How I spent my Easter.

This is my smaller little man. He's grown so big and talkative that i can hardly recognize him anymore..(heh, just trying to make conversation)..OF COURSE I CAN RECOGNISE HIM!


My name is Benjamin Chai.
My favourite Auntie Melanie thinks i look like Kenny Sia.
And I shake my booty to the tune of Queen's We Will Rock You.

Easter Morning-Egg Hunt.

Have you ever thought that kids nowadays are just so darned lucky? they seriously get everything...and i mean, EVERYTHING.

see, when i was a kid, i didn't have an auntie who would buy me hundreds of chocolate easter eggs (and, no joke, i think there was at LEAST a hundred), then wake up on Easter morning to run over to the neighbour's garden to hide them, then bring me over to go hunt for them. all this complete with two pretty straw baskets and a whole crew of adults smiling down on you as you 'find' an egg..(it's not THAT hard..May Chiew made it pretty obvious..if it were me, i'd make him WORK for it..bwahaha..)





The Sydney Royal Easter Show.

The lights, the noise, the people, the games, the shows, the food, the animals...

It's all a money-making scam.

The moment you step into the Homebush Showground, you lose yourself completely. You spend 5 bucks in a 1/20 chance game in hopes of winning a gigantic Homer Simpson soft-toy which you eventually lose in. Then, you sit in the NAB Arena under the hot-blistering-unforgiving Australian sun, wearing your long-sleeved black jumper, red Toyota cap that you borrowed from your cousin-in-law, sunnies that you stole from your 5.5-year-old nephew for an hour just to watch some lady from America shoot herself out of a cannon. It ends in 5 seconds and you get 4th-degree burns. Later, you wrestle with the huge throng of crowds at the Showbag dome to buy yourself a crummy showbag worth 12 bucks which contains, together with other items, a roll of celophane tape, a tin of cat food and a few sachets of Green Tea&Apple Twinnings Tea. In the end, you trek to the dairy farmers' showtent to smell cow fart.


But heck, the bag itself was worth the 12 dollars. pretty, no?

At the end of 6-odd hours, you emerge from the showground scarred, traumatized, all-the-more-wiser and physically drained.







You vow never to do it again...but of course, who believes that?