It's been a week into my resolution to live in the moment, eat healthy and stand up straight, and the determination to do just that is still strong. Especially the eating healthy and drinking lots of water part (I'm also adding 'more exercise' to the agenda). Little did I know last Monday, it was only the beginning.

The rainy weather seems to have brought me renewed resolve to be a better person - not really, I just like using the weather as my all-encompassing scapegoat. Since last week, I've been inspired about/reminded to/thought of a bunch of different things I'd like to see me achieve or strive towards, most of which I've probably forgotten. Still, it's nice to sense and remember the desire if not the goal, which may be almost as important sometimes.

Then there's this guy - Randy Pausch. A ten-second intro: Randy is dying from pancreatic cancer, doctors predicted last year that he had less than six months to live and so he delivered his 'last lecture' at Carnegie Mellon University. The lecture became an Internet phenomenon and he got invited onto Oprah to deliver a snippet of it.

Now let's get this out in the open: I love Oprah. Even on days when I'm totally uninterested in what she's discussing, which isn't very often. Almost anyone who gets invited on Oprah instantly earns brownie points in my book, and if Oprah thinks we should hear this guy, we probably should hear this guy.

Randy had quite a few things to say about living life that struck me, but I'll just stick to these two, which struck a real guilty chord within, for now:

1. Tell the truth. I don't normally have a problem with this... until I know what I really think is going to upset the other person. Isn't that typical? What if I'm really annoyed at someone, but I pretend everything's ok? Is that not telling the truth? The more I think about it, the more I know this is only going to get more complicated.

2. Apologise (properly). Again, something we probably know off the top of our heads, but do we really apologise properly? I don't think I do. In fact, when unprepared, I really suck at it, especially according to Randy's criteria for apologising properly. He says there are three parts to a real apology: 'I'm sorry', 'It's my fault', 'What can I do?' I'm lucky to touch on the second, never mind the third, so I'm going to try and take this to heart, because this is something I'll probably be doing a lot of for the rest of my life. I also want to start by apologising to everyone I never apologised properly to:

I'm sorry. I mean it.

It's my fault. I hardly say this, and I really should say it more often.

What can I do? I almost never say this, although I usually follow up my 'I'm sorry' with an attempt to fix whatever I screwed up, if it's fixable. From now on, I should also ask.

(Note: This only applies to people I've actually apologised to, not every Tom, Dick and Sally who imagine I owe them an apology. Unfortunately for them, I'm also learning to stand up for what I believe in and hold my ground.)

Randy's 11 minutes on Oprah is here, or you can view the full lecture here. He's a great speaker - funny, captivating and so, so brave in the face of medically certain premature death. I first got wind of him from my in-laws, who, along with my mother, are the biggest senders of forwarded mail in my inbox. Interesting...

(Spot the odd one out.)

For April Fools' Day, we came to work in our pyjamas. Unfortunately, not all of us were around for the photo-taking and obviously not all of us followed instructions, but it's okay, we still love you, Christine.

I also just realised today that I am the only married woman in the office. One out of like, fifteen females or something. I know the revelation came a little late, but I feel like an endangered species.

Sivin brought up an interesting thought yesterday: are we lost in transition? As time passes me by faster and faster, I feel a desperate urge to grab on to each day and really live it, as opposed to letting it pass me by while I spend the ticking minutes waiting for the next big event. In other words, while I spend it in transition.

He talked about getting stuck in traffic, a brilliant example. Everything can be a transition - waiting to get to work in the morning; waiting to get home while at work; waiting for the weekend during the weekdays... Then it gets bigger - waiting for the next holiday while the weeks pass us by; slogging mindlessly away and waiting (or hoping) for that next promotion or pay-rise; wishing the days would pass until maybe your wedding day or something...

Am I getting lost in my everyday transitions? Am I so busy looking forward that I forget to look around me where I am? I've actually been mulling this over (on and off) for a while now.

On a TV note, a random episode of Oprah has ignited a resolve to eat healthy. Ironically, I think I ate healthier as a high schooler than I do now. I know I ate a helluva lot more fresh fruits then than I do now. And so, thanks to a combination of Dr. Oz's health quiz and this, I am inspired.

I am also going to do something about my posture. I have lousy posture - this is what happens when you reject those seven-year-old ballet classes, though all those years of Taekwondo should have done something, surely. I can't touch my toes, but I don't really care. Right now, I'll just settle for standing straight and tall, all the time.

I want to live in the HERE (HEAR) and NOW. No regrets, that was my sort-of New Year Resolution.

I am determined to eat healthier. But I'll be damned if you think I'm giving up chocolate. I don't believe in depriving myself and I don't have the discipline to diet, so it'll have to be less processed foods and more raw fruits for now. More cereals and grains too.

I will make a conscious effort to get better posture. It'll make me look taller and slimmer anyway.

