with which we were able to select our songs. As a first-timer, I found everything in there fascinating. Whoa, big tv! Whoa, computerized selection of songs! Whoa, they deliver our drinks inside?!? You didn’t know that either, did you? Did you? Oh you did. Okay. I do have a substantial amount of karaoke experience, though, just not in public places (or in this case, a private room). My family would often hold karaoke sessions in our house and so far, we have yet to receive any complaint from our neighbors, if you’re worried about that. In other words, I’m not too inexperienced not to know what the highlighting of the words in a karaoke video is for.

They had been singing mostly Chinese songs when I arrived. Then they told me I missed them singing Dahil Sa Iyo. Okay, whatever made them love this song, though a classic is a wonder to me and most Filipinos out there. Anyhow, they let me pick some English songs, which, okay I admit, I had thought over the night before. Normally, I would go for Celine Dion/Whitney Houston/Mariah Carey songs. But for the past few days, I had been nursing a sleep-deprivation-induced-phlegm-induced (take a moment here) sore throat that turned my singing voice funky. So I warmed-up to Paula Cole’s I Don’t Want to Wait instead, except I did Jordan Hill’s Remember Me This Way first because one of them asked if I could sing it and I said I could, so I did. Thanks to the hot chrysanthemum tea I ordered, I was able to stay in tune. As a matter of fact, I felt my sore throat healing during the song. By the time I sang To Love You More, I got about 90% of my voice back. I know! It’s weird. But thanks, hot chrysanthemum tea!

Oh, and let me just say that my choir friends? They can sing. Okay, you’d think, they’re in the choir, of course they can sing. But choir voice is so much different from karaoke voice. And my choir friends? They have kickass karaoke voices. So, there. Just to let you know.

I was quite disappointed that our room was not big enough to allow silly dancing. Heh. It would’ve been fun-er. We did stand up for Dancing Queen, though, and Lady Marmalade before we found out that it’s not the Moulin Rouge version or even the All-Saints version, but the original version. There wasn’t time to sing all the songs we selected so we did one verse and a chorus for each of the remaining songs. We still had about 30 songs in queue when a message appeared on the computer screen: Last song … Have a nice day! And we were like, “Oh, last song. Okay, what song is it?” And then we waited and waited, until one of us pointed out, “That was the last song. See, they told us to have a nice day.” And then we’re all, “Uhh, really? We’re done?” Yeah, we wanted to sing some more but our time was up. Seriously, next time? Longer karaoke session.

We left the place all glowing and hungry. Well, at least some of us. We went for fastfood where, naturally, I ordered a lot of French fries to go with my mayonnaise. Except they didn’t give me mayonnaise. If not for my karaoke glow, I would’ve been totally pissed. How dare they refuse to give me mayonnaise! One time, overwhelmed by an intense craving, I went to the grocery store after work just to buy a jar of mayonnaise (a friend caught me clutching the jar and asked what I was doing, and I replied, “Satisfying my craving,” which made him go, “Mayonnaise?” and to that I just said, “Uh-huh.”), and then later thought, hey, I couldn’t possibly eat mayonnaise by itself, so I bought fries, sausages and bread, invited some friends over for a spontaneous movie night, just so I could eat that much junk food with my mayonnaise. What I’m saying is, when it comes to mayonnaise? I shall not be denied. Okay, now that I thought about it, that KFC branch is now blacklisted and thus shall be avoided henceforth. Aaanyway, I had Ya Kun Kopi (coffee with condensed milk) to console me. On to Phase II …

Phase II involved crashing at someone’s house for the New Year’s Eve countdown. We took the bus and got off at some grassland, with one or two trees looking like they’re about to grab you in the dark – a typical description of a shortcut. The clouds were covering the stars and there were no nearby lampposts so it was dark but not totally dark that you couldn’t see where you’re going. We went past the grassy path, survived, reached the residential proper and started off the concrete path, at which point I declared, “I miss concrete.”

