I graduated last year. Worked as a community service officer for the Department of Health in a little town called Ladysmith. I thought the year would never end but it sped by faster then I could imagine.

 

  Now, I'm faced with reality and having to JOB HUNT. In all my 23 years, I've never been required to submit my CV for anything, everything was planned and the plans were executed with no hestitation. Lately, my life has been full of those. "What are you doing next year?", "Where are you working next year?", "Have you found a job for next year?". Frankly, next year is in exactly 30 days and I'm still clueless.

 

  Thought about ways to postpone the inevitable. Going off to New Zealand and working odd jobs for 6 months sounds like a good plan. Pick cherries and herd sheep?

I just have no idea what I want to do and where I want to go. There just seems like so many things I want to do and accomplish before I get tied down with a career. Wow, that is a big word 'CAREER'. So intimidating and daunting.

 

  Now, I just need to go off and discover other ways I can drag out my eventual suffering...

I had always pictured that my first holiday with Jeff would be something fun and unforgettable. I only got it 50% right.

 

  On our long winding drive down to Durban (the premier holiday city in South Africa), we caught the words “…giant waves… hurricane…flooded coastline…” through the static. I started getting frantic. Would we be so unlucky that a hurricane was due to hit Durban the first time we go on a holiday? What doom! As it turned out, after listening to the entire news broadcast, Durban had been hit by some freak giant waves earlier during the day and almost the entire coastline of the province was closed as there was flooding. Many properties and infrastructure right along the coast had been damaged by the sudden increase in water levels. Giant waves but no hurricane? I could do with that.

 

  The first sighting of the beach was somewhat surreal. I had been there just two weeks earlier and saw nothing but bright sunshine and alluring beaches. This time, the wind was humid and the waves were crashing onto the edge of the beach. The entire beach as far as my eye could see had been closed off the public and there were police patrolling to re-inforce the occasional curious bystander who wandered just a bit too close the action. After checking into our very expensive beachfront hotel, we could see that the waves were battering the entire coast and almost engulfing the piers erected on the popular beachfront. Just my luck. Durban was flooding and I’m here on holiday.

 

  We wandered over to the much publicized Ushaka Marine World. To the outside world, it is ‘One the TEN biggest aquariums in the world with top class restaurants and a water resort right on the beachfront’. To the locals, it’s just an over-priced beachfront location to suck money off the fat tourists. I just had to see it. The water along the beachfront at Ushaka was calm and there were scores of surf-bums on their boards exploring the mellow waves, dude. I was just worried if my sunblock really does have UV filter against the rays. Being a typical Asian tourist, I was more concerned about getting great pictures rather then enjoying the waves. After I decided I needed to re-apply another layer of sunblock, we left Ushaka for the ultimate holiday town – Umhlanga Rocks.

 

  Umhlanga is what would have been a quiet little resort town if not for the greedy roving eye of the property developer. It’s a little spot just north of the plush suburbs of Durban North with a highly impacted presence of three to five star hotels which would cost the average Alec almost an entire month’s salary for a whiff of the filter coffee. With names such as ‘The Oyster Box’ and ‘Beverly Hills Hotel’, Umhlanga is out for blood but all in all, it still has a rocking beach. Well, it had a rocking beach until the freak waves hit. The last glimpse of Umhlanga I caught was on being engulfed by the Indian Ocean, beachside cafés included. The entire beach was being washed by giant waves - so much for the romantic sunset stroll along the waterfront with gentle waves lapping gently at my feet. We, along with other downtrodden holiday makers stood behind the red tape put up by the coast authorities and gazed at the mesmerizing waves which seemed to take away our holiday dreams piece by piece as it hit against the broadwalk. With spirits and body dampened, we left Umhlanga and Durban behind us. The only positive aspect of the entire trip was actually being part of the history. We witnessed the day that Durban beachfront got washed away, including the dockside restaurant we had planned to celebrate out time together.

