Are you sure you want to remove Bla Bla as your friend?

I have recently defriended, been defriended by and know someone who has defriended someone on Facebook... What is our morbid fascination with this social networking act of rejection?

Is this just another way social networking has begun to imitate, and essentially, replace real life? We’re no longer required to confront the offender or explain our motives, a simple click on the "Remove Friend" button will suffice. Isn't it wonderful that certain friendships can so easily be removed and eliminated?

If you defriend someone, do you also stop seeing them? Stop taking their calls? Stop socialising with them? Or do these things not count on the friendship totem pole?... What does defriending on Facebook actually mean and what impact does it have on the friendship in the real world?

I know people who have defriended and refriended so many times I find it inconceivable to take them seriously anymore. These people exist in a relationship in which “defriending” can be translated as “yeah, I’m not all that happy with you” and refriending means “oh ok, we’ve explained away that tiff.” I struggle to understand a friendship that can be so easily forgotten and then remembered. I find myelf wondering whether the nature of modern communication is mutating the concept of “friendship” into something far more casual, more transient, than it has been in the past.

We’re friends with people on Facebook we don’t really give a damn about. We share more with strangers over Skype conversations that we would ever dream of sharing with people who actually feature in our lives. We confess feelings on Twitter that are so deep we shudder at the thought of admitting them to our closest friends.

I don’t, for one minute, believe that solid relationships can’t originate and develop in this way. I have become aware, however, that relationships built with the internet mimicing a solid foundation can appear sturdier than they are and often the trust that is such a vital ingredient in a friendship, is just a façade.

So the moral of this weeks story kids: Relationships that are easily built, are easily eliminated.

Happy new year!

Usually, I’m a New Years Resolutions kinda gal. As I’ve recited verbatim in countless job interviews: “I’m goal oriented. Give me a number and I’ll hit it.” I actually enjoy the tedious tradition of reviewing last years resolutions and performing a mental balance sheet of my life according to accomplishments and failures. I like to set ambitious but realistic resolutions and then go about bettering myself by working through them. At the end of the year, I like to look back and see that my resolutions have moved me closer to who I want to be in my life.

I’m ashamed to say that this year I’m left resolution-less. The best I’ve been able to come up with so far is: I’ll lose 6kgs and start running again. Really?! So much for the overall betterment of character. There are still so many things about myself that I’d like to work on but much like an old house it seems that as soon as I get the flooring into a semi-decent state, the electrical works go to shit and then the mould in the kitchen turns that dangerous black colour and so on.

As I near the end of my time in Thailand I’m left in a haze of something that feels a bit like jetlag. I feel as though the train has suddenly pulled off and I’m struggling with vertigo I can’t seem to shake. I’m looking forward to the new challenges 2011 will undoubtedly bring but my life is so up in the air at the minute, how can I possibly set resolutions I hope to achieve? I’ve no idea what the year that marks my 3^rd decade holds for me! For my poor Cancerian soul, this is a challenge of epic proportions. My fate, my destiny, my path lies entirely in the hands of others. Oh the struggle, oh the drama!

Hmm… Perhaps this leads me to the perfect resolution: Learn to be comfortable living in the moment and not being able to map out a flow chart detailing every possible, probable and plausible outcome that may stem from the current situation. Learn to be ok with not knowing. Eeek! I can’t think of anything more terrifying! This is challenging the very core of my character. Resolution material? Absolutely! Ambitious? Certainly. Realistic? I’ll have to get back to you.

Bulimia: A viable alternative

I am seriously considering turning to bulimia.

I can't help but wonder whether, as in ancient Rome, trips to the vomitorium post feast is the answer to my current dilemna. My problem stems from my frenetic love of food and results in my ongoing expansion in all directions except up.

I love food. Passionately and obsessively. I am not one of those girls who say they love food and then order the edamame beans and miso soup. I'm one of those girls who look at a menu and want everything on it. Genuinely. I wake up on a Sunday morning and the first thing that crosses my mind is Burger King. I don't stop eating because I'm full, I stop eating because the level of consumption is becoming embarrassing and people around me are beginning to look horrified. I experience a profound, deep sense of contentment right at the start of a meal, when I'm surrounded by food and the end is not yet in sight. If there's a glass of wine in my hand at this point I have been known, fairly often, to say aloud “I'm so happy right now.” And I mean it. This is my moment of absolute bliss.

