Point Zero

A mother finds herself in a vaguely incestuous affair.
A girl finds herself in love with her sister's fiancee.
A whore gets herself a makeover from an aspiring director.
A virgin gets himself a guardian angel who just happens to be gay.
An actress finds her chance at stardom.
A dancer finds the love of his life.

And it all happens on a small circle barely two feet in diameter somewhere on the streets of the Puerta del Sol in Madrid called Kilometre Zero.


Or Km.O as it's termed in the movie.

Always been a sucker for spicy screwball romances that occur due to alarmingly misdirected meet-cutes. One feel-good Spanish movie I've actually been searching for quite a while - though for some reason the dvd pirates keep handing me an obscure war-time film from Iraq.

And does it exceed my expectations? It certainly does! Is it of any gay interest? But of course! Seems like the sweltering heat on Madrid's hottest day is getting to everyone. Not only do we get to see a sweet average joe - a schoolteacher no less - fall head-over-heels for a sizzling Spanish dreamboat but we also have a straight groom-to-be bumping horns with an audacious gay confidant.

Which reminds me I better start looking for Spanish lessons somewhere close by.


A meet-cute in progress. Guess who's gonna get lucky tonight.

Of course not everyone meets their future partner after mistaking them for an internet hook-up. Hardly that memorable.

Far from that actually. Evidently Charming Calvin seems to have forgotten the first time we met! Though I haven't. Fortunately we have a thing called a blog these days. Pretty sure almost everyone has forgotten what it stands for but it's actually short for weblog. So yes, I get to commemorate this date.

No funny chat-up lines. No unlikely coincidences. Just a simple appointment where Calvin came down by train to meet me straight after work. Standing at the bus-stop with his impossibly dilapidated workbag ( fortunately retired! ) and a gift-wrapped present in hand. One striped cream and chestnut tie that I still wear to this day.

Did we have fireworks in the sky? Did we have weeping violins in the background? No. Shame to admit but no, I didn't fall in love at first sight. Didn't even fall after the prerequisite two hours given by romantic comedies. But I did find a nice rhythm going with Charming Calvin - something certainly worth risking that second date for.

How about that for a meet-cute?

Party Like It's 1997

Halfway through my Gilmore Girls marathon, I realized that I have a significant void in my past. As Rory Gilmore rang in her 21st with much aplomb, I tried to think back on what I did but drew a total tabula rasa when it came to my own birthday party. What did I do way back then?

Surely I celebrated some. At least a lone cupcake with a sad candle? Hell, it's more than a decade ago but surely I'd remember some details.


Now this is the kinda birthday I would remember.
Unless it was damned boring of course. So sickeningly dull that I blanked it from my memory. Maybe I knitted woollen mittens on that day.

Paul : Why didn't I have a 21st birthday party?
My ISO : Sure you did!
Paul : Was it a nice dinner with a cake?
My ISO : Oh yeah, you did that with your parents. Then later you came out with us.
Paul : Are you sure? Why can't I remember it?
My ISO : Because you're senile. And ... umm.. because you were passed-out drunk.
Paul : You're lying.
My ISO : Knew you would say that. I have pictures to prove it.
Paul : It could have been London.
My ISO : The 21st candle is imprinted on your forehead.

Trust my oldest friend. Glad to see that someone does remember.

Hmm. Which reminds me that I need to blackmail him for the photos.

My Style

So what do we do on long weekends over here? Apart from the odd outdoor excursion of mountains and caves which isn't something I would go for, there's not much for a dedicated urbanite to do around here. Seems like I've exhausted every possible avenue of retail possible here from the native markets to the occasional weekend jumble sale held by the expats.

Seriously. We desperately need a new mall here.

Fortunately the internet means we're never really left all alone - whether you count that as a blessing or otherwise. And it's almost impossible to get bored with the millions of websites at our fingertips.

When I have way too much time on my hands, my mind tends to wander. Even started to think of decorating options for my office. Though I don't have much of a choice since the entire operating theatre - and my office - is painted a horrid sickly pastel green. Seriously makes me think of mould. And they have that matched to dull, lifeless gray office furniture. But I shall prevail. Hoping a light shot of orange and a flashier shade of green would bring the place to life.