It’s been a while since I wrote. Actually, it’s been a really long while. I blame the hiatus on pure sloth and the lack of excitement to persuade to put finger to keyboard. Well, it took one blown geyser and a collapsed ceiling to stimulate me enough.

 

  I got home and heard water running so I went to investigate. The sound of running water actually came from my room. Can you imagine? I got home from a day down at the coast to being soaked ankle deep in my own bedroom. Apparently, the ticking noise I have been hearing these past few nights wasn’t from some rat or bird in the ceiling, it was the warning before the flood. The flooding of my room. The burst geyser was right about my room. Jolly. I spent the following hours trying to locate the main tap situated in a one meter thicket of bamboo as well as bailing out the water by the bucket load. I landed watering half the garden…

 

  The following morning, the ‘Mr Plumber’ came to my rescue…or not. The had been here less then an hour before I heard a tremendous crash from my room. The whole ceiling had collapsed, along with the opening in the roof, I could see the sky. They had opened up a sky-light in my room. Great for tanning! My room was filthy. All the dirt and dust that had accumulated in between the roof and ceiling had now found its way onto my already soaked carpet. Double jolly…

 

  Two days and scores of workmen later, the carpets were cleaned, walls were scrubbed and the new heater refitted bu the surprises didn't end there...the house, I've been informed, apparently has a termite problem. Just seems like the butterfly effect never ends! 

  "How much is this?"

  "Sixty dolars."

  "I'll give you forty." Sounding confident.

  "FORTY DOLLARS? No. I'll give it to you for fifty."

  "FIFTY? For this? I don't think so, I don't really like it that much..."

 

  And so the tug of wear goes on. The art of bargaining is an innate ability by everyone with warm Asian blood flowing through their veins. Rules such as "thou shalt not accept the initial given price by the vendor" is our eleventh commandment.

 

  There is no doubt an 'art' to bargaining. One walks into the area the vendor has camped out for the day and has to non-chalantly browse through the items on display. If one is interested in a specific item, one must never show implicit interest but rather a look of disdain, almost like a this-is-not-really-what-I-want-but-I-suppose-this-object-will-make-do-in-the-meanwhile face. The real talent behind is pulling the face off without looking like you're acting. Never have the sparkle in your eye because you may as well have a red siren on your forehead. Vendors are not called "hawkers" for not reason, their eyesight and instict of your weakness can be matched to that of a hawk.

 

  Be ruthless when you give the opening pirce. Think of it as an auction where one satrts off low and works upwards towards an agreeable price by either parties. This is similar. Start low and teh battle of will will begin. The stronger and more determined person may not always exit victoriously. Some vendors are just not to be bargained with. Some will probably call on the local gangster to retrieve your knee caps and some will simply ignore your ludicrous existence and continue with business as usual.

 

  Bargaining is all about instinct, reading body language and communication. If you're thinking about embarrasment, bargaining is not for you, you may as well just walk to the local stores and pay double because no one is going to give you anything less than that!

I've been facing a bit of a dilemma lately. I think most 'natural' girls also have a simialr problem. How does one manage a cleavage without underwire?

 

  I have a social even coming up soon. It's one of those "black tie" events where you're expected to show skin and be classy. Showing sking tastefully is so hard because the fine line right adjacent to it is trashy.

 

  There's two outfits I have in mind. One is more conservative, all black, very classy but slightly boring, it's wraps loosely so no one can tell the boobs to my waist, it's just straight cut down. The second is quite showy and I'm not even sure if it's too trashy. The worst thing is, it permits not hidden boost and support by the comfort of my wonderbra, I have to go "au natural" and bra-less which inherently leaves me looking like a 13 year old. I'm not a complete washboard, there are slight humps but no where near a decent cleavage without cheating! I think I'll just have to accept that if Paris Hilton (as annoying as she is) can walk tall and proud without her support, I can accept mine too!