The dreaded time has finally arrived, I officially turn forty this month.

I never used to be bothered by age, but I have to admit that I started this year feeling slightly apprehensive about how I would react to this milestone. I remember a friend telling me over lunch how he cried at the prospect of turning forty, but I’d really rather not to go down this route, as my eyes get swollen and puffy, and I would not make a very pretty forty year old.

I do however need to find a way to embrace this with elegance. While I am seemingly quite composed and sometimes can be mistaken as aloof due to my introversion, I am in fact incredibly immature. Not in a shave-my-friend’s-eyebrows-when-asleep way, but in how I see myself. I do not consider myself an adult by any means, nor do adult activities such as serious conversations about the stock market or world politics appeal. I would much rather sit around exchanging unknown reggae song titles and imitating Russell Peters YouTube videos than partake in adult conversation. I would also rather be dancing the night away in a club than having a civilised dinner with wine and age-appropriate company.

My quandary is not in turning forty per se, but how I am supposed to act. Essentially, finding the balance between not caring what people think and maintaining some semblance of pride, if not for myself then at least for my parents. With age comes a certain confidence, which is not necessarily a good thing. It is a confidence in being yourself, in the decisions you make, following your instincts, saying what is on your mind and not giving a toss what others think. And in line with this, I think the biggest struggle with turning forty is in finding the balance.

With some thought I have drawn up a list of guiding principles that I would like to move forward with. It is not that I do not already apply these, but I fear that with forty comes the onset of degenerating mental clarity or at worst case outright memory loss, and therefore this list may come in useful one day. So here it is.

Live Life To The Fullest.

Turning forty means I am more or less halfway through life; well hopefully less than halfway, depending on how lucky I am. While I feel like I have seen what I want to see, I am finding that life just gets better and better, but you need to allow it to. Having lived through the years of trying to please others, it is time to do things for myself. This means chalking up as much adventure, happiness and peace as possible before you are unable to do so. However, I have learnt that none of this comes strategised or planned, but rather in the form of sliding doors which are actually everywhere you look. With age comes a certain confidence in the decisions you make, and it is therefore time to seize opportunities to engage and explore when they present themselves, because they are otherwise gone forever.

Say No To Fomo.

On the flip side, the best fortieth birthday present that nature gives you is gut instinct, and you must listen to it. In recent years, I have found an innate peace in refraining from things that I may otherwise have indulged in just because I did not want to miss out. It is like I have developed an inexplicable sixth sense that whispers guidance on when to say yes or no, much like the call-a-friend lifeline in Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, except that this friend is always on point. And with this, I have become comfortable with saying no, because there is always tomorrow, which believe it or not, generally turns out better than today.

Engage with your heart and not your mind.

People love to say that life is short and time is limited. While one of my pet peeves is the use of motherhood statements, I have to admit that when you internalise these particular ones, decision-making reaches a whole new level. In short, I find it increasingly important to only give time to those who matter. And by this I mean those who enrich your life because of how they make you feel, rather than what they can do for you. Life is best when driven by pure unadulterated happiness, and this can hit you when you least expect it and from the most unlikely of sources. But that does not matter, because with age comes a confidence in just following your heart rather than doing what is necessary or right in the traditional sense of the word; and when your heart is happy, nothing else seems to matter.

Reconnect With Old Friends.

Taking the above one step further, I think it is time to consider old friends. As we move through life, friendships blossom and wither. But being someone who has always gravitated towards a small circle of close and old friends, I realise it is time to let go of grudges and reconnect with those who you spent your childhood with. There are so many memories buried and it is such a waste to let them fade away, when it should be a time to celebrate the past and create more memories with those who once mattered to you.

Stop trying to conquer the world and enjoy the moment.

I used to spend my time planning how to conquer the world, but I now realise that I am just too old to do so. While some say it is never too late, I believe in this case it is, because in focusing on the goal, you miss the subtle pleasures that smile shyly at you along the way. It is instead time to simply seek joy in the small moments. This could be in the form of a gesture of gratitude from a stranger whom you let pass on the road while en route to an “important” meeting, or a random giggle with a friend while getting ready for a “big” night out. In both cases, the seemingly small moments on the journey are more heart-warming and memorable than the destination itself.

Embrace what is to come.

Having said the above so boldly, I must qualify that we should never lose faith in what the future holds, because in hindsight, life keeps serving the aces when you would have thought it no longer possible. While I think that we are somewhat in charge of our destiny, I do not believe that our paths are written in stone for us. I subscribe to there being some rough sketch of a route map, because I would have never imagined that I am where I am today, but I am convinced that we are presented with choices which when made sensibly, lead to better things no matter how doubtful you were when making the decision. Of course, it certainly never hurts to adorn yourself with rabbit tails, horse shoes or Dzi beads to sweeten the journey, but once sufficiently laden with good luck charms, we should just sit back and enjoy the ride as life slaps us with pleasant surprises at each and every turn.

Be kind always.

It is of course important to be mindful at all times. And by this I do not mean watching your every step for fear of tripping, but rather ensuring that our actions are never unkind to others. My biggest fear in life, even more than sharks and ghosts, is simply regret. I would not want to find myself by and large content with my life but suffering a nagging regret from something that has been left to fester way past its expiry date. And in assuming that most people are good-hearted, this is most likely to come in the form of a small incident that went unnoticed or assumed to be inconsequential at the time. A moment taken to say a seemingly casual thank you or sorry could in fact have huge consequences on the recipient without us even realising, and I would like to know that I have always scattered kindness in my wake.

