"I'm in the prime of my youth and I'll only be young once."

I have returned from the Right Coast and have lots of stories from the Big Apple, but first, this one:

I made a great new friend over the weekend. Our relationship is by default, since I know her parents. It's like joining a new softball team and having to be friends with everyone, except that I've made some of my best friends playing ball, so our friendship was off to a wonderful and auspicious start.

My new friend is named Sid.

Ever since I've known her momma, Roxanne, she's always been one of those super-achievers, a roommate you could bring to a party instead of a 12-pack and still be a hit with everyone. She's been a vice president on the Northwestern student board, single-handedly put together a national conference of Singaporean students studying in the US, orchestrated a Tori Amos concert and Kurt Vonnegut and Gloria Steinem speeches on campus. But she might have now outdone herself -- she's Sid's momma!

Her pops Robbie might have other plans, but when it comes to the National League Central Division, this kid is growing up to be a Cubs fan.

Cops and Robbers

Some of my happiest memories growing up are of strangers.

If I got my homework done on time, which I usually used to be able to accomplish, I'd go to the playground by our flat in Bedok Reservoir Road. It was one of those playgrounds built in a huge sand pit, and in addition to see-saws and swings, there was also a concrete structure with a chain-and-planks bridge which swayed from side to side as you ran across. There was also a pole, which burned my palms and my legs as I slid down it. Not being very fast nor dextrous, I was usually cautious when it came to performing stunts on the playground contraptions, but I still participated in pick-up games with gusto.

A favourite game was cops and robbers, or police and thieves, or tag. There was a "house," which retreating into as a thief gave you immunity from the cops (we usually picked this alcove at the bottom of the structure as it). There was also a police station where the tagged thieves were brought to, where they awaited a slap of the hand from a fellow thief to be freed. The game ended when all the thieves were caught -- that typically never happened. More normally, the game ended when Yeye strolled in and told me -- first, patiently; subsequently, scolding -- to go home for dinner. For me, anyway.

This week on May's tag, she received one of those surveys and I saw that I was tagged to keep it going. So, here it goes:

1) Are your parents married or divorced? Married.

2) Are you a vegetarian? god, no.

3) Do you believe in Heaven? Yes -- you get there after reaching nirvana.

4) Have you ever come close to dying? Yes -- I nearly drowned at Manly Beach in Sydney, Australia, when I was 18. I thought I was never going to see my family again, and prayed that they knew they were the last thoughts in my mind before I died.

5) What jewelery do you wear 24/7? I don't.

6) Favourite time of day? The morning, when the day is new and anything fantastic can happen.
7) Do you eat the stems of broccoli? Yes.

8) Do you wear makeup? Yes. Although much less frequent now that I don't have to for work.

9) Ever have plastic surgery? No.

10) Do you color your hair? Yes.

11) What do you wear to bed? Typically a T-shirt and pyjama pants (in the winter) or boxer shorts (in the summer).

12) Have you ever done anything illegal? Nothing worth recounting.

13) Can you roll your tongue? Yes.

14) Do you tweeze your eyebrows? The beauty is, mine don't need that treatment.

15) What kind of sneakers? adidas for sports, retro adidas for everyday wear.

16) Do you believe in Abortions? How does one believe in abortions? I think it's fine if it's the right decision.

17) Hair colour? Currently black, with hints of the last light brown job it got earlier this year.

18) Future child's name? I like Abra and Cal, from one of my favourite books, "East of Eden." But would it be incestuous to name a daughter and son after two lovers?

19) Do you snore? I think so, but not often and not excessively.

20) If you could go anywhere in the world where would it be? Well, obviously there are many places, but topmost on my list are Cuba, Egypt, Brasil, and Greece. For a country I've been to before, China -- lots more to explore there.

21) Do you sleep with stuffed animals? jesus, no.

22) Buy my family a worldwide holiday, pay for my brother's college education, donate to my favourite causes, invest.

23) Gold or silver? Platinum.

24) Hamburger or hot dog? Hot dog, fo shizzle.

25) If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be? Oh my god, are you fucking kidding me? Steak.

26) City, beach or country? Beach.

27) What was the last thing you touched? Besides my keyboard, my Blackberry.

28) Where did you eat last? Dark chocolate M&Ms. SO GOOD. I can't wait until they make it
with peanuts.

29) When's the last time you cried? When I said goodbye to my family at Barajas Airport in Madrid.

30) Do you read blogs? Yes, selectively.

31) Would you ever go out dressed like the opposite sex? No, why would I?

32) Ever been involved with the police? Not unless I'm getting a ticket or getting into an accident.

33) What's your favorite shampoo conditioner and soap? I only use shampoo, and it's a green tea one by Follow Me. I love Zest for soap.

34) Do you talk in your sleep? Yes. Totally.

35) Ocean or pool? Ocean, although I have a phobia of it since the almost-drowning incident.

