About Nude Not Naked

I wrote this email to SwedishLove during the two months we were apart. It describes an intimate moment I daydreamed. It clearly and honestly shows the act of loving someone in the most instinctive and purest form and it is probably the only record I have of my own sexuality - my desires, dreams and wants from a lover.

Loving someone demands the revelation of your deepest person and then allowing... no, trusting another person to come complete you and feed your body and soul. The yearnings of a woman deeply in love resonates through the whole email.



*
Subject: close your eyes and imagine this...
Date: 15 May 2001 13:04:40 EDT

Our bed, by the window. Lots of pillows, just the way we like it....

A soft breeze blew into the room. We walked into the room and switch off the lights. I held your hands and led you to our bed. First I laid on my back on the edge of the bed and smiled at you... I teased you to come and give me a hug. You gently lowered yourself on top of me and we hugged each other warmly. We pushed ourselves onto the bed as we gently bit each other’s lips. Our lips met passionately...

I breathed into your ears softly, "I want you." You smiled at me. My hands roamed downwards, caressing your body softly. You took your shirt off and helped me take mine. Throwing the clothes on the floor, you then lowered yourself on top of me again. I kissed you passionately as our tongues touched. I traced your lips with tiny kisses...

You gave my right nipple a gentle kiss. Slowly you moved down a little to suck on my right breast. I sighed as the sensation from your kiss as it floated all over my body. I asked you whether you enjoyed my body. You nodded your head, not saying a word.

I held you tightly in my arms. I leaned upwards and nibbled your ear a little... moved myself away from your face... I moved downwards and smiled cheekily at you. You smiled and gave my thigh a little kiss. Our eyes met. I looked down and ran my fingers along your body, slowly in circular motions.... dancing from your chest to your tummy... and down to your thighs... your eyes were following where my fingers went. Your body yearning for my touch.

I held your right hand and brought it closer to me. Used your fingers to trace my body... from my thighs... to my tummy… along the side of my body... up between my breast... along my neck... slowly I put your finger into my mouth... sucked it... my tongue danced around it... teased it...

Suddenly you took your finger away. I smiled. You reached downwards and kissed my inner thighs... I took a deep breath as you flicked your tongue. I moaned at the sheer pleasure it brought. I leaned to my left and planted a wet kiss on him. Then I put it in my mouth, so slowly it felt almost painful to wait for the pleasure to arrive... Slowly inch-by-inch, I sucked on him. You moaned and showered me with even more kisses. The pleasure was so warm. I sighed. I wanted more. I knew you wanted more...

I wanted to feel you inside but I wanted to feel the longing... of wanting you... I wanted to see you wanting me. I wanted to watch you as you become excited; excited when you licked and sucked me. Excited that you knew that you were going to come inside me. But we had to wait... we waited for the emotions to build up... we teased each other into excitement... time stood still before I could feel you inside... but that was the way our passion built... It felt so good, so good that it felt almost painful... I wasn’t able to tell the difference... it was so good....

The pleasure was so wonderful as you licked and fingered me. So pleasurable that sometimes it felt like time was eternal. So I held onto the pillows to stop myself from stopping myself from feeling the pleasure. Breathless.... I surrendered. I wanted to feel it. I wanted to feel it all. "Help me..." I let out a soft sigh as the warm sensation flooded all over my body like a wave...

I smiled at you as you wiped your mouth. I hopped on top of you and kissed your lips. You smiled at me. I gently sat on top of you, pushing you in me slowly.. gently... little by little... inch by inch.... I cringed a little. So you lifted my hair up and began to kiss me lovingly as I eased myself into position… you ran your right hand along the base of my neck, slowly making its way along my back… you held me tightly in your embrace... it felt so good to be held… to feel the protection and the love.... What first felt like pain, clearly was sheer ecstasy.... And soon it was warm and lovely when I took him all in...

Holding you in my arms, I started rocking myself back and forth... you let out a sigh..... a sigh of pleasure... I pushed you to lie back on the soft bed... you reached out your hands and cupped my breasts. I continued to rock slowly, squeezing and relaxing.. letting him feel my all... I wanted you to feel how much I loved you.... how much I wanted my mortal body to join with yours.... to please you... how much I wanted to hear you come... how much I wanted to hear you love me... love my body... tell me how much my body is bringing you pleasure because all I want is you...

You hugged me lovingly for what felt like forever... No, we didn’t move…. I could feel you pulsating inside.. You laid me on my back… moved your hands over mine... As your hands reached mine, you held them in security... You pushed him inside of me again as you showered me with kisses…

“I love you” you said.

“I love you too” I replied, feeling your every shiver.

With that, you started to thrust with deep longings. I looked at you. I felt your breath on my face as you felt the pleasure building inside. I loved watching you love me. I loved watching you close your eyes to feel every single sensation that was floating around your body. I watched you making love to me.

Slowly. Quickly. Deeply. Purely.

You clenched your teeth as you came. You moaned deeply, pushing him deeper inside, rubbing her in ecstasy. I squeezed tighter, to feel you more.... More, my baby. I want more.

You closed your eyes tightly to feel every single throb. You rested on me, still breathing heavily. I pat your head, kept you warm in my embrace. Your heart beat fast. I snuggled closer into your arms. As you savor the last few orgasmic moment, I whispered in you ears, “I love you baby.. I love you very much... much more than you know.."

You got up.. held my hands and led me to the bathroom, where we sat in the tub. You cupped some water and ran it on my back. I kissed your left knee gently and offered a smile. We exchanged glances. I took the towel to dry you. You moved your hands along my body with the towel, drying me. We kissed each other as we walked to the bed again.

I curled up in your arms... gave you a kiss good nite... you kissed my neck and held me even closer.. I snuggled warmly into you... I could feel you breath...

Let's dance in style, lets dance for a while
Heaven can wait we're only watching the skies
Hoping for the best but expecting the worst
Are you going to drop the bomb or not?
Let us die young or let us live forever
We don't have the power but we never say never
Sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip
The music's for the sad men
Can you imagine when this race is won
Turn our golden faces into the sun
Praising our leaders we're getting in tune
The music's played by the madman


Forever young, i want to be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever forever
Forever young, i want to be forever young
Do you really want to live forever
Forever young

Some are like water, some are like the heat
Some are a melody and some are the beat
Sooner or later they all will be gone
Why don't they stay young
It's so hard to get old without a cause
I don't want to perish like a fading horse
Youth is like diamonds in the sun
And diamonds are forever
So many adventures couldn't happen today
So many songs we forgot to play
So many dreams are swinging out of the blue
We let them come true

~ Forever Young, lyrics by Alphaville

*


A flood of memories rushed to greet me when I started reading the entries. It was a warm and idyllic time of in my life, filled with traveling and experiencing new places, gooseberry ice creams on hot summer days, walking in Gamla Stan, going out with many friends and eating roti canai under the tree. We played Bomber Lord and watched lots of movies on the bed. We were in Perhentian before it became all hyped up, long before Bubu Long Beach laid its first brick.