Be myself.

With the above control in place, I plan to be myself. Many ‘turning forty’ articles speak of this, and I fully subscribe to it. I think I can say with certainty that I did not really know who “myself” was until the last few years, but now that I have figured it out, I plan to make sure everyone knows about it. Not in the literal sense, as being an INFJ this is physically impossible, but rather that I have outgrown trying to be someone else. With age comes a confidence in being yourself, but more importantly a grand wisdom that there is simply no point in trying to put your best fake foot forward, because everyone else has issues, and is simply as dysfunctional and problematic in their own way.

Don’t Wear Shorts.

Unfortunately, the only undeniable forty-driven problem that I am aware of, is degenerating looks. The sagging eyes, flabby arms and greying hairs are the more generic problems that everyone faces, but I have two personal crises – my left knee, and my right knee. I remember a balmy friend commenting on women’s knees many years ago, and I laughed, because I was so unaffected and oblivious to this looming problem. Perhaps I laughed too loudly, because much to my dismay, he may have been onto something – I have started notice the onset of dreaded wrinkles around the knees. The concern will probably grow like an unwanted wart, to become the full-fledged disaster of my year; and while I continue to unsuccessfully google cures and treatments for wrinkly knees, I can only but sadly add this as the last guiding principle to my list – that is at forty, to not under any circumstances, wear shorts.

And so a new chapter has begun, one which many people proclaim is the true start of life. I seem to concur, as I suddenly find myself armed with the experience, confidence, sensibility and compassion to enjoy life in a way which I did not think possible. I still do not see myself as a forty year old, god forbid, and I have my inherent immaturity to thank for that, without which I would just be another boring “adult” in a substandard floral dress and flats.

They say the forties are fabulous, and I for one cannot wait to see what happens. My only wish is that I could do so in shorts.

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Christmas is just around the corner, and I am so excited!

Whenever Christmas comes up in conversation, I feel compelled to announce that it is my favourite time of year. At the thought of Christmas, my brain is instantly flooded with warm fuzzy thoughts of flickering candles, atmospheric music, glittering baubles and shaggy rugs draped loosely on otherwise austere furniture. I love that giddy feeling that overwhelms you when Christmas decorations appear and most of all, I treasure the whimsical Christmas greetings that you exchange with strangers whom you would otherwise have ignored, or even regarded as pick-pocket suspects, during any other month of the year.

My fondest memories of the Christmas season are from the years when we used to wait for the lights on Regent Street to be turned on, so as to officially let the countdown to Christmas begin. A trip to Hamleys would also be a treat, when the manic toy displays set against their magical Christmas decorations would totally transport our 20-year old beings to a gleeful ageless state where the toy train circling on its tracks would suddenly seem as exciting as guzzling down tequila shots in a nightclub.

With Christmas just around the corner, one can finally breathe a sigh of relief that the incessant internal battle to resist putting up the Christmas tree prematurely is at last coming to an end. There are so many versions of the correct time to put up the Christmas tree, ranging from Thanksgiving to Christmas Eve itself, depending on what Christmas means to you and your family. For myself, I simply apply the most practical approach – that is, to put it up as early as possible without feeling stupid. And when it does, my house transforms from a home in the tropics to a sparkling white, gold and silver wonderland with splashes of green from pine leaves and dollops of red festive decorations scattered here and there, putting a smile on any face that walks through the door.

I honestly think whoever invented Christmas is a genius. (This is a joke of course, I know full well that Christmas was invented by Santa Claus). And this ingenuity manifests itself most in the joys of gift giving.

I love buying presents for people. Without sounding cliche, I truly believe that Christmas makes you feel appreciative of the ability to give and make people happy. The excitement of watching everyone open their presents all at once, without having to wait for their individual birthdays to roll around, totally does it for me. It is often the case that the person giving the present is more excited than the recipient, and I suspect this may be very true for me.

I try to buy Christmas presents throughout the year, stocking up in advance so long as I am satisfied that the packaging will behave and stay intact while patiently waiting for Christmas. I can then relax and enjoy the run up to Christmas, while watching others desperately dart around shops stressed and dazed in their bid to find last minute presents. Of course, coordinated wrapping paper is a must too. There is nothing worse than an empty tree, except for a laden tree with a sorrowful stack of haphazard presents, engulfed in totally mismatched wrapping paper, sitting beneath it. Ikea facilitates this best, selling stylish and coordinated Christmas wrapping sets for a very reasonable price. Indeed, a trip to Ikea upon hearing that the Christmas stock has arrived is yet another highlight of my year.

When everything has been set up, you can finally let yourself get lost in the festive spirit. It is funny that home can so convincingly feel like a cozy corner of a winter wonderland when it is in fact thirty odd degrees outside, and how curious it is that the same red and gold that magically floats as baubles on the Christmas tree are the very same colours overpowering your every sense during Chinese New Year. Both renditions of this colour palette transport you to such different emotional places, but then again, maybe it is all to achieve the same ends.

I even found an article promoting the Feng Shui Fire element to balance against the cold Christmas season in the form of candles, a fireplace, Christmas lights and red and gold ornaments. How amazing it is that the same colours contribute to positivity and all things good throughout the year, be it in the form of luck, prosperity, peace, joy or harmony.