Bangkok has declared war on my olfactory system. Each street is a battlefield where my palette exists in a perpetual state of torment and my will is part of an ongoing defensive mission. My nose is constantly assaulted by pungent whiffs of sizzling chilli and ginger, the arousing aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the sweet decadent scent of frying donuts... 7/11s can be found covertly lurking on every corner. Sneaky seducers that they are, they entice me in with toasted sandwiches that send my salivary glands into overdrive and then seal the deal with chocolates, chips, baked goods, nuts, cookies, the list is endless, really. Large chunks of my days are spent formulating and polishing strategies to avoid the all you can eat buffets which exist in alarming abundance in this city.

My will is losing this battle. If I'm honest, it's turning into a bit of a bloodbath.

There is a possibility that my journey will mimic that of Liz Gilbert in “Eat, Pray, Love.” After my stint in Thailand, I will go somewhere and succeed in losing all these gained kilograms in a frightfully easy way and will then go on to virtually trip over the love of my life... But chances are slim, let's face the facts here. Weight in real life is harder to shake and finding true love is seldom that convenient.

It seems the “pros” side of this tabulation is heavily weighted in favour of the vomitorium.

Moment on a bridge

On a recent evening, late enough for the night to be illuminated by lights but early enough for traffic to be a continuous flow, I found myself standing on a bridge over Thanon Phloen Chit looking down. I was reminded of one of my favourite quotations, something I found during an endless perusal of Winnie the Pooh: “Sometimes if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.”

In a moment so burdened with craziness in a city that seems never to stop to breathe I was filled with an overwhelming sense of serenity. Things seem smaller when you're on a bridge. Each person is a microcosm attempting existence within this chaos. When magnified and examined up close, each specimen is striving, needing, wanting, longing. But when watched from a bridge, it appears as a mere attempt at existence. Resembling worker bees, each person emanates a contentedness that's only possible when one focuses entirely on the task at hand.

Of course this contentment is lost and overridden when analysed, which is my tendency. I am, if truth be told, insufferably inclined to over-analysis... I blame having spent four years studying The Human Condition, a title that I feel aptly describes the conflicting and often contradicting state of the human psyche and the environment in which it attempts to function. This moment on the bridge, however, silenced my mind (a rare occurrence) and somehow merged the bedlam of my own life with that of everyone buzzing beneath me. I felt lighter, less burdened and in this moment, I found immense relief.

Where does personality come from anyway?

The environment in which you grow up undoubtedly affects your character and contributes toward the person you ultimately become. I doubt anyone would dare dispute this, it's been proven and re-proven countless times in various research papers seeking to further slog the good old Nature vs Nurture debate.

Traveling is a tremendous opportunity for self reflection and growth. I find myself wondering not how much my home environment has affected who I've become and am still becoming but rather, which aspects of my personality are most affected.

Being a member of a family of Lebanese descent, the men in our household are somewhat revered. I remember the first time I had lunch with an ex-boyfriend's family and was told to help myself to food... Before dishing up for him!... Gasp! (Appropriately horrified expression) I felt obscenely uncomfortable and, well, cheeky if truth be told.

In my family, when lunch is served the women (and girls) dish up for the men (and boys) and once they've started eating, we dish up for ourselves. While writing this I realise how archaic and chauvinistic this feeding ritual sounds but for us, it's a way of expressing respect and love for the men of our family. They, in turn, take care of us in ways that reciprocate these feelings. Essentially, I believe that men and women have different roles to play in a relationship but both roles express similar things like love, care, respect etc... And as if you couldn't have guessed this by now, I'm a bit of a traditionalist. I'd be quite happy barefoot and pregnant in a kitchen thank you very much. Yes yes I know. Feminists all over the world want to track me down and parade me around a town square on a stake. Bite me.

When the boys in my family do things they should not, we shake our heads, make tutting noises and give their arms an affectionate squeeze. It couldn't be helped, I'm sure. They're definitely not, at least entirely, to blame. When the girls do these same things, we're appalled, shocked and astounded that they could be so stupid! “She should have known better! I mean really! What was she thinking?” I find myself carrying this inclination out of the family environment and into the world and fear that Bangkok may be the very worst place on the planet for this particluar personality trait.