I was surprised by the amount of Swedish I spoke and wrote prior to enrolling into Folk University Sweden. The translation for the following phrases in this email is:

"Jag lik den lång" --- "I like it long"
"Tack själv för älskande mig" --- "Thank you for loving me".
"Pojkvän" --- "boyfriend"
"Flickvän" --- 'girlfriend'.

I was even more surprised by our living arrangement - 4 months in Malaysia, 2 months apart, 4 months in Stockholm and 2 months apart. That was a pretty impressive living arrangement, one that gave us so much freedom of movement. I remember having lunches in Vurma on Saturdays and lusting after clothes in Indiska, waking up in the yellow bedroom and dressing up was carefree. Many emails were punctuated with 'see you later at 4 p.m.' or whatever time. It simply indicated that despite being together a lot, we each had our individual space to do our stuff. I was probably at work and he was at Coffee bean when we were in Malaysia. And in Sweden, it was probably the opposite.

We argued once and it was over his ex-gf of three years. They met when she was a foreign student studying in Sweden. I hated the comparison between Malaysia and Singapore, which I felt was a subtle comparison between the ex and I. But for most, the emails were cordial, lively and sometimes a little horny. Having such beautiful emails, you will begin to wonder why the hell we broke up. I found the answer by the end of the email exchanges.



*



Subject: Jag lik den lång
Date: 19 Mar 2001 05:07:35 -0500

To my dearest horny pojkvän,

I am very happy and thankful that I have you by my side. It has been a very interesting week and I bet that it will just get better by the end of this weekend.... mmmmm, geram! Honey, open up your legs....

You have been a tremendous joy to talk to and be with. For example, I am very happy just lying by your side last nite, talking about things. We could joke, tease, tickle and play with each other. I feel so comfortable with you!!!

I am just so glad that you are mine. I am so happy that we can be together, just enjoying each other's company. We make a great couple because we have plenty of things to talk and discuss! Both of us have a sense of humor (thank goodness we do) as do we share common sense of style and ideas..... and we sometimes say the funniest things that brighten up our days.

These days I also feel loved by you. To hear you whispering into my ears that you love me, makes me feel so warm inside. I also know it from the way that you hold me.... I feel very cherished by you. Tack själv för älskande mig :)

I feel excited each time I think about you and about us together. I can smell, feel and taste how good it will be... do you understand what I am saying here?

Anyway I am looking forward to meeting up with you later tonite. We'll attempt watching the movie AGAIN tonite *hahaha* will be there approx. 8:30 p.m. You enjoy yourself, ya?!

Love always,
Otto

I was amazed when I found the following two pieces of correspondence. They were the very first times Henrik and I communicated. What a rare jewel to find these and to discover that we were sat in Coffee Bean on 20th January 2001. Eve and I were having our usual morning weekend breakfast. There was this beautiful creature sat across us, holding a book on architecture. He had the most amazing face and the most piercing eyes.

We devised a plan to find out who he was looking at. I walked over to the dispenser on the pretext of getting us some water. Naturally he would trail after the girl that he was observing. I made my way back to Eve with two white paper cups in my hands and was informed that he was looking at me. You should see the smile on my face... We sat there past our breakfast, hoping that he would walk over to our table and introduce himself. Those were the days when men dropped drinks and themselves at our tables all the time, so it was a very realistic assumption that he would do the same.

After 5 hours, I gave up and told Eve that we'll go home. This was ridiculous, I mumbled. I am not that desperate for a man albeit he is a very good looking guy, I thought to myself. I remember sitting in the car on the driver's seat when Eve bleated, 'Oh just give me your email address. Our new year resolution is to do all the things that we did not dare do and this is crazy....' I jotted my email address on a torn scrap of paper and off she ran upstairs, smiled at him and told him that if he liked me, he could write to me.




*
Subject: coffee bean ;)
Date: Sat, 20 Jan 2001 12:26:49

hi! i saw you today at coffee bean and your friend gave me your adress. i'd
really like to meet you!!! email your number and i'll give you a call...

henrik



*
Subject: Re: coffee bean ;P
Date: 20 Jan 2001 20:22:56 -0500

Hi there! Yes, I saw you too, sitting in Coffee Bean yesterday.... as requested, this is my cell phone number, if you would like to talk to me...

012-XXXXXXX

Please call me on Monday morning between the hours of 10 a.m. to 12 noon. Catch you then...
Otto



*

Greece, summer 2001


This exchange of so few words sparked a whirlwind of adventures spanning many countries and lit a different flame in my being. It marked the beginning of my womanhood, of growing comfortable of my body and asserting my thoughts. Henrik encouraged me to be who I was - a young woman. And till today, I hold a very Scandinavian view of sexuality and the human body. The photos we took of each other stacked more than 10cm high and were the most physically beautiful period in my life.

Reading the emails reminded me of how active we were as a couple. I was still performing dances in churches, learning Sign Language and socializing immensely. Most importantly, we were smiling crazy in all the photos. We were deeply in love.

The last 48 hours was spent in a frenzy letter reading session. Eve found an old box of letters containing all the letters I ever wrote her. I wrote to her nearly everyday while we were in highschool, despite sitting next to her desk! And those letters were very passionate. Many heartbreaking letters about HighSchoolSweetheart and even more letters about the interracial love between a Chinese girl and a Kadazandusun boy in the early '90s.

You know that movie where the guy went back to all his girlfriends to make amends? Well that was my last 24 hours. Those letters to Eve sparked my journey of catching up with those important men in my life. Daytime was spent chatting to HighSchoolSweetheart and the whole night was spent talking with SwedishLove. I can safely tell you now both their names - Richard and Henrik.

We talked about our love and the time spent loving. There were many reflections and many thoughts, often punctuated with love and a small dash of sadness. By the time Henrik and I spoke, I was reading through the old letters we wrote each other. My penmanship is clearly visible and the different stages of my life brought about different choice of words and style of writing. Letters to Eve were emotional, lovelorn and hostile (Eve and I had a lot of teenage pent up anger). Letters to Henrik were, in contrast, full of optimism, love, hope and lust.

I'll try publish a collection of the letters in the next few days. And perhaps you will be able to read my life. These works are graphic and unedited. It is an honest look into the life of a young Malaysian girl - all her hopes, dreams, her wantings and her love experiences. They are bittersweet and lovely. I am sure that I am not the only girl to write as I did and I am not the only girl to receive such letters as indicated in the next few weeks.

I don't know why I am publishing them here. Most probably I am trying to immortalize the words and to rediscover who I was. It is a soulful read. So here it goes - I chosen this particular email exchange for its graphic nature. I was quite shocked and embarrassed when I read it this morning but there were very many letters like this - lustful, flighty and filled with innocent love. I was 25 years old then and Henrik was 28.