And Christmas is certainly full of the latter. Whether motivated by religion, culture or just jumping on the festive bandwagon, Christmas has become the epitome of family togetherness. There are those who use it as an excuse for a family holiday, and families who converge from near and far to gather around the tree at home by Christmas Eve. Either way, Christmas is a great mechanism for bringing the family together. Not to mention the weeks of fun for children in the run up to Christmas – from writing letters to Santa, to going to visit him personally in shopping malls, to rummaging through stockings he has left for them because they duly completed their homework.

I have to admit that one of the biggest disappointments of my life was learning that Santa does not come down the chimney after all. However, I eventually came to terms with this when I realised that it was because there are simply no chimneys in the tropics. Perhaps, for my love of the Christmas season and to ensure that Santa faces no logistical problems, it is time to think about moving somewhere cold, with chimneys.

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Last month was a sweet month, paving a fragrant flower-lined path towards the end of the year. Not only were friendships on point and animals healthy, but work was smooth-sailing and the after-work air was bouncy with the excitement of an upcoming tournament, which we eventually won.

Contrary to the run-up to most tournaments, this year was organised. The team was set early and the line-up was chosen more from a pyjama party A-list perspective rather than trying to put together a trophy-hungry competitive team. While the results could have gone either way, good dynamics proved to be of utmost importance. Even though early practices resulted in much bickering, the foundations made out of solid relationships prevailed and bad vibes were soon forgotten as quickly as they appeared. They say you are only as good as the company you keep, and true enough, with such precious company came the precious tournament trophy.

The uniforms were also designed in advance, with ample time for vetting and revisions. Despite multiple rounds of requests filled with echoes of pink and fluorescence, it was decided that red would be the best and luckiest colour to play in, according to Feng Shui. Importantly though, the team name and team members’ names could not be printed in red as this would be a bad omen. Instead, black or dark grey was to be used. This was surprising to a Feng Shui layman such as myself, and a good point to note for all future endeavours.

Being Singaporean, I have traditionally thought that the key to success is to master a checklist of lucky elements, and to overload on them in any way possible. Apparently a very wrong approach, and I stand corrected. In the same way that too much salt and pepper, though necessary for a good dish, can ruin that same dish, so too can Feng Shui elements ruin your luck if not used strategically and in the right way. Red may be a lucky colour, but writing your name in it is counterproductive, it seems. The designs were finally finalised and sent to print, in accordance with all good luck Feng Shui principles in existence, and sure enough the victory came.

Much hard work and practice was also put in, mind you. While you can do your best to create good karma, there is nothing like hard honest work to achieve the results you so want. Indeed, every 5pm was the start of an exciting afternoon to lock in intensely sweaty training sessions, amidst battling rush hour traffic to get to the practice ground while praying for good weather and incessantly checking Yahoo! weather (figuratively speaking of course, because no one uses their phone while they drive unless hunting for Pokemons).

Through all the stress and chaos however, nothing seemed like a chore. The saying goes you should do what you like, and like what you do, and this was a classic case of it. Whilst our bosses would surely not concur with the first half of the saying, it is undeniable that enjoyment was the key to success. Ironically, the tournament was in aid of breast cancer, and when you think about how short life can be, it makes sense to work towards doing what you like to do in life, so as to make every moment count. And in this case, it really did, because tournament victory was waiting around the corner for us.

The tournament itself ran beautifully. Tournaments this late in the year always run the risk of being a washout, literally, with the coming monsoons, and yet the final day was filled with a clear cool summer breeze with but a quick recalcitrant shower a few hours before the match started. Coincidence or contrived, it was a beautiful afternoon with many spectators remarking how the weather was reflective of a summer’s day in Europe rather than a Saturday in South East Asia.

They say a weatherman had been arranged to ensure nice weather, but can it really be so that a person can control the weather against all odds? The obvious answer is no, and yet you have to wonder sometimes. At the very least, there is no harm in letting the believers will the desired outcome to happen, whilst you remain neutral and call it good karma. Whatever your religion or beliefs, it is nice to know that there is a higher recourse and why criticise or question whether that includes the control of weather. Just smile with the sun and let karma take its course.

And so we won. Albeit due to good organisation or Feng Shui or karma, we achieved what we set out to do and victory was the sweetest tasting chocolate to end the month with. Despite my slight attention deficit tendencies, and though I may rebelliously not admit it, I do believe hard work pays off in the end. However, the efforts need to be channelled in the right way and I believe good organisation and strategy is crucial to any plan.

But most of all, some element of luck is needed. One can only prepare and do so much, but if a tyre punctures then you cannot get to where you want to go. And in this way, luck was on our side in the form of bright red shirts and anything-but-red names, and a beautifully cooling afternoon for both participants and spectators to enjoy the tournament. Thank you to Feng Shui and karma, we could not have done it without you.

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October has arrived, and as the leaves on the trees have changed from their vibrant green to earthy browns, I too feel like there has been a metamorphosis of faces in my life.

Some were more meaningful and some less so, but strangely, I only experienced fleeting sadness in seeing each of them drop off the horizon. Instead, I repeatedly marvel at how life can be as rich and diverse as those very colours of autumn, and am grateful for the multiplicity of experiences it keeps offering me.

When it comes to friends, I am traditionally a shy creature of habit, preferring to hide in the shadows of my known and trusted, rather than opening up to new people. My close friends were always my oldest friends, and I could count the number of close friends I had on my fingers. As mid-life approached, I found that old friends began to drift, migrate, become eccentric or frequently turn into hermits. I suddenly woke up one day finding that I only needed one hand to complete the inventory, and started to wonder whether or not this should constitute a dire situation.

