I Heart Thomas Alden Page

Tommy Page, a name synonymous with my teenage years and where the mention of his name never fails to bring about a rush of adrenaline to my soul. Yes, I was CRAZY over Tommy Page back in the late 80s and the early 90s. I still am now. I even knew by heart (I still do now!) all the lyrics to all his songs for crying out loud! (Now I even manage to psycho hubby into singing Tommy's songs!). Yup, I was a teenager who always invented my own crazy whimsical activities. And if anyone thinks I should have grown out of this teenage craze now that I have grown up, well I HAVEN'T.

My preoccupation with Tommy Page started in 1989 when I was but two years short of transitioning from mommy's lil girl and daddy's favourite angel into a rebellious hormone-driven teenager. Of course, I've had my fair share of idol infatuations ranging from matinée idols to sports figures, but nothing beat my obsession with Tommy Page.

Tommy Page was, in my then young and naive mind, not just an idol but also a mentor, in a way. You see, I was sent for piano lessons at the age of six because Mom and Dad could no longer put up with my incessant banging on my toy piano. Classes were fun at first, but they soon came to a point where exams were second to none and pleasure playing was a thing of the past. In other words, piano playing became monotonous. Dealing with two piano exams in a year with a mere six-month gap wasn't easy. Then along came Tommy Page. And snap! he made learning piano a joyful experience once again. I remember how I used to train myself to play the entire version of A Friend To Rely On and his other songs simply by listening to the tracks! This guy wrote and sang darn good ballads. Plus he's super duper drop dead gorgeous!!!! Instant sizzle!

There's one poem which Tommy Page wrote in his fourth album that I live by. It gives me the strength to keep going when I feel like I've almost lost it all.

Something turns to nothing

And nothing makes you cry

There was something in that something

It's gone and you wonder why

Life can't be lived on one thing

For that one thing could be that something

So wipe those tears of nothing

For tomorrow there will be something

- Tommy Page

To further laud his influence on me would be superfluous.

Much as I adored Tommy Page, I never had the chance to see him in person - up close and personal. I wasn't even close to seeing the strands of hair he left behind... hahaha! (just a figure of speech. Nothing perverted of that sort, please!) Sure he flew in here yearly for album promotions and frequented Kuala Lumpur and Penang. I was living in between these two cities in a small tranquil town of Taiping. I had so much wanted to go see him in person. Mom and Dad didn't share my teenage enthusiasm, unfortunately, while sis - well, sis seemed to think that I had gone cuckoo up in my head, though she now thinks I am level-headed!

  

That's why I have made it an agenda in my life to one day be in New York City, and not forgetting to visit Minetta Lane - the place that gave Tommy Page the inspiration to write a song, and hopefully to be lucky enough to bump into him on the streets of Manhattan. He's the reason I am so in love with Manhattan and subsequently the United States of America! But what are the odds of that ever happening in a city - according to Wikipedia - with a population of 1,634,795 living in a land area of 22.96 square miles? It's almost like trying to look for a needle in the haystack! Nevertheless, this childhood dream of mine is waiting to manifest itself.

Tommy Page turns 40 today and is aging gracefully. However, I still miss the clean cut decent baby-faced New Jersey son I first got accustomed to 20 years ago. Even though he has long grown out of his boyish-ness, he still manages to mesmerise me and keep me tantalised two decades down the road. Foolish as it may sound to some, I have no qualms admitting my admiration for and infatuation with Tommy Page. After all, there's a child in all of us. At least when I look back on my life, I would be able to laugh at my idol mania and say "Been there, done that" every step of the way. There's just something mysteriously remarkable about Tommy Page that makes me drool and go all ga-ga. And I always have this nostalgic feeling each time I saunter down memory lane listening to his songs.

If Tommy Page were to do it all again, I would have done the same things I did growing up - only this time I would make sure I see him in the flesh by hook or by crook.

Until that day, in the words of Tommy Page, "I'll keep wishing and praying, waiting and waiting......."

What Makes A "Banana"?