*
Subject: wet dreams...
Date: Tue, 08 May 2001 21:03:59

i love you flickvän, it's that simple. today you were on my mind every single second throughout the whole day... again! i miss u!! and it makes me soo happy to get your emails and read about all the things you experience, and especially to read how much you love me. don't let me go!!!

well, i've done some good thing today i guess. it's now 22:10 and i just finished painting for today. half of the first coating is done! so in two days everything will be finished :)

you want a photo of my family? i was actually thinking of sending you one, and maybe take some photos one of these days to finish up the roll. so lets do some trading. i'll send a photo of the family, and you'll send me a photo of you wearing your sexy underware. how's that? so that i can have some wet dreams too... ;)

i'm glad you're feeling sexy at the moment because you ARE extremely sexy. if only you knew how many times a day you turn me on when i start thinking about you. damn!!! not to mention at night when i lie alone in bed, thinking of the times we've been intimate... it drives me crazy!!! i think of that time in the hotel room when i came inside of you for the first time. do you remember? ohh, that was soo good... you were lying naked on the bed letting me caress your body, letting me kiss your lips, your nipples, your thighs... before sticking my toungue inside, tasting you. and then i came on top of you, holding your arms down above your head pushing him inside... slowly, inch by inch until he was all inside. my god!!!!! Otto, never think it's only because of sex that i want you, but oh sex is good with you!

wow, i think i should make my way to bed straight away now... :P wish you were here with me now! have a great day tomorrow and tell me more about your life. i'm longing for tomorrow when i have a new mail from you to read :)

yours forever!!!!!
Henrik

‘Aiyo!’ I sat up and looked at him, ever so seriously. ‘I am on the other fucking ladder!’

It was past 11 p.m. and he was to wake a few hours later to catch his flight back to work. I blinked my eyes and nestled myself on my pillow. It was the harder pillow, filled with some kind of beans that were supposed to promote wellness and sleep. They were not very good beans, I guess. I was awake for the next hour, having a little therapy session with him.

‘What’s the first ladder?’ he asked, smiling. He always smiled and depending on my mood, I either loved his smiles or get superbly annoyed. That night, I loved his smile. If men could be doe eyed, he most certainly was so.

‘The first ladder is the girlfriend ladder,’ I said. ‘Girlfriends are freaking cool, always look like a pornstar, gorgeous hair, good skin, the most beautiful clothes and the highest high heels in the whole land. Girls on this ladder are ever hopeful and exciting. Men love them because they are cool, elusive and coy.’

‘And the second ladder?’ he asked.

I went off tangent and babbled on, ignoring his question. Men love girls on the first ladder because they were dangerous. They smelled like the heavens, knew the rules of games by hard and played even harder. They knew exactly when to bat their eyes and look away. If you asked these girls to spell the word ‘fun’, they would do it with lipstick, high heels and nothing else. Oh yes, they will spell every word in capitals.

And men loved them. Men loved them because these girls always played it right. They knew when to smile and when to get coy. They threw the bait and fish would climb up their poles. You would love them too because truth be told, girlfriends are fantastic. Their sex is stronger and they ride harder.

There are thousands of reasons why men love a girl on the first ladder. The girlfriend, apart from being exciting, is also unavailable. You see, these girls have something that the girls on the second ladder don’t. They have the ability to walk away. And the more able they are to walk away, the more attractive they are.

And quite honestly, girls who are able to walk away are the happiest girls around.



*
‘And the second ladder?’ he asked again.

‘Oh the second ladder…’ There was a pause. ‘… the second ladder is the wife ladder.’ I said, shrugging my shoulders. ‘This is the ladder for the wives, who turned grumpy, naggy, unhappy and all the words that ends with ‘y’… like ‘fatty’ or... or... 'frumpy'!’

He found my comments amusing because he laughed. He laughed so hard that the baby was about to rouse. Perhaps that was what he wanted to do, as a mean to escape our night conversation. But I chose to be optimistic that night and so I thought my remarks amused him.

Women sometimes jumped from the first ladder to the second. Other times they were unaware that they had transcended onto the second ladder and were very surprised (and probably angry) when they woke up one day to discover that they had landed on the second ladder. Whether willing or unwilling, women of all ages will one day find themselves on the second ladder.

And who sits on the second ladder? Grumpy wives, nagging their husbands from sunrise to sunset remain the most popular group on the second ladder. They are angry and bitter, often disheartened and disarrayed after the love glow waned. The men they married still looked the same and more often than not, behaved exactly the same as the first day they were acquainted. Second ladder women have love battle scars. They have the fatty tummy after the baby, stretch marks to remind them of how they used to be or perhaps a 20cm long caesarian scar, like me. Men looked exactly the same and most probably smell just a foul as the first weekend you met them.

Second ladder women are burdened by the responsibilities resting on their shoulders and the years of stress often marked their faces. It is an evil cycle. The more burdens they take on, the more they nag and the more they hate themselves. They hate to nag but they have to nag because the men were not listening. Not that nagging helps anything. Nothing saves these women on the second ladder. It is a lost case. Which is why women here are often resentful and hurt. And they talk like a broken record.

No woman walks down the aisle hoping to land herself on the second ladder.



*
‘I need a broom,’ I whispered.

‘Why? We don’t have a broom,’ he said.

‘To beat the first ladder women away,’ I said as a matter of fact. I could have been reciting the periodic table of elements. ‘I am Chinese and Chinese don’t like the broom… so I guess I need a broom’

He turned to his side and gave me a hug from the back. Ah, spooning. It is such a ‘couple’ thing to do. He was gently breathing behind my neck as we lied in bed together. The curtains were not drawn so the streetlight was shining through. There was a moment of calm. He was holding me tightly as my mind went wild. First ladder. Second ladder. Me on second ladder, now in need of a broom to beat the evil young things trying to tempt my honey away. BAM! Wake up call, babe. My mind was doing the mid night marathon.

‘I know. Probably the vacuum cleaner would do the trick.’

The nurse looked away. “Leave the room, please,” he said. The nurse turned and walked away from us. She pulled the curtains that separated the consultation room from the nurse’s room. I could hear her chatter with the other nurses. Inaudible noises from beyond the four walls.

“Why didn’t you pick up my calls?” he asked. He took the strap and tied it just beyond my elbow. I looked away as he tapped my arm. I always looked away. While I was the sort of person who really needed to know everything, I was also quite afraid of really graphic scenes. Like drawing blood. And bloody hell, there were three tubes to fill today. “Take a deep breathe,” he said, “It’ll be over very soon. No pain, I promise.”

First tube, second tube and then the third. He was right. It was quite painless after the initial prick. He swabbed it when it was over, placed a cotton across it and folded my hand. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze and kissed it. His facial hair gently grazed across my fingers.

“Don’t you know that I love you?”



*
I could hear his laughter as soft as it was. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Fragile,” I repeated myself. He was keying some data on his laptop when the nurse helped me onto the bed. “I feel fragile.” My fingers were fiddling over my huge belly. The white ceiling and a patch of screen with flashing data were above me. He came through the white curtains and sat to my right. I looked over and saw him sat there, like all the months before this. But the feeling was different.