Luckily there was a concurrent process of evolution going on within me. When I passed my mid-thirties I decided to take life by the horns. I started to meet many new people and it has been a great learning curve. It was indeed an effort to crank up the long decommissioned factory of social graces, but a fun one at that. Socialising takes practice, and when out of practice, the awkward moments are memorable. Seconds can seem an eternity when you are racking your brains for something to say after “I am fine, thank you”, and it is debateable which is worse – the silence, the pretend toe inspections, or the internal struggle to stop yourself from saying something utterly stupid in the moment’s panic of trying to fill the silence. I remember one fine example of a hermitised old friend telling me how he had struggled for something to say in one of these awkward moments, and ended up asking the friend he had bumped into having lunch, whether he was having lunch.

However, after a few months of warming up and narrowly avoiding mishaps such as the example mentioned above, I managed to dig out my once social self that had gone into hibernation after my teenage years, and have met a handful of special people who have become very dear friends. I used to think time mattered in building relationships but it does not. When you find that connection with someone it just happens, and the laughs are effortless and endless.

Interestingly though, I found that where time does matter is what happens afterwards. Sadly, some newfound besties fall by the wayside as quickly as they appeared, and I realise that this is where the time taken in building a relationship counts. Something that burns so brightly at the start can just fizzle out when the wind changes direction, and short though intense experiences with these people become like a dream – the memories are there, but you do not miss them because they were so transient in your life that it is as if they did not really happen.

You wonder why you are not sad, and can only conclude that it is all part of the masterplan. With the disappearance of new faces comes the knowledge of what did not work, and therefore the wisdom of what to look for in the future. And when you least expect it, the tide washes up old faces who remind you of what you enjoyed, and you find yourself in an even better place with them than ever before. But above all, with each surprise that awaits around the corner, you realise that life has an acute way of making you happy, if you just let things happen. When you overcome the fear of letting go of a bad friendship, something better comes along before you can blink, whether it is an exciting new face, or a comfortable old one that crawls out of the woodwork just in time to catch you when you fall.

One quiet evening, I googled Feng Shui predictions for my birth element for 2017, and found that indeed this year was meant to be excellent for us, with plenty of opportunities to meet new people and tipped to have especially bright energy in love. It is almost scary that I cannot find more truth in this, and not something I would ever have believed if I had read it at the beginning of the year. A prophecy of meeting new people may sound quite generic for most, but for me it is very out of the ordinary considering how my measly ten fingers have sufficed in taking stock of my friends for the past forty years.

Whatever it is, I am in awe yet again of how things fall into place when you do not ask them to, and with my Feng Shui prediction saying that things will get better and better, I cannot wait to see what the rest of this year has in store for me now that the autumn leaves have fallen to the ground.

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Last month I toyed with a loose commitment to revive my travelling efforts, and indeed I did. Though the trips were spontaneous, it is the results that count and I was quite the over achiever. This month started off with a quick hop over to America, where I have not been for a few years, followed by a wonderful few days in Nagoya. Though neither were new country destinations counting towards my quest to visit one hundred countries, they were nothing short of wonderful trips.

It is embarrassing to admit that despite my many trips to Japan, I have never been there in the summer. Being an avid snowboarder, I look forward to desperate blog mentions of the appearance of Yukimushi, the small insects that according to Japanese folklore signify the coming of snow in Hokkaido. I then eagerly check the daily snow reports for news of the first drop of snow, and it is soon all systems go to squeeze in as many trips to Japan as possible in order to frolick in that divine powdery snow that you do not find anywhere else in the world.

Arriving in Nagoya in summer was a rather bizarre experience. I think back to snippets of Heston Blumenthal’s food on TV, and I imagine how diners felt expecting to eat a fruit when it was in fact chicken liver pate dressed up as a mandarin. My mind and body are so accustomed to that first hit of winter that creeps into the aerobridge as you step off the plane, a totally different feeling from the coldest of summer air conditioning, that I felt nothing short of utter confusion as I was embraced by heat and humidity. While I kept expecting to feel that cold blast of air and see the customary procession of ankle high Uggs, I was greeted by none other than trendy T-shirts and summer pants.

Nevertheless, once I had overcome the sensory confusion, I felt so at home. I adore everything that is Japan. I love feeling safe and secure upon arriving, knowing that whoever you will interface with for the next few days is going to be genuine and honest. I eagerly anticipate the novelty of leaving my valuables on tables without having to worry about items disappearing so expertly that you do not even realise they are gone. I love how things work in such an efficient manner, where buses depart as the clock’s second hand hits sixty, and you have no problem finding your bus because things just work in such an orderly manner.

I love the politeness of the people, and how everyone is willing to help, so much so that I feel terrible watching a female or elderly attendant loading shopping laden suitcases into the car with no expectation that you might relieve them of their task, or when someone goes out of their way to give you directions to your destination. The Japanese are such proud people too, and so they should be. Their country is so naturally beautiful, from cherry blossoms to snow-capped mountains to Hawaiian-esque beaches in Okinawa, and everything they make is beautifully crafted and packaged. And above all, I love the food.

There is an inner glutton in me, that is by and large successfully suppressed. However, my inner glutton found its soulmate glutton on this trip, and together they rampaged through the city devouring everything in sight. In three days they had eaten their way through all the usual suspects and more – from tasty gyoza to crunchy tempura, warm fluffy tamago, roe laden pasta and the famous Cochin chicken. With so few days to try everything, a typical single meal would consist of stops at multiple restaurants, with each restaurant representing one course of the meal.

