Goreng Pisang

I've learnt something interesting over the past few days: Singaporeans (or maybe people in general?) have a bad habit of invading people's personal space IF they think they see dirt on another person. It's like a Obsessive Compulsive Thing, despite the whole Asians Like Their Personal Space thing. Ok maybe it's not a Singaporean thing, since one of the people who did it to me recently was my Korean pottery teacher, Ms. Lee.

So anyway yes, dirt. For the past two days I've been rocking what looks like a dirt patch on my right shoulder/back. It is not a dirt patch. Rather (surprise!) I've gone and gotten a tattoo because I felt tired of being scared of every damn thing in life, and wanted to push my boundaries and do something unexpected. So that dirt patch is really the new tattoo leaching ink out. However before I am given a chance to lie and tell all the adults around me that it is a 'old blouse, an old stain', they reach out and slap my back (HELLO FRESH RAW TATTOO-ED SKIN) in an attempt to brush off the dirt. It hurts. And sadly though I don't like lying, lying is just easier here. I could easily tell my dentist, my hairdresser, my pottery classmates that it is a tattoo. But then I'd have to do the whole Explain Why I Did It Thing, and Do My Parents Know? (yes they do, but my mum complains that it is ugly and I ought to have gotten a rose instead of a cross). Easier to just lie. And talk about other inane things, like the weather.

Today was my last pottery class. I glazed my pieces, and it was the first time today that I finally got around to using the spray gun. On a pot with a lid (I think that if I die suddenly, I want my ashes to go in there, seems morbidly fitting), I used copper dust mixed with water, and covered it with Shino White. The other piece I made, ages ago when Jessica was still around, was half Namoku Blue (such a beautiful glaze with such depth) and half Shino White again. I am eagerly waiting the results.

I had lunch with Diane, one of the pottery women afterwards. We went to the Tanglin food court and she treated me to lunch. I had pasta with chicken chop. In return I told her about chicken chop, Singaporean taxi drivers and their propensity to be anti-government and conspiracy theorists and about crime. It was all in all a very nice and good conversation. One of the best I've had in a while really, and all the better since I initially feared it'd be awkward. At the back of my mind I kept thinking about how sad it is that my net amount of speaking to middle aged British people was at least triple that of speaking to a British person the same age as me, nevermind that I'm surrounded by them in university. Pffft.

Then I got my hair cut, and found a goreng pisang store on the 5th floor of Far East Plaza. I have not SEEN goreng pisang in AGES. It's like all the places in Singapore stopped selling them. Goreng pisang is essentially bananas fried in batter, and it's bloody delicious. So anyway I bought one, even though I wasn't hungry at all. Then I bummed at some Taiwanese eatery, slowly sipping my milk tea (which made me feel sick - nice lactose intolerance) and read Brave New World as I waited for Ashraf to appear.

Dinner was at Skinny Pizza, where we both ate till we were stuffed. Then we walked about randomly, exploring the sad Toy Fair at the basement of Ngee Ann City.

I've been sniffing like mad all day. Sucks.