“You don’t have to feel fragile,” he said. He took the ultrasound scanner and ran it across my stomach. The moment he touched my stomach, I heard my baby’s heart beat. 157 beats per minute, like how a healthy baby should. “You needn’t feel fragile at all.”

I have never felt so vulnerable in my life. I detest visiting doctors and try my best to avoid them. Avoid doctors like a plague, I thought to myself. Going to a doctor on monthly basis felt foreign and took a lot of getting used to. He was a stranger who became a lesser stranger as the months and weeks passed.

“You don’t have to feel fragile,” he said. He reached over, grabbed a tissue and wiped my stomach. “You don’t have to feel fragile because I am right here and I will make sure that you will be alright.”



*
“Ewwww,” Eve said. We were baking muffins on the last Saturday before we became mothers. I developed a habit of baking muffins to pass the last two weeks quickly. It was far more exciting than sitting on your ass waiting to birth a baby.

I am no Martha Stewart. I baked from readymade Pilsbury recipes. Before baking trays of muffins, I indulged in sewing. I managed to sew a proper blanket for my baby and was mighty proud of it. It was straight where it was supposed to be straight and right angled at the appropriate corners. After the blanket, I sew a few skirts. The working prototype was a skirt for PY’s daughter. I sew a purple skirt for PY and eventually a cheerful skirt for myself before the sewing machine died, hence the muffins which now sits in my fridge.

“Ewwww,” Eve repeated again. Her face was all bunched up in a grimace. “Dr. V, sexy? Ewwww.” She popped a muffin in her mouth. See, muffins were (and still are) pleasant looking little delightful gifts. I must have baked enough to feed a small nation. “Why Dr. V?”

“Don’t know,” came my reply. “Maybe because he has a moustache that reminds me of my dad,” I said in the most nonchalant manner. I popped a chocolate muffin into my mouth. We poured the next batch of muffin mixture into the tray of 12. “I love his composure,” I said after giving it some thought.

That was true. I loved his composure and the way he talked. He was not a great talker, which I found very appealing. I never liked men who talked like great salesmen of the year. The way he looked intently into my eyes and the way he carried himself was attractive to me. “He’s so ah pek,” Eve said. Dr. V was ah pek (trans: uncle) to Eve but to me, he was perfect.



*
“So what’s the big drama today?” he said as he chuckled. “Nothing that big today,” I said with a smile. I sat on the chair next to him. I must have been like every other patient he had met that day – pregnant and feeling bloaty. “I just wanted to show you my strawberry mark,” I said.

He looked puzzled, so I stood up and turned my back to him. I lifted my right foot and showed him my second toe. “There,” I said, pointing to the red dot, the size of my little finger nail. He gave a chuckle.

“See? It looks like a strawberry mark, isn’t it?” I asked, pointing at the red little specks resembling a tiny wild strawberry in the forest of Sweden during Mid Summer.

Dr. V laughed and waved his hand, inviting me to sit on the patient’s chair. He looked absolutely delightful like my muffins, with his mop of grey hair, geeky glasses and moustache. He keyed some data into his patient database. Then looking at me, he said, “It is nothing. It is just a virus and it will go away. Don’t worry.” He gave me a pat on my right hand.



*
There are currently three men in my life – The Bachelor and my two obstetricians. It is amazing how the two doctors pop up in my conversations with The Bachelor. It happened at the most unlikely places and times, such as while we were trying to reignite the sparks between the sheets.

“Will you ask Dr. L about this during your next visit?” he said, fiddling with the condom. He hates the condom and I hate it too. It however was not the cause for my pregnancy. We were happy together and wanted to have a baby. Condoms or the lack of it was not the reason for Sunshine who is now sleeping in his cot next to me.

“I will ask my sexy Dr. V,” I said, snuggling closer to The Bachelor. I had those dreamy doe eyes whenever I mentioned Dr. V. He is so yummy, I thought to myself. Dr. L was good but Dr. V is just MMMMMM with a capital M!

I guess the intimacy with one’s obstetrician/gynaecologist is to be expected. He is, after all, the next legitimate man to take a close look at your Fifi and not get slapped for it. Next to your life partner, a obstetrician or gynaecologist is also the closest man to you. He is like your best friend, the one you can intimately share details of your sex life with. He is like your gay friend with the exception that he is not gay. (He could be, if you chose to visit a gay obstetrician.)

I cannot help it. Dr. V was the one who held my hand (very literally) throughout the nine month pregnancy journey. He made sure that I was safe and that my wellbeing was taken care. He saw very private parts of myself such as my toes and my Fifi. And he listened and chuckled at very private stories and jokes.

Many pregnancy books inform you that pregnancy brings about all sorts of hormones and that a pregnant woman usually has greater sex drive. Books also mention that a pregnant woman fantasies more when she is relaxed. The books were right because I had many sexual dreams that felt very real. Some were dreams of The Bachelor but some were with my obstetrician such as those that I wrote above.

Eve did not experience such closeness with her gynaecologist. It is not surprising for someone whom I named “The Butcher”. The above stories were little fantasy escapes for a woman with a bloaty stomach and swollen feet. I needed them, I guess. Those dreams gave me a sense of wellbeing, of being cared and loved – that I was still attractive and lovely despite my 38 inch waist and very unattractive hair. They were my little adventures with Grey Whiskers.

(written on 20th February 2009)

In ancient Greek the word for butterfly is "Psyche", which translated means "soul". This was also the name for Eros' human lover and the two figures are often depicted surrounded by butterflies.



***
The first time I saw the butterfly, it was sitting on the grey marble wall. It had an outline of black and dots of reddish orange. It flapped a few times, wrestling the afternoon wind. Then it gently floated across the garden onto a plump green leaf of a palm. It was at that very moment that I thought of the title for this entry, “Seeing Butterflies”.

Butterflies usually symbolized a change in life. Perhaps it is a left turn off the course of what you usually call ‘normal’ or a step towards the right direction. Whatever it is, butterflies and a change in your life is often welcomed, especially if the changes are good or desired.



***
‘Look the right,’ she said. She took a step forward and stared intently. ‘Your nose is still the same size,’ she concluded, as if she expected my nose to balloon.



***
I have not written since my last entry in August. That is a change, wouldn’t you think? There were some changes in my private life and I felt that I needed some space in order to grow and change. I think many readers have realised that I will only write about things that I wish to share. And when I do not have anything to share, I just don’t.

I wrote many times but published none. There were times when I feared that I would lose all my readers, which took me more than 2 years to build. But then I realised that I had changed and those figures do not matter much to me anymore.

I had reached a point in my life where I feel peace. My soul is at rest and I am happy just where I was. That was a huge change, one that took some effort and time to acclimatize.

Do you know that it takes courage to be happy?