Finally, the eating binge culminated in one heavenly dinner – a sleek beef tasting platter, consisting of different brands of beef, all proudly flagged for post-dinner discussion. They were all whiter than they were red, and would magically burst into mouthfuls of steak juice as soon as you put them into your mouth. It was a glorious evening of exploration, resulting in a pseudo-beef high, and with a strong general consensus that Matsusaka trumps everything.

Having consumed most of the city and barely able to walk, we decided to head out to the countryside on our last day, and booked our bus tickets to Shirakawago, a beautifully quaint Unesco heritage town about two hours away from Nagoya by bus, where triangular roofs peek out from brilliant emerald fields. A great day out, and much needed exercise after our gluttonous few days.

Though I have visited many places, Japan remains one of my true favourites, now not only for the snow but for everything it offers. It is such an iconic place but the one “icon” that I am always fond of is the ubiquitous Maneki-neko, the Feng Shui “money cat” – always cute, always smiling and always welcoming. Call it superstition or culture, but every time I catch sight of it, be it in a shop window or at someone’s front door, I cannot help but think of all the positive vibes that it brings to the place. Funny how a little ceramic ornament can always make me feel welcome. Maybe Feng Shui has got it right. Japan certainly has – I for one seem to keep going! Now, if all the other countries followed suit … I’m doomed!

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I used to be a travel fanatic, frantically ticking destinations and countries off my bucket list while simultaneously checking weather channels to schedule my next destination. I wanted to cover as many destinations as possible while I was still physically fit to do so, and my strategy was to focus on any mildly challenging to downright character-building destinations while relatively young and mobile, such destinations being those requiring more than three transits or necessitating multiple transport modes (any combination of planes, trains, boats, tuk tuks or donkeys would do), or those involving altitude sickness, questionable public toilets or necessitating visas from embassies that do not even exist.

I planned to save the more civilised and refined destinations for my later years – those requiring a packing list beyond flip flops, modest clothes for temple visits and presents for local village children; and destinations not requiring half a suitcase of wet wipes and travel-sized bottles of Dettol hand sanitizer. My ultimate goal – to be a member of the Travelers’ Century Club.

Then I hit 50 (countries, not years of age), and without warning, the car punctured. I stopped feeling like it would be the end of the world if I did not go somewhere new, and I started to enjoy staying put and going about my daily routine. Trips to previously visited destinations also seemed a breeze and nicely comfortable, like a cosy night in front of the television, because there was no rush to develop an itinerary. In fact, “repetition” became the new “discovery”.

However, when I think back on my travels and gaze at my photos, I am in awe of life and what I have experienced. I am not only grateful for the wonders of the world that I have seen, those that sit on any traveller’s generic list such as the beautiful Taj Mahal or amazing Petra, nor for having had the joy of wandering around the quaint streets of Colonia Del Sacramento or Luang Prabang; but also for the small moments.

Amongst my most treasured memories are attempting to ride a moped on a quiet stretch of road parallel to the landing strip on Aitutaki and almost driving myself into the gutter; cuddling a village boy’s tricolour baby goat in the middle of nowhere in Rajasthan and not wanting to give it back for a very long time; totally misjudging the weather around Inle Lake and trying to get beautiful morning shots of the lake with steely determination and near frostbitten fingers; sitting in a stopped vehicle while on safari to let a procession of ants cross our path; celebrating New Year’s Eve in a quiet corner of Patagonia dressed to the hilt in sequins while dancing to cheesy YMCA-type tunes with the hotel manager, chef and bell boy; and screaming while canyon swinging in Queenstown only to find out later that what I thought was my voice was in fact my then-boyfriend’s screams that had gone up by one octave.

Surprisingly, I can think of very few bad experiences, perhaps because I am a very kiasu traveller, taking back any unfinished bottles of mineral water from restaurants in India and proudly building my precious collection of “safe” water to use when washing up in the bathroom. Sneer as one may, I pride myself on never having fallen ill throughout my many trips to India, and as a result, being able to enjoy the beauty that it offers to the fullest.

I conclude that I have such few bad memories also because the majority of things that happen on holiday are looked back and laughed upon. What may not have seemed funny at the time are wholeheartedly filed into the holiday fun section of the archives and suddenly everything was part of “the experience” – like having to dry ourselves with the smelliest towel that a kind Keralan villager had offered us lest we appeared unappreciative of his generosity, being bullied by intimidating immigration officers in Africa, or waking up in a desert in Oman to find that a friendly sand gerbil had deposited his idea of a Christmas present, a puddle of wee, on the pillow next to our noses.

With this in mind, there is only one experience that I look back upon with apprehension, this being the worst few nights of sleep I have ever had whilst in the most beautiful ski resort in Colarado. Although we are avid skiers, we only skied for about 5 hours in total throughout our 3-day trip (unheard of by our standards), and we fully attribute our bad experience to bad Feng Shui in the room. While the softest snow was falling outside, it felt like a heavy beam was falling down across our necks as we slept. With the lack of sleep fast accumulating, we lost our energy and eagerness to ski, and the trip was done for.

What would normally have been fun pit stops while skiing were looked upon as nightmare lunch stops, having to stand in cramped shacks while eating cups of substandard chilli con carne, and freezing temperatures which would normally mean a great day of skiing became times of extreme sufferance. All because of one badly positioned beam.

Two years on, I realise that I have barely “travelled” of late (according to my definition of travel that is, i.e. requiring the coverage of a new destination). Packing for the few trips that I have done this year have felt akin to learning how to ride a bicycle again, and airplane turbulence, which would previously lull me to sleep, has started to make me blink like I have an eyelid disorder. I cannot remember why I stopped travelling, but I feel the wanderlust urge starting to creep through the door and consume me again.

