Finally! It has arrived ...

Scottie!

And I don't mean our container.

I've finally come down with a blasted cold, cough and sore throat. Obligatory for winter, I was just hoping not in California! (Yes, that is a FIRE)

But I will take it that the stress of moving has come home to roost and I am to take it easy given the mountain of boxes I am snowed under. Literally. Snowed. Under. So many boxes and papers all round that one literally cannot breathe.

So, rewind a second.

First day! 

For those haven't heard, we finally found a place to live and got our keys last week. Dylan also started school last week and last week (which is a very popular week in my book) we were told THE (read: our) container will arrive on Monday. Excited and totally overwhelmed with new house new school new MUMS (oh god forbid) and new school lunches to deal with, all of which are super important, H tells me that he is out most of this week for conferences, dinners and visitors from the UK whom he will be eating and hobnobbing with, reminiscing about the good old times. So, in other words, having lots of fun while I unpack. (A tad bit unfair I admit but feels like it! So who's going to visit me from the UK so I can get out of unpacking?)

It has arrived!

What I wasn't quite ready for was the overwhelm of boxes and wrapping paper that came with it. We didn't even have that much stuff! If anyone has seen our house in London (which most of you would have), it isn't big. I dread to think what anyone with 4 bedrooms, a second lounge, a garden bigger than our patch of shed, a conservatory and a loft would be transporting! But here we are moving our tiny house and me standing in my new house with just boxes and boxes of stuff. And they keep bringing more. Oh Gawd.

My first thought was what have I done?

My second thought was to reduce more of my stuff.

And my third thought was no more moving, guys.

I unpack, and I unpack. I haven't unpacked so much since, well, my last move 8 years ago. The paper mounds up and I get more horrified. Three sheets of packing paper for ONE CUP? Surely it does not warrant THREE sheets of paper to protect it! Protect it from what? Savage mountain lions? (which there are by the way, in the nearby nature reserve. That and coyotes. I have the sign to prove it.)

Box Overwhelm!

Day 4 and I am now with my feet up while I nurse this cold and shamelessly relax. I cleared the living area of boxes so all that confronts me is the internet box stuck in a jungle of wires in a corner and a lamp stand with no lamp shade because I cannot work it out. The solitary lamp shade languishes in a corner. I drink tea out of mugs with cute dogs on it.

Recently, we went to the planetarium down at the Tech Museum (San Jose, fascinating place, thanks Cindy G L for recommending!) and it was all about the Blue Planet (Earth by the way) and how we were just destroying it with our excessive consumption and flagrant disregard (and disrespect) for life and conservation.

And then I look at my one cup wrapped in countless sheets of paper. And I have 117 boxes full of one cups wrapped in countless sheets of paper.

And so my new year resolution is to reduce my stuff. Even more. For those who know me will know I hate shopping. My child and my husband? A different matter. But I hate shopping. I recently found the library near D's dance class so I can walk there while he dances so even buying books are out of the question unless it is a special occasion. I hate stuff. And whilst I can self congratulate myself on having less stuff than most people, I'd say it is still too much stuff.

I might sound preachy but it scares me that we consume at a rate faster than the earth can rejuvenate. I am currently reading a book called Reason in a Dark Time by Dale Jamieson and the statistics are scary - 20% of the earth's population (developed countries) produce 70% of the world's carbon dioxide. Not to mention all the other awful gases like methane that we haven't measured. The politics and economics of it all is fascinating, as this book relates, but put simply one cup does not require three sheets of paper to protect it. What are we doing, consuming so much? What are we doing, producing so much, all for profit? And can we cut it back? According to this book, one person's actions can make a difference (if you are thinking like I was thinking, little ole me ain't gonna do anything worthwhile)

I don't know what the answer is. I am guilty too but surely there must be a better way to be citizens of this Earth, not just fight for our own hoards of stuff and think that we are ok simply because we increase our territory size. Surely, it must be more conscious, calculated decisions we can make, knowing that having all this stuff doesn't make one happier. That happiness comes from within and being grateful for what we have. And to stop accumulating. (Personally, I don't know anyone who needs a yacht, or a boat ... unless you are fishermen)

I know I know. Sounds like a whole load of sentimental drivel. And preachy too. I get it. But as Christmas comes round the corner, we see signs that say, a puppy is for 15+ years, not just for Christmas. That applies to all our stuff too. Plastic doesn't go away. Stuff doesn't go away. Just because you give it away (and it becomes someone else's problem) doesn't mean it goes away. Most of the time it lands in landfill.