***
‘Hey you, I’m dropping by,’ YC bleated like a sheep on the phone. And when I arrived to pick her up, it took her some seconds to recognize the car. Just like a butterfly’s metamorphosis, even my wheels went through a change last year. ‘You got yourself a new car?’ she asked as she plopped herself into the passenger seat.

We decided to have some nibbles in a Korean restaurant nearby. ‘Check out those tits,’ I teased. Mine were overflowing through the pink blouse. ‘My tits more than twice your size wei.’

I don’t think she finds it funny at all.



***
We bought a house and renovation began in September. We tore down the floors and replaced them with granite on the ground floor and Merbau wood on the remaining two floors. The kitchen went in sometime in October and November was spent chasing after the plumber, who had never seen the washing machine plumbed next to a sink in the utilities.

We were supposed to move in 3 days before Christmas, which was postponed to 2 days before and then the day before. We finally slept in our bed for the first time on the 28th of December last year. I took a sabbatical and for the following 30 days, we spent it in the house blissful and happily waking up whenever we felt like.

Days that were spent zipping around the city, working in the office, chasing after clients, meeting friends, having meals and shopping were soon replaced with searching furniture pieces, strangling the plumber and arranging our very first lion dance during the Lunar New Year. These were punctuated only by visits to the doctor’s.

Nights were filled with cuddles and kisses, sometimes in bed but often time on the plush sofa, which was our very first purchase for the home. We fell asleep in front of the TV, preferably to CSI or some movie than Discovery Turbo (if you know what I mean).



***
‘Are you sure that it is a boy?’ she asked, staring at my nose again. ‘Your nose is nice and sharp. Boys usually mean fat, ugly noses.’

In reality, I had the very same conversation with a couple of friends. It is either the nose or the belly. Sharp belly equals a boy and a fat, round belly means buying everything in pink. I cannot agree with the nose statement because my nose is still as cute as a button despite seeing my baby’s nuts on the ultra scans twice.

However there is something about the sharp or round belly. You see, Eve has a rounded belly and guess what? She’s having a girl. I have a sharp, pointy belly and it is undeniably a pair of nuts during each monthly scan. A trip to the doctor confirmed that Eve and I must have been doing the horizontal tango on the same day.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning…



***
‘Honey, I think we need to talk,’ I said from one side of the door.

‘What is it?’ he said from the other side. He was packing our stuff for the Singapore F1 Night Race. That is one of the more endearing qualities he possessed. He packed my clothes, shoes and make-up into bags at each trip. (He said he had replaced the Indonesian maid but I digress).

‘I think we’re pregnant,’ I said. Needless to say, I felt miserable in Singapore as any fabulous girl would feel if she found out that she was expecting a crying package in nine months or so. Nothing says ‘miserable’ like the act of dragging a slurring, drunk 41 year-old man whom I lovingly called ‘ancient’ home.

Let’s up that statement a little. Nothing says ‘miserable’ like the act of dragging a slurring drunk 41 year old man on the same day you found out that you had to lay off those 4 inch platforms for some months because there was a bun in the oven.

He made up for it on Sunday night though. He took me on a crazy trishaw ride and all that I could see was a river reflecting lights off buildings and roads. I had not laughed or screamed so hard for a very long time.



***
I like this change. I really do. I yearned for it for the longest time. Many people were caught by surprise. Even you must have thought that I was a colourful party creature with a winsome smile, flirtatious eyes and conversations that entrapped many men. I guess those were true (or at least I would like to think that I do at my ripe old age) but only to a certain extend. If you really know me deep inside, you will know that I am more than that.

Or less than that, as YC discovered the very first time she met me. She found me quite plain and I took it as a compliment. Some compliments are better in smaller doses.



***
It was amazing to watch the butterfly. It sat prettily on the leaf, dainty and graceful, even as the wind tossed the leaf a few inches up and down. Changes are like that, I guess - tossing you and moving you along life’s many routes. You have to hold on tight if you want to survive the trip. Just remember to put on your best smile and highest heels and float gently like the butterfly.

The garden was wet after an hour of watering. Then the rain came to water the new garden a little more. It is always the same story. It rains whenever I drench the garden in water but it never seem to pour when I forget.



***
Today is his birthday and we are apart for the first time. It was not always this way. We were together for our last two birthdays and he was a very good friend during those years. Now we share a house, the house mortgage that we thankfully can afford, two cars and a soon to arrive maid. However nothing beats the excitement of sharing a baby together.

It is those butterflies at work again. He is in Indonesia and I will soon join him. The last two years were full of changes. Changes are good when you grow and renew your soul. I look forward to a little time for myself. I am excited about a new life and I am not sure if I will make a good mother. All I know is that I will try my best.

When we are apart, he calls me each night. That he has done for more than two years and is also yet another endearing quality. He sends me a message when he wakes up and again when he sleeps. If I could be in Indonesia, I would have flown in an instance. I am no longer allowed to fly until the baby is born. Thenafter, I think we shall be traveling quite a lot between Malaysia and Indonesia and then again, twice more to Europe each year.

This will be the longest time we are apart, a whole 3 weeks. He will of course come back soon and travel back and forth until the baby is matured enough to travel to Europe to meet the family. Then we will all be in Indonesia – baby and I there on alternate months until his contract (and the economic gloom) runs its course. Quite a long metamorphosis, I guess.



***
I saw two purple butterflies. Purple pygmy butterflies, they must have been. They were the smallest that I have ever seen.

Dedicated to every down and trodden Malaysian.

"Just because I'm losing
Doesn't mean I'm lost
Doesn't mean I'll stop
Doesn't mean I would cross."
~ Coldplay, 'Lost'.

‘Do you know who my father is?’ he barked on the mobile. Earlier that day, my brother and I visited his office, a tiny dot on the face of the Earth. Prior to our appointment with Daddy’s Boy, we were at Michael Chong’s for some legal advice.

‘Do you know who my father is?’ he asked. ‘My father knows Mahathir, ok! Do you know who you are getting involved with?’

These were the words of a full grown man businessman, who co-developed a Malaysian franchise. We are not talking about some kampung business selling prawn crackers. No offence to the successful business women in Kelantan, who by the way (I’m assuming), worked hard for their money and relied on nobody but their backbones. We are talking about a legitimate business with ’11 years of technology’ behind the brand name. Those were also the words uttered by Daddy’s Boy (though I personally prefer to call him ‘Purse Carrier’ in my private time).



*
Without going into details (less they sue me because they evidently spend more energy, time and money on making sure the little they’ve gotten from impressionable and hopeful young entrepreneurs stays within their bank account) it is suffice to say that I am all for building a high standard franchise brand.

There are lots of issues that I have very many questions to ask and they have a lot to answer for. But what irritates me most about the franchise was the willingness to use Mahathir’s name. Poor ex-premier’s name being used by some businessmen for personal gains. (I've no issues if the said business man had used Mahathir's name to promote some kind of charity event).