(Where are 36 and 37?)

38) Window seat or aisle? Window, always, if I can help it.

39) Ever met anyone famous? Brian Wilson, Drew Barrymore, Wyclef Jean, and Jeremy Piven.

40) Do you feel that you've had a truly successful life? Yes, but there's always more that can be done.

41) Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it? Twirl.

42) Ricki Lake or Oprah Winfrey? I hate talk shows.

43) Basketball or Football? Baseball and tennis.

44) How long do your showers last? I can shower in five minutes, but I can take longer if I'm enjoying it.

45) Automatic or do you drive a stick? Automatic, and while I enjoy stick, it's just tiring to drive with one all the time.

46) Cake or ice cream? Ice cream. Jeez.

47) Are you self-conscious? Yes, but comfortably so.

48) Have you ever drank so much you threw up? Yes, but it's been a while, thank god.

49) Have you ever given money to a begger? Yes.

50) Have you ever been in love? Not by my definition.

51) Where do you wish you were? Playing tennis somewhere.

52) Are you wearing socks? No.

53) Have you ever ridden in an ambulance? Yes, when I fell from my bike and sliced open my knee. We wailed down Michigan Avenue.

54) Can you tango? No.

55) Last gift you received? Camper shoes that my mum got for me in Sevilla.

56) Last sport you played? Softball. We're done for the year. It sucks.

57) Things you spend a lot of money on? Travel, clothes, CDs, food, shows.

58) Where do you live? Wrigleyville, Chicago.

59) Where were you born? Singapore.

60) Last wedding attended? Sarah and Jesse's wedding in September.

(Where are 61 and 62?)

63) Most hated food(s)? Corn and strawberries.

(Where is 64?)

65) Can you sing? Only in the bathroom and the car.

66) Last person you instant messaged? Dion.

67) Last place you went on holiday? Spain -- Sevilla, Granada, and Madrid.

(Where is 68)

and finally

69) Tag 3 friends:
- Silvur
- Severs
- Andy

Jet Settin'

November 7 -- Airbourne between London and Chicago, over the Irish Sea

I often think about the Chinese and how smart their inventions are. Take, for example, dim sum. In typical Emporer Qin Shi-Wang fashion, he who megolomaniacally commanded the construction of the Great Wall, in order to have it all, the Chinese created small plates cuisine, now so fashionable in Wicker Parks, Lower East Sides and West Hollywoods all over the world. Why not make room to have it all, by having a small taste of everything? It's the same with Spanish tapas. At a small tasca on a little winding street in Madrid built into the caverns under Plaza Mayor, you could have a taste of spain over the course of una jarra de sangria, or dos, or tres. Castile, Bergovia, Andalusia, Basque country, Pyrenees, Iberia -- it's like taking revenge on past Spanish colonialism through an Inquistion of its cuisine.

I once wrote about watching cartons from all over Asia twirling around the international terminal baggage carousel at O'Hare, and a week ago marvelled at the cosmopolitan of London based on an ad-hoc surveyance of the population with British accents at Heathrow. This morning, crammed into Gate 14 of Terminal Three for my (finally) flight back to Chicago, I found myself in the company of fellow passengers on codeshare flights with Oman Airlines and Gulf Air. There were hajis, head scarves, fake designer duds, Punjabi suits, gold chains, baggy jeans, saris, skull caps.

As I made my way to the very last row of the plane (43J, my own fault for dawdling over my full English breakfast buffet -- hard to say no to second servings of sauteed mushrooms and baked beans with rasher bacon and waffles), I tried not to dread the crazy customs process when we touched down eight hours later. After all, nice people finish last, right?

The Rain in Spain

From primary school through junior college, we always loved it when it rained on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays -- days that we had softball training. It actually wasn't always the best case scenario. Instead of the fun stuff, like fielding drills and batting practice, it meant that we had to hit the weights room and indulge in cross-training exercises. As softball players, we always felt lazy compared to our basketball and track and soccer friends, since we never ran long distance for stamina nor crunched for abs. But it was also an opportunity for the truly fun stuff -- sliding practice on mud-slicked diamonds. Coach would only let us practice and perfect a slick bump slide and dramatic headfirst dives on a soggy and soft ground to lower chances for freak injuries. You could have called us the Soggybottom Girls, but our mothers, upon seeing us walk through the door with P.E. shirts turned brown from white, would have rather we got tagged out standing up every time we tried to take an extra base.

Our last three days in Spain would've been perfect for a Paul Simon-inspired slip-sliding session. It began around 4pm as soon as we stepped into the Granada train station for our ride to Madrid. We hauled our original pieces of luggage and newly-acquired boxes of Moroccan lamps and plates and a mirror into the tiny depot, and it came down like the chorus of a "My Fair Lady" ditty. And it didn't go away for the next two-and-a-half days. It subsided and Pygmalionised into various forms of rain, but it made our stay in Madrid a dank, dreary and damp one.

