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Sunday, April 30, 2006
Of Adult Parties, Mat Salleh and Writing

This post is dedicated to Kuek on the 2nd May 2006.
Check out his comment to see just how adorable Kuek can be.

Adult Parties
Why is it that I seem to be speaking to Ian, each time I am preparing to go for a party? I haven't clue but there I was racing between the computer and the mirror at half pass 6:00 p.m. last evening.

This is yet another party. I would like to call it an Adult Party. Adult in the sense that there aren't any bootie shaking, girls sliding up each other or girls collapsing in the middle of the dance floor, supposedly from too much alcohol consumption. Adult in the sense that you carry smart conversation. Or at least pretend to be smart, from all the Discovery and National Geography information you've forced yourself to watch.

Shakira and Wyclef Jean were filling the airwaves with "Hips Don't Lie" and somehow that song brought back a lot of memories of nights spent laughing, looking, seducing, tempting, baiting and then rejecting, laughing again and counting how many complimentary drinks were sent to my table. Who had more? E or me? Never drank any of them. Doing all this for the fun of having the five seconds of attention and feeling rather smugged. It is the female version of a locker room chat.

Nights like that no longer exist. I was driving to my client's house last night. Yet another adult party. You know all those teeter tottering nights with vodka bottles, Kings and lots and lots of dancing and smoking days? I call it the "good old days" now.

Man, I feel old.

Actually I don't feel old. I feel a whole lot calmer in the last year than I have ever been in a long, long time. And although admittedly I sometimes wished that I could go out for Kiddie Parties (the good old days), feel forever young and carefree, I realised that perhaps it is indeed time for me to move on to Adult Parties. Leave the good old times on the shelf, classify them as the good old days and just move on to a whole new level.

Not necessarily boring or old fashion. It isn't without its crates of alcohol or smoking. Or dancing on the bar top, for that matter. All those nights with Gabriella, Nikki, Emma etc dancing on the podiums; the forever young at hearts. The only sheer difference is that they have to read a story to their little babies at home, wait till they are asleep and then head out to paint the night till the sun rise.

But that is with the core group. It is a whole different kettle of fish when it is your client. So recalling the last Adult Party dressed in bikini, I was mindful and wore a sweet lacy blouse with my well worn and failproof pair of jeans. Small cluth to hold everything together and off I went.

Mat Salleh
"Never seen you with so much cloth," my chief of staff said, while we were smiling and acknowledging different people at the party.

A blouse so decent, even MENJ will approve.

"You don't want to know about the time when I was at Gabriella's party," I injected.

"I've heard of that. Client ABC said that she never knew you were so Mat Salleh." Chief of staff then pretended to hold a bottle and shake it.

There. This is what I mean. No one talks about the good things but the moment you do something bad/naughty, the whole freaking town knows about it. Now everyone's going to think I am a bloody alcoholic (when you and I know that the alcoholic titles go to YC and Kinky Blue Fairy without contest). Even my staff who did not know about the party, knew about the vodka and the bikini top.

This is fucken great! Why doesn't anyone talk about what the awareness I am trying to raise for SPCA? Or I trying my best to offer information for sex education? Or the little parcels my company gives out to a few orphanages every year end? Only the bad things make the rounds. Argh!

I must redeem myself. I must redeem myself. I must redeem myself.

This is going to be a very long topic. I can just see it. I have written for more than a year with six months of it, public on the Nude, Not Naked and About Nude, Not Naked blogs. Thus far, it has been a really pleasant journey, with a few surprises thrown in.

I wonder if my readers realised some things about things that I have written. It is quite difficult to say since I do know if you have realised that there are more often than not, hidden meanings within the writings itself.

You Think You Know Me Well But You Don't - Part 3 is a rather long entry and it plays on the repeated words (which is written in such ways on purpose). The message I wanted to relay to my readers laid in the first few lines of You Think You Know Me Well But You Don't.

Sometimes when I sip on drinks (especially sweet drinks), I remember a time when everything tasted bitter to me. It was an emotionally taxing time, one that gives me all these stories that I am telling you. And perhaps offer you a very dark perception of relationships and love. There were more than one occasion when I sat and cried because I realised that the drink was supposed to be sweet and pleasant to taste. Yet it tasted like nothing when I drank it.

That moment when you realised that it ought to be sweet is a moment of total hopelessly. The saddest moment in life isn't when you taste the bitterness of the drink. The saddest moment (of the whole drinking experience) is KNOWING that you should have sweet taste on your tongue but all you HAVE is bitterness.