I think the floor needs a carpet. Maybe in a shade of green.
As it turns out I really am Blair Waldorf incarnate when it comes to decorating. I'm an Elegant Classic. At least that's what this interior decorating quiz says.

Paul, you are an Elegant Classic.

You have a refined sensibility with an appreciation for history and tradition in your furniture and your rooms. You value beauty, things that are well crafted, and family heirlooms. You are visually sensitive and understand how symmetry and a formal layout give order to a room, and hence your home is refined and calming. You are not taken in by the trends of the moment. You go for things with a timeless appeal, and appreciate old-fashioned virtues like manners and handwritten notes and making a home that is welcoming for others.

You value creativity. You are stylish and fun loving, and can be an inspiration to others. You have a natural sense of drama, and you know you have to be willing to take risks—whether with colors, finishes, furniture choices, or ideas—for your home to stand out. Your home can be happy and lively and the place all of your friends want to be.

After letting you pick from a range of differently styled rooms and furniture sets, it then extrapolates the style that you'd go for. So go try it, find your own style at Homegoods.

Bridge of Silence and Sighs

Certainly no need to travel all the way to Venice to admire the infamous Bridge of Sighs. After all I have my very own Dirge of Sighs over here - chanted by our chief mourner Nervous Nancy. Out of all my junior colleagues, she seems to be the most problematic at the moment - hence her recurring status on my blog.

So how does she sigh? Let me count the ways.

Nancy : I have this case. Sigh.
Paul : Yes?
Nancy : This patient just got admitted to the Emergency Dept with a complaint of... ( insert some horrible untreatable malady here )... Sigh.
Paul : So what are your plans?
Nancy : ...
Paul : Hello?
Nancy : Sigh.
Paul : Hello? What are your plans?
Nancy : ... I might do... umm... Sigh.

If only I had a penny for every sigh. Seriously. How do I solve a problem like Nancy? A flibbertijibbet! A will-o'-the wisp!

Though certainly much too serious to be a clown.


Paul : So how do we solve a problem like Nancy?
Eve : I'd like to say a word in her behalf, Maria makes me laugh.
Paul : Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her.
Many a thing she ought to understand. But how do you make her stay and listen to all you say.

Wonder if Nancy even notices that she sighs at oddly inopportune moments. Almost reminiscent of Tourette's. Even caught her doing so during a hospital presentation making her sound like a sadly melancholic speaker lamenting the loss of her slides. Had the counsellor asking me whether she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Frankly I have no idea. With all the moaning and sighing, all I hear from her are hmms, hehs and sighs. Nancy claims to be trouble-free though I seriously doubt it.


At least I do know who I'll be sending on a stress management course :)

Secretary for Hire

Didn't really hit me until today that I might be in charge one day.

Certainly makes it sound as if it's some uncertain date in the far misty future - rather than by the end of the month.

With the previous head of department still hanging about the hallways before taking her final leave, I still have a bit of leeway. The bulk of the administrative duties are still efficiently carried out by her - with the trifling remainder being slowly trickled down to me. In comfortable stages.

Rather than an entire avalanche.

Till today when I got handed the unenviable task of preparing the annual budget and financial forecast for the next year. Seriously. Crunching numbers might be the domain of other more mathematically-inclined Chinese fellas ( just like my brother ) but didn't I join medical school just to avoid such pointless accounts? Could there be anything more tedious than going through criss-crossed bills, dusty invoices and endless numbers?

Could that be the real reason why our bosses are always so crabby come quarter day?


Bloody accounts!
Even the astonishing number of zeros behind each sum didn't serve to keep me titillated for long. One million's quite the same as another when I can't use it for my own selfish personal gains.

Unlike my disastrous experience with accounts in high school however, I just hope the numbers actually tally this time. Imagine having to depend on unmathematical me for a bit of financial planning! What a horrifying prospect. I can't even balance my own accounts.

Paul : Dammit. We need to find enough cash in the department just to pay a fucking accountant to sort all this out.
Nurse : Or a secretary?
Paul : Yes, a sexy one sitting on my desk.
Nurse : In a short skirt?
Paul : More like one with broad shoulders and a loosened tie.
Nurse : Oh.
Paul : Now that's one number I wouldn't mind going through again. And again.

Still - after struggling with an ancient calculator old enough to pass as an abacus - I managed to turn the accounts in before the allotted time. Maybe I could get my new personal assistant to come check.