tell me about it

I got the SMS yesterday from Bin and I literally staggered and had to sit down. I wasn’t that close to him as a friend but he was always ready with a smile and funny remarks. We used to tease him a whole lot about becoming a celebrity one day – I’d tell him that I was his biggest fan (until Colin came along and I transferred my idolizing to Best Friend) because he had a gorgeous voice and real stage presence.

First memory of Ishi – sitting at the CS benches during Wednesday performances, hearing him sing for the first time, being absolutely captivated by his smooth, soulful voice. Joking about being the president of his fan club. Insisting I get his signature so that I could sell it off when he got famous.

I remember when I first met him at freshman orientation camp when I was just a freshman in 2003. He was the group leader for Apollo and was immediately noticeable cuz he’d go around with one pant leg rolled up, had a funky hairstyle, was always smiley and jokey and happy. Which makes it so agonizing – when you aren’t that close to someone, how can you ever know if a smile is real or fake? How do you know when someone’s covering up his sadness with a mask?

How can you step in to help save someone’s life?

Second memory – Tiffany rolling up one pant leg to imitate Ishi, the two of them bopping and laughing their heads off.

And another time – I once told him he needed a haircut. “Lazy lah,” he replied. “Don’t want to go to the salon just to trim my hair.”

“Hey, I’ll cut it for you. Right now.”

“Are you serious?” He started laughing. “Eh, I don’t mind. Why not.”

“You sure you trust me? Don’t regret, ok!” I grinned. “Let me go find a pair of scissors.”

So armed with scissors and a paper cup to catch the bits of hair, I trimmed his hair for him right there at the CS benches. It wasn’t a bad haircut, if I do say so myself.

I also remember him being featured in the Nanyang Chronicle – him and his dressing table with more lotions and creams and toners than I’ve used in a lifetime.

And then when I found out what his real name was: “Lau Gek How?! Your name is Gek How?!?” I burst out laughing. “No wonder you call yourself Ishi lah. Tak glam leh.”

He named himself Ishi because it means determination in Japanese. How I wish he’d used that determination to face life and push on into the future.

After his batch graduated I never really kept in touch with him. The last time I ever saw him would have been his acting stint in that Channel 8 show with Jeanette Aw, which I watched just to support him even though I don’t really watch Ch 8 dramas.

I know I wasn’t too close to him, but the news of the death of a friend always comes as a terrible shock. What more someone who always seemed so full of life and energy and smiles.

I don’t know what was troubling you, or what drove you to choose this path, but I honestly, deeply wish that you have found peace.

Take care, Ishi. Please be happy.

Ishi Lau Gek How, a member of the hip-hop dance group SOUL who shot to fame in Channel U’s SuperBand, was found dead in a car yesterday afternoon outside the National Stadium. The actual cause of death is still unknown, although the rumour now is that the 25-year-old committed suicide.

Today’s edition of The New Paper reported the news of a young Chinese man found dead yesterday afternoon inside a Toyota Altis at the National Stadium, which we believe to be Ishi. The paper reported that a Bangladeshi worker had seen the car parked in the soon-to-be-demolisted National Stadium carpark since 8am yesterday. Thinking the man inside was sleeping, he let him be. But when the worker saw the man in the car again at 2pm, he alerted his supervisor. Puddles of vomit were splattered on the parking lot next to the car. Another man claimed that he had seen the Toyota in the area before, recognising it because of its unique car license plate number.

The Police has classified it as unnatural death.

News of Ishi’s death, released by the Police this morning, has left many people in extreme shock, not least the MediaCorp staff who knew the young and ever-so-lively Ishi from working with him in SuperBand.

“When the reporters called me this morning and told me the news, i couldn’t believe it and thought they were kidding me. It feels weird… unreal… Sam, Nic and I are very shocked,” Weiqi from MiLu Bing told us.

“I can’t remember the last time I met Ishi, but I think it was at a KDF charity event show. I’ve met up with the rest of SOUL after SuperBand ended but Ishi seemed busy. I’ve called Andy (from SOUL) and understood from him that Ishi’s parents are too overwhelmed with grief now to decide if there’s going to be a wake.”

Shinya from Lucify told us, “We’re very bothered. Ishi had always appeared so healthy, cheerful and fun-loving… always cracking jokes, but i supposed we didn’t know what was going on.”

