Last week, I voiced a corporate video for some smooth, silky, lingering chocolate. It was an internal, non-broadcast piece about market growth in China and therefore did not require so much of the luscious, velvet touch, or tones really, to sell the milky swirls. Was I offered any of the product as perks during the recording? Consuming dairy coats the vocal chords with mucus that clogs the throat and results in instant professional death by chocolate. No, but tempting, it was.

As a relief from the bitter, winter cold, I like to go toasting to warm up the body thoroughly as well as give my slow circulation a bit of a stir. Now that I have been exposed to enough radioactivity to match Chernobyl, I gave up my tanning salon membership that also maintained my healthy glow. Instead, I opted for an afternoon of beauty maintenance and pampering: oxygenating facial, rejuvenating eye-treatment, along with a full body scrub, followed with a short steam, then an all body mud mask under a heat wrap of 75°F. What kind of mask? Chocolate, of course. I slithered slimily as not two, but four deft hands smothered every inch of my bare skin with warm, dripping, aromatic chocolate. I giggled under wraps and sweated away, luxuriating in heat.

My sweet tooth is awakened, as well as heightened, especially during the holiday season. Benefits of having accommodating, generous friends who are also chefs? Gourmet fudge brownies on request, baked from scratch, no less. Just let me taste it already. Oh Creamy, come linger my way.

Highlights: Viva Voce, Yum

At a small gathering this week, it came up that a friend's brother was killed in a car accident back home in Europe. Our friend received the news while out at a bar here in Shanghai, his reaction itself that day could only be described as 'awful, simply awful'.

A close friend of mine yesterday informed us that he found his sister dead in their mother's home in the US earlier this week. She had died in her sleep, proper cause unknown at this point. She was in her mid-thirties.

How are we supposed to reconcile with life's injustice and cruelties? How does one begin to accept that life can indeed be unfair, and be at peace with that when there's still so much pain to wade through? Where do we find the strength and courage to trudge ahead? Why didn't our loved ones have enough of the same strength and courage to make it through in the first place? Why simply isn't there enough of it to go around?

Bloody full moon again, the biggest of the year. I can't stop crying.

My grandfather died today twenty years ago.

Highlights: The Universe

What scrumptious delight I laboured for Thanksgiving dinner:

Ingredients:

• 2 avocados
• 100g caviar. Beluga for flavour. Red for colour.
• 1 fresh lime

Preparation:

• Cut open avocados, mash into bowl
• Blend in caviar with non-metal spoon
• Squeeze in whole lime. Enlist help from strong, male dinner guest
• Pinch of salt. Dash of ground black pepper

Serve with crudités, crackers and pre-dinner cocktails.

The next best thing I make: Dinner Reservations.

Highlights: Yum Yum

One of the reasons why I love living in China: random fireworks.
Isn't the ending heartwarming?


From Pudong, Shanghai.

