Life favours the young.

The subject of procreation rears its ugly head at the most inopportune times. It’s almost like an annoying child that keeps trying to interrupt adult conversation, only to say something completely nonsensical and irrelevant (as children often do).

The very meaning of “life” – existence, creating new life – is a concept that is best exercised while young. I can think of almost no benefits of being a mature parent – other than having more life experience but not enough energy to extend it.

Based on medical reasons alone, it is far more advantageous to have a child when you’re younger (we’re talking below 30’s here), which I think is really unfair (we’ll get to that later).

Getting Pregnant in the first place

Your fertility drops when you hit 30 and onwards – which to me, makes no sense. You’d think that your body would understand that you’ve wanted to spend your time progressing your career, finding the right life partner, creating a comfortable home environment and thus let the amniotic fluids flow like the rivers of Babylon. But no, instead, you are your most fertile when you are your most stupid (teenage years) and want to have the most fun (20’s). It’s like Nature is fiercely determined to mock your life.

Over the years, the dinner and cocktail conversation has been moving further from “in heat” to “in vitro” – from “dirty weekends” to “conception weekends”. As my generation progresses, so does the ever consuming need to go forth and multiply. Turns out, the capability you cursed in the disco days, is a luxury you now long for. A missed period used to catch your breath in fear, now in excitement.

The Pregnancy Bloom

I believe this bloom to be a myth. I have yet to meet a woman who blossoms during her pregnancy, with rosy cheeks and a gait to her step. Instead, I’ve had meals with more than one expectant woman who can could barely eat and those that could eat, would – mid-sentence – dash to the bathroom for the hourly session of regurgitation. I’ve heard the complaints of having to buy new shoes for expanding feet and seen a foetus’ elbow stick out of a woman’s midsection (and if you think that is disturbing, it’s even more scarring to see the woman nudge it back in). I’ve seen the nipples, the scars, the failed breast-feeding attempts and that’s just wrong.

Perhaps the most disconcerting is the health issues a mature woman faces when she gets pregnant. They are more susceptible to miscarriages, premature births and other pregnancy related illnesses. For the baby, they are more at risk of Down’s Syndrome and other abnormalities. The whole pregnancy is awash with worry, nervousness and painful (and pricey) testing.

So there’s a baby, now what?

After all that, you got the baby. Big whoop. Now, you’re probably at the height of your career and either exhaust yourself  trying to maintain it and raise a prodigy or you have to take a step down from the career ladeer for sanity’s sake. And by the time you turn 60, your child is barely out of university and faces the financial task of having to eventually care for you.

Closing Argument

I believe Nature had engineered youth as the ideal time for child-manufacturing because our life expectancy was a lot shorter than before. But due to our own uncontrollable intelligence to lengthen our life span and carve a semblance of a career (beyond tending to our cavemen, cave-chiselling men), we’ve evolved past our bodies and what they are capable of doing best. I don’t know if our bodies would ever catch up, but I do wish that it was at least an even playing field at any age. Either you’re 25 with children, regretting not doing more with your life – or you’re 35, with a high-flying career yet trying to suppress the biological clock. Is it really impossible to not have it all? Even if you can have it all, would you be any good at it?

I would like to end this post by saying that I do not have children. At this point of my life, I have no desire to have children. This is mostly because I don’t like children and subscribe to ye’ ole’ mentality of “children should be seen and not heard”. I find them an entirely too sassy bunch nowdays. I hate being ambushed by acquaintances showing me pictures of their children and me, being lost for words. My latest remark/mumble was, “Oh… looks… like you”. I kick kids ankles at McDonald’s when they get in my way. I believe a lot of people have children either out of narcissism or boredom.

But for all this talk, it would be nice to know that if I wanted to have a child at some point of my life, it wouldn’t be too late.

So far, the only kid I like (my god-daughter).

Wasn’t she a Betty?

I was doing some backing up on my computer (aren’t I conscientious? Or maybe just really bored…) and came across some old photos of my maternal grandmother, Clara Josephine a.k.a. Nano.

nan

She was supremely lovely, wasn’t she? Just full of old world charm, where the head tilt in a photograph didn’t look ludicrous and you could actually sign a photograph, “With best wishes” and give it to a beau. Now, all we do is tag photos on Facebook. How sad is that.

She looks really serene in these photos where in actuality, she was a firecracker of a lady, razor sharp and witty. Really bad at Math, though.

I did some futher digging and sourced a picture of her younger sister, Victorine Noelle. But her family called her Lynn. That’s right – she was Lynn Noelle. And the bizarre thing is that I was in no way named after her (I was hoped to be a boy, thus, Noel but oops, girl parts – let’s tack on an “l” and an “e”… Ok, it’s either that story or I was named after “Noelle Page” from the Sidney Sheldon book, “The Other Side of Midnight” – a woman who prostituted herself and later was left pregnant. You take your pick). She was quite tragically murdered when she was young, allegedly by a British soldier here at the time. How completely colonial.

