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.

Basic Rules of Treadmilling

When I approached the treadmill at the gym tonight I was struck by a very tall, lanky guy on a treadmill one down from mine. Living in Thailand will do that to you... Tall people seem odd and out of place and it takes you a minute to figure out why, exactly, you can't draw your eyes away. I digress... He was running hard, even for someone with such diabolically long legs, and I was impressed. Confession: I always weigh up the competition as I near the treadmill section... Tell me I'm not alone!

A little bit after I'd started my run, he leaned on the sidebars, picked himself up off the treadmill band and put his feet on the treadplate either side of the moving band. He did some strange stretching exercises while the treadmill continued to run at its supersonic pace. Next thing, he picked himself back up and while holding himself above the moving treadmill band, knees bent and head lowered so that his chin was almost touching his knees, started to run in midair. When he felt he'd reached the correct pace, he lowered himself back onto the treadmill and continued with his run as though this was all perfectly normal. I coughed and spluttered so much I had to stop my treadmill while I caught my breath because I was laughing so hard! He just looked so hilarious! This long, lanky man, holding himself in midair while his legs made strange circular motions. I can't get the picture out of my head!

This led me to start thinking that there should be rules for running on treadmills in gym, if only to protect fellow runners from injury sustained due to manic laughter.
Here's my list, it may grow as I spend more and more time running on the road to nowhere:

1. Always wear proper attire on a treadmill. By proper attire I mean suitable exercise wear. How can it possibly be comfortable running in jeans? Just thinking of the chafing makes me cringe.

2. Running shoes are of supreme importance. Never run in sandals, high heels and the like. Not only will it have severely adverse effects on your ankles, it also makes you look really stupid.

3. Always wipe the treadmill down when you're done. There's nothing worse than climbing onto a treadmill and having to maneuver around someone elses sweat puddles.

4. Never make or receive phonecalls while on the treadmill, it's incredibly annoying for those around you. I mean, for pity sake! Who brings a mobile phone onto a treadmill anyway?! I'm fairly sure whatever it is can wait until you retreat into the change rooms after your run.

5. Like urinals, the skip one rule applies. Always skip a treadmill between runners until there are no more treadmills left and you have no other option but to take one between two people.

6. Never try start up a conversation with the person on the treadmill next to you. Particularly if they happen to be listening to an iPod. We all just want to be left alone to imagine we're running along beaches, mountain trails, park paths etc. As my very kind flatmate has just pointed out, if you're talking, you're not running fast enough.

That's it for now. I've no doubt that there will be more twilight zone moments in California Wow that will strike me as worthy of a Treadmill Rule.

Bangkok: Bizarre Human Social Experiment

Today a friend of mine mentioned something interesting. He said that attractive people develop fewer social skills while growing up because, as children, there is less need for them to fight for what they want. People are more inclined to give in to an attractive child than an unattractive one, or a mildly attractive one. Scrounging around in the recesses of my brain where the spiderwebs live, I do recall learning something to this effect in a uni psychology class. This led me to wonder whether said skills learned as a child could be unlearned in adulthood if one were suddenly thrust into a world where you become the cute kid in class...

Men who are considered mildly attractive (I might kiss him if he were the last person in a club on a Saturday night and I'd been hitting the vodka shots) and even those considered downright vile (I wouldn't touch him with a 2 meter pole after a bottle of tequila in the dead of night during a power failure) all move up a notch on the scale of social standing the minute they land in Bangkok.

Bagging a farang man is considered top prize for many Thai girls. Many of them have grown up in tough circumstances and have learned that a farang man who can provide money and stability is the way out. They travel from Isaan and the rural areas of Thailand to Bangkok with this as their goal.

Cue the farang man.

But the competition is hot. Girls in this city are beautiful and more than ready to put on the charm for a farang man. So they ooh and aah over these men who, for the most part, haven't enjoyed the same attentions in their home countries. Men are surprised that getting a girl can be so easy. More than one of my male friends here have remarked how difficult the dating game is at home while hooking up with a Thai girl eliminates the need for work in the initial stages of the relationship.
With the increased attention that's thrown at them, comes the enlarged ego and inevitably, a certain sense of entitlement and the attitude that any woman who is the recipient of their attention should consider herself very lucky indeed.

So I ask you... Can social skills learned as a child be unlearned in adulthood if one were suddenly thrust into a world where you become the cute kid in class... Or the eligible man in the room?...

My most recent experience with this was at 5am on a Sunday morning in a taxi on the way home from a night out...
A guy I'd recently met and who seemed sweet enough said something along the lines of he and I not being able to hook up because we know too many of the same people. Really?... Really?...

Allow me to elaborate. I'd been out with friends and after hours of parting we'd decided to hit Ko San Road for The Falafel. (I capitalise intentionally. If you've ever had a Ko San Road Falafel between the hours of 11pm and 3am, you will understand why). He was with friends on Ko San and so we met up and he joined my friends and I at Burger King because, much to our horror, The Falafel Lady was closed. So after chomping down Whopper meals we all shared a taxi home. As he and I live closest together and furthest from Ko San, we were the last two in the car. I think his blow to my dreams of marrying him and having his babies was slurred out somewhere between his putting his hand on my leg and trying to look meaningfully into my eyes despite the obvious trouble he was having stringing sentences together.

Let me make this clear: At no point was I even vaguely interested in him as more than someone who seemed sweet. Being a traveler in a foreign country, I'm always open to the possibility of meeting new people and making new friends. In retrospect it does seem fitting that being a farang man in Bangkok he would think that I was chomping at the bit to get him into bed. Because I am a woman, after all, and who could resist that irresistible charm. Oh come on! Really?!...

At home, I would have considered this insulting and outrageously audacious but here, I'm coming to expect this kind of behaviour.
Another note in the Bizarre Human Social Experiment we like to call Bangkok.

Introducing Me

So after what feels like years of contemplation on this whole "blogging" thing, I've decided to join the millions of people who sit in darkened rooms and spew words into cyberspace with the vague hope that someone will (or will not, depending on the subject matter I suppose) read it. I'm no different except for the fact that the room I'm currently sitting in is lit by uber fluorescent lighting.

For this blog to mean anything, you'll need to know a bit about me. I'm dubious to put down too much so will try to keep my overshare habit under control.
I'm a 29 year old woman who, quite recently, deserted her comfortable life at home for a life of adventure, new experiences and cultural diversity in Thailand. I now find myself living and working in Bangkok. "City of Angels" apparently but I've yet to gain an understanding of the nickname. I'm here indefinitely, although I can't see myself sticking around for years and years as some do when they arrive and get stuck in Bangkok.


With Monsoon season upon us I've no doubt that the next few months will be interesting... At the very least...