Jasmin Chong, manager to SOUL at MediaCorp Artiste Management, said, “I’m shocked at the news… Ishi is a happy-go-lucky guy; very jovial. I really don’t know what happened. I heard the news this morning from the boys (from SOUL); they had gotten the news only this morning too. They didn’t say much, only that they will call me again when they find out more. They sounded ok.

“We don’t know the cause of death, I mean, we will only know when the toxicology report comes out right? It seems his body was there for a few hours. From the type of person he is, I doubt that he would kill himself but I don’t know…”

We asked Jasmin if we could speak to the rest of the SOUL members but learnt that they do not wish to speak to the media at the moment.

Ishi wasn’t just a dancer; he was also a singer and a dance instructor, coaching the Top 20 contestants of Project SuperStar 2 on the dance routine to their music videos. Tan Diya, the eventual female winner of the competition, was in a state of disbelief when she heard the news this morning.

“I thought it was a joke when I saw the SMS this morning; I just shouted ‘How could it be!?’ I kept thinking to myself, whether he called anyone or if anybody helped him before he died…

“He was my senior in Communications Studies at Nanyang Technological University; he was a very popular guy in school – he could sing, dance, and play the guitar… a lot of girls liked him. His name was the first few I heard when I entered university. He would take part in our school’s performances… he was really a famous guy in school.

“Someone said he committed suicide, but I just find that very unbelievable. He was a very lively, talented guy, is a full-time dance instructor now and has a bright future in front of him. I really don’t understand why he had to do this… I really don’t.”

Nat Tan, the first runner-up of Project SuperStar 2, also remembers Ishi as a man with a bright future ahead of him. “He had a great passion for dance and had his dance studio. He appeared very carefree. When he taught us contestants how to dance he was still very patient with us even though we kept making mistakes. This is a real pity… I even met him and talked with him at Raffles City Shopping Centre two weeks ago…”

Carrie Yeo, the first female runner-up, even more devastating news for us.

“He was an emotional person; someone said he had mood swings easily and became depressed sometimes. I even heard that the night he died, his MSN had a message: ‘Goodbye to all of you’. I think, if someone had shown him some concern and consolation then, this might not have happened. No matter how tough life is, one still shouldn’t commit suicide.”

As a brand-new trainee teacher I guess this sort of thing is closer to my heart now. Alfian Sa’at’s tenure with MOE ended abruptly when they sacked him for no apparent reason; of course we all know Alfian’s out and proud, but obviously MOE won’t come out and cite that reason (if it is indeed that reason) for his termination.

Now Alfian tells the story of another friend who wasn’t permitted to train as a teacher because he’s gay.

This disturbs me.

It’s blatant discrimination and while of course it’s MOE’s prerogative to pick and choose their teachers, I hardly think that one’s sexual preference would affect one’s teaching ability. Homosexuality is not a disease, neither is it contagious; homosexuality does not equate with promiscuity or paedophilia. And if a gay teacher falls in love with another gay colleague and they end up dating, why should that be any different from a straight teacher falling in love with another straight colleague? Are colleagues not allowed to date/get married? If that is school policy then that is another matter. But how can you preempt these things?

Of course I’m in a difficult position now as I hardly intend to bite the hand that feeds me. Suffice it to say that I’m greatly disturbed that honesty and openness is rewarded with discrimination and blatant bias; I’m upset that my gay friends have to stay in the closet if they wish to seek jobs in the civil service. What was all that that Goh Chok Tong said about homosexuals being allowed in the civil service? It doesn’t seem to be happening.

Also, why the discrimination against gay men? I’ve had plenty of lesbian teachers and they never had as much bullshit to go up against as gay men.

Article below taken from Alfian’s blog.

Should a gay teacher be allowed to teach in schools?

At first glance, the answer to the question above is obvious. A teacher’s sexuality belongs to a private realm, and has no bearing on his ability to teach. There have been no known instances, for example, where one’s sexual orientation has impaired one’s ability to prepare lessons or manage a classroom.

Yet, imagine a straw poll conducted by a newspaper, with the same question directed at what the local press likes to term the ‘man-in-the-street’. Imagine if the question is raised after prominent media coverage of a male teacher who has been accused of molesting his male students. Imagine also, the leading phraseology: the question reads ‘Should a gay teacher be allowed to teach in schools?’ instead of, say, ‘Should our schools discriminate against a teacher who happens to be gay?’