Can you imagine that my brother and I had to seek for FREE LEGAL ADVICE to ensure that the franchisor cannot suck any more money from my little brother? Contrasting our story is Daddy’s Boy, who not so subtly asked us to be careful because his father is a friend’s of Mahathir.

(I’d like to think that even our ex prime minister has some standard to maintain-lah. It is unlikely that Daddy's Boy or the good Daddy himself share Sunday Roast with Mahathir. This post has nothing to do with our previous Prime Minister. He happens to be a by-stander in this Merdeka post, whose name was borrowed and leeched off till kingdom come.)



*
We are putting up flags and banners to celebrate Merdeka. Fifty one years on and we (still) have many grown men telling common people who their daddies are. What big crying shame!

Won’t you take a minute to think where our nation is heading to, if legitimate businesses NEED to borrow big shot names to justify their business and survival? What happened to running your business based on just principles and healthy competition? What happened to right and wrong? What happened to defending the poor and needy? What happened to responsibility and accountability? What ever happened to consumer’s rights?

My brother is not pursuing the matter. He just wants to get the whole issue behind his back. His energy is drained and his enthusiasm is crushed momentarily. I however, have much energy to pursue this and to highlight the fact that each and every Malaysian’s consumer rights should and must be protected from the big shots and even bigger names. Businesses must be accountable and responsible for the product that they are peddling.

My brother was one of three franchisees opened at the same time. Out of the three, two of them chose to end their businesses within very short time. From my last two sentences, please form your own judgement on the quality of the franchise brand.

Now the excuse offered was, ‘Businesses have up and down’ and ‘sometimes you win, sometimes you lose’. That is a fact that I will not deny. However do you not agree with me when I say that most people buy a franchise brand for its in depth knowledge and experience in a certain type of business? Basically when you buy a franchise, you are buying a systematic approach towards a particular business. The success rate should be higher than opening a business on your own.

A franchisor has to maintain a certain standard of quality. Blaming many franchisees for lacking tenacity and perseverance is sloppy and unprofessional. At the end of the day, a franchisor is responsible for weeding out grass from corn. A franchisor should have a system of identifying suitable franchisee partners to work with and pursue a relationship with people who will be able to withstand and stay competitive within the game.

My modestly short list of criticism includes:

• You do not hand out a franchise agreement to every Tom, Dick and Harry who hands you the cash for the start-up (which by the way equals approximately a Honda City in cash at minimum). (Failure rate of 2/3 does not look good to prospective franchisees.) You should set up several interviews to discern the best from the lot and work with those who are committed to your vision. For example, Kumon protects its brand name by insisting that all franchisees work within the franchise on a full time basis. This ensures commitment and dedication (which guarantees a certain quality for the brand name).


• You have to identify profitable areas and look for franchisees in those locations. You should have done your market survey and know which locations work and which don’t. You do not allow a franchisee to open wherever he thinks fits him. After all, you are called "PARENT company" for a reason. You should know better.
  
  On a micro scale, you do not allow a franchisee to open in an unfavourable spot in the shopping mall because in almost all businesses, it is always about location, location, location!


• You must have sufficient time to train your future manager and staff. First impression means everything, so you should never allow your franchisee to open his doors before he is fully equipped, trained and staffed. How is it possible for you to allow a franchisee to open your franchise brand when a simple thing called ‘staffing’ is not prepared, trained and resolved?


• You should listen to the grievances of your franchisees with an open mind and see to their needs through your support system. You must make time for your franchisees and not claim that you are attending one meeting after another and have no time for your clients. You should solve grievances within a target time shorter than your very best of ‘3 to 5 weeks time’. That is almost as miserable as TMnet's current duel with MiniBoyFriend, who is trying to terminate his internet service since February 2008.
  
  The best part is you have spent your resources defending your little bit of money instead of solving the issue. In your busy schedule of getting more franchisees to sign up, you do not even know what is the issue at hand. We do not want all our money back. We want what is right for Malaysia as a acceptable and standard practice. We want justice and consumer rights for the average Malaysian. We do not want some big company threatening us with legal action this and that. We are just small folks.
  
  Take a hint from AirAsia who responded positively to Kenny Sia's criticism. They could have sued him for defamation but instead were gracious and generous enough to take a little criticism and show sincere actions to improve their products and services. Well done, AirAsia. I will vote for Tony Fernandes as Prime Minister any time of the day!


• I do not appreciate being told/advised by the franchisor’s employees that I should use a softer approach ‘because he (the boss) will become hard if you are hard on him’. I have the right to question if a mistake was made. The last time I have heard, it was my brother who paid you a sum of money. In my book, that makes him your customer and not your slave/court jester.
  
  And unlike some employees who might need to curry flavour some bosses, customers do not need to butter the boss. And don’t you even dare start with the ‘my father knows Mahathir’ miserable line of an immensely pathetic excuse.

*
This ‘who’s my daddy?’ would have been an urban legend in many countries but it is alive and well in ours. Welcome to Boleh-Land. We send astronauts into space and build the tallest towers. We use the internet and have hifi, wifi, 3G and whatsonots everywhere. We are the land of everything also must can – from the longest dumpling to the fastest worm in Malaysia. We are still working on a Gold in the Olympics but that’s okay. Lee did us proud anyway. We sent some guys up to Everest and to the north pole. And yet, grown men borrow their daddies names and that of every important person they know with the aim of bullying and intimidating the common Malaysian man.

Everyone had their very own come back lines when they heard the 'Who's your daddy?' line. These lines painfully highlights the differences between the well-connected upper class with political connections and the common everyday everywhere people like you and me.


Him: Do you know who my father is?
Me: Who the hell is your father?
Him: My father knows Mahathir.
Me: Eerm… What am I supposed to say? Congratulations? I'm glad that your dad knows Mahathir. My dad knows Mahathir too. We used to have his photos on our walls.


Him: Do you know who my father is? He knows Mahathir.
A very white Mat Salleh: Do YOU know who MY father is? He knows Ah Beng, the pirated DVD seller on Tuesday’s pasar malam. Can get really cheap DVDs one…


Him: Do you know who my father is? He knows Mahathir.
A 64 year old retired English teacher: So what if your father knows Mahathir? Does that make you right?


Him: Do you know who my father is?
My brother: *in rather meek tone* Who is your father?
Him: My father knows Mahathir. So don’t play around with me.
My brother: Sir, I am not playing around, sir. I am quite serious about the business.
(After hanging up, my brother looked to me and said: Die lah, die lah. They (are) preparing C4 now.
To which I replied: You think it's easy to get a hand on the C4 now?)

What is your best come back line? What would you say if someone intimidates you with his father's name? Let's celebrate Merdeka this year with some deliciously wicked come back lines to the bullies. Submit your smartest and cheekiest come back to 'Who's Your Daddy?' in this post's comment section.