All I am saying is, we live on a wonderful planet, carefully balanced, beautiful and amazing. Anyone who has done primary school science will know, the eco-system is a wonderful thing and how nature works is a miracle, whether you believe in God or not. With all of our medical and science advances, we still don't understand it all. In fact, we understand only a fraction.

Not even full!

We can all do something to help reduce waste, and stop landfills filling up with stuff that we don't need. If you ever give a kid a plastic toy, you'll know how much we don't need stuff. They simply throw it away after two seconds and that's that, in fact the cardboard box is more fascinating!

Like I said, I am guilty of it too. I just thought I'd share my thoughts as I unpack my house with its countless boxes and wrapping paper just to keep that one cup safe from the mountain lions. And next time I move? No more moving man. I'm doing this myself.

Buy less. Buy second hand. No shame in that.

Ok, back to unpacking my 117 boxes!

Lots of love
from a rainy California today xoxo

PS: California has been gripped in a drought for the last five years. Forest fires happen every year ruining people's lives (and stuff). The reservoirs are drying out and if things continue, scientists predict that California could turn into a desert. All because of global warming and too much CO2 in the atmosphere. I'm glad it's raining today.

I have to be better about living in the not knowing

I have to be better about living in the not knowing. From the book Lily and the Octopus.There are spoilers in this post.

I grew up needing to know. Needing to know what I was good at, wasn't good at, what the future holds, what I would become. I needed to know so much that I visited a clairvoyant, a fortune teller, a seer. I was young, just finished with training as a lawyer, and really wanted to be finished as a lawyer completely. I was too chicken to quit in truth, and I wanted someone to tell me that I could. That it was ok to do so. Instead, she told me the opposite. That I was good at it. And that I should continue. And so I continued, on for another 12 years.

I have to be better about living in the not knowing comes from a line in a book I am reading.  About a dog and his owner, and an octopus. An octopus that was hiding in plain sight. (If you want to know the book title, it's Lily and the Octopus by the way, and this is book club, online style).

I had my octopus moment about 14 months ago. Only that there wasn't an octopus to be seen. I could feel it though, in my soul. In my being. I knew that George had an octopus. Hiding in plain sight.

I searched for it. I prodded and poked our dear Westie every time he sat down. But I found nothing. I went to the vet's in search of answers, only to be told that there was nothing. But I knew. And needed proof. I checked him out at Christmas I checked in out in February. Nothing.

"Nothing Mrs Brown!" they would say. "There is nothing wrong with dear old George!"

And I would go away, less than satisfied, because I knew that there was an octopus.

And my best friend said, "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't find out." she continues. "Don't know. It's better not to know."

And I agreed. It is better not to know. He lived a happy life then, ate, slept and lately, climbed on beds. I put the octopus to rest and I quietened my restless heart and hugged my dear little white dog.

6 months later, he died, our dear old George. And the funny thing was, none of the tests showed what he had. It was as if the cancer hid and grew, out of sight, as if to give George as much time as he needed before he was taken away from us. It hid in plain sight, avoiding all the organs that would have revealed his condition when we took the tests. It hid, like a thief in the night, stealing away my poor George's life.

I have to be better about living in the not knowing. For if I had known, what could I do? Would I subject George to terribly pains and awful medicines? Would I choose to let him live?

Not knowing meant he lived a full life, without the octopus hanging over his head (or his eye). Not knowing meant I didn't get sick with worry or look at him each time with tears in my eyes. Blissfully unaware seems to have given us a fuller life with him even in his last days. What do they say? Ignorance is bliss. How blissful it was in the last few months.

And he suffered so very little.

RIP dear George.

Bookstores are what I love best

I'm not much of a shopper. In fact I avoid it when I can. I'm terrible at it, I have no love for it. I'm just not a shopper.