This is an analogy for life. Because like a sweet lychee drink or Teh Ais, your life is meant to be sweet; no matter who you are. All of us deserve a happy life - from kings to the common people, from the richest to the poorest among us, from the famous to the infamous. Living is all about hope for a better future. The moment you realised that you are despaired when you should have been happy, you have ran out of hope and that is what makes everything you experience (including taste) bitter.

There are other smaller ideas which I wanted to share but shared in a story format, so readers have to read between the lines. I loved the whole concept of a secret within a passage, thus my love for The Little Prince and Da Vinci's Code. I am naturally a curious person, I love exploring and finding little treasures within everything (conversations, physical objects etc).

There are so many things that I wished that I could share with all my readers but my fingers can only type that many words in a day and I have time constraints. But I guess we will get there some day, so enjoy the ride, babes!

Small Talk
The original version of the "Writing" paragraph is listed below. I was quite in a hurry when I wrote the post and perhaps "The Death of Blogs" was not the best example I should have given. It made me look quite egocentric, which I am not, at least not on a daily basis.

So here is the original version, which "The Death of Blogs" as the example. And the altered version in the post above, that shows me in better non-diva light. Hehehehhe...

This is going to be a very long topic. I can just see it. I have written for more than a year with six months of it, public on the Nude, Not Naked and About Nude, Not Naked blogs. Thus far, it has been a really pleasant journey, with a few surprises thrown in.

I wonder if my readers realised some things about things that I have written. It is quite difficult to say since I do know if you have realised that there are more often than not, hidden meanings within the writings itself.

Take the Death of Blogs as an example. No one remarked my last sentence, which was: "So now I herald the death of blogs and the soon death of mine." I was comtemplating closing down the blogs at that point in time and no one seemed to realise that it was basically what I wanted to say. It all boiled down to my very last sentence of the post and to the last 5 words.

Did I write in such a way that is so subtle that not many caught what I was trying to put across?

Okay, I am off to watch The March of the Penguins... Catch you some time soon, babes."



Saturday, April 29, 2006
Of Childhood, Exploration and Literacy

Little Miss Otto peering into the drawer.
What treasure will she find today?

My favorite pastime as a child was exploring the cupboards in my parents' old house in Tampin. They were teachers posted to S.M. Pulau Sebang, where father taught in the mornings and mother in afternoons. I can remember vividly all the hot afternoons spent searching for treasures in the two bedroom wooden house on stilts. It resembled a traditional Malay wooden house, with a verandah before the front door and a kitchen down the steps at the back of the house. The bathroom was located next to the kitchen but the toilet was about 20 feet away from the main building.

I remember my best friend in kindergarten was a boy named Kenny (am quite sure it is not the famous Kenny Sia). I can't remember how he looks like but I remember playing with him in the playground a lot. One day, I brought him some sweets and we ate them together. It was super delicious! He had a mouthful of them.

Later that evening, Kenny's mother drove over to see my mother. The house was surrounded by a small garden, with a rambutan tree and a mango tree out in the front. Beyond the trees was the gate and that was where my mother and Kenny's mom stood and chatted. Very seriously. Being an innocent 5 year old, I looked from on top the verandah, the conversation between the two adult mothers. Kenny was sat in the car, waving his hands frantically and jumping at the backseat. They drove off after some minutes and mother walked back to the house.

"Otto, what did I say about those sweets?" Mother said, sounding dismayed.

Oh oh, mother was not supposed to know about the sweets, I thought to my young self. Kenny the betrayer!

"But I didn't eat it. You said I couldn't eat it, so I didn't...." I said, defending myself. My mother said that I was always destined to be a lawyer, being so quick with my tongue.

"Why did you give them to Kenny?" Mother asked.

"You didn't say I couldn't share with my friends and Kenny is my best friend," my voice trailed off. I sulked.

A few days before this, my mother caught me eating a pack of sweets behind the second bedroom door. She rushed me to the doctors, asking for my stomach to be pumped. She was horrified and petrified what would happen to her 5 year old daughter. And a little embarrassed when the doctor said that I would be fine and that she should keep those sweets far away from me.

So she kept them right on top of their wedding cupboard. It was a monster cupboard, with five massive doors, which was part of my parents' wedding room. It was more than six feet tall and that was how tall I managed to climb to lay my hands on the prized sweets. My mother used to worry for my safety when I was very little because I was extremely naughty. I was every mother's worst nightmare come true. I opened the cupboard door, took a step into the cupboard and just climbed upwards till I tapped the top drawer and found those strips of sweeties.