It was a lovely neighborhood, with lovely houses and playgrounds, and except for the playground part, it reminded me of home. I didn’t pay much attention to their discussion about houses and famous people living in some of the houses that we passed by because um, I just didn’t. Anyway, I found out the houses were called semis and they’re supposed to be expensive. I could see that. The running theme for most of the houses was white and brown, and lots of it, and metal gates. See, nothing extraordinary. But they’re pretty. There’s something missing, though: plants. Maybe it’s hard to maintain a garden in Singapore but the glaring difference between here and the houses back home is the presence of flora. I’m not saying each garden here is bare and barren. I just find it odd that not many houses grow orchids, or flowers, or any kind of fruit tree. Maybe there’s a law against growing too many plants in your yard, I don’t know.

We finally reached The House For Crashing In. The owner ushered us in and told us to take off our shoes, socks, everything. And then I said, “Oh, it’s time for that already? (dirty!)” I would’ve followed it up with another joke (yes, it was a joke) but just then the owner’s mother greeted us at the door.

It was spacious and cozy inside. The living room had two television sets, one of which was huge. And I mean, huge. We went up the wooden staircase and had a brief tour of the house. When we reached the owner’s bedroom, somebody asked about the view outside. I half-expected Ugly Naked Guys dancing. Hee. Anyway, love the house.

We went down, spread ourselves in the living room and watched tv. There was coverage of the Nation’s Countdown at Sentosa and the only interesting thing about it was that they’re showing SMS of people’s greetings. Occasionally, there would appear a non-New- Year’s-Eve-related SMS, like: Lao po (wife), I’m sorry. Can you forgive me? (Or something like that). Poor guy. That SMS was flashed three times, by the way, and since each SMS cost $1.50, this guy was clearly desperate. Either that or he’s drunk. I couldn’t remember now whether or not he stated his name. Lao po would die of embarrassment if he did.

Somebody sent an SMS to greet the whole NTU Choir and so throughout the night, we were waiting for them to show our SMS. But we couldn’t wait. The table was assembled, the paper spread over it and the tiles brought out. Yes, folks, what better way to usher in 2004 than play mahjong? And for me, what better time to learn how to play mahjong than on New Year’s Eve?

Okay, let me start off with the tiles. The ones we’ve used have not been opened since the time it was bought, which was, um, more than 23 years ago, I suppose. We were so amazed by this fact that we couldn’t tear the plastic wrapping without taking a picture first.

After releasing the tiles from more than a score of bondage, the players took their positions. Not one was an expert but fortunately, those who knew how to play the game were knowledgeable enough for them to play a proper game. Newbies sat at the sides of the players, confused at the sight of hands grabbing blocks of tiles in rapid succession. For the first (inaugural) game, there was a refresher course for players and beginner’s course for the rest. The owner’s father joined in to clarify some rules and help one player decide which tile to throw. I still wasn’t clear about the rules until I was given the chance to play. I developed a system of memorizing the Chinese characters written on the tiles, for instance, the one that looked really funky (and complicated) is 5, and then next to that is a stick drawing of a person, which is 6. It’s all very exciting to me. I had help when I first played the game and by that, plus good luck, I WON MY VERY FIRST MAHJONG GAME! Wee! I wonder if this would somehow foreshadow my 2004. Nevertheless, yay!

I gave up my place after I WON because I’d rather watch. It’s less stressful. But boy, was winning such a thrill! Anyway, we had to stop playing for a while because it was almost midnight and we had to open the wine (ooh!) for the countdown. As the people at Sentosa were counting off (thanks, Channel 5!), so were we. We then greeted each other and shook hands. There was a toast for a wonderful year ahead and a picture to commemorate said toast.

After downing a glass of wine, some faces turned red. But mine didn’t. I’m telling the truth. I felt flushed, but that’s all. It’s a normal reaction. And I’m not being defensive here. Okay, I need to stop now.

There are claims that mahjong is like coffee – addictive and has the power to keep you awake the whole night/morning. Those claims? So. True. We played nonstop until 3 am, stopping only for supper.

Venue for supper was not planned (as with many things, apparently). I think I had something to do with it. I read in someone’s friendster account of a place called Jalan Kaayu and for some reason, it stuck with me. I later heard from a friend that the best place to get prata is at Jalan Kaayu but she didn’t know where that is. And moments later, it hit me: I know someone from there! So I asked the person and he told me it’s just walking distance from The House For Crashing In so we could actually go there for supper. And we did!