But when it comes to books, I can shop. Till the cows come home. I love books, not just the content, but the physical feel of them, the pages, the fonts, the smell of new paper and whether it is a hard copy with a dust jacket or a paperback. Sometimes, like I found yesterday, a book with uneven edges, like paper from an expensive paper shop bound together to give you that rough hewn feel. Hard to turn the pages, but hey, anything for that rustic feel.

I found the one book store that everyone I talk to here seems really keen to tell me about - Kepler's at Menlo Park apparently is an institution. Much like City Lights in San Francisco, it is an icon, a stalwart in a community that loves books. I found it yesterday. (They had Alexander McCall Smith come speak earlier in October, so yes I love this bookstore already!).

It was great. It was beautiful. It was not glitzy or technical, but slightly dusty and old fashioned. They had handwritten recommendation notes and pictures of the people who worked there and reviewed their books They had a staff recommendation section. Beautiful plain shelves just filled with books of every kind. History, psychology, fiction, travel, LGBT, politics, children's picture books, teen books. I feel as if I have been round the world in a space of a short walk. I browsed, I read the titles. The titles made me laugh, made me cry, made me feel all the emotions of frustration, anger, love, joy and mischief in the space of a short walk. It made me realise how grave our situation is, how we could do something to change the course of history, or divert a man made disaster. A simple store filled with books made me feel all of this.

It was funny as before walking in, I wondered if it would be like a bookshop in London. You don't see many bookstores nowadays. Everyone is going digital. I don't oppose digital but I do still like books. The physical entity is ironically, mystical. I don't like physical things very much, but books? I love them. There is a misconception that the Americans aren't as intellectual as the British, and I hesitated for a moment, and wondered if I would find anything like London's bookstores (or intellect let's face it, a bookstore is euphemism for that). Or the type of books that I would find. It is an odd assumption or presumption. I who am Singapore born and brought up, having hang ups about the American intellect, coming via London. I who am in no fit state to judge, London only being adopted and not a heritage I can claim.

But I didn't want to be disappointed. I wanted to find somewhere in this strange new city that I could call my own. Not H's, not D's. Mine. Something I could escape to even for an hour. (H's is Best Buy by the way, a store selling, you got it, gadgets!)

But then all my misgivings and misconceptions gave way even before I walked in. The posters told of true faith to books and the love for the literary. The books were marvellous but different too. A different perspective, a different life. I found, like the art exhibits and the science and technology galleries here, they are different. They are a different perspective to how things are done here. Much more hands on, much more direct, much more "get up and go". I loved how everything was fun and crazy and just beautiful. Different is good, different means I get yet another perspective to things. I embrace different. Different makes me a better person.

I learnt that books are books, wherever you go. Misconceptions about intellect will be dissipated once you enter a book store, a library, a place that holds and revers books, intellect, the mind. This is my common ground, with people who loves books and loves the literary word. This is my common ground, ties that bind those that love thought.

We are one and the same, you and I. We are no different. The food we eat, and the words we speak might differ, but we are one and the same, you and I.

We are no different.

Much love,
from (still) sunny California xoxo

PS: I highly recommend Lily and the Octopus, especially those that loves dogs. Oh so heartwarming ... but I warn you, sad too. Bring your hanky!

The Morning After ...

Yes, it's the morning after and I must say that a lot of emotions are flowing through me at the moment. Mostly disappointment, shock, horror, resignation.

I believe that I might be the only one to have experienced Brexit AND the Trump Presidential win in person.

It was a quiet affair here in California. There was hardly any news on the street, a few people campaigning for their citizens to vote and mostly pro-Hillary but the day did pass uneventfully. I was even quite hopeful as we went down to San Jose for the day and visited the Tech Museum there. The streets were quiet and there wasn't much in the way of election news except on TV. (What made the news locally was $160,000 being donated to two candidates in a local counsellors' election!)

Afterwards, while I lay in bed with H watching and reading the election results as they came in, the anger and the frustration rose again. I didn't want Trump to win, and I was rooting against it, but somehow in my gut, I felt it was going to be Brexit all over again. There were some positives in the polls before the election that Hillary was ahead, but hadn't we heard that before?