Would it be surprising to find a majority replying in the negative? Apart from the imperfections of the survey methodology itself (skewed sample, small sample size), one of the main problems in addressing the issue is semantics. What exactly do we mean by a ‘gay teacher’? Or rather, what do people think of when they hear that phrase?

The issue here is one of moral panic. There are certain obstinate stereotypes that will obviously colour one’s interpretation of the term. What are some of the fears associated with the presence of gay teachers in schools? Firstly, there is the issue of predation. Teachers are authority figures, and positions of authority can sometimes be abused. In some of the more high-profile cases mentioned in the press, one involved a water-polo adviser, while another was a school counselor. The former offered physiotherapeutic massages, which gradually bordered on molest, while the latter took advantage of counseling sessions to do much more than verbal counseling.

Secondly, teachers are figures of influence. And here we find ourselves colliding head-on with those who believe that homosexuality is a matter of choice. The concern is that an openly gay teacher might be able to convert his students to ‘a homosexual lifestyle’. By either refraining from condemning homosexuality (‘there is nothing wrong with being gay’), or even advocating it (‘being gay means being special’), they might be able to direct the process of sexual identity-formation among impressionable youths.

Undeniably, the kinds of paranoia I have listed quite often stem from a position of ignorance at best, and hypocrisy at worst. Sexual predation is not exclusive to gay teachers; there are many pedophiles who happen to be straight. If it is a very real concern, then there should be a policy where straight male teachers are banned from all-girls’ schools.

As for the idea that gay teachers will spend their time in the classroom evangelizing and recruiting students, it is flawed on two counts: unlike religious zealots, gay teachers (or even generally gay people, for that matter) rarely possess the fervour to prescribe their lifestyles to others. Also, no matter how malleable the adolescent mind, it is quite impossible to condition one’s sexual orientation. If sexual desire is really the product of imitative behaviour, then how do homosexuals emerge from societies which constantly valorize the heterosexual ideal?

These would all be hypothetical musings, if not for the fact that I have had a personal encounter with a 20-year-old called Francis (not his real name). In March 2005, after his ‘A’ level results, Francis applied for a Bachelor of Arts (Education) (BA(Ed)) at the National Institute of Education (NIE). Two months later, he was called up for an interview. Francis described the interview as a successful one, where he shared with the interviewers his dream of becoming an Art teacher in secondary schools.

For Francis, the particular programme he was applying for was an attractive one. It was a four-year course, where tuition fees were fully paid for, with an additional monthly allowance for the first two years. There were also grants awarded to undergraduates who performed with distinction. After graduating, there would be a four-year bond period with the Ministry of Education (MOE). In mid-2005, Francis was offered a place. He accepted it gladly, and was given a letter of appointment as a trainee teacher.

Francis was released from National Service in December 2006. Around April this year, as part of the matriculation procedure, he was called up for a routine medical check-up. At the clinic, there was a form that required him to fill in his Pes Status in the army. Francis wrote down ‘C1L1’, and was then asked to explain the reasons for his downgrade.

Francis decided to tell the truth. When he was in the army, he had asked both the Medical Officer as well as the psychiatrist he was referred to whether declaring himself a homosexual would affect his future prospects in the civil service. He was given full reassurance that the 302 classification (the military’s code for homosexual personnel) was the sole provenance of the Ministry of Defence, and was not a universal trans-ministerial category.

So Francis said, “I declared 302 in the army.”

The clinician noted his statement, and later Francis was contacted by someone from the MOE to present himself for a follow-up medical review with a specialist.

“What kind of specialist?” he asked the voice on the phone.

“I don’t know,” the voice replied. “I’m just a secretary.”

“How can you not know? You have the information in front of you. I want to know what medical problems I might have.”

“It’s in a sealed envelope,” the voice answered.

Francis was worried. All he remembered from the medical check-up was that they had taken his blood pressure, and a sample of his urine. Did he have a disease that was only diagnosed at that point? His speculations ran wild: what did they find in his urine? Could it be that despite having uncompromisingly practiced safe sex, he was HIV-positive?

Two weeks later, Francis discovered that the specialist he had been referred to was a psychiatrist. At first she seemed puzzled by his appearance, and claimed that she was not sure what to do, since she did not have his case files. So Francis volunteered the information.

“I am a homosexual. And I’ve been sent here by the MOE.”

A light of understanding suddenly dawned on the psychiatrist’s face. She immediately settled into a routine which suggested that Francis was not the first case of this nature she had seen. She told him, “this might be awkward for you, but let’s try to make this session as frank as possible”.