Highlights: Shanghai, Shanghai

0821	X texts Y	OMG. Just woke up. Fully dressed. Make up still on.
0900	Y texts X	haha. great night! where you went?
0910	X calls Y	Hey! You up already... What time did they leave? ... Oh OK. What happened to Z?... Oh she did?! ...Yeah, I thought about heading out with you guys, but I saw my booty on the dance floor. So I came home first instead, waiting for him. But I was so drunk I passed out in my dress, didn’t even wash my face! How lame was that?
	Y:	Too funny! Did he show?
	X:	No! Thank god he didn't too! *laughs*
0927	X rings off with Y. Rolls around in bed some more.
0957	X texts Mr.Booty	Passed out waiting for you!
1003	X texts Z	Tripping down some hall of shame yet?
1007	Z calls X	OMG. I just left this guy's apartment. I swear, he was all over me!
	X:	What?!? Are you OK? Are you high? What guy?!
	Z:	We were hanging out at the bar together, and he asked me back to his place. Then he had motor mouth for hours and wouldn't keep his hands off me. I just couldn't deal with the yakking and groping, so I slapped him and just ran out.
	X:	HA! Are you alright? Wanna come over?
	Z:	Oooh! Are we having slumber party? Sweet! I'll come by!
1052	Z arrives at X's	Your neighbors were so checking me out!
	X:	No shit, you're practically naked. I forgot that's what you were wearing last night.
	X&Z settles into X's bed	So tell me what happened. Who is this guy?
	Z:	Some pathetic ass. I just wanted to chill. He was high and harmless, but just wouldn't leave me alone. He went on and on about how much he liked me, and just wouldn't stop touching. He just got so annoying. So I whacked him one on his face.
	X:	laughs hard. You slapped him! That's hot. Did he dig it?? Was he salivating even more?
	Z:	Shut up, you freak! What happened to you last night?
	X:	So, I saw what's his name at the club and asked him what his options were. It was his friend's birthday, so he said he'd join me later, so I came home first. Then I fell asleep! In my dress! And makeup! Lame, right?
	Z:	So he didn't come? I mean, he wasn't here then? ...What happened at Y's? Are they up yet?
1126	X texts Y:	Z unleashed her inner goddess on some dude. You guys eaten yet?
1128	Y calls X. X passes to Z. Y:	She got aggressive, didn't she?
	Z:	What? Yeah, I'm in her bed... Oh I'm cool, he was annoying me. So I slapped and skipped. I'm starving, have you guys eaten yet? Can you send over some KFC, please? OMG X just poked my face with her big toe. Gross. Get off me!
	X grabs phone from Z:	You guys planning on eating later? Is anyone else awake? OOOWWW!!! She just gripped my thighs with her feet. Fuck, that hurt. Girl, is that part of your routine?
	X drops phone. Then starts waging war at Z's face and hair with her raised left foot. They try to foot wrestle, but give up in exhaustion from laughing and screaming. SMS alert on X's phone.
1153	X:	OMG! It's booty!
	X&Z both gasp and stare at phone. Dramatically catatonic.
	Mr. Booty texts X:	Sorry, b'day boy needed assistance. Didn't mean to keep you waiting.
	Z:	Tell him he's too late. But he can bring breakfast. I want a big bucket of KFC. With mash.
	X:	Do you ever say 'please'? What do I tell him?
	Z:	Like you don't know, you slut! Can't believe you're giving me up for cock! Again! Thought we were having a slumber party!
	Z swings round her right foot and smacks X on the head while X focuses on phone. X yelps without looking up.
1212	X texts Mr. Booty:	Still waiting. Naked in bed. How about we proceed from last night?
1213	Z:	Is he bringing food? I want scrambled eggs.
1224	Mr.Booty texts X:	Bit hungover, but how can I refuse? Have conf call at 2, mind if I take it at yours?
	Z:	Wow, mixing business with pleasure. Just as long as he comes with breakfast. Is he coming now?
1237	X texts Mr.Booty:	Sure thing. When will you get here?
1240	Z texts Y:	X kicking me out for return booty. You up for brunch now?
1245	Mr. Booty texts X:	Be there in 20.
	Z:	So, no KFC and I gotta haul ass outta here already? I'm heading to Y's, go eat with her instead.
	X:	Please don't slap me!
1330	Y texts X:	With Z at FCC terrace. Boys here too. Brunch. Wine. Come!
1422	X texts Y:	Oh that I did, sweetie! : ) You guys still there?
1445	X arrives at FCC. Y:	Check out that JBF hair!
	X:	Sorry, I haven't showered.
	Straight Boy:	You've just been fucked? That's hot.
	Gay Boy:	You smell like cock. That's hot.
	Z:	You're all disgusting. Where the hell is my pad thai?

Highlights: All About Love, Shanghai, Shanghai, !/ɪkˈsplɪsɪt/¡

Two people meet in New York in April, 2006.

There's instant chemistry, but she lives in Shanghai, China. He is a photographer from Brooklyn. They scarcely keep in touch after she leaves New York.

She goes about her life and develops a tumour in her lungs. One night after her first surgery, around November of 2007, he appears online out of the blue. They chat and she discovers that he, too, is fighting cancer - lymphoma - and has been undergoing treatment after surgery as well. Her heart goes out to him. He was the first person of her age group that has developed cancer in the time she has known him.

She wants very much to stay in touch, to be there for each other as they both deal with the mental as well as physical challenges that life has dealt them. But again, he disappears into cyber oblivion. He is not available, not even after her second surgery in January, 2008.

