Today, Toady. Tomorrow, the World!

We do not have an aquarium in the conventional sense of possessing tanks. Neither do we really have a pond that has been lusciously landscaped into the garden/outdoors. Instead, we have a bricked up rectangular area that has valves et al to function as a pond.

In this pond are kept my partner's bettas* and my two plecos. And in this pond too have many a common toad couple made love and laid their eggs, to the detriment of both the existing fish and their keepers. Toads are BAAAAD NEWS. They're poisonous to the fish. And well, you really don't want to be greeted with a million toady tadpoles which will affect the fish and fry (I have mentioned the partner's bettas' propensity to breed continuously).

Added to that, I am frrrrrrreaked out by amphibians. I believe that everything is God's creation, but that doesn't easily translate into a Mother Nature all-embracing attitude towards living beings. Not in my case. Amphibians. Just saying the word is equivalent to cursing for me.

Newts, salamanders, frogs, toads. How unsavoury these characters are to me. I cannot deal with them! These d@#N toads who have decided to dance the choreography of amplexus in our pond. The sheer arrogance! The bloody cheek of them all.

In Malay, they (and their frog cousins) are merely called "katak", which is one of the more onomatopoeic words in that language. If you've listened to toads/frogs calling out for love, you could possibly identify with the sound of "katak". Say it quickly and repeat a hundred times in increasing frequency.

Despite their unsavouriness, I tend to veer towards the Buddhist/King Solomon practice of never harming animals so the option left to us is to exercise a "foreign policy" to this 'ethnic' group. Expatriation, or would it be more precise to term it as "repatriation", even "extradition".

The usual episode would unfold where the kataks are katak-ing, katak-ing in a way that would never refer to the elegance of one of the Indian Subcontinent's dance of storytelling. The partner's ears would prick up; the senses are on full alert [DEFCON1], so much so that even deep slumber could be shrugged aside. Then comes the frenzy of torchlight sweeps - spotting the enemy. Target locked on, the partner armed with a net and cardboard, proceeds to carry out his mission. We have moved, migrated all toads which have approached the pond or even jumped into the pond. The number of toads displaced (and even more so as the climactic problems are screwing up their seasonal mating sense, or so I conjecture) should equate to a ToaDiaspora. Someday, subaltern histories will be written on this locale where toads in the "mood for love**" have been unceremoniously booted.

Tonight though, the partner is deeply asleep, and I loathe to rouse him to perform his duty; to defend the pond against these amourous amphibians. He needs his rest; it's an important day for him tomorrow (er, later today) and he would need focus. The toads have been singing all night and their siren song has drawn me in. I will be the one to enforce the foreigning-the-toad policy. Oh yes, I will be the immovable unreasonable agent of all Immigration & Customs checkpoints and banish the toads, dismissing their intention to propagate survival of their species. They will not be granted the special status of Diplomatic Immunity, they will not be conferred the UNHCR status of refugee.

Tonight, I will have the courage to "just say no!" to the toads. Their mating calls have reached the Quitline+ and my will is refreshed.

----------

I did just that. I, plecokeeper of Siglap, asserted my right to protect the pond and picked up a toad and showed her the way out to a nice big longkang++ elsewhere. I feel good. I faced fear. The fishes have been protectd. We should not need to be visited by the unpleasant incident of morning deaths. I did well. I did good...I...

I bloody ran home (we really do banish the toads), dropped the net, screamed in my head (I'm aware enough still of other housemates sleeping) and locked the doors.

I never want to do this again.
The night is silent, and holy again.


*bettas refer to fighting fish, usually associated to the Siamese fighting fish
**Yes, I am a fan of Wong Kar Wai. Have I mentioned my fantasy at being able to pull off cheongsams (Chinese garb for ladies) a la Maggie Cheung?
+ Quitline refers to a Singapore government scheme to aid those who wish to end their smoking careers. I am always wary of government schemes. A non-repentant, recalcitrant smoker, so to speak.
++ Malay for "drains"

Mbu eMBedded. Desperately Needing Extrication from Obsession.

(pic taken from another forum, for illustrative purposes)

What is this? I'm going crazy. Or crazy is having a real go at me. It's 2:39AM; I've set, at least, four alarms to make sure that I do get up at 9AM as I have plans which involve travelling across aquatic borders to the neighbouring country for an important event.

I am supposed to be k-n-a-c-k-e-r-e-d. I haven't been sleeping well for the past few days. A measly couple to three hours (please do not forget that I am essentially, cosmologically a Lioness and therefore require extreme amounts of sleep). AND YET! After a full Saturday spent running errands and trawling through the Yishun neighbourhood, checking out LFS* and then going for an exhibition opening where copious amounts of whiskey had been imbibed, I've swung from exhaustion-verging-upon-falling-asleep-on-the-spot to nail-biting-hair-pulling-feverish-awakeness. 'Kill me' as a wish and fervent desire doesn't seem to be too far off the mark. And what is the mark? The target? The goal of my obsession, so to speak?