What later transpired was almost an exact replica of Francis’ interviews when he first declared himself homosexual in the army. There were the questions on his sexual history, the invasive enquiries on his relationships, the degrading interrogation on whether he was ‘the active or passive partner’. There were, however, a few novel questions.

“Have you considered that you might fall in love with a student?”

“No. As a matter of fact I don’t even like guys my own age. I like them older.”

The psychiatrist was busy scribbling notes. Francis thought this would convince her that he was not out to infiltrate schools for the purpose of victimizing young boys.

“Have you considered that you might fall in love with a male colleague?”

Francis pondered for a while. Should relationships at the workplace be policed? But there were straight teachers who had no problems dating their fellow colleagues; some of them even got married.

“I don’t think so,” Francis replied. “My personal and professional lives should be separate. Anyway, I’d just like to say that I might be gay, but I’m not a pervert. Can you please note that down?”

At the end of the session, the psychiatrist looked at Francis, smiled, and said, “The Ministry would like me to put a ‘no’. But I really don’t see anything wrong with you, and I’m going to put a ‘yes’. I’ll have to write a report to justify my decision, and they are going to question me and ask if I’ve been too lenient. But between you and me, it’s a ‘yes’.”
Before he left, the psychiatrist wished Francis all the best. On the 7th of June, Francis Wong received a letter from the MOE. It stated that the Ministry was withdrawing his appointment as a trainee teacher. The reason they gave? “You have been certified medically unfit.”

“I was this close,” said Francis ruefully. “I was just short of signing the contract.”

The university admissions exercise is now closed, and Francis is looking at the very bleak possibility that he will have to wait for a whole year before he can commence tertiary studies. He has written in to the MOE, asking them to clarify what they meant by ‘medically unfit’, and is still waiting for an answer. He has sought out the Member of Parliament (MP) for his constituency, along with his parents (Francis remarked wryly how it’s the first time his parents have supported him in a gay-related cause).

The advice from the MP was to seek a second opinion from a health professional—basically a full-body physical and psychological checkup to challenge MOE’s claim that he is ‘medically unfit’. Francis noted how the MP seemed to evade the question of whether there is active and systematic discrimination against homosexuals by MOE.

The MOE is one of the most notoriously tight-lipped ministries in Singapore. But how long can we tolerate such bureaucratic opacity? Civil service institutions cannot see themselves as exempt from public accountability. If there is indeed a policy that bars gay people from the teaching profession, a policy that contradicts former Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong’s 2003 statements about the hiring of gay personnel in the civil service, it should be communicated to the public. This is to not only initiate public debate on a very important issue, but to allow gay men to make enlightened career choices.

The problem is that many gay men, when caught in such a predicament, are unwilling to speak up. To do so would entail coming out, not just to family and friends, but a wider public. And perhaps this is what the MOE is banking on: that the risk of public exposure will dissuade gay men from seeking redress for the various injustices they have suffered.

Of course, the issue involves much more than the inscrutability of MOE’s own hiring policies. The 302 classification is a medical, and not simply a human resource, category. This is in spite of the declassification of homosexuality as a ‘mental illness’ by the World Health Organisation in 1992 (it was declassified by China in 2001). As such, from a purely technical point of view, there is some credence to the labeling of a 302 personnel as ‘medically unfit’.

I watch Francis as he tries to describe how he feels about the turning his life has taken the past few months. He was told being 302 was not going to be a liability in the civil service. He was told that there was nothing wrong with him, and that a psychiatrist would vouch for his suitability. And yet his one dream of teaching Art in schools is now dashed. “I don’t feel like I’m wanted here,” he says.

If he were to enroll in another university, he would have to consider how to pay the tuition fees, as both his parents are not working. Going overseas is not a financially realistic option. Before we parted, Francis told me of how he has to replace some of the bulbs in his house because the lights had started to go out, one after another.

I imagined living in a place like that, where flicking the light switch repeatedly brings no response. Yet this is precisely the kind of environment that MOE has created, as it keeps Francis, and all of us, in the dark.

where I plot my birthday dinner celebrations and spend happy hours thinking about my birthday wishlist!

Where should I hold my birthday thingy this year? I’ve more or less given up on the big combined celeb thing so I think I might have a CS-only dinner and then have separate little dinners with other friends who matter. Maybe another party-ish thing with council people.

