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Let’s have a moment of brutal honesty, shall we?

I’m speaking as a woman raised in the west when I tell you that it’s incredibly frustrating to be a strong, independent and powerful woman in Southeast Asia. My frustration stems from a bevy of reasons, but it is never more salient than when I’m trying to shop for clothes. (I emphasize the word trying).

For the time being, let’s forget about frustrations with difference in sizes, body types and/or curves.

Today I’d prefer to rant about how I find it insulting to look at women dressing like children. When I walk into a store for women, I don’t want to try on foo-foo frills, lace, ribbons, bows or ballerina skirts. And for Pete’s sake – enough with the frilly white socks.

Ladies, if you dress like little girls, you can expect to be treated like girls. And frankly, I don’t want to see you in the professional sphere, where I’m trying to earn some respect in a world where women are still paid substantially less than a man, and are virtually nonexistent in the highest levels of management. Women of Southeast Asia, the little kitties on your sweater aren’t helping.

Furthermore, will wearing cutesie dresses and hello kitty earrings and sailor costume-esque dresses find you a quality man? NO. It will find you a pedophile or a chauvinistic fool. And in the meantime, it undermines the rest of your fellow sisters who are trying to be classy and beautiful women who are respected for their intellect, their accomplishments, and their vibrant personalities.

Whether we like it or not, our clothes send a message about ourselves to the rest of the world. And if I’m on the MRT in the morning and I can’t tell if you’re the boss, if you’re going to work for the boss, or if the boss is your daddy, then the message is clear: we have a real problem on our hands.

So put away the butterfly belt.  You can be feminine and sexy without dressing like a 5 year old. It’s perverted and you’re doing your sisters a disservice.

Man, the MRT ads are on FIRE this month!

Lao Fo Ye can! Singlish al palo, baby.

Well, I guess the title is a little misleading, but I’m feeling all Shakespearey and scholarly (because all the best scholars use words like “Shakespearey”).

Basically I’m in the midst of making a major life decision, and the question I should be asking is: “how much freeze can thy body handle?”

I’ve narrowed the next 4 years of my life down to 2 cities.  I’ll refer to City no. 1 as “Cold” and City no. 2 as “Colder.”

Or maybe “Ghetto-Fabulous Cold” and “Colder with Cows.”

Yup, from the equator to the tundra (aka New England) – that’s how I roll. I think I’ve got my mind made up. Stay tuned….

Did you hear the joke about the monk who walked up to the Durian stall?

No? Me neither. But it sounds like the start of a good joke.

In the meantime, I’ll take a durian and a tattoo please.


Happy Year of the Rabbit!

Of course, I knew it was gonna be the year of the rabbit last month when I found this little bunny in the leftover sludge of my Turkish coffee:

Yes, I read my own fortune and found that my future would be February. Yes, it was totally anticlimactic. Yes, I’m a horrible coffee fortune interpreter.

Can you see the rabbit in the middle? Also I see an old man with a cane (on the left) and a Chet (the 8th letter in the Hebrew alphabet) on the right. So clearly, this means I’m going to win the lottery soon.

And that I’m going to have a 4-day weekend. Sweet.

February 2011