I have just revisited the Travelers’ Century Club website, and am delighted to learn that I am actually at 64, not 50 (again, countries, not years of age), and with just 11 countries to go before being able to apply for a provisional membership, I might just resume my quest. But in my older and wiser years, I shall endeavour to ensure that I always have a good Feng Shui compliant night’s sleep wherever my travels take me.

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One year older, one year wiser and proudly so, one year significantly more immature. Having recently celebrated my birthday, I find myself one year shy of forty and occasionally trying to figure out the official stance I should take towards it.

There is the generic dread that many people love to exclaim, the cliche “I’m growing old!”; there is also the less prolific but equally trendy “life begins at forty” philosophy; and finally, there are the more contemplative approaches questioning what life is about, and/or involving deep analyses of your bucket list vis your achievements, and deriving an action plan for your remaining pre-50 years. I feel that I fast need to decide which approach represents me, and then to internalise it and live it.

I honestly do not feel a day over 18. I clearly remember being 18, feeling so young and green towards the world and finding everyone else so old and intimidating. But having arrived at 39, I best describe it as a feeling of versatility. I find myself able to converse with teenagers as easily as with my peers, more so when I have to endure serious manifestations of the latter who are unable to talk about anything other than news headlines or political opinions.

The force of immaturity runs strong in me, and I am a keen advocate of avoiding serious conversations because they are simply downright boring. The last thing I want to do outside of work is to be serious, and I am loving my age and the versatility that comes with it – to be able to act any age you want and adapt accordingly to different social situations. I would not trade this freedom of choice for anything in the world.

I also feel very comfortable in my own skin. I do not know when the big change happened, but at some point, I realised that life is too short to worry about what other people think. And it was at this point when I truly let go and started enjoying the moments rather than worrying about everything and everyone around me while moments flew by unnoticed. I believe that there is no shortcut to the concept of letting go, you generally need to clock up the years in order to be able to live by this mantra, unless you have had a life-changing experience which I would not wish upon anyone.

Many people like to say life is short, but I notice that few of them actually practice it. To do so, you need true detachment from societal norms and pressures. But if and when you do achieve this stage of enlightenment, life becomes very different – it can only be described as enjoying the best cup of tea in the world, without worrying about whether your pinky finger is standing up straight enough.

On the flip side however, I do not feel great physically. Having always loved a good physical sufferance, I could never imagine a day when I would skip a workout session due to the effects of a previous one. Yet in the last few years especially, I have noted an intense decline physically. I seem to work out relentlessly, but the muscle definition seems so impossible to achieve. I have also spent many a day walking as if I accidentally sat on a pogo stick because the persistent aches and pains from the gym the previous day do not allow me to walk properly. This part of age I do not enjoy, but ironically, with the detachment spoken of above, I find that you simply do not care so much about physique because you have come to the realisation that you have so much else to offer. In short, those who judge you only by your shape and form can go trip over some gym equipment, and hopefully stub their big toe very hard whilst at it.

Beneath my trendy whinging about needing to work out more, I actually consider my flailing stamina and degenerating physique as something to laugh about and work around. Truth be told, I secretly accept that I have had to trade taut rubbery skin and biceps for life wisdom and enlightenment, and I have no objections.

With age also comes the liberty to do more things unquestioned and to live life to the fullest. It becomes a different type of permission sought to do things. One that considers commitments and responsibilities rather than assessing whether or not a proposed action is considered acceptable. At near forty, if you want to have a drink on a school night, you may; if you feel like staying up all night, you may; and if you feel like taking off on a whim to some faraway place, you may. No questions asked and no eyebrows raised, so long as commitments, responsibilities and safety have been addressed. I would not trade this part about age for anything, not even a cute little six-pack.

I am loving my age and the versatility that comes with it – to be able to act any age you want and adapt accordingly to different social situations

When breaking it down as I have done above, age does not seem so bad after all. In fact, everything aforementioned should technically continue to improve with age, much like a fine wine or smelly cheese. So if this is a taster to what life is at forty, then I truly believe that life begins at forty and I cannot wait for it.

Also, I am not sure if it has been good fortune or good Feng Shui, or perhaps both since the former is a function of the latter, but I feel blessed to be able to say with certainty that if I were to die tomorrow I would have no regrets. I feel like I have achieved everything I want to in life – my bucket list is in fact empty, while my jar of contentment is full. However, so as not to sound like I plan on spending the rest of my years wandering around aimlessly, I resolve to revisit the bucket list and set some new life goals for the next 10 years.

J.R.R. Tolkien once wrote “not all those who wander are lost”. I cannot wait for the next decade of wandering, but I acknowledge that some general direction may be beneficial. As may be a fresh dollop of Feng Shui magic in order to ensure that the next decade is as wonderful as the last 4 have been.

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While April was a month of celebration and extravagance, May was the complete opposite. What started as jubilation over a misinterpreted good gym ache, soon turned into the dreaded three-day fever and eventually resulted in my admission into hospital as a reluctant Dengue statistic.

The experience was interesting though. I would describe Dengue as nothing short of a bizarre episode in my life, starting off with mere body aches and an intermittent fever, and thus self-prescribed bed rest. The fever did not last very long; it left the building a couple of days later, and I was lulled into a false sense of security that I had recovered. Overjoyed, I tried to throw myself back into the swing of things, but somehow my legs consistently dragged behind me ever so slightly, and my body felt like a whale that had indulged in too many doughnuts.