I was recently privy to a situation involving two friends of mine, a girl and a boy, that I'd much rather have remained oblivious to. Alas, I can't always play like an ostrich no matter how hard I try. My initial reaction was to be angry at her, blame her for the entire ordeal and to commiserate with him. I found myself making excuses for him and trying far harder to empathise with him and his position than with her. This isn't a once-off experience for me. It seems to be my automatic response to these types of situations.

On reflection, this has been a bit of a theme in my life lately. Like a film study module on “Strictly Ballroom”, it's becoming somewhat repetitive... I seem to make excuses for bad choices made by boys and be harsh about the same choices made by girls. I seem to feel that different expectations exist for us... A different set of standards entirely... One not designed by some omnipresent “them” but composed and applied, to a large extent, by myself. And of course my family. When in doubt, blame can always be laid at the foot of childhood experiences.

If anything, society reinforces this mindset and it's even further exacerbated in Bangkok where the rules are different. Like Band Camp it seems that what happens in Bangkok, stays in Bangkok. It appears to me that Bangkok exists as some parallel universe to the real one where the consequences don't count and the ramifications are negligible.

The modern woman in me is shaking her head making tutting nosies while the traditionalist is nodding approvingly and wiping her hands on her apron. Does this aspect of my personality need changing?... Like I said, barefoot and preggers suits me just fine.

Running in a monsoon

Last night I met a friend at Emporium for dinner. The nightly monsoon timed itself perfectly, as usual. It started to absolutely piss down the moment I set foot outside the house. Thinking I would catch a taxi at the gate of our complex I rolled up my jeans, opened my Baby Pooh umbrella and made a run for it.
Thank you, Murphy, there was no taxi in sight. Not one to give up easily, I ran a little further thinking a taxi couldn't possibly be far away. By the time I was halfway down the soi, still no taxis I might add, I was utterly drenched!
Out of nowhere, the most intense gust of wind came hurtling down the soi and actually propelled me forward a few meters.
There was me, jeans sticking to me they're so wet, rolled up to my knees, sneakers making squelching noises from the vast amounts of water inside them, squinting against the downpour and bolting down the soi clutching manically onto an inside-out Baby Pooh umbrella.
...Thinking back, I must have been quite a sight. I am the neighbourhood entertainment.

Welcome Monsoon Season. I intend to invest in a pair of wellies and am seriously considering a neon orange rain suit.

Heaven in Bangkok

This weekend brought with it Asahna Bucha Day and Wan Khao Phunsa which, translated, means a 4-day weekend. I've been on a bit of an emotional rollercoaster lately and decided that a long weekend is the perfect excuse for some self-spoiling.

I love Sukhumvit Soi 11. It's home to many of my favourite pre-drinks and party places in Bangkok: Cheap Charlies, Nest, Aussie Bar, Old German Beer House, Vicenza, Bed Supperclub... There's always something going on on Soi 11. Jump off the BTS at Nana, avoid the suspicious stares and mumblings, walk down the soi a short way and you're bound to bump into someone you know doing something awesome. My friends and I have spent many nights pub crawling up and down Soi 11 and still, I just can't get enough of it. Now I've a new favourite to add to my list of reasons to love Soi 11: Hapa Spa.

Being coated entirely in chocolate is, I have learned, an unworldly experience. I booked myself in for the "Unwind Delight Package", one of many packages available. If packages aren't your thing, there are also individual treatments to choose from. My chosen indulgence had me enjoying the sinful delights of an organic body scrub, chocolate body wrap, head massage and aromatherapy body massage. I walked out 3 hours later with a goofy smile on my face, feeling ready to climb off the rollercoaster and resume life in this newfound space of inner peace and serenity.

Upon arrival, you are shown to your own dimly lit, scented room with attached shower. There's no moving between rooms for different treatments, something I found to make a remarkable difference to the entire experience. Tranquil music plays in the background while you make yourself comfortable and prepare for your pampering session. As I had different treatments, I showered between treatments and while I did, therapists prepared the room for the next treatment. The whole encounter was managed with incredible professionalism and efficiency while being a luxuriously relaxing experience for me.

I will definitely me back... Several times. I highly recommend a trip to Hapa Spa to anyone in Bangkok, we all need a bit of an escape from this crazy city from time to time and I cannot think of a better place for a bit of Bangkok deliverance.