Oh the delight I felt as I packed them to school. Sweets for my favorite best friend! I shared the sweets with Kenny and received a good scolding for sharing. Now what logic is that for a young child? Inconsistent teachings at home can really confuse a child, ok.

I thought sharing was caring. Well my mother taught me that anyway. So what is the big deal about sharing the sweets?

At the doctor's I sat crossing and swinging my legs on the patient's chair. My mother's shadow fell on me and on the doctor's face. The rather good looking doctor smiled and patted my head.

"Is my daughter alright?" my mother was panicking.

"She is fine. At 5, she is still very young and those pills do not affect her at all," the doctor said.

That was a few days before the "OMG! Kenny Swallowed The Whole Strip" incident but to a young child, those few days felt like forever. And on that day when my mother standing at the gate with Kenny's mother, I remember my mother being flustered. I did not know what was the fuss about delicious sweeties, shared between a 5 year old girl and her best boy friend. Maybe they wanted a share of those sweeties. Adults, pppffff!

It was years later, when I was fully grown, did I realize that I had given Kenny a few strips of contraceptive pills. About that same time, I was still going through bags and boxes of things laying about the house and especially on top of the huge cupboard. I was down with German Measles and was the queen of the house for more than two weeks. One day I found a book and several picture magazines that changed my life forever. Randy the Handy man, fixing more than a leaking tap in every apartment... And Playboy magazines.

I was quite literate as a child, you see.

But back to the childhood photo above. The blouse/shorts was white with red dots. There is a plastic toy on the top of the TV. It had a puppy's head and various body. Made of solid colours of red, yellow, green and blue, the interchangeable toy could be stuck together to be a puppy, a giraffe and an elephant, I think.

Classic photo of myself in my childhood actually. I was a very naughty child, far naughtier than my two brothers and quite proud of myself, as you can see. Other photos are of me and the various toys I had as a child. Not the usual toys you find these days in Toys R Us.

What was your favorite pastime when you were a child?

Small Talk
Do visit Grey Boy With A Leap if you think my MiniBoyFriend, R is cute.... or you can just click to view some of his artwork in the coming days.


Thursday, April 27, 2006
Favorite Childhood Photo

What is your past
but what you choose to remember.

This is my favorite childhood photo.
That is Little Miss Otto, riding on her plastic pony *smiles*

My father took this photograph and on its back is scribbled, "Otto, aged 2 years".

How retro can this photo be? Me dressed in 70s baby togs! And playing with an old skool toy, babe! Who needs PS2 when you have a plastic pony like mine?!?!

You can see my favorite toy in this photo. Take a look at the top left corner of the photo and you will see a toy deer. My mother said my 2nd babysitter's son took my favorite toy deer and poked my eye with it. It left a blood clot mark in my left eye, which only vanished when I was 10.

See the radio? Man, I saw a radio like the one in the photo sold in an antique shop at RM500 a pop! I should ask my dad whether he has that radio hidden somewhere in the storeroom =)

I loved everything about my childhood and in the coming days, I will post a photo and tell you a story from my childhood every day (until I run out of photos that was scanned in Nikki's).


You Think You Know Me Well But You Don’t Know Me – Part Three

Have you ever sipped on a sweet drink? I bet you have.

Have you ever sipped on a sweet drink but all you taste is bitter? I bet you have not but you will today.

When you finish reading this letter, everything you swallow will taste bitter and just as you realised that it was meant to taste sweet, you will laugh as you wipe your tears away.

That much I can promise you.

You remember when we were 15 and we walked around the park in the evenings? We used to laugh so much and had so much fun. Do you remember the first time we went jogging and we brought our fathers along? Our fathers were classmates and were friends in their childhoods too. When they grew up and had daughters, their daughters were friends too. That was how close we both were.

I remember that you used to stay in a single storey link house while I lived in my old house. I did not like attending tuition classes with the rest of our classmates, preferring my friends from primary school days and changed classes to join them. You did the same. You did not say that you did it for me but I know better. We were good friends, even when I was wearing the black and white zebra print shoes my father gave me as a punishment for loosing my nicer pair of sneakers when we were 15.

We were there for each other, through the years. You went away to Cambodia for three months and I missed you dearly. I went to London for my studies and you wrote so often. We went through boyfriends, one after another but we were always there for each other.