Oh yes, and drink more water. Dr. Oz says we're drinking enough water if our urine is clear enough to read through. That's the aim, folks.

So Y is back from Singapore. He arrived at 2.45pm today and I made the rare drive to KLIA to pick him up, trusty C playing passenger for the first time in case I lose my way.

I will admit, I was initially a teeny bit unsure about staying home alone for three nights, but not having to pack up my toiletries and clothes for stay-overs far outweighed the hassle of having to stay somewhere else (my in-laws' for instance). So I stayed alone. And armed the house every night. And realised only after the second night that our CCTV wasn't turned on. Oh well.

The secret, I've discovered, is to not let my imagination get the better of me, and to make the most of my alone time. I am mildly anti-social, after all. Reading in bed lots, going through Jay Chou music videos, watching the Heroes marathon, catching up over pancakes, visiting Grandma and the siblings... I had a to-do list in my head and I've ticked off all but one. Bummer.

Then there was the totally unexpected / unplanned treat. Late Friday night, after a disappointing event, the colleagues decided on the spur of the moment to pop by with a tub of Baskin Robbins. So there we were, pigging out on ice cream at midnight, eating right out of the tub, talking and laughing and ignoring MTV playing in the background. It was a very nice way to end the work week, and a particularly indulgent way of ending what had been a rather trying deadline Friday.

Guys, we really should do it more often, eh?

I forget what flavours we had. Something chocolate, I'll bet.

If anyone knows anyone who might be interested in buying a second-hand Yamaha Piano Silent Series MP80 model, please let me know. The owner is urgently looking to sell because her husband has had a stroke and the extra cash will come in handy. Originally bought at around RM20,000, she is now happy to sell for RM10,000 (negotiable).

(Picture is just an example of what the piano looks like.)

The Silent Series models are basically fully acoustic (ie regular) pianos that come with the Quick Silent System, a technology that allows you to play only through stereo headphones so you don't disturb anyone. Especially useful for those who insist on practising at ungodly hours, or aspiring pianists particularly fond of playing 'Chopsticks' over and over and over.

There's nothing like a breathtaking coral reef teeming with tropical fish in crystal clear waters on a sunny day. Nothing. If I could freeze time and hang out there in awe for a while, I would. If I could develop the snapshots of my memory so I can share every second with you, I would. If I could describe even semi-adequately how stunning everything looks and exactly how I feel, I would.

There is something magical about a good dive; when the elements all work together to give you that perfect experience. Tioman over the weekend ranked right up there with Phuket as one of the best dive trips I've ever had. Not to say I've had a whole lot, but it was totally worth the miserable three-hour-plus drives through torrential rain and winding roads and foggy night.

When people talk about diving, they always talk about seeing the big things: hammerhead sharks, manta rays, whales... to see these creatures are every diver's dream. But there comes a time when I think I get so caught up with the big things that I forget to appreciate the smaller beauties right in front of my eyes. Sometimes I catch myself spending precious minutes underwater looking out in hopes of seeing that something big, while totally not registering all the smaller (but no less beautiful) things passing before my mask.

Not anymore. Epiphany struck during dive number two on the weekend. I properly looked at - and promptly fell in love with - all the small tropical fish, who by the way are simply fascinating (Y will say it's because I like cute things). The rich colours, the countless species... the schools of a thousand tiny fish... I guess we take them for granted after a while because there're so many of them, and because we're too busy waiting for the holy grail. Set against the backdrop of simply gorgeous coral reefs... like I said, if I could develop the mental snapshots...

And just as I learnt how to appreciate every tiny critter and every unique coral, we saw it - a turtle, swimming among it all. It was my first turtle, and I didn't move until it had gone out of sight. It was to be the first of three sightings. The third time we saw a turtle it was in fantastically clear waters and it was maybe three feet from me. I watched it for as long as I dared without holding up the entire dive group. If I were alone, I might not have left for minutes more.

I heart scuba diving. In ideal conditions, it takes my breath away and inspires a dumbfounded awe like few things do. It reminds me of how beautiful the world we live in is - nay, beautiful does not even come close; it reminds me of just how small and insignificant I and my petty concerns are in the scheme of an endless (underwater) world; it reminds me of the Creator who formed all. I have always been a sucker for the beach; now I am (also) completely hooked on the unseen below the waves.

Anything that can make me lug a dead-heavy oxygen tank on my back, struggle clumsily with boots and fins and mask and weight belt and (the hardest of all) wetsuit over and over and over again, and then have to pay for it all, has really got to be something. I mean, I'm actually giving up shopping for this stuff. It's that good.

We also saw lots of blue-spotted rays. And a wandering squid. And tons of the most amazing fish. We played with clownfish - still one of my favourites. And explored tunnels. And saw dolphins in the distance from our boat. I give up. I just can't describe that feeling.