Victorine Noelle_2

I guess if you’re not too sure about where you’re going, it can’t hurt to see where you’ve been.

Where have all the Thais gone?

Post holiday (of course, even a day back to the grind completely dissipates the relaxation) and here are some pictures – honestly, considering that people take photos of everything (even food. Why? I have no idea why people love taking these faux artistic shots of food), the amount of photos I took were pathetic. Although I look cute. (For people on Facebook who have seen these photos, look at them again!)

The question I ask is real: Where have all the Thais gone? The stretch of Patong has been completely invaded by Indians – who harassed us to no end. No longer were they touting us to make suits or buy DVDs – this time round, they were trying to hold our arms, shake our hands and verbally harassing us with cries (and at times, yells from across the road) “Hi baby!” “Hi sexy!” “Namaste” (I shit you not), “Your dress is so sexy, so transparent”, “India! From India!” and often, bursting into some indistinguishable Indian tongue. It really detracted from the usual authentic Thai feel (“massage!”) and for the remainder of the trip, we walked on the opposite side of the road and ensured we shopped at Thai owned stalls only.

To make it worse, there was a large amount of Indian tourists visiting Phuket at the same time – meaning we were leered at from all angles – in the pool, on the streets. It was really frustrating and it got to the point whenever we saw a bunch of Indians, Mish and I were, “oh shit, here we go again”.

I really do not understand the unabashed staring and leering that happens at us. Past a certain point, we were left wondering if we had walked out of the hotel naked, or something or had food on our faces. I am not sure if they are trying to identify our authenticity, fathom where we are from – maybe to them, we don’t look like real Indians. Who knows. All I know is that it is bloody rude to stare at someone – regardless of where you are from.

And by the way, I can say all this because I have Indian blood.

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I am not Hindu! I eat of the beef!

Mixed Bag Vol. Who Knows?

Caitlin stayed over a couple of weeks ago and one afternoon, our helpers flung her into my bedroom and she, of course, was pleased to investigate Godma’s room – to see what goodies she could ransack. Needless to say, she got bored of my Gene Simmons doll, the mini Rubik’s cube and even the Beauty and the Beast DVD. Now, I love my god-daughter but without any ammunition, I had no clue what to do with this child.

So, we played dress up.

caitdiva1 caitdiva2 caitdiva3

A hair-clip ingeniously held my short skirt together, she chose the purse, I chose the accessories and off she went to wake Gammy and Grampa.

drink

I have a new favourite drink at Charlie’s (which for some reason, I’ve eaten at, like, 4 times in the last 3 weeks. It’s called Kopparberg, from the town proper in Sweden, and there are different flavours – the Pear rocks. (Wiki tells me this is the number one selling pear cider in the world!) It’s really good, give it a go – if you can’t remember the name when you get there, just ask for the “pear cider”. It comes in a can.

gtc_1 gtc_2

I have also managed to get my hands on a copy of Gleaming The Cube. Oh, the days when I was in love with Christian (Slater, at the time, not Bale), when skateboards were the rage, when Tony Hawk didn’t have video games… (Sidenote, I love how in this movie, Tony Hawk is in it and puts a Tony Hawk sticker on the plane window).

Here’s to yesterday.

Long weekends kick booty.

 

God bless Hindu people for shifting Deepavali to Monday.
Friday night was Butter with Lizzy. Sat night was Butter with Lizzy. Yes, again. The flimsy excuse was a leftover bottle of Goose but it was some horrendous electro music playing. Almost died – and we left before 2. I also took my Fatty to the vet where she was weighed in at a whopping 4.2kg. Good lord. She is now on a major diet – which involves only her dry Timberwolf and her treats are now reduced to once a week. My poor little angel. Better slim than stocky, anyhoo. Anyway, I’m aiming for the certified kennel weight of 2.7kg. Maybe when we get there, we can look at some dog shows. She has a fab trot.
Chihuahua with chins!
Chihuahua with chins!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday was Bingo with the fam and I won about 30 bucks and paid the cabbie in coins. That was funny. I love Bingo – this year, my party theme is Bingo & Bee Hoon.

Today, I grabbed Caitlin for the morning and popped her over to have a playdate with Oscar. I believe they had a nice time – occasionally ignoring each other, sharing/non sharing toys and hatching water plans together. By after lunch, they were outside by the slide alone, chatting to each other in their own language. Too cute.

 

Discussing toys.
Discussing toys.

 

Water Games
Water Games

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Water Baby
Water Baby

 

 

 

The games children play.
The games children play.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, to be a child!
Oh, to be a child!