Do you remember the time when we walked around KLCC’s parking zones, searching for your car? I remember. It was then that I said goodbye to High School Sweetheart and you were there to catch me in a heap of tears as he kissed me goodbye. You were concerned for me, so much so that you forgot to take note where your car was parked, having stormed upstairs to find me in front of Chinoz, watching him walk away from me again.

Remember the time when you slept in my bed after breaking up with your previous boyfriend? It was heart breaking watching you feel lost when he walked away from you and married another girl within six months. It was even worse when people kept asking you why did he leave you for an uglier woman. I remember the night when you finally cried yourself so hard that you slept in my bed. I curled up on the floor and slept when I saw you finally sleeping.

Remember you asking me if I wanted the bed that you shared with him because you did not want it anymore? Remember my look of disbelief that you were actually asking me if I wanted to sleep in the bed that you shagged him for more than two years? That was a classic.

You moved to Johor. I went to Johor. You moved back to USJ. I was there in USJ. You moved to Ipoh and I visited every weekend. And now that you are back in USJ, so I am there too, pillaging your refrigerator for supper snacks. I would insist that you cook me instant noodles because they tasted the best with friends. We used to sit on your sofa, talking about sex. You told me that you had to ask for some sex stories from your husband, so we had some stories to talk about. How we rolled about on the floor, laughing and talking about stupid things, like we used to when we were in school.

I kept you company and was there to see the first scan of your daughter. I remember your stomach being swollen, the doctor applying gel on your belly and we both saw your baby’s heart beating for the first time. I accompanied you for most of your pregnancy visits to the doctor and even dreamt that I was pregnant, just because you were!

I remember Alex and I going to the nursery to have a look at your daughter the very first time. Both of us stood by the glass window, nodded our heads and said, “No wonder you were complaining that carrying baby was so uncomfortable!”. Your baby girl was so big and long at birth! Even her feet print was nearly 1.5 times bigger than the average baby’s in the nursery. Alex made a little video of your daughter’s first day and was given as present to you and your husband.

You joked about your daughter taking me as a God Mother because I was a walking study trust fund. I gladly took up the invitation and till today, your daughter is extremely close to me. Your daughter calls out my name each time she sees a Satria zooming by.

You often ask me what am I thinking these days because I stare into nothingness as we sat for breakfasts. You asked me that in the pass two days. “Why are you so quiet? What are you thinking?” you asked. I would just shake my head and smile.

The truth is, I am sad. You sit next to me and I have known you for more than 15 years. Yet I do not know you at all. Neither do you know me. I thought I knew you and I thought you knew everything about me. Now I know everything was fake and my life was an amusement to your sad life.

Maybe you did not intend to hurt me. Maybe you said all those things with jest. But words came back to me and these are the words that cannot be taken back. No amount of “I love you”s or “I didn’t do it”s will change that fact.

Remember all those times when I went out of the way to fetch you when you were without a car? Feel bitter and know that I did all those things for you because I loved you as my friend.

Remember how excited your daughter is when you mention my name? Feel bitter and know that I loved your daughter very much, so much that even a child knows how to reciprocate with loyalty and love.

Remember the times when we sat at the breakfast table and I smiled and asked how was your week? Feel bitter and know that I talked to you and loved you when I knew you did not appreciate me as a friend.

Remember how I offered support and a shoulder to cry on when you were going through some personal difficulties? Feel bitter and know that I offered my shoulder when I knew you were my enemy disguised as my friend.

I could have told everyone all your dirty little secrets but I realised that would be too easy. You treated me like a fool. Perhaps you thought I did not know. Perhaps you thought if I knew, I would have sought revenge and pull a nasty on you. But with my daily smiles and continued help, you thought that I was your little fool.

How wrong you are. Some days I sit in the corner, feeling hurt when I replay all that you said about me. All the untrues and absolute lies, you gladly smeared my name. On those days, I asked myself to be patient and wait. Everything had its time and place. For every hurt you caused, I repaid with kindness. And one day, a time in the distant future, you will read this letter and cry. You will cry for the death of our friendship and all that the sweetness of your life will turn bitter. And everytime you reflect on our 15 years of friendship and you recall moments when I laughed and smiled, remember that I felt betrayed inside. My heart felt pain and I knew all along that it was you.

Everytime you feel hungry and want breakfast, remember that I wrote this letter on the morning of 27th April 2006. Remember that you called me as I typed this letter in my room. Remember that I agreed to coffee and bread with you and I smiled when I met you at our usual breakfast corner. Remember I cry with regret how our friendship has changed from innocence to something that I no longer recognize.