*
If we were more prepared, we would have recorded the whole conversation and posted it on YouTube. It was a huge surprise to hear those words. It was the topic of conversation for days and many jokes were spawned from the "Who's Your Daddy?". We are living in 2008 in the land of the free and here is an overseas educated and good looking man (and likely father to some kids) using his daddy's name and Mahathir's name like a baby using a bib while feeding from the milk bottle. But alas, we did not record it, so he is not going to be a superstar anytime soon. (I really wished that we did though because his reaction would be priceless and worth every single Ringgit paid.)

My family is not pursuing the matter anymore. The issue is resolved and closed as far as the family is concerned. Well we have lost, isn't it? We do not know Mahathir and he claims that his father does. The company has a huge legal eagle machinery to condemn us to financial ruins. So Daddy's Boy wins and we have lost. The franchisor is yet to reimburse some money which they had promised and we are not hopeful. I told my brother that this is a bitter lesson that he must learn. Life is not all wonderful and businessmen can be as cunning as they can be honest.

I am writing this so my young readers will be informed and educated. Read the terms and conditions of your franchise agreement properly. Read the fine print. Hire a lawyer to protect your rights BEFORE you sign the agreement. A franchise brand is like all other businesses. It isn't infallible. Choose your business partners wisely. Protect, yes protect your rights as a consumer and do not be afraid to ask questions. Be brave to seek for what you think is right and is rightfully yours - as a member of civil society, a consumer, a citizen of a free country called Malaysia.

But above all, think of Malaysia. Love our country. Show some pride in your conduct. Shape your future. You can be better than the ordinary. All of us are born equal. This isn't the 1800s. We are no more living in a feudal system where some lord has the right to push us around - where the folks have to bow to those with connections and right family names. In Malaysia, we are each accountable for our actions. We cannot blame our parents and grandparents for our choices. We cannot blame our forefathers or politicians for their choices in the past. We make our choices today and shape our very future.

It is time for our nation to grow up and walk on our own two feet. Fifty one years on, we are more than ready to grow stronger shoulders so we can carry our own weight and walk the long and narrow. We no longer use our father’s name. We have ours.


*

"You might be a big fish
In a little pond
Doesn't mean you've won
Cause along may come
A bigger one."
~ Coldplay, ‘Lost’.

***
Related Link:

• Kenny Sia's Tony Fernandes Read My Blog


• 49th Merdeka Post - We're 49 Yrs Old Now and What Have We Achieved?


• 50th Merdeka Post - To The One Who Searched for Malay Pig


• 51st Merdeka Post - Who's Your Daddy?

You know that time has passed you by when you wake up in the middle of the night with, “What the fuck! September 2008 is just round the corner. Technically I have known YC for two years”.

You may ask, “Why YC as a point of reference?” and I would answer, “Because she is about the only common person that both you and I know”.

Yes, it is two years since I met the little missy somewhere in the desert of nowhere and approximately a year since I last seen her. The last that she called was about two months ago on a Thursday afternoon. “Want to go to Rawa?” she asked. I wished I could. I was down with the flu and was more of a dead dog than babe in bikini.

I have known YC for two years. Twenty four months, if you wish for more “drama”, so to speak. I have written in ANNN for a year extra. That makes it three whole years. Three whole years of stories of me, me and more ME.

It’s funny how time flies when you do not want it to.



*
Are you one of those people who enjoy quantifying their lives? I happen to be one of them people. I like to think, equate, count, reflect and decide if I had a good life. Or a horrific life, on a bad day.

I am also one of those manic people who need to achieve something – to make meaning of my life. That sort of thing. I need to feel that I have done something to improve myself and on a larger scale, society and world. Therefore it comes as no surprise if a pop quiz in Glamour magazine once said that I would either be:

• A psychiatrist


• A teacher.


• A writer.

I found the above list quite revealing. They were all professions that I have considered in the past and they remain the professions that I am considering after all these years. Strange, huh?



*
I used to write daily. Those were the times when I think I was trying to figure myself. I wrote long and short and I wrote lots. I wrote the truth and then there were some mistakes. Hint: all those entries about other characters in the blogsphere such as Daphne or XX. (How stupid.)

Then I figured that perhaps I should give my readers a break and begun writing on alternate days. I wrote only what I felt comfortable writing and I wrote only the truth. I could have written a tall tale - that I had a magnificent lifestyle. Or that I was physically taller. But I thought I should not lie about such trivial matters. If I should write a creative blog and told a lie, I much prefer telling a huge, fat ass lie.

Yup. I am a greedy bugger.



*
I realised that caffeine do not agree with me from dinnertime onwards. I should never ever have coffee with VSOP if I want to sleep by 11 p.m. It is never a good idea, I have discovered. Because here I am at 1 a.m. writing this to you. Not that I do not want to write to you. I always felt the urge to write to you but I always found some other things to do and errands to run. Errands such as to determine the design for my kitchen.

I am smart enough to hire a designer to design my kitchen layout plus produce the cabinets. Then I am manic enough to override his decisions by electing myself as the chief designer. Mind you, he is the second firm I have approached. I am much happier with this chap because he arrives for appointments on time, is pleasant and answers my questions with confidence.



*
There are hardly anything that I can do. Much less errands to run at one in the morning. So here I am, contemplating my life. Thinking and trying to establish if indeed I have a good life. No, let me rephrase that.

To determine if indeed I am HAVING a good life.

I can’t decide. I know that I am having a good life. I mean, I have enough work clothes to rotate two months without washing a single item. My parents love me and I still get extra lovin’ from people around me - known and unknown. I have a good set of friends around me (MBF R, LL and of course, my ever faithful breakfast buddy, PY). Even E and BestGuyFriend made their presence known in recent weeks, which is really nice.

I have lots to be thankful and even more to celebrate. I am satisfied with the progress on my professional life. It has given me many opportunities that many do not receive. Personally I am doing well. Life is hectic but I feel satisfied internally. I even enjoy the after work crawl home! Taking my place in the traffic jam makes me feel alive and important.

That I have a place in society.

That I am doing something important.

That I am making changes and who I am matter to the world.



*
Oh yes, it is 1:18 a.m. and all I can think of is how to contribute to society and if my life is significant. I am sure that you think of such important matters too, when you can’t sleep at night.

Why is it that as great as my life is, I do not dare to call it ‘great’? Is it because I am afraid that it will fade away the moment I do? Is it because I am humble? (Definitely am not a humble person, which you can gather from my writing). Why can’t I just say, “Yes, Otto. Well done. You have a GREAT life!”? Could it be because I constantly search for something greater? And bigger? And more meaningful?

Why the search anyway? If life is great, why look for more? Now that is an interesting question to ask yourself the next time you can’t sleep because you were smart enough to have coffee nearing your sleeping time.



*
‘You are a blanket bandit,’ he said.

I was driving home after dinner this evening when he related how I have stolen the blanket last night and the few nights before last. Like usual I start building a nest every night before I sleep. I am making a habit of pulling the blanket right up to my neck, to keep myself warm. All those nights sleeping naked had left me with the undesirable trip to the doctor’s - TWICE this year alone! Since then I always wore something to sleep in an attempt to keep myself warm at night.

