Right, my first time doing the Friday Five so here goes... even though it's Sunday...

1. What was your most memorable moment from the last week?
Meeting up with an old friend on Monday. I hadn't seen her in a while, so it was nice to catch up with her. It was especially nice talking to someone outside from work!

2. What one person touched your life this week?
No one in particular.

3. How have you helped someone this week?
My colleague(s), I guess. We helped each other out this week.

4. What one thing do you need to get done by this time next week?
Work. And another mini work-project.

5. What one thing will you do over the next seven days to make your world a better place?
I can't think of anything in particular - sign up for dance classes? Bring my Discman to work so that I can get some music in my life most likely. Or maybe thinking before speaking.

Eva Cassidy's rendition of 'Time After Time' is wonderful. It's slow and thoughtful, kind of like how you would imagine Sarah McLachlan singing it. Awesome. It's one of those songs I'd love to sing to my beloved.

My country seems to have been hit by a double whammy - the war in Iraqi and Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (SARS). Both have hit our economy pretty badly, since my country relies heavily on the tourism industry. With the closure of schools earlier this week, and the quarantining of those who have come into close contact with the initial SARS cases, the retail sector has been affected badly as well.

On the micro level, it definitely scares me. The health authorities still aren't sure as to how this virus is transmitted - whether it's air-borne or by close contact. We've been told that it shouldn't be an air-borne infection, but they're not sure. The virus appears to be a variant of the same virus that causes the common cold, and we all know how much success we've had in battling that. What's worse is right now, the word is that the virus is transmitted via air-borne water droplets that stay active for five hours. So if someone sneezes, say, on a table and you happen to touch that same area four hours later and neglect to wash your hands properly before eating, you'll get infected.

Needless to say, with all this uncertainty, people are running scared. I think twice about taking a cab now, because with the enclosed space, you don't know whether the virus may be lingering in that taxi. Everytime I sneeze or cough, I get worried. Hell, other people get worried about being around me. And under no circumstances do I wish to be quarantined with my family. Some days, just an hour with them is more than enough to drive me mad.

In many ways, this is more terrifying than war. At least with war, we can fight against the enemy.

I wish I were an interesting person.

Everyday, it just seems that other people are wittier, more humorous or have experienced much more than I have. I want so much to be thought of by others as being one of those people, rather than as someone who has always been trying too hard to be interesting.

I really need to think before I speak. I seem to continually be speaking out of turn recently. I need to stop before I start making enemies, if I haven't already!

Why is it that my parents seem to get on my nerves so much more than any other person can? I know they mean well when they offer their (unsolicited) advice, but they also manage to make me feel like a little kid, as if I'm not old enough to know better, or that even if I don't know since I haven't had any experience in the area they are offering advice on, at least give me a chance to learn!

I was watching an programme on what makes people attractive (The Human Face, hosted by John Cleese) when they mentioned that the "golden ratio" was 1.618. What makes people attractive is not just that their faces are symmetrical (which apparently, is an indicator of the person's health) but that the width of the mouth is 1.618 times the width of their nose. Also, the width of the mouth is also 1.618 times the distance from the corner of the mouth to the corner of the face. Lastly, the width of the front tooth is 1.618 times the width of the smaller tooth beside it.

The urge to go measure my own face was almost irresistible. Almost. I managed to restrain myself because, being the messy person that I am, I seem to have misplaced my ruler.

Anyway, they featured a hitherto undiscovered British-Oriental model named Zara on the programme, and sad to say, while she did fulfill the golden ratio requirements, I didn't find her attractive in the least. Sorry, girl. No offence, but, you? A beautiful face (as described by the show's expert, a top plastic surgeon)? I think not.

And England? Although you've invented the one of the most wonderful languages ever, why is it that when it's spoken by one of your own kind, it sounds so horrible? Honestly, the typical local British accent? Dreadful. Your spelling leaves much to be desired and your grammar is simply atrocious. It's always puzzled me how come the standard of English is so appallingly disgraceful in England, the birthplace of the English language.

I watched The Pianist (based on Wladyslaw Szpilman's true story and novel of the same name) today and was at times, overwhelmed by the sheer horror of what evil a human being is capable of. The terrible things inflicted upon the Jews during the World War never ever cease to horrify me. Despite the fact that people do terrible things during the war, I just can't imagine someone just casually selecting people and then shooting them dead for no reason whatsoever, a point that is rammed home many times during the course of the movie, but not at all in an exaggerated fashion. The scene that stands out the most in my head (and is a spoiler, so for those of you intending to see the movie, look away now), was the scene when the SS officials enter into a residence in the Jewish Ghetto and demand for everyone to stand. An elderly cripple in a wheelchair is unable to obey that command, and so, the soldiers wheel him over to the balcony and tip him out of his chair where he hurtles to his death.

A lot of praise has to go to Roman Polanski for choosing to drive home the horrors of the Holocaust in a subtle manner, and also, for choosing not to glorify any single hero for standing against the Germans, but in this case, showing what ordinary people do - running, surviving, living for oneself only, instead of making a 'grand stand' and saving hundreds of lives.

When I was backpacking by myself in Krakow in June last year, I made a half-day trip to Auschwitz. I remember walking through the compound, feeling the coldness of the day despite the fact that the sun was shining and it was summer. It was as if the tragedy and the senselessness of what had occurred had driven away all warmth and only the chill of death remained. It was a profoundly affecting journey. The first building I walked into turned out to house all of the former occupants' belongings - there were rooms containing hundreds of suitcases alone, hundreds of shoes (including a fair number of children's shoes) and what was the most horrifying sight of all - the room containing several tonnes of human hair, to be sent to factories in Germany to be woven into fabric.