And then came the subtle but consistent fatigue when bed seemed so inviting during all my meetings and I was left wondering whether I had morphed into a good-for-nothing couch potato who wanted nothing more than to sleep my days away. And finally, when my temperature normalised and the platelets plummeted, I seemed to live in two worlds – the first I was present and operating in, but there emerged a second world that seemed to move two seconds behind me, and I felt as if I was watching a live telecast of a game but with the annoying lag imposed by the censorship boards.

Importantly though, it never felt like the world was about to end. But upon admittance into hospital, the A&E staff acted as if it were so, exclaiming that my platelets were so low that my body could launch into some sort of shock at any time.

My experience to share, is simply – do not take Dengue lightly, as it could be more serious than it feels. With good support and management, the experience will pass in a flash, almost as quick as that loving bite that the guilty mosquito administered, but it is better to err on the side of caution and let the experts look after you. Even after my short stint in hospital, the recovery process felt like extracting teeth. The doctor warned me that I may encounter problems “focusing”, with many patients reporting that they found it difficult to go back to work immediately. Recovery may take up to two weeks, I was told, but I could not comprehend how this could be so.

Upon being released from hospital and following a few days of rest I felt wonderful, and I attempted to get back into my groove. However, my first morning of exercise left me feeling nauseous until mid-afternoon, and as the days rolled on, bemused contacts started to report how I was writing the strangest things in my messages and emails which, when looking back on, were nothing short of excruciatingly cringe-worthy typos, grammatical errors and gibberish. A two week recovery period started to sound optimistic.

But I have to admit, the most interesting part of my experience was this – it was my first independent hospital experience. Apart from a pair of loving cousins who sacrificed their Saturday night to admit me, and smiling visitors who kept me amused until rebellious hours of the night much to the horror of the ward, it turned out to be a reflective few days of soul searching. I had groggily packed my hospital bag myself, stayed three nights in the hospital room alone, and managed all bathroom and shower experiences with my precious wheelie drip in tow with no assistance.

This was a first for me, and I am so proud that I emerged unscathed and largely unaffected. My mother had been travelling, and while my father attempted to keep me company, he eagerly accepted my first offer that he should go home and watch television in comfort instead of spending the afternoon blatantly wriggling around in discomfort on the smelly hospital room leather couch.

There was also no other half to grudgingly take on the dreaded babysitting obligation. A Feng Shui expert had once recommended some home improvements in our marital home which we did not follow, and mysteriously, things did not work out. While lying on my hospital bed, I had thought back to the diagonal bed set-up and bizarre rice cooker position that had been prescribed, and wondered whether I would have had someone other than my wheelie drip to talk to during the long hospital nights if we had effected the changes.

Of course, there is no answer for this, but I concluded that for peace of mind, we should have attempted some form of compliance, since we had asked for a consultation in the first place. Interestingly though, I could only look back on this as a positive experience. For while my lack of platelets left me physically weak, I felt mentally stronger, having gained the reassurance that I could go through something like this alone and sans dramatic meltdown.

I would even go as far as saying that I almost enjoyed the few days of reflection, notwithstanding two valuable lessons learnt – to perhaps tolerate funny bed and rice cooker positions in the future, and to use mosquito repellent.

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I am properly exhausted. Last week was my best friend’s birthday and what an epic week it was. It seems like just yesterday when a birthday bash involved a trip to the cinema followed by an A&W feast, or an exciting McDonald’s party, complete with a dunk in the pool of plastic balls if we got lucky. At some point over the last thirty years however, birthday celebrations have evolved into week-long festivities spanning multiple countries, involving in excess of one hundred people and resulting in sheer exhaustion. Throw in a fortieth birthday milestone, and the celebrations become worthy of a spot on the national calendar of gazetted public holidays.

Granted we are no longer pre-adolescents when life was much simpler, but the birthday guest list far exceeded my entire phone book of contacts, and much to the trepidation of my inner hermit, I had to do more socialising in the past week than I have done in the last five years.

Nevertheless, a best friend is precious and only turns forty once. So it was a non-negotiable yet admittedly enjoyable sufferance.

And amidst the late nights, fatigue and recalcitrant recovery, it was a time to reflect on friendships. I have found that you meet so many people in the course of daily life, but there are few whom you feel compelled to invite through the front door. Friends come and go, yet it is always the good friends who never seem far away, even if they were to be living in the Arctic. Not that I know any Eskimos, nor do I have anything against them.

I ask myself what turns a friend into a close friend, and I conclude that the answer lies not in the level of fun you have, nor how much time you spend together. I believe it simply comes down to how comfortable you feel with a person – how willing you are to open up to them, to let them see your true self, and to dare to trust and be trusted. There are those whom you have known for a long time, but there are also those who you just meet and find an instant connection with. In the blink of an eyelid and before you can make any sense of the situation, you have invited them in for tea and scones to discuss your inner soul. It is this inexplicable chemistry that forms the foundation of a close friendship. Time then naturally weeds out the bad fruit, and many fall by the wayside as your developing friendships face and fail the tests of support, trust, loyalty and the other usual suspects that define a close friendship.

And then there is the concept of energy. A few days ago, a friend introduced me to a new age term for someone who through spreading their inherent negativity constantly drags you down – a “hangdog”, it is apparently called. Soon after, I coincidentally read an article about applying Feng Shui to your friends – by eliminating negativity and spring cleaning away the people who deplete you. A harsh concept at first glance, but it speaks so many truths, not least that good company leads to good mental health, which in turn can only lead to happiness and success in the long term. It considers friends as objects in your environment, either nourishing or depleting you, and referred to these hangdogs whom I so recently learned about as “energy vampires” who suck the life out of you.

