All Geared Up

It's hard for me to go to sleep at night when I come back from work at the restaurant. The adrenaline rush from orders coming in, piecing together a dish in less than a few minutes, to get your workstation spick and span in between orders, to refill up your supplies, and the rush to clean up the kitchen so I can change up quickly to go home. By the time I'm home, I'm actually feeling very warm in my coat in 7C weather. By then, it's morning in Asia, and I log on to see maybe I could catch some friends. The worst is if I've a morning shift the next day at 8.

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The pears are very good in France, they make a good liquor out of it. Poire Williams. And they like to eat them ripe and soft. The way that I like it, the way that I've been eating it since young. Grandma, without most of her teeth, especially enjoyed them. She will pick the ripest from the market and keep them a few days. They turn yellow and fragrant. So, for me, when I go to the fruit stall in a food court, and I see green chunks of solid pear, I'm not the least tempted to get them. They actually crunch, like an apple, and they are not sweet, nor fragrant.

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"I don't like to buy cheap. Cheap is useless without quality. Choose well, choose good stuff that you need and can afford." This is coming from my aunt who barely earns a living. She belongs to the generation where no one believed in giving the womenfolk an education. She found all simple jobs that she could lay her hands on, e.g in a factory. But she is smart. Needless to say, she's been laid off many times, and her (somewhat forced) marriage didn't work. But I've never seen her unhappy. Well, I don't see her very often, to be fair. But when I do, we have a good chat in her spartan apartment, and she always has something wise to say. Recently, she's been more involved in volunteer work in a Buddhist temple, who prob gives her some food and a little pocket money.

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Some mornings when I wake up in cold Paris, it's 8a.m. and it's still dark, I know I'm alone in this city, and it can get a little depressing, while thinking of all the hard work waiting for me in the kitchen. And no one to talk to and try to meet up for a coffee or a meal some day. Some days it's hard to keep it going. Some days I think, good, I'll give it a year, and I wanna go back to Asia. Some days I think, what's waiting for me in Asia? I'm indifferent to SG, and it may not be so easy to plant myself in another country in SE Asia. I'm starting well here, and I'll try to keep it going until who knows what. Who knows what.

Correction: I should redefine what I meant by 'starting well', getting paid at SMIC isn't at all 'well' to many, I prob belong to the marginally poor by French societal standards. I compare this to SG, and I think I probably fall under the category of coffeeshop 'zhi zhar' kitchen helper or a vocational institute school leaver. I will not be able, by any standard, to walk into BHV and say, 'Tiens, I'll like to buy this now." But you make the best out of every situation. And I'll try my best to do so.