The morning after here in the great US of A wasn't as bad as the morning after in London. I think, in London, it was because I had lived there for a long time, and suddenly waking up the next morning, feeling like I was an outsider overnight, looking over my shoulder and being aware of the colour of my skin being different and the cause of the exit vote the night before made all the difference. Here, in California, I am still a tourist and I haven't had the chance to make it home yet.

But I am familiar with that feeling and aware that it will, might come on. It IS about race, gender, sexual division, about "mine" and "yours", protectionism, fear, discrimination, the elite few and the masses. While Facebook is full of Americans expressing horror (my friends anyway), I feel like it's Groundhog Day. I am witnessing a repeat of Brexit all of over again. It's the nightmare that never ends. (Waaaay too 1984 for my liking)

We were at friends a couple of weeks ago and politics (naturally) came up. They enquired about Brexit and someone said, "Oh, but you have your own saga here - Trump!". I think even that division alone seems wrong. I think we all have a hand in this. UK, USA - it represents a lot of the Western world, and whether it is across the Atlantic or not, we are one brethren. We can't be divided in a time like this - what UK does, and what USA does, affects a huge part of the world. Of course we care. And we can't say it's someone else's problem. It's a problem for that country. When a large number of the population in effect (let's face it) vote for hatred, condemnation of a different race, colour, creed, sexual orientation, it's for everyone to worry.

What also gets me is that the number of women who have voted for Trump, DESPITE his vile proclamations about women. Whether you believe that was for show or he really meant it, I found it telling that women would be willing to vote for the now president of the free world who has admitted to abusing women. What does it say about our self esteem? Our willingness to vote for abuse essentially? To perpetuate the abuse is just wrong. We need to stand up for our own kind and stop voting for a someone like Trump who perpetuates and essentially condones abuse. This is not solidarity, ladies!

In the end, it's about getting ahead. It's about winning. It's about who gives you the biggest social and economic boost. It's who represents your values the best. Be damned with decency and doing the right thing and being kind, compassionate, welcoming and human. It's ironic that the masses in the UK voted against Remain simply because they felt that they were losing, losing out on benefits, losing their voice (ironically) and getting the shorter end of the stick.

Here, in the US, they voted for Trump because the masses thought that there were too many benefits, too left wing, too bigger voice for the downtrodden. It was, as a BBC article put it, a vote against the Obama administration.

You could make the excuses for each campaign, but essentially, the way I see it, it's a vote for racism, discrimination, inequality and fear. Lots and lots of fear.

So, the morning after drudges up memories of the not-so-long-ago Brexit that I hoped against hope would not be repeated. I, as we all do from the FB posts I see, fear the worst to come and the horrors that would be (re-)visited when Trump and Brexit come to maturity. Let's hope this never comes to pass.

On a brighter note, California legalised the recreational use of cannabis. Woo hoo! Happy days.

Lots of love from the still sunny California xoxo

PS: For some comedy relief, I have added pictures of a turtle crossing sign and turtle biscuits.

On the Facebook Page - I am a Triangle

I was recommended to the Facebook page, I am a Triangle, by a long time friend, whom I met in post natal class some 8 years ago, almost to the day. She lived round the corner from me in London but what bonded us together was that she used to live in Malaysia, and I was from Singapore. We were expats (of one kind or another) living in a suburban neighbourhood in South West London, and there was much to talk about.

Since then, she has moved a few times during my (only) stint in London and when she heard that I had moved across the Atlantic, she recommended this group on FB (along with a friend from hers that I am meeting up with next week!) She laughingly said that she is addicted to moving and can't keep still for more than a few years in one place.

I'd agree with her about that addiction.

I am a Triangle is a FB page for people who move around a lot for work (and their "trailing spouses"). Like most FB groups, it's a place to share about your new experiences, vent about what isn't working for you, ask questions about a whole host of things related to moving and somewhere where you can comment and critique without fear of recrimination. Until now (and after speaking to this lovely friend of mine), I never really understood the restlessness that stood in my way of making a home in London. Was it me ... or them?