Whilst my best friend’s birthday celebrations have done just that, the friendship and bond we share does just the opposite. But life is flying by. Last week brought the realisation that our teenage years were a rather long time ago. The twenties then came and went in a flash, and the thirties are done with, god forbid. As you look back, you marvel at how time flies. It seems like only yesterday when we were leaving for boarding school, or celebrating the birth of my best friend’s niece, who coincidentally turned up for the birthday party donning a trendy romper and proceeded to dance the night away in bright lipstick and sky high heels.

They say life is short, but I do not wholly agree. I feel that the lucky ones amongst us are given a decent length of time, but it moves rather quickly. It is essential to make the most of every moment because before you know it, you are knocking on the door of the middle ages. And by that I am not referring to Medieval Europe, but to our very own ageing. Those “uncles” and “aunties” who appeared so old in my eyes not too long ago are now the reflection in the mirror, and it is a strong reminder to make the most of the time you have with close friends, because before you know it, the topic of the day will be cholesterol levels and brands of Zimmer frames.

I have no doubt that we will still feel and most likely continue to act like teenagers when that day comes, perhaps even continuing to indulge in McDonalds if our arthritis and dentures allow. But we should identify, appreciate and value the close friends we have today, those who enrich your life rather than the energy sucking hangdogs, to build up memories that we can look back fondly upon whilst struggling to balance in those looming Zimmer Frames.

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by Lulu Lee
The Reluctant Feng Shui Practitioner

Whenever Feng Shui comes up in conversation, you always find people who say that they do not believe in, or at least do not practice Feng Shui because there is no proof of the results. This is true, yet sometimes it is nice to subscribe to pseudoscience, not to be able to measure and control, but just to simply take a chill pill. Being just shy of forty, I almost feel immature and irresponsible in using that phrase, but at a more profound level, I believe you are only qualified to use it with age and experience.

I used to be someone who tried to plan, strategise and control everything. I worried about what people thought, and how they would interpret what I say or do. I tried to strategise my every action in a bid to manage the responses that came back. I planned my holidays at the beginning of each year, gleefully double-dipping in the kiasu pot by ensuring that I not only capitalised on every long weekend presented that year, but also snagged the best flight deal for it by booking that precious cheap ticket before my would-be competitors had hit Christmas the previous year.

I was also the queen of spreadsheets when planning any holiday – a week prior to travel, the trip itinerary would go out on a silver cyber platter to all parties travelling, complete with budget (down to daily meal allowances) and emergency contact numbers such as embassies, airlines, transport companies and anything else I could think of. I loved organisation and order, and there was nothing better than spending my time closing all the apertures through which the opposite could sneak in.

And then for no reason, something changed. Probably much to the disappointment of my parents, I let go, and it became surprisingly addictive.

It started with the taste of one impromptu holiday, organised the night before I was due to fly no less, sweating over my laptop frantically trying to make bookings while simultaneously spluttering down the phone at airline call centre representatives in faraway countries who had no idea what I was talking about. And yet soon after, this became the comfortable norm. Trips were no longer booked a year in advance, and even having to think about my plans for the next quarter became bothersome, the only check and balance being the residual kiasu in me wanting to secure somewhat reasonable flight prices.

It was not just the liberation I enjoyed from not having to constantly think and plan that appealed, but I started to learn that things just have a way of happening. I have always selectively subscribed to fate, choosing to believe in it when it suits; and yet, if I look back on my newfound penchant for spontaneity, I can state without any doubt that all my last minute plans have amounted to nothing short of wonderful experiences – far better than anything I could have planned.

Armed with confidence in the unknown, I started to apply this to more aspects of my life (where possible of course, whilst always maintaining a strategic approach to work decisions), and I must say, life is truly enjoyable. Embracing the uncertainty that waits around every corner can only be described as fun. Sometimes the surprises disappoint, sometimes they shock and sometimes they bring immense joy. But it is that journey of discovery that is irreplaceable.

A learned friend recently sent me a link to a speech about vulnerability. It was a cute moment because after we acknowledged that the points made were exactly in line of my newfound approach to life, I secretly felt very clever, without saying it out loud of course. The talk promoted having the courage to be imperfect, to let go of who you think you should be and be who you are. To fully embrace the unknown, and to be willing to do something even if there are no guarantees. It suggested that the way to live life was simply not to control and predict, and only upon achieving this can you be comfortable with your lot in life.

Of course, that talk had more deep and meaningful messages which are irrelevant to this article and/or beyond my simpleton comprehension, but the bottom line is that the more I listen to it, the more I love it. Not to the extent that I will quit my job tomorrow and embrace the vulnerability of not knowing whether I will live the rest of my life jobless on a park bench, but more that it makes so much sense as a general approach to life.

When you stop fearing, you start enjoying. When you stop controlling, you stop expecting an outcome. When you stop measuring, there is no disappointment.

So for those who say they do not bother with Feng Shui, I ask – what is the harm? Feng Shui is simply a Chinese philosophical system of harmonising with your environment, practised to encourage good fortune in the form of health, career and your love life. Of course, the correlation between your efforts and the results can never be confirmed. But does it matter? I say don’t bother to look for the return on investment. Just give fate the best chance, and then sit back and enjoy the journey.

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