I also took a look at St. Maximilian Kolbe's cell in Building 13. He was a Polish Catholic priest who asked to be executed in place of another POW. He, and nine others, were placed in a cell to starve. Kolbe, amazingly enough, survived for two weeks and was the only one of the the four who was still alive to be fully conscious when the Nazis ordered for him to be executed by lethal injection. His cell is now a shrine, and there were many bouquets of flowers placed at the foot of the door on the day I was there. Happily, the man he sacrificed himself for, Franciszek Gajowniczek, went on to live many more years and died in 1995.

The very last building I went into at the camp, and the one that sent me on my way speedily, was the building containing the gas chambers. I entered the ordinary looking building not knowing what it was and stood staring uncomprehendingly at the rather empty room before raising my head to look at the ceiling and realising that this was the gas chamber where so many people were ushered into to be executed. I walked out very quickly, not able to take the horror of the place any longer, and went to wait for the bus to bring me back to Krakow.

Hi God,

If you've been listening to my rants for the past week, I'm sure You know that I'm not at all happy with the person I've become. I'm overly-competitive, whiny, malicious, way too stingy and calculating and a generally crappy person. I used to be nicer than this - but at the same time, being nice, especially in the company and industry I'm working in, is a sure-fire guarantee that my career will be short-lived. I'm not sure how to balance the two, Lord, and if you have any advice, and if you could offer some guidance, that sure would be appreciated. I really wish I had someone to talk to about this. I've got friends around, but it doesn't feel right to talk to anyone of them about how I feel, particularly since a fair number of them are my colleagues, and You know I never seem to be able to think before I say anything these days.

Actually, if you could give me a sign, any sign at all, that I'm not as alone as I've been feeling, that would be nice.

And God, while I'm at it, thanks for the Palm. Unexpected, but not unappreciated.

Listening to Bliss by Muse reminded me of how much I liked listening to the radio in England since British indie rock is of a relatively high standard. Take for instance, Coldplay, Radiohead and Blur. I haven't had the time to listen to the radio back home and all, and I hadn't realised how much I missed listening to some great, memorable guitar riffs, such as those you hear in Plug-in Baby (also by Muse) and of course, the truly fantastic Yellow by Coldplay.

I got back from a two week overseas training stint a week ago, but haven't had the time to write about the interesting things that occurred. I don't have very much to say other than that the Philippines is a surprisingly nice place to visit. Despite the terrorist activity and the recent spate of kidnappings, it really is a beautiful place. It's reputedly the home of the most beautiful beaches in the world - something that I'm tentatively planning on confirming on my next visit there. The natives are friendly and polite and there sure is a lot to buy in the place. I paid a visit to my favourite beauty shop, Lush, and also managed to stock up on some American brands that I don't get back home, such as the amazing Mentos-flavoured Burt's Bees Lip Balm. I met a fair amount of interesting people, among which was this Zhang Ziyi look-alike (but prettier) who I got on with just fine.

Other firsts: I slept through my first earthquake (Richter scale 4) and went to a karaoke lounge for the first time ever. I even sang along to some Mandarin tunes which I remembered from my childhood!

Memorable event: On the day after the Davao bombing (Ash Wednesday), I went to church with a fellow colleague and while two thirds of the sermon was in Tagalog, the 'main points' were in English - something along the lines of 'Mumble mumble mumble Advent. Mumble mumble mumble Christmas. Mumble mumble mumble mumble 34 Ordinary Sundays.' You get the idea. Anyway, after the first part of the sermon (on alms-giving, prayer and fasting - the three things that a good Catholic should do for Lent), the priest, Father Jeffrey moved on to explain the significance of Ash Wednesday (essentially a day to remind us that we're mortal, as from dust we were made and unto dust we will return). How did he start?

"You do not know if you will make it back to your homes alive today. You do not even know if you will finish this Mass!"

Thanks, Father. It really reassured two obviously non-local females who were already alarmed at having to walk 30 minutes back to our hotel in the dark and deserted streets.

I was at a gathering earlier today with my colleagues, and there's this girl who I've been working with since I first joined the work force. She's sort of cute in a little girl kind of way and very smart. At the same time, she's very confused - as in she knows her subject matter very well, but she's not very streetwise as she's been very sheltered her whole life. And every time she makes a mistake, people find it cute and amusing and it adds to her like-ability. She's sweet and nice, but man, I simply can't stand it! I'm so freakin' jealous of her - of how intelligent she is, and of how young she looks (she's a year older than I am but looks 14). I hate how everyone looks at her and says, "Awww, isn't she the sweetest thing? And how about all the silly things she says and does? Even cuter!"

Urgh. I hate that.

I've been sacking out on 'That 70's Show' tonight. American humour is very 'in-your-face' unlike ironic, subtle British humour. Both amuse me equally - although my personal style, according to my best friend, tends to be more British. It sometimes puzzles and even alarms me a little that I find American humour so fun despite my (questionable) intellect.

John Mayer's 'Your Body is a Wonderland' is a really sweet song. It's such a moving celebration of the act of love, as opposed to all the downright vulgar hip hop songs of today. I wish I could meet someone who made me feel that way... actually, no. I wish I was the person who made someone feel that way, who could inspire someone to put pen to party and come up with such soulful lyrics.

I'm back! I survived two weeks of intense training and I'm back! It's so good to be home, seeing the friends who I left behind. I'm just so incredibly happy to see my old friends for some inexplicable reason. For the record, I slept through my first earthquake... but that's a story for another time. I don't have the time to update this fully just yet but I need to get all my thoughts out some time, so don't fret!