Ten days into California, and you could say it was going swimmingly. I'm really enjoying discovering the new things. I remember longing to leave Singapore when I was 12, waiting for that moment to be free of the monotony, and London my creative escape which I loved down to its seedy Soho core. And that same sort of tingling excitement grips me. I have always been happy with my own company (dangerous for not making any friends!) and so the initial blush of a shiny new place isn't tainted by the lack of socialisation. I am drinking it all in and it's not just the sunshine that is giving me that sun-kissed glow.

I'd say that I am addicted to moving too. And I am a Triangle has helped informed me about the questions that I have around my "unsettledness" in London, over the years. I don't do routine very well (which I am learning to do), and I love new shiny experiences. Not things (I don't like shopping that much!), but new shiny experiences.

But this move has reminded me of one thing - that I'd forgotten that America was on my radar of things to do. Those forgotten dreams? They tend to come back and bite you. I'd forgotten that when I was applying for university, I had planned to come to America to do a degree in journalism (albeit East Coast!). I'd forgotten that I had made plans to write for a magazine (not a newspaper) about social observations (a weekly column I might add!) and then naturally segway into write books for a living. I'd forgotten that I took the TOEFL and the SATS and got into Boston U. I'd forgotten that I gave it all up to conform to my parents' ideal of a perfect dream.

Silly, you might say? To have given it all up for a parents' dream. Where was the rebelliousness? And courage? Ah, but in a culture of obedience and filial piety, when that is all you know, fighting back is hard, especially when they withhold the fees! Not matter, law has stood me in good stead. And I don't cry for what could have been.

Except that I had forgotten. All of that for a moment. And in a twinkle of an eye, it returns. Like a memory slowly trickling back, to who I was, and how I wanted it to be.

What I do now I guess is up to me. I'm back to where I wanted to be, twenty years ago, ironically. London was a perfect, wonderful distraction. I made great memories and great friends in an ever changing beautiful, seedy, contradictory city. In some ways, it remains home. I could never give it up, with its museums and galleries, the tube (I love the tube!), iconic buildings and theatre. But now, I am back on track in a way.

What do I do with it now?

Lots of love, from California xoxo

Let's talk about the weather ...

So, on occasion, it rains in the Bay Area. Mostly when H (or any other Brit) visits.

Unusually it was cooler than 20 degrees today AND a slight breeze was blowing. Pandemonium ensues.

The real estate agent we saw was in a tizz. "It's cold today!" she exclaimed (It was 19 degrees.) "AND blustery too!" (ALL the leaves were still on trees, AND they were still looking somewhat green ...). We tittered with polite laughter as H and I exchanged knowing looks. She apologised profusely for the few leaves in the garden that had ruined the otherwise immaculate lawn. I positively swooned with their definition of a storm.

And the rain. Oh what can I say about the rain? Forecast - showery storms in Palo Alto.

And to make matters worse, the sun came out! For the whole afternoon!

The drops of rain didn't even touch the ground before it evaporated. There were meant to be storms. It wasn't even close to a sprinkle, that's how pathetic it was.


"A storm is coming!" said the lady at the Hoover Tower Observation Platform at Stanford University (which is beautiful by the way, worth a visit). "Not sure what her definition of a storm is," muttered H with mock irony ("Is there any other kind?" I thought  ....).  While I imagined wild gales sweeping man, dog and child away in a tornado-like swirl, I fear it will only be stronger sprinkles of rain followed by the sun coming out to make its obligatory appearance in the afternoon. So not the storms we were thinking of ...

But as we know, talking about the weather to an Englishman hasn't got anything to do with the weather. Rather, codes and nuances for how your life is playing out. If that's the case, that obligatory ray of sunshine that makes its appearance every afternoon despite the rain MUST be code for "everything going swimmingly". I can't help but smile. If that's the case, I'll take a little sprinkle with obligatory sunshine in the afternoons instead of a little sunshine and a large dose of rain, heck forget the sunshine, just rain in that case. Stormy ones. I'll take the Bay Area storms any day.

Bring it on.

Lots of Love from (Sunny with occasional sprinkles) California xoxo

What is a home?

Change is never easy. D is pretty good at playing it cool, and never letting on that things bother him. 

But it transpired that his concept of "home" has been destroyed by our move away from Hardy Road. The act of moving out ALL our belongings and renting it out to someone else has nullified our home for him. He thinks we are on the hunt for a new home (which I guess we are). That we are "homeless" as it were. 