No, I’m not referring to the ripen long-curved thick yellow-skinned tropical fruit. Neither am I associating this word with something lewd, in case you are of crude mind. My reference is to the people – again no, I don’t have Bananas In PJs or jammies in mind – who are very much Chinese and whose ancestors and roots can be traced back to ancient China but who are illiterate as far as reading and writing Chinese characters is concerned, like yours truly here. In short, we are what most fluent-speaking Chinese would refer to as “yellow on the outside and white on the inside”, hence the term “banana”. Frankly, I find nothing derogatory in that term, rather a compliment.

I attended national schools with only English and Bahasa Malaysia as mediums of teaching. Mandarin was left to be taught on Saturday mornings as extra classes for students. Though I attended Mandarin classes, I never did make the cut. I wrote Chinese characters like I did drawing, couldn’t speak a word of Mandarin and was clueless at what the teacher in front was yakking about. Blah blah blah, yak yak yak, yada yada yada. After just a few classes, I decided I had had enough.

At home, Mom and Dad had always emphasised the importance of speaking grammatically correct English and Chinese languages always came secondary, if any. Mom would often sing to sis and me nursery rhymes from Mother Goose and read to us fairy tales when we were little. As we grew a little older, Enid Blyton became our favourite which Mom and Dad gladly bought. Mom and Dad were westernised Chinese, with Mom more westernised than Dad. That was how my “banana” seeds were being sowed and nurtured.

Growing up, sis and I frequented cartoons like Saber Rider and the Star Sheriffs, He-Man and She-Ra, Spiderman and Friends, Jem and the Holograms, tv series/comedies like Mind Your Language, Super Gran, The Misfits, Gilligan's Island, Sesame Street, Murder She Wrote, prime time soap operas like Knots Landing, Santa Barbara, Dallas and English pop and oldies music, so much so that I’ve now grown up to only understand simple yet limited Cantonese words. That, too, happens to be the only Chinese dialect that I know. Throw in some Chinese proverbs, idioms and bombastic words and voila! You’ve made me speechless!

I have to admit that I have been constantly mocked and criticised by some typical Chinese people for my Chinese-language impediment. Yes, I have been verbally attacked for being inarticulate in the language. Yes, I have difficulties blending in with some of my Chinese speaking counterparts, but that doesn't make me less of a Chinese than the rest. I may not make it to the "Ah Lian" or the "Cina Ah-Soh" category, but I am proud of who my ancestors were and where they came from.

On the other hand, I am also thankful - in fact I consider myself fortunate - that my Mom and Dad saw the importance of English at an early age and strived to provide me with the best opportunity and resource to learning English.

As for the critics of us "banana people", well, let's hope that you have the entire knowledge of Chinese history, culture and belief at your finger tips. Otherwise, you'd just be like one of us...... Neither here nor there, neither this nor that! Period.

LOVE Is A Many Splendored Thing

I love this song. It brings back memories of my childhood each time I listen to it - though I'm not sure what its connection is to my younger days. Nat King Cole had sung it. So had some of music's greatest legends like Frank Sinatra, Johnny Mathis and Andy Williams. But the version that I love best has got to be the one by Engelbert Humperdinck. It just melts my heart.....

Love Is A Many Splendored Thing

Love is a many splendored thing

It's the April rose that only grows in the early spring

Love is nature's way of giving a reason to be living

The golden crown that makes a man a king

Once on a high and windy hill

In the morning mist two lovers kissed and the world stood still

Then your fingers touched my silent heart and taught it how to sing

Yes, true love's a many splendored thing

Once on a high and windy hill

In the morning mist two lovers kissed and the world stood still

Then your fingers touched my silent heart and taught it how to sing

Yes, true love's a many splendored thing

The Annoying Voice That Is Miley Cyrus

OK. It's official. I hate Miley Cyrus. No. Let me rephrase that. I loathe Miley Cyrus! And it all took me no more than a short minute to conclude that.

I have this habit of walking straight to where my radio is and have it switched on in the mornings immediately upon waking up so as to get back in touch with reality after a good night's sleep. I always needed music, above anything else. Music is like food to my soul regardless of the time of day. Music heals my soul.