Resentful and resigned to him being not communicative, she chooses not to contact him when she once again travels to New York in May. She relishes in the city as usual, and even enjoys an intense, all-consuming week-long fling in Brooklyn, unknowingly, just ten blocks away from him. He is also a photographer.

Life continues with its usual and expected vicissitudes. After her U.S. trip in the Spring, she returns to Shanghai for two weeks only, before heading to Europe for a second attempt at the family reunion that got rerouted to the hospital the previous year. She feels refreshed and regenerated through her travels, the contact and exposure to new environments offer her a much needed change of scenery from the past months of cancer circus.

Long after she forgets about him completely, he surprises her online one mid-August afternoon when she is just returned to Hong Kong from the desert in Morocco. He announces that he is heading to Shanghai for work for two weeks and would love to see her. He has not been in touch sooner because he too has been traveling, partly for specialist treatment in Japan for his health. He wants her to know that he has been thinking about her often, knowing that she has been going through rough times with her health as well.

The Olympics in Beijing were coming to a close. She would have returned to Shanghai by now, well before his arrival, but she is bound by family affairs in Hong Kong after the sudden death of a dear uncle. From Shanghai, he tells her he misses her.

After more of life's circumstances, she finally returns to Shanghai by early October, eager to begin life again after so many months away. Once again, he magically appears, telling her that he shall return to Shanghai for work again soon and hopefully will get to see her this time round. The resentment she had felt is softened by his eagerness and persistence. She gracefully accepts to see him, but is also weary of disappointment. Knowing herself, she is careful not to invest too much energy on the matter.

She has always known they have no method of communication apart from instant messenging online. There may have been emails exchanged long ago, that did not endure computer viruses or laptop upgrades. She has also learnt to accept that their communication is very one-sided - he gets in touch at his whim and fancy, she never knows when that will be.

She leaves him her contact number online around the time he is supposed to have arrived in Shanghai, but does not hear from him until a week later, on Halloween. He also leaves her a number, one that has too many digits, which confuses her, but manages to reach him. They finally speak, after over two years. She has forgotten how comforting his voice can be. She caught him at a shoot, however, and he promises to call later, in about two hours. Half expectedly, she doesn't hear from him that day.

He apologises online two days later, from Singapore, for not returning her call, explaining that his schedule just got out of hand, and that he will be back in Shanghai in four days. He admits as well that he hasn't called before because he couldn't retrieve the number she left for him on messenger.

Four days came and went, and there is no word from him. On the sixth day, Sunday, he texts her on her mobile saying he just landed back in Shanghai, when can he see her. At first he thought they could meet in the evening after his shoot, then later he discovers he had client servicing duty over dinner and drinks. He sounds hopeful and engaged on the phone though, and she could tell he was indeed sincere about wanting to see her. They ring off, tentatively making plans for Wednesday. He is due to leave on Friday.

Tuesday evening came, and another round of schedule matching later, they decide Thursday lunch it was. Definitive. If something comes up then, that's it, he would be off on a flight the following day. By now, she cannot help but sense the underlying futility of the situation. She even mentions that she is prepared for the best laid plans to be ruined. He assures her that he is in charge of the plans for Thursday and there should be no surprises.

She considers whether she should call him by 2 in the afternoon on Thursday, since she has not heard from him at all that morning . She leaves him a message online. Annoyed, but determined not to be upset, she goes about her plans for the afternoon, and meets up with girlfriends at 5 for drinks that were scheduled the week before. Just as she is venting about the situation to the girls by 5:30PM, she receives a text from him.

'Morning sunshine. What time do you want to meet today?' Morning?

She calls him back immediately. He sent that text before noon, but she only receives it six hours later. He is now on his way to a fashion shoot at the Park Hyatt in Pudong. How unfair can this be? The only free time they have, and they miss it due to a telecommunication technical failure. They have been in the same city at the same time for almost two full weeks, and they still don't manage to see each other. She has never felt so cheated by time.

Staring out at the Scorpio full moon in Taurus from the Bund, she is certain by now that the forces are clearly against this, but why? What is the wrong in them meeting, or conversely, what is the good in them not seeing each other? How can two people meet, each go have cancer and not remain in each other's lives? How badly does she want to thwart the powers at be?

