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Thursday, November 24, 2005
Just Call Me Passionate

Have you frequented a pub so often that you recognize its regular patrons? You do not know each other’s names but you recognize and acknowledge each other whenever you bump into each other at the local watering hole. Have you wondered what do they see in their eyes and what do they call you when you have not introduced yourselves?

Well I have that pleasure. Before I knew AB’s real name, E and I called him Blondie. He had a short mop of blonde hair then. Then was a time when we were both extremely naïve. Now AB sports an Afro, so unmistakable 50 meters away. Then again, AB is not unmistakable because it is AB after all.

AB once mentioned what they (all the fine people who faithfully served E and I in our favourite night spot for many beautiful nights) called us when they did not know our names. I was called the Ice Princess. Five years on, this name still lives on.

(Seriously how many of you guys give your details away like a newspaper reporter whenever you are out on a night of dancing and drinking – and you giving your details away just because some random chick/guy asked you for it? Am I so old fashioned? Damn it!)

It takes me a real long time to warm up to new people (hint to people whom I might meet in near future). It is just my built up. I am naturally quite reserved and shy with strangers. I am traditional in this sense - I believe that friendships that are built over time, not over beer, hiccups and hangovers.

I am also called the Ice Princess because I am one of those rare species who makes it clear whether I like you. Or not. I make no pretence otherwise. Consequently I am not one of those girls who smile continuously in a bar or a pub. I am not the girl who is friendly and happening. I am the quiet mice in the group. If I do not like a person, he/she will know it immediately. And I am unapologetic for my behaviour.

Consider it this way: I am honest. At least you know that I don’t like you. I am not one who will backstab a person. If I do not like you, believe me, you will know.

Inversely I am affectionate and loving towards people whom I care deeply for. These are the people whom I will pledge my blood. I will do anything to protect and support my family and close friends.

Just call me passionate.

I received a rather unwelcomed sms from someone I bumped into this morning at the breakfast table. He is an acquaintance of mine; one you might consider a friend of a friend of a friend type.

Transcript of sms (which he obviously wanted to send to another person but was mistakenly sent to me instead – God has a sense of humor, I am telling ya):

“Went to XXX for breakfast. Saw this Chinese girl, very familiar. Went over to ask whether she was who I thought she was. It was Otto, remember her? Got her number blah blah blah.”

But since he was a friend of a friend of a friend, it is quite difficult to remain steadfast on my Ice Princess principles. I imagine “You snob!” would be the remark I will get from him if I did not give my details. After all, it was a friend of a friend of a friend.

In the die/die situation, I gave my contact number, so “we will catch up, ok!”.

And this is what I get for warming up a little more to people. Some nincompoop bragging to his friend that he scored a bloody phone number.

Bloody hell.

It is moments like this that I swear by my Ice Princess philosophies. You see, my father is always right.

The Origin of the Ice Princess
My father brought me up quite differently, I think. Which explains all my fucks up (I have a long list of that) and my unconventional Ice Princess persona. He taught me while I was still sitting on his lap, listening to him singing nursery songs to me, that it is my right as a girl/woman not to divulge personal details to strangers, especially men.

“You never know what sick people are lurking out there,” he said each time as I dressed up to go out clubbing years and years ago. (Father used to sit in the living room, waiting for me to come home. He could not shut an eye till I set foot through the front door.)

Variety is the spice of life and therefore there will be some people who do not take “NO” for an answer.

“Why,” they ask, “why can’t I have your number?”.

“Because my father said I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

They laughed. They thought I was trying to be funny.

I was not being funny.

Or sociable.

Or smartass.

I was just being my father's daughter.

The photo for this entry is taken from Thomas Hawk's Photoblog.



hhmmmm... interesting.
i've never been turned down when i asked for a number before.. but i rarely ever ask for a girls number anyway.. the rejection would be just too hard to bear! hahahha...

but playing hard to get is what makes the chase interesting to men.. if u ask me.. i never ever get serious with a woman i sleep with the first night...

8:01 pm  

Deviant: Wahhhhh you never get serious with a woman you slept on the 1st night. Now that's a little sexist, ain't it?

But I just realised something: This is a chicken/egg scenario.

Do you sleep with the woman because you know you will never get serious with her? Or you slept with her, so you will never get serious?

1:17 pm  

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