However, this morning as I was getting ready for work, Miley Cyrus' "When I Look At You", the original soundtrack from the movie The Last Song, was played over the radio. And by golly! So ticked off was I at the sound of her voice that I had to switch the radio off to calm my nerves!! She sounded like a heifer on heat. Her voice was practically toneless and flat like the sound of a ship horn! I have heard Miley's other songs and they were bad, but this one takes the cake! Why and how did she manage to be listed as one of the 100 Most Influential People In The World by Times' magazine leaves a lot to be wondered.

Miley oh Miley. We don't want to break your achy breaky heart but why don't you just stop singing your achy breaky songs and spare us from further achy breaky agony. Surely you do not want to be ridiculed by "Weird Al" Yankovic and have him write a parody of you and/or your song(s) like he did your dad?

"Achy Breaky Song" by "Weird Al" Yankovic

You can torture me

With Donnie & Marie

You can play some Barry Manilow

Or you can play some schlock

Like New Kids On The Block

Or any Village People song you know

Or play Vanilla Ice

Hey, you can play him twice

And you can play the Bee Gees any day

But Mr. DJ, please

I'm beggin' on my knees

I just can't take no more of Billy Ray

Don't play that song

That "Achy Breaky" song

The most annoying song I know

And if you play that song

That "Achy Breaky" song

I might blow up my radio, ooo...

You can clear the room

By playing Debbie Boon

Or crank your Abba records until dawn

Oh, I can even hear

Slim Whitman or Zamfir

Don't mind a Yoko Ono marathon

Or play some Tiffany

On 8-track or CD

Or scrape your fingernails across the board

Or tie me to a chair

And kick me down the stairs

Just please don't play that stupid song no more

Don't play that song

That "Achy Breaky" song

You know I hate that song a bunch

And if you play that song

That nauseating song

It might just make me lose my lunch, ooo...

Don't play that song

That "Achy Breaky" song

I think it's driving me insane

Oh, please don't play that song

That irritating song

I'd rather have a pitchfork in my brain...

Don't play that song

That "Achy Breaky" song

The most annoying song I know

And if you play that song

That "Achy Breaky" song

I might blow up my radio, ooo-woo..

Numb3rs - Believe It Or Not?

I was never quite a believer that numbers could either win me or lose me. Unlike most Chinese - that's where my roots are, though I am a "banana" - I do not think the numbers "3" could make me immortal, "4" could bring me disaster and "8" could bring me wealth in bountiful if I don't work my butt off.

However, I seem to be having a slight brush with my scepticism lately when I started getting sick, literally, all too often. My physical well-being hasn't been completely at its best since last month. It was only in early April 2010 that I was down with a very nasty flu that was the cause of a swollen tonsil - the worst that I can remember - that took me two whole weeks to recover with two visits to the doctor in a matter of two days. I was forced to breathe through my mouth, no thanks to my stuffy nose (stuffy as in stuffed with think mucus!) which required medication day and night to give way for clear air passage.

Then I recovered. Elated as I was at having the flu bug taken down, two weeks later, the cough bug hit me which again needed me to visit two doctors in two rounds within... you guessed it, two days! To add salt to wound, I've had insomnia the last two nights and my whole body now aches. Damn!

The number "2" is depicted as a good number for the superstitious Chinese for it's a homophone of the word "easy" in Cantonese. Could that be the reason I keep getting sick?

Having said that, do I still see myself as a sceptic or have I now turned into a believer? Nay, two wrongs don't always make a right.

Sophie Kinsella

Here's a range of books that I love from the author of Shopaholic novels, Sophie Kinsella. Her books are a blend of romance and humour and are bound to make readers laugh till they cry. If these don't make me a big chick lit fan, I don't know what that makes me.

Another definitely must-reads for chick lit lovers!

The Last Song - Nicholas Sparks

Being a sucker for chick lit and heart-soaring tears-inducing romance novels, I thought Nicholas Sparks' The Last Song was about some puppy love gone wrong simply based on the one liner "Do you ever really forget your first heartbreak?" found on the cover of the book. But little did I know that it wasn't the teen romance
but rather the father-daughter relationship that pierced my heart like a dagger - and yes, tears did swell up in my eyes.

The movie is out, however, I am hesitant to watch it since it stars the ever so untalented Miley Cyrus. But the book's definitely a must read for bookworms!

Having enjoyed reading The Last Song, Dear John will be next on my to-read list.