Why don't you call me after your shoot later? No, it won't be too late, I might still be out. It was as if the full moon that night cast a spell on her. Leaving the Bund on the highway, the injustice of the situation infuriated her, even in the cab she feels spiteful and restless. She joins her friends back in the Concession and pounds down tequila until she is sick at home by one in the morning and passes out promptly after. He texts at 2AM asking where she is.

She wakes at eleven the next day with her head hurting so badly that she just wished he was there cuddling her in bed. The frustration built up over the last two weeks has dissolved all reservation in seeing him. Hungover and feeling weak, all she wants now was to touch him and feel his skin against hers. She tells him as much, and he wants so much to comply, but is due to fly out to Hong Kong at 2 in the afternoon. Even on the day of his departure, they negotiate with fate. Just as she thinks the signs cannot be any clearer:

Why not change the flight anyway, spend the afternoon in bed with me? Because the flight can only be changed to the following day, part of a client expensed ticket that's restricted. Perfect! Then leave tomorrow instead. But his visa expires today.

He tries to text her after talking to the airline, but his phone dies. He has to rush to the airport.

She has an invitation for a restaurant opening at the Park Hyatt that same evening.

Highlights: All About Love, The Universe, Cancer Talk

The night in the desert was as I had always dreamt, spent sipping mint tea in a bivouac under awe-inspiring, sheltering skies. What was not so picturesque were the dozen odd other travelers also camping with us, two of which, armed with their own private stash of aromatic herbs, annoyingly giggled the night away under the stars. We woke at dawn with sand and grit in our hair and swiftly mounted the same dromadaires (single-humped camel) we arrived in the evening before. Mine had the biggest hump, strong and proud between my thighs, not so lovely, and definitely not lady(lump)like.

Angeline: I'm naming my camel Fluffy. What's yours?
Rae: I'm calling my camel, Toe, but it's doing much more than that.

As I led the caravan out of the sand dunes back to base camp in the morning, I could see Mohammed, our driver, from afar, hovering about the vehicle, waiting eagerly. Our four-wheel drive was parked at the plateau, its bonnet open, stretched at an angle against the waking African sun. I grinned wryly and despite myself savoured that moment of feeling precious. Oh, the sweet rush of knowing one is wanted, as the very object of anticipation, even if by a way off shot of one's target demograhic. Way off.

At the beginning of our three day excursion to Merzouga, the south-western part of the Sahara, Mohammed had explained that driving the same route across the desert for him was a different journey every time. With hours and days on the road, he listens to music, which he writes himself. The question of what the source of inspiration is opened Pandora's box, I swear, her very own.

Mohammed injected the concept of love into our discussion with such fervour and agony in his voice, such sweet torment in his eyes, especially when he described the pure idea of la femme. His sympathy for the unjust treatment of women in Arabic culture was endearing, yet his chauvinism so blatantly obvious. I was curious. Just as our first day on the road was winding to a close, he delighted us with an explanation of the Berber massage, which, unlike certain types of massages in China, are sexual favours offered by men without consideration.

There was a muddy creek alongside the hotel, where Mohammed wanted to take me swimming. He took me by the hand and led me through a mosquito-ridden trail. I was half expecting an ambush of muslim fundamentalists tearing me away by the hair, to be condemned and stoned for such lascivious behaviour. I refused to swim, but it was a sweet, meaningful exchange that late afternoon, perched on those rocks by the mossy creek, about life, the universe, woman and man, his soul, my spirit. He was flattering, claiming that he had never met a woman that was whole both inside and out.

"Je veux vous embrasser." He declared, as we made our way back along the rubble of a river bank at dusk. He had stopped me in my tracks to pose that question with his eyes brimming with intent. It was exactly the environment where I would've loved a bit of rumble in the dirt, and all the talk about love and sexual taboos had indeed been so titillating. But for the love of allah, how could I overlook his lack of oral hygiene? How could I allow myself to be engulfed by that mouth of black teeth? At what point do I break out of this comic cliché?

