Speed Dating, Frozen Embryos And A New Epiphany

Sis and her colleague had just decided not to attend a speed dating event.

"I'm too shy and my colleague doesn't want to put her handphone number on the form," she explained.

"I think it's very stressful. You are given a limited time to introduce yourself and chat briefly and then you have to swap partners." I had seen it being done in one episode of Sex And The City.

"Really? Sounds robotic, like conveyor belt sushi, except you are served men instead," she laughed.

I wondered if relationships that started on such an unnatural note could really work. After all, the era when people stay committed to arranged marriages was long gone. I felt it was better to meet men through normal day-to-day interactions and told sis so.

"Women worry because their biological clock only gives them that much time. If they are too passive, by the time they meet someone, they may have to commit immediately, having no time for dating," sis explained patiently, knowing fully well how clueless gay men can be about women's issues. "The only way is to have your eggs frozen, then you can take as long as you want to find that right guy."

"Or adopt."

"But you may want your kids to have your own genetic makeup."

We were silent for a while, being both absorbed in our own thoughts.

"I have had a new epiphany since I started teaching," I said breaking the silence. "You can't choose how your child turns out to be. I have some students I really wish I were their parent," I continued, thinking of the boy. "Then, there are the other students," I sighed.

Sis chuckled, agreeingly. "Perhaps we can have cocktail children in the future, like in Gattaca."

The Boy

The torrential rain flooded the pedestrian walkway threatening to seep into my shoes. I stepped carefully over the grating trying to avoid the streams of rain water as they drained off the path. In front, a boy alighted from his mother's vehicle and rushed into the shelter of the covered walkway, the school bag on his shoulders bobbing up and down. I quickened my steps and finally caught up with him as he entered the school gate.

Turning around, the boy acknowledged me by flashing me a bright smile.

"No PE today I guess," I said, trying to make conversation.

"Definitely," the boy answered, obviously disappointed.

"Have you shown your parents your exam papers yet?" I asked, knowing he did quite badly for a few papers.

"Only those I did well in," he replied.

"What about the other papers?"

"Monday. If I show them today, they will ground me this weekend," he explained sheepishly.

The Haze And Our Conspiracy Theory

We woke up to another hazy morning. From our window, a thick blanket lay over the shophouses and the commercial buildings, smothering the usual fresh morning air with a choking stench.

"The PSI must be over a hundred again," you said, standing by the window.

I flicked the TV remote on and read the news ticker at the bottom of the screen, "CNA says PSI reading is only 78."

"This doesn't look like 78 to me," you said. "Maybe they have to report a lower reading in case we panic."

"It does look as bad as last week," I observed, coming closer to the window to stand beside you for a while.

Our conspiracy theory disappeared into the haze almost as soon as it was conceived.

"What do you want for breakfast?" came your habitual query.

"I don't know. We decide at the hawker centre?" came my habitual answer.

The Water Man

We were crossing the road when a man cycled past carrying numerous empty plastic containers on his bike.

"I see him frequently. I think he goes out every night to collect water to bring home," you remarked.

Sure enough, I bumped into the water man last night as I was going down the stairs to meet you for dinner. There on the fifth floor corridor, his bike was loaded with the plastic containers that were now filled up with water. He seemed to have just taken a bath for his hair was limp with moisture and his shorts were wet. He grasped two of the containers by the handle and wobbled back to his unit leaving behind a trail of wet footprints.

"I think he has had his water supply cut off by PUB," you deduced.

"The outside of his unit is quite messy," I observed. "Piles of old newspaper, bamboo poles of laundry, a few old, rusty bicycles..."

"Maybe he is a karang guni man?" you suggested.

Air-Conditioning The Haze

The haze is back. This time much worse than previous years and we can actually see a significant loss of visiblity.

"I don't smell the usual burning stench of the haze," you said.

"It's there. We can't smell it now because of the air conditioning in your car." After some thought, "Do you set your air conditioning to renew the air from the outside?"

"No, the air is recycled within the vehicle," you replied.

Later at your place, we forsook the 42" plasma in the hall for the 29" Trinitron in the bedroom because only the bedrooms have air conditioning. After a quick shower, I was munching grapes on the bed. You were looking out of the window.

"It's really bad. It smells awful and Suntec City is no longer visible."

"What will happen when the PSI level finally reaches very unhealthy levels?"

"Maybe we will all have to wear masks."