It's a difficult concept to explain what "home" is to an 8 year old. But then again, maybe he has got it right. It's that simple. 

Move out from house + Move into temporary accommodation = no more home/homeless.

I suppose my idea of home is different, simply because we lived in what I perceive as "temporary accommodation" till I was at university(ironic no?). From 0-9 years, I was living with my paternal grandma. Then from age 9-15 years we lived with my maternal grandma. From age 16-18 years we lived in our "forever home" but soon after I left for university and lived in London in a flat for 6 years. A place where I couldn't stay on for more than the duration of my studies. But that felt more like home than anywhere else that I had lived. (Maybe that is why I have always thought of London as my home ...) Nowhere else did. I was always on the move in that sense. Always something else to look forward to because where I was at at that time was never the permanent solution. 

So "home" to me became about the people, the experiences, the places I was at rather than the physical. I still don't collect things, I don't buy things to make a home (which in some ways I do feel sad about), I don't decorate (or decorate sparsely). I suppose I don't believe that I will be in my forever home. I am a nomad hear me roar?

Which is why leaving Hardy Road wasn't hard for me. Leaving London was. The Tate Modern, V&A, South Bank, skyline of London, South Kensington, Kensington Gardens, Bayswater, Hyde Park, Piccadilly Circus. The people that I have met over the years. Friends that I have come to know well from all walks of life. People I hold dear. They were what I thought about before I left. I had so many good memories of London at those places with good friends.

Which is maybe why leaving Hardy Road was hard for D and H. For them, it is more about the physical home. The physical place that they held memories at. The houses I lived in were pretty painful - crammed full of people, no privacy, yes full of love, but no space! D& H have had pretty decent houses to be brought up in. Their own space to be their own person. 

I now realised why for years after moving back to Singapore after uni, I craved coming back to London, why I saw it as home more than Singapore. Why, only now, I feel the need to set up "home". An English friend who recently moved to Sweden mentioned this in our recent visit. She crossed over to Asia from the UK for 12 years as an expat and landed in Sweden recently. At the same time, I moved from Asia to the UK and recently landed in California. We compared notes and she said that only upon landing in Sweden had she finally decided that it was time to create her home. Not "live out of a suitcase" as it were. 

I agree. Who knows if California is forever, but I think it might be time to create my "forever home" (replete with doggies!) wherever I am. With sun of course. 

Definitely with sun. 

Lots of love from California xoxo

Welcome to my first post!

Hello all!

And how are you today? 

I'm fine. Day 2 of California and it's off to a good start. We have our new Sim cards, looked around areas to live in and gone for a swim. Slightly off kilter with jetlag but doing well. What's there not to like? 

I must apologise as so far but all I feel is a sense of relief. I must confess that the last few years in London have been difficult. And even though California cannot (must not) be a panacea to my problems that I faced in London (all through my own creation I might add!), I feel a great relief at having left. I miss the people dearly, but I do not miss the weather, nor the travel.  Nor the British passive aggressive unspoken rules to the Nth degree (more on that later!). London will be home in many ways, but in others, it remains foreign and aloof. A city that you have to love and/or hate. 

California living is, so far, pretty easy (she says on day 2).  The Americans are open and warm. You don't have to pretend to like someone when you don't (and I've already not pretended to like anyone today!). I haven't driven yet. That could be why. Tomorrow, H asks me, would you like to drive? Hmmmm. Not my strongest suit but hey, what the heck? I won't get anywhere if I don't drive. So I shrug nonchalantly and say "Yeah, why not?" Good luck Californian drivers.

Who knows what's going to happen next but the sun is shining and there are cowboys and indians in electrical stores (I know! How crazy is that? Refer to pics here guys!) so let's just go with the flow. It's all too crazy and nutty to process at the moment and I'm going to just run with it. I cannot complain, life is good. We have an outdoor heated pool. In winter. It's 23 degrees Celcius outdoors. I feel the daggers from the Londoners now. 

All that remains now is to leave you with pictures of the wackiest store I have been to so far. Yes folks, it is an electrical store selling electrical goods. And yes, that is a Wild West theme. 

Enjoy!

Lots of love from California!