Likely will be holding my birthday thingy on the 15th of July because I have a tournament the week after.

Wishlist wishlist wishlist.

I still want:

• A Liverpool jersey. I wear a kid’s size L, if I remember correctly. And I’d love the number 7 and BETH on the back :D

  And I still crave this watch :(

  ‘The Wedding Officer’ by Anthony Capella, ‘The Memory Keeper’s Daughter’ by Kim Edwards, ‘Nineteen Minutes’ by Jodi Picoult (or Borders vouchers also can :D)

  Manicure vouchers for The Good Earth Nail Spa

  A pretty wrap or protective case thing for my iPod nano.

  Little elephant statuettes that are just about small enough to fit into the hollow of your palm. No more brown wooden ones please. :)

  A wooden display thingy for my elephants. Sort of like this:

  

  A pretty cardigan in black or brown.

Can’t think of anything else right now, lovely brother already bought me Neil Gaiman’s ‘Neverwhere’, the graphic novel version *DROOLS* even though he’s sort of stolen it back to read it first :/

Am not going to name the school I’m currently training in just in case my students find my blog :D

Anyhow got to school today and suffered from a a bad case of culture shock. I’ve never been in a neighborhood school and I didn’t realize how sheltered that made me. The dynamics of a neighborhood school are just…different from the ones I’ve been in. For one thing, although we joke about it plenty, I’ve never actually heard the term “‘Cher!” used in a classroom by students. Today I’ve been called ‘Cher countless times and it never fails to make me half want to grin.

The kids are also a lot better behaved than I’d feared, which I’m thankful for. It’s definitely a far cry from my own secondary school days but still I think I should be able to manage it. And you know…I actually feel pretty happy and comfortable in front of the classes. So far, anyway :P

My mentor teachers are also really nice; I’m going to be quite satisfied shadowing them. A bit of luck, the school’s 50th anniversary celebrations are this Friday so there’s no actual lessons on Thursday and no school at all on Friday, except I have to be at the concert in the evening. Plus Monday is Youth Day, and when you think about it, I should have gone to Bangkok this weekend instead :P

I ALSO FINISH WORK EVERY DAY AT 2PM WOOOOO!

That’s it lah. I think I don’t want to teach JC anymore. I like going home early and catching up on lost sleep from waking up at unholy hours like 5.40am.

It leaves me with an entire afternoon and evening to do my own thing.

I have a red houndstooth-patterned vintage Adidas bag.

It rocks my world!

And another gorgeous new elephant to add to my beautiful collection. I do so love my elephants.

Also lots of new clothes, too many new pairs of earrings to count, and memories of a well-spent weekend with lovely company :)

Already I sorely miss the food and the people and the streets.

It’s one of my favorite cities in the world. Greasy dreadlocked farangs sipping Chang beer at roadside stalls. The friendly pleas of “Paeng bai, paeng bai…lot noi dai mai?” (Too expensive, cheaper can or not?) and the fake branded goods (and some genuine ones as well, like my hello-pretty-vintage-Adidas-bag). Thai massage and my bi-annual back cracks. The long-lashed earrings vendor with the charming smile, and the Jack Sparrow lookalike on Khao San.

Spring rolls and pad thai, meat kabobs and ice lollies. Sweet duck noodles. Thai chilli sauce. Drool.

Snickering at the stupid farangs who walk around hand-in-hand with the local girls who only want to bleed their wallets dry.

T-shirts, dresses and jeans for roi ha sip baht (150 baht). Shopping our legs off together, chatty dinners at night.

I love Bangkok.

Disappearing for the weekend.

Watch this space.

What a terrible, terrible, awful, horrible day.

First that, then that.

And then the worst taxi ride I’ve ever had in my life!

The cab driver was utterly silent while Mish and Stephen were in the cab – first we dropped Mish, then Stephen – and the minute Stephen got out of the cab, he started talking.

You know how cab drivers talk and talk and you give polite little “Uh huh”s, “Mmm”s and “Ya”s? Yeah. And he wasn’t just talking – he related to me several stories about annoying Indian passengers, and then started trash-talking Indian people. Which obviously got me pissed off because so many of my closer friends are Indian (and Shyam claims I’m half Indian myself).

And then to my horror when he chose to take CTE instead of the Istana way, we ended up nose-first in a horrible jam.

Which is about when he started trash-talking every other driver on the road.

“Bastard man, your bastard father, you must be Indian, how you drive! I take hammer and knock your car then you know. Wait I call police to revoke your license!”