Tetraodon mbu. Giant freshwater puffer. Giant = SL of 30" (75cm). Carnivorous with a beak that needs to be kept in check. So lots of feeding of shelled fish/animals = Heavy, dedicated investment. I really do need to think through this but I can't stop thinking about them.

Why? Why why why why? It just seems too much to fight against fate. I had only just discovered them this Saturday morning and had browsed the Net for information on them. Today, I came across two specimens in one of the LFS. I should have stopped myself then, but there I was, as glassy-eyed as the sides of the aquarium, enthralled by the fish. I had even picked out the one I wanted (although I had believed that I was just considering).

And what have I done in the last half-hour? Gone back to all the information I had dug up, with a fire of desire (don't groan, I do like the rhyming) to commit them to memory. At this stage, it's not 'research' to plan for an action, it's a defense mechanism to justify an action I've already committed in my mind. I WANT THAT MBU PUFFER AND I'VE CALLED IT MINE. I've even taken down the number of the LFS so I can call them up to reserve the fellow.

I really shouldn't do this. I'm planning to move house, and I need to set up my tanks properly. I can't impulse buy this fellow. I am completely and utterly in the throes of passion, it's unfunny.

I should be sleeping. Not puffed up with desire, obsession and crazed-ness.


*LFS = local fish shops, for the non-fish geekazoid.

Map-frapping Pleco Fanatics Around the World

Woohoo...a dynamic object for the blog! What a wonderful tech toy that puts faces and places to, otherwise viewed only as, nicks-and-avatars on the forums. It's one step forward towards manifesting that sense of community. I go by luzaroon <-- That's definitely a clue to the real-life self. Makes me ponder again on virtual nicks, avatars, personas, real vs virtual selves...

Melancholy Melafix-ed*

The balcony of my room overlooks the ponds my plecos live in. I know they come out at night. I wonder if it is solace my fish find in the night; thus why they can emerge from their hiding places and go about the usual business of eating in order to live on another day and continue their survival.

I usually like the night too for the refuge it provides; like an old knowing tree with calm shade to cover me while I conduct extraordinary business dealing in feelings. For in this darkness, in the shadows, everything lengthens in different measures - hours, dreams, worries and longings.

I wonder then about the difference between a nocturnal fish or animal, and me. It seems that my usage of the night is conflicted. On the one hand, I would like to indulge in my emotional states. Cry as much as I want to, dream forever if I could, stay as transported as I can because the night is a highway. On the other hand, it is the best time to sleep (in my opinion). It's a natural physiological instinct (humans aren't supposed to be nocturnal; however we seem to break a lot of natural rules), but it also seems that to sleep while it's night gives me a double blanket to pull over me, to snuggle up in and rest as deep as I can. Thus I spend the most parts fighting a desire to sleep with the desire to traverse all the dimensions of wakefulness. In this sense, I equate wakefulness to space. Space in the sense of unboundedness resulting in part, the freedom to gaze at my belly which gives birth to the hope that I could discover my true heart. And then it springs the desire to gain some kind of clarity at the end of such a journey that only the night can take me on.

Therefore I guess I am not a nocturnal fish enjoying some sort of freeing when swimming out to the moonlight. I imagine that freedom in fish-swimming as it's a far more buoyant movement than the rather weighted, graceless ambulatory mode of humans. Pacing is not as elegant as cutting through water with a flick of a tail.

*Sidenote: One of my partner's bettas was just started on Melafix treatment for his tail rot today. He's a lot calmer now, and not zipping round frantically trying to nip himself from the itch as he was yesterday. Thank God!

My Favourite (Photoshop) Filter is...

MOTION BLUR!

Have I ever mentioned how difficult it is for me to just catch a glimpse of this pleco of mine? And he's very very in-tune to me. So much so that he knows exactly when to make a dash.

If you've never seen this fish move, you should. They may look like navy cruisers or other massive vehicles, but hell! when they whip that tail, it's 0-to-60 miles (distance) covered in a flash. Amazing propulsion.

*By the way, in case you didn't catch my play on words. This shot is unedited/untreated. It's literally a frozen-in-time moment, though it looks like time's too slow for my buddy.

Bumper Sticker!

You know the ones. They always warn you not to "kiss my ass or else..." or other comical-but-deadly threats in the event of tailgating.

Be Vewwy Vewwy Quiet...

...we're hunting Mr Elusive.