"There is a reason for every encounter on earth, especially ours," I responded to his hopeful desire. "But I don't think it's a physical one," declining in what I hope to be graceful enough French. He was persistent in asking me to reconsider, and even proposed a private tête a tête à la terrasse after dinner. I smiled and bade him goodnight.

After lunch the following day, Mohammed plugged in a new MP3 adapter he had just bought for the car that he didn't own, to play the Chinese songs he found just for me, by a pop icon (邓丽君) he didn't know. And off we went, my face out the window, the wind in my hair, riding through the sweeping vastness of nothing in Northern Africa, languid in the August heat, listening to the dulcet melody of 小城故事.

Highlights: All About Love, Going Places

Once in a while, I like to wake up in a different environment. A year out of cancer circus, my birthday this year is also a little more special than others. On the morning of my 33rd birthday, I woke up in Shenyang, with PT poking my face. It was such a glorious day.

It was just delightful. We laughed the PT & Rae laugh.

Imperial Palace of Shenyang, a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Highlights: Going Places

It has been a slow few days of recovery from a very mild chill, coldly reminding me of lower immunity, a weakened system that could once regenerate with only extra water and a good night's sleep. On days like these, memory management mornings are crucial.

Lying very still on my back, I'd wonder if I opened my eyes, would I see the clock on the left wall, showing the hour but not quite telling the time since I have no idea how long I had been under. I would tilt my head just a little, to feel for any nasal tube up my nose, or was I breathing unassisted? I would part my lips and swallow, to taste for blood from where the intubation tube might have scraped the back of my throat. I would feel for my right thumb, to see whether it was perched on that button of a gateway to morphine bliss. I would wiggle my feet, careful not to shake my left ankle too much, where the drip may be running through. Is there a catheter between my thighs? Have I ungracefully wet the ICU bed? I would listen out for that suction noise behind me to the right, from the drainage unit sucking out pleural fluids via a hose sprouting somewhere from my body, a sound that had me thinking it was raining all through the night.

All this with my eyes closed. And finally, with my left hand, I would gingerly reach for my chest. Do I have sensation there to feel my touch at all? Or is it staples under steri-strips still? Again?

For a few fleeting moments, I would allow my memory to wander, to search for new haunts even. I would then savour the fear, understanding it a little bit more each time, and appreciate that it is healthy to be afraid.

Inhaling at least two deep breaths, filling my repaired lungs with fresh air, I'd open my eyes, wipe the tears off my cheeks, then smile towards the light. I used to love waking up on my side.

Highlights: Cancer Talk

With a hole in my throat
a sty in my eye
I thank the forces at be
at least there are no staples down my chest

Highlights: Cancer Talk

some time circa 2002

Friend: You should start a blog.
Rae: Yeah, I know. But I just don't know where to start.
Friend: There are plenty of websites out there online that are easy to use.
Rae: No, I mean my life. So much happens in my life, where do I begin?

Updating the Rærity website had been a priority since its launch in December of 2004, two months after the birth of Rærity itself, my bedding and home textiles venture. Like most best laid plans, web content refreshing was steadily surpassed by the more demanding areas of the business: product development, sales and marketing endeavours, distribution expansion. By late 2006, Rærity had moved beyond the bedroom, and morphed into a full decorating service for residences in Shanghai, offering a complete, turn-key solution.

Working creatively in a three dimensional platform brought me immense satisfaction, I was indeed fortunate to have had the opportunities to realize and execute ideas and designs that were both challenging and inspiring. The most rewarding aspect was always the clients' reaction when they entered their 'new' home.

Always fluid and persistently in flux, life appears to take on a new direction for me every two years. After life-altering change that manifested in the form of a rare (can it be otherwise?) malignant tumour diagnosed in September of 2007, along with surgery for its removal and other adjuvant therapies later, Rærity once again shifts into a new dimension. As my creativity evolves, I have decided to withdraw my energy and efforts from interior decorating and focus on using my voice to reach and touch.

Rærity may exist as a separate legal entity, but it remains an extension of me. The New Rærity website now also functions as my blogging platform, a tool to keep me writing consistently. From nothing in four years to weekly updates - extreme and drastic is how we like it.

Here I am again, perched, happily, on the precipice of change.

Welcome to the New Rærity, it's constantly a work in progress. Hope to see you again soon!