Me: *agape* *starts to pray*

This is also about the time when he started twitching and jerking spasmodically in his seat. He also started sweating profusely, nervously wiping off his sweat with his hands every two seconds. I, unfortunately, was stuck in the bloody front seat because the two had been at the back and I’d expected a quick 10 minute drive back from Clarke Quay where I’d dropped Stephen.

Alas.

Twenty more minutes of hell as he cursed at other drivers for their parentage (dubious), their driving skills (lack of), and their race (Indian or Malay) and we crawled at a snail’s pace toward home.

I wanted to cry. His twitching and sweating was seriously freaking me out. The pace was bloody frustrating, and the vulgarities and racism was just pissing the hell out of me.

Then when we were finally near home (oh thank the sweet Lord), the worst happened.

A bus suddenly swung into our lane when it had been indicating left to go to the bus stop. Some taxi had stopped its inconsiderate ass right in front of the bus stop. Two other cars had stopped right in front of it. Either they had all stopped suddenly or the bus driver hadn’t been looking where he was going, resulting in the sudden horrified swerve outwards to avoid the three cars.

My heart had already jumped from the close shave. It didn’t help when the twitchy, sweaty taxi driver started cussing his head off at the bus driver. Predictably.

“@#$@#%#$@#$!????!!??!”

He turned to me.

“Must be Malaysian driver. Johor driver this one.”

I gritted my teeth in anger and just shut the hell up hoping that he would follow suit. The next second I let out a terrified whimper as the taxi driver SWUNG quickly and deliberately in and out of the bus driver’s lane.

“See? You like that? How do you like that huh! Malaysian driver.”

I wanted to ask him how he knew I wasn’t Malaysian myself, but he had pretty much exhausted every inch of my goodwill by then and I was just too relieved when he pulled up at my block and I got out of the cab.

On hindsight and on people’s advice, I guess I should have taken down his cab number and his name but I had just wanted so badly to get the hell out of his cab.

Oh god.

I always laughed it off when people tried earnestly to convince me that cordyceps are worms. “They’re vegetables lah,” I’d say. “They just look like worms. Who the hell boils worm soup?”

Then Paul said he’d heard that cordyceps were animal yet also plant, like they changed halfway during their life. I pooh-poohed that as well. “That’s not freaking possible,” I said flippantly. “That doesn’t happen. Geez.”

“They’re vegetables,” I pronounced confidently. “Look at them! No eyes, no holes, just a hard white blobby thing. Crunchy. Cooked in soup.”

“Vegetable.”

AIYEEEEEE!

WIKIPEDIA SAYS!

Cordyceps sinensis is a species of southeast, mountainous China that attacks caterpillars, specifically the larvae of hepialid moths (identified as species of Hepialus or Thitarodes).

The caterpillars feed on the roots of trees and shrubs on the slopes of the Himalayas. When infected by C. sinensis, the fungus mycelium fills the entire body cavity, killing the host, and the caterpillars die near the tops of their burrows. A dark brown, finger-like stroma sprouts near their heads. The entire fungus-caterpillar combination is hand-collected for medicinal use.

LOOK HOW INNOCUOUS IT LOOKS!

WHEN ACTUALLY IT LOOKS LIKE THIS!

AAAUUGHH!

Seen on Xiaxue’s blog first. Dammit I’m never drinking that damn soup again. Ack.

I need to go scrub my mouth out with Dettol.

Thanks, brown eyes :)

My week is made happy happy!

Surprise surprise coming at the end of the week. Talk about mass spontaneity :D

I can’t wait!

Dear tscd:

I was left a comment on my Vitagen vs Yakult post from a concerned reader:

“Hey, sorry- this is so random, my name is Sophie and I used to live in Kuala Lumpar, every week, my mum, brother and I used to go the supermarket where we’d get a couple of 6 packs of Vitagen…I’ve now moved back to the UK, and I can’t find them anywhere, any ideas where I could get some…They remind me so much of my childhood – i’d be so grateful for any ideas!! Please email me them on: miss_courtney@hotmail.com.

Thanks again!! Sophie xx”

Since you’re just about the only one I know who’s still in the UK (unless you’re already on the way home to SG, because you haven’t updated in awhile; all my studying friends have graduated already and returned to SG), would you know where to get Yakult or Vitagen from in the UK?

:D

THANK YOU!

love,
beth