(Side note: Prata is an Indian dish, made with eggs, flour, clarified fat and water. A good prata maker knows how to twirl the dough and make it thin enough to hold the filling in.)

It took us about half an hour of walking to reach the place, plus about half an hour of waiting for our order to arrive. That’s a long time and much longer for a starving person. Our drinks soon arrived and I noticed that my coffee was extra frothy. I took a sip and tasted a hint of fat in it. Then I looked at the froth and somehow I came to the conclusion that the froth was because of the fat in the coffee, so: Gah. I gave it another chance and took another sip, and it just kept getting worse. Then it triggered one story about some coffee places using used (used!) socks to brew coffee and that was more than enough to make me stop drinking. Although my coffee might not have been made with used socks, my brain refused to cease connecting it with used socks. Okay, you can stop gagging now.

I wanted cheese and banana prata but out of confusion, I had ice cream prata instead of banana. I didn’t complain, though, because the ice cream prata? Wow. I was just … wow. Best ice cream prata ever. Inside the prata wrap were three scoops of chocolate ice cream, topped with a generous amount of whipped cream and strawberry syrup. One girl went, “Mmm, it’s so sweet, mmm, it’s very sinful.” Exactly the reason I liked it so much. So if anybody asks, how was the ice cream prata at Jalan Kaayu? My reply would be: sinfully sweet. I love it! (The ice cream prata, not my reply. On the other hand, if that prata shop needs to advertise, they could call me. That “sinfully sweet” line is copyrighted.)

Oh, and the banana prata? Love, love, love it more! I love banana. I love prata. It makes perfect sense therefore that I should rave about banana prata. It’s like turon back home, but way, way better. You have got to try it. One spoonful made me go, “Mmmm”, lean back and stop thinking. It’s that good. Next time I go back there, I’m getting me a banana prata. Okay, who’s going with me?

We happily walked back to the house and played mahjong till lunchtime. Talk about addiction. I played more games, got some funky tiles (“Won’t you take me to … funky tiles!”) and lost some games. But I won three games in a row! Woo! In other news, some people fell asleep on the carpet sometime after supper. I wasn’t one of them. By lunchtime, I had been awake for more than 3o hours since I had to wake up early for work the day before. But I was more than ready to go to bed – my bed. And apparently, not a thought was made as to the time for leaving. I thought that after breakfast, we’d leave and catch an early bus. But thanks to mahjong, it was not to be. I thought it was embarrassing to stay there any minute longer so I told everyone to consider leaving, like, soon. And they were all, “Okay, last game.” And I went, “What?!? You already played the last game! We have to leave.” That plea, even with a croaky voice due to sleep deprivation, did not have an effect on the players as they still played one more game. About fifteen minutes later, and halfway through Finding Nemo, they finally finished their game. We thanked the owners of the house for letting us crash in their place (longer than we ought to, I think).

Lunch was at the nearest market. I had carrot cake because I saw a lot of people eating it so I assumed it’s a safe choice. It turned out to be a good choice since I liked it. Then I ordered young coconut juice (buko juice) because I missed it. My drink arrived in the form of a whole coconut, husk, meat and all. Whoa. I didn’t know they’re going to present it that way. It’s a little bit embarrassing, actually.

After everyone had eaten, we said our goodbyes and took a cab back to school. We reached school around 1 pm and I did nothing but sleep until minutes before 8 pm. I slept again around 11 pm and woke up early for work. My throat was so sore and itchy, and I was coughing my insides out that I considered taking an MC today. I got up anyhow and made coffee. I felt better after one cup. Coffee really cures all. Aaanyway …

2003 had been wonderful. It’s got to be one of the most exciting years of my life. Some of my memorable experiences have been documented here and it makes me want to pat myself on the back for sticking to this journal. This year had been one hell of a ride. I got to do many things, most of which made me appreciate the fact that I’m living here. I got to know some people better, made some new friends, laughed, studied, ate, fell, worked, sang, danced, cried and laughed some more. I wish 2004 would be as exciting as 2003.

Happy New Year!

{ joycie at 7:47 p.m.}