Miraculously I always wound up sleeping on top of the blanket in the course of the night. He slept naked too but never received a trip to the doctor’s. But he soon will, at the rate that I am pulling off the blanket, which leaves both me and his bare butt in the cold.

‘The next time this happens, I will pull the blanket back, Blanket Bandit,’ he said, gently tapping my nose.

Me, a blanket bandit. Now that makes a catchy title, don’t you think?



*
It’s 1:35 a.m. and I am still pondering on the quality of my life. All my friends remarked that I think too much for my own good. But I think that thinking about life makes life eventful and special. I savour each minute of my waking hours and I celebrate life itself. Everything seems clear and real to me. Even dreams are sweeter.

I am the first to admit that I can be a little strict with myself. Harsh, if you wish. But you see, that is the only way to succeed. Show me a disciplined person and I will show you a successful person. If you are happy, it did not happen by chance. You made it happen. You chose it. Every step and every decision you took, take and will take takes you a step closer towards happiness. Or away.



*
It is 1:42 a.m. on the 5th of August 2008. The Blanket Bandit mightily declares that her life is great. Maybe that’s because she is going to steal the blanket again tonight.

‘Miss Tan, you’ve got to help me,’ I bleated into the phone. The heavy traffic noise muffled her replies, thus compounding my frustrations. ‘The guy’s brother keeps calling me at every hour!’



*
Two Tuesdays ago some smart 19 year old was fetching his chick from work. I guess he was too excited at the prospect of being a slave driver to his pretty girlfriend that he pushed the gas pedal instead of the usual brake pedal. We were all stuck in heavy traffic and everything was at a standstill. The cars in front of me were all on brake. I was on brake when this 19 year old accidentally pressed ‘GO!’.

PY got out of the car and approached the boy. He was tall and lanky. If he was nervous, he surely did not show it. He was cool and composed, stepping out of his Mercedes. Not your average college kid who knocked his daddy’s car for the first time, if you know what I mean. He took out his MyKad when PY asked him for verification. He even corrected PY when she took down the car registration number. (See, what I mean about being cool and composed?). Such is the innocence of a 19 year old in puppy love with his anxious looking girlfriend at the passenger seat.

‘Thank you,’ I said to the boy as I walked back to my car. What the fuck am I doing, I asked myself. The guy knocked my car and I am bloody thanking him for it.



*
I received a call from MNG, informing me that they were having a pre-sales event. So after the short roadside stint, we packed up and headed to MNG. I sat on a chair, thinking about the incident while PY was busy trying on some clothes on 50% discount. I figured that a police report should be made to ensure that both parties were clear on the facts. I found his MyKad producing stint troubling. You see, I would have protested like hell, if anyone asked for my MyKad but the 19 year old flipped his MyKad out like he would flip out his Platinum Card at his girlfriend's every request.

The accident occurred at 2:18 p.m. but by 4 p.m. his brother took over the communications, which started out quite normal and turned abnormal as the minutes and hours passed.

I finished the police report at 6 p.m. and he called. ‘Come out for coffee lah,’ he said. ‘My treat, ok. You bring your girlfriends and I treat you three ladies to coffee. This is very small matter only’.

He called again at every hour and at 9 p.m. he said, ‘Where are you staying? Come out for some tea or something?’ I politely declined his generous offer for coffee, tea, dinner or even friendship or companionship or all four at once. Come on, I might have been crazy enough to pick Wouter and two of his companions from a 7-11 on Saturday night but I was not crazy enough to go for a coffee session with the brother of the guy who ever so lightly bumped into my car, costing a repair of RM2000.00.

Thank goodness I habitually silenced my mobile at night because he kept calling till past 1 a.m. which then led me to call my Honda sales representative for dear help the following morning.



*
‘Miss Tan, you’ve got to help me,’ I bleated into the phone. The heavy traffic noise muffled her replies, thus compounding my frustrations. ‘The guy’s brother keeps calling me at every hour!’

‘Aiyah, maybe he wants to go out with a pretty girl?’ she said. ‘Never mind, I ask Mr. Muthu to help you with the insurance claim and fix your car, ok? Just inform the guy that your insurance company is taking over.’

I was relieved when I saw Muthu. He had this grin on his face when I greeted him. ‘Mr. Muthu, you are going to return my car to her pretty former glory?’ I asked. He smiled, walked to the workshop, then came out with a piece of chalk and a digital camera. He took a good look at the back end of my car and proceeded to draw many crosses on the rear bumper.

‘Wah Muthu,’ I said, looking at the many crosses, then looking at him. ‘That’s a lot of X…’. My bumper looked like a LV Monogram bag, with the exception that the repeated design was ‘X’ instead of ‘LV’. He explained that he had to indicate the areas that needed fixing, so insurance claims could be made on my behalf. ‘Change the whole bumper. Spray and knock,’ he concluded.



*
I passed my documents to him, so he could process the claims. ‘Eh, can photocopy extra set for me or not?’ I asked. ‘I have to see the sergeant this afternoon’.

‘Why you need to see the sergeant?’ Muthu asked. His eyes were looking intently into mine. Darkest shade of black, I thought. Muthu had such dark eyes and a head full of hair that was dutifully combed back. He looked like a version of Ken Doll (Barbie’s boyfriend) - just perhaps he was a little darker and not as proportionately tall. But he had a cheerful and friendly face and he responded efficiently to my queries. (These were my definition of good customer service).

‘Dunno. The sergeant said I needed to see him a few days later with copies of my driving licence, insurance documents and MyKad.’

‘But you don’t need to see him again. There is no such procedure,’ he said. Heads popped out of office cubicles and even the cashier girl placed her face flat against the glass separating her from the world. ‘WHAT?!’ boomed right through the whole showroom. Customers turned to look to Muthu and I. Silence crawled into every space in the big and airy showroom.

‘What? I don’t have to bloody visit him again? I hate doing all this official paperwork mumbo jumbo thing and he nearly costed me an afternoon!’

‘Maybe he thought you were pretty,’ Muthu said, then he grinned his sheepish grin.

I did not visit the sergeant later that afternoon. The sergeant did not call either, so I guess it was not an important 2nd visit after all. I had tea with my father and was home by 7 p.m.



*
‘I need to get to work,’ I said after signing the insurance claim documents.

‘You are working?’ Muthu asked. He said the word ‘work’ as if it was some alien micro organism attached to my right shoulder.

‘Obviously! Who will pay for my car, if I am not working?’ I asked, shrugging my shoulders. I got up and zipped up my blood red Rosewood bag.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Back to work, like everybody else?’ I said. I stressed on the word “work”. Muthu grinned again. ‘Where do you think I am going?’

‘Dunno. I figured a girl like you never need to work,’ Muthu said, then stamping the document that I just authorized. The conversation ended, just the same way it started.

Just as I pushed through the glass door, Muthu said ‘Come back next week. I’ll inform you of the repair date’.