It worked out fine. After days of Andalusian adventure, we were quite content to wander within tourist-friendly confines, shop, eat and drink. We didn't see the Palacio Royal or Teatro Opera or the Capilla Real, but I think we were OK (after all, we already saw the world's largest cathedral in Sevilla). Knowing our next family vacation wouldn't be until next year, we were content to just enjoy each other. And drink more. We huddled under shared umbrellas and Dad put his arm around Dion and me to keep us under shelter, just like he did when we were little. We even ate a roast suckling pig on our last night.

That's what I call a Koh-liday.

Abracadabra

November 3, 2006 - Train-bound between Granada and Madrid

When I was a kid, one of my favourite books was "1,001 Arabian Nights," the compendium of tales from which "Aladdin and the Magic Lamp" and "Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves" came from. It had the picture of an olive-skinned guy on the cover, wearing a fez, moustache and balloon pants. I probably read it 1,001 times.

Of course, no one who was Spanish looked like that in Granada, probably not since the Christians invaded the city and the Spanish Inquisition burned Moors at the stake in Plaza Bib-Ramla. But the city is still magical -- I believe there is a secret under every cobblestone and a genie in every lamp. You needed that magic, particularly if you were a cab driver dashing your Peugeot through narrow, winding streets at 60 km/h on stick shift.

The Alhambra is amazing, more so than the Alcazar in Sevilla. The UNESCO World Heritage Site committee can't be wrong. Strolling through throne rooms and harems, I kept thinking about sultans, scimitars and Scheherazade. I wish they had done a better job of preserving each chamber as they looked when in their prime, just like at Versailles. The only thing that remained was a wash bowl at the entrance of every room, for the cleansing of feet in true Muslim tradition. Allah giveth, and Allah taketh.

I rubbed a few lamps in the touristy shopping district of Alcaeria, a former Moorish quarter that used to be a Muslim silk exchange. No genies appeared, though -- I think it's because they knew one of my three wishes would be for a Cubs World Series championship next year.

We'll Always Have Paris

October 30, 2006 - Train-bound between Paris and Madrid

Jessica Simpson is ubiquitous. So are Starbucks and McDonald's. And "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley. And Osama Bin Laden, if Taliban infomercials are to be believed.

Twenty-seven hours in Paris this past weekend, and even though we spent a week there two years ago, I felt like I wanted to sightsee the city all over again. I wanted to re-clamber up to the top of the Notre Dame and hang with the gargoyles. I wanted to go round and round up the hill of Montmarte. I wanted to cross all nine bridges of the Seine. I wanted to crepe my way across the Latin Quarter.

In Paris, the Eiffel Tower is everywhere. You can see it when the Metro goes above ground, winding in and out of side streets in Saint-Germain, through fruits and flowers at the marche on Rue Montereuil. Like Bogey as Marlowe in a late 1930s-model jalopy, it followed us everywhere we went. It was the backdrop to our Sunday stroll down Champs-Elysees.

I remember looking at pictures or watching TV about cities like Paris when growing up and wondering what it must be like to actually live in such a place, where you truly walk out of your Renaissance-era apartment in the morning and where you really do carry home a steaming-hot baguette fresh from the oven. It's like being in the movies.

So's living down the street from the ballpark when your team wins its first World Series in 99 years. Is it a better Hollywood ending if we made it an even 100? Let's not wait till next next year to find out, please.

Americana in Europa

October 28, 2006 - Heathrow Airport, London

"The Lake House" is likely the kind of movie that's passed down from room to room in a sorority house, or that Trixies stay home from Barleycorn on a Friday night with wine, cheese and crackers to watch. But if you disregard the superfluous appearances of Sandy and Keanu in the picture, you might realise that the true love story in it is that of you and the city of Chicago. And it's based on a true story, too -- the drear of winter (but Lake Michigan, by which the house is built, of course, still beautiful), the excitement of downtown in spring, the perfectly manicured softball diamond (it's Hollywood, right?), the rustling of fall and the L, the sunlight off the skyscrapers. Don't watch the movie, but come visit Chicago!

Recently, Bruce Springsteen packed 30,000 Spaniards into a futbol stadium in Valencia, so it wasn't too much of a surprise when I heard a Briton youth sing "Born in the USA" at the top of his voice at Heathrow, as his party hustled towards a plane en route to the States. The continent does love Bruce.

Fortunately, the continent does not love all things American, such as baseball. Therefore, I did not need to be bombarded by the news of the Cardinals winning the World Series in five -- not ESPNised, not Todayised, only invaded by voicemails and text messages. Thanks for keeping in touch.

It has not been a good last two years for Cubs fans. Well, it hasn't been for 98 years, but the heartburn does get a little unbearable when the Sox and Cards win back to back. So it's just as well that I only missed watching one game of the championship and escaped to where football rules, the same way celebrities seek refuge in tax-free Monaco.