You told everyone we are best friends. You told everyone everything you know about me because you thought you were the closest thing on earth to me. You think you know me well but you don't know me at all.

I do not love you anymore.

No more small talk when the hunger's gone,

"I eat dinner at the kitchen table
By the light that switches on
I eat leftovers with mashed potatoes
No more candlelight
No more romance
No more small-talk
When the hunger's gone

I eat dinner at the kitchen table
And I wash it down with pie
I eat leftovers with mashed potatoes
No more candlelight
No more romance
No more small-talk
When the hunger stops

Never thought
That I'd end up this way
I who loved the sparks
Never thought my hair'd be turning to gray
Used to be so dark
So dark"
~ I Eat Dinner, Rufus Wainwright feat. Dido

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Tuesday, April 25, 2006
The Racist Post

Was out for coffee with Nikki last evening. Well deserved considering the fact that I am sinking into a self-induced depression. Actually depression is often self-induced by minds that think too much.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think. But by thinking of not thinking, I am actually thinking. Okay, I am talking rubbish here. Maybe I am attempting to divert my attention from the now and here, which is quite depressing at the moment. I am sorry for pouring my emotional crap on you, dear readers, for the pass few days.

So I am making a point to write something more light and positive today. Which starts from the conversation I had with Nikki yesterday. She was giving me a low down on what happened since we last met two Saturdays ago at Gabriella’s farewell. She was at Dora’s one evening and they had a good chat. This chat was the very same chat I had with Nikki not too long ago – a question that I think many women ponder these days.

If you had to chose, would you prefer the man or the everything?

Dora has a sinfully beautiful house. Two storey house nestled between old trees, grass that seems to roll forever and a view to die for. Heated swimming pool, a patio for BBQ nights, kitchen the size of my living room and her en suite bath, the size of my bedroom. 5 Labradors and 4 cats to complete the look.

She has this and more. She has two beautiful Swiss daughters, being mauled by the locals at every chance. I would pack my daughters back to Zurich, if I were her. Those girls deserve far better men than the lot they are with. Mother and daughters are often seen in front of pubs, clubs and bars, taking a quick smoke together.

They are a unique bunch. Where is the husband and the father? He works in the Philippines and returns for no more than a week in every calendar year. Would you want a lifestyle like that? Whereby you do not have the man but you have everything else that you will ever need? A lifestyle that is so luxurious, it is sinful and you never had to work a day of your life.

Suffice to say that Dora deserves everything that she has. And true to what I usually believe, women hardly ever choose luxuries above a man’s love. And when they desert the man they confess to love, often it is out of necessity. Nikki did not tell me what Dora’s husband did but I can imagine an extended unknown family in the Philippines.

What would you choose? The man or the luxury?

Social Points
”You know she hasn’t called,” Nikki said, sounding hurt.

“Well Joanne said that she has water colour classes every Monday,” I replied. I was not consoling Nikki. I was cheekily sarcastic, which Nikki picked up.

“It has been two weeks since! How many classes does she attend?”

Truth was, Nikki and I both agreed that Joanne was weird. She is a tall, blonde Australian with two kids and an extremely fat husband who worked as an expatriate in some big shot company. The first conversation Nikki had with Joanne was about social points.

I believe in social points. It exists, whether you liked to believe it or not. A pecking order within a social group, a who’s who based on achievements and the value of success. How you look, what you wear, who you know, how many cars you have, what house, how smart your kids were, how much you earn, how much your husband earns, how pristine, how white your house is – such trivial things give you a position within the company of friends and enemies.

My social points plummeted 10 points two Saturdays ago when I walked into the party with a red string bikini poking thru my pink blouse. Joanne’s social points were based on her husband’s achievement, how much he earned and who she is sitting for tea with. There is a pecking order and everyone follows it, whether they liked it or not.

Have you ever thought about your social points? It exists even in the blogsphere. Open your eyes and perhaps you will see what I mean.

The Racist
Talking about Joanne opened the previously polite censorship and soon Nikki and I were talking about other new people we met during the party. How everyone was related to everyone else blah blah blah. Nikki said she was turned off by some expatriates who asked how did her family reacted to her being with my Best Guy Friend.

I laughed. If I smoked, it was at this point that I would have exhaled smoke. But I do not smoke. Anyway, back to the story. So Nikki was relating how she felt offended by some white folks who asked her how did her family feel about her migrating all the way to Malaysia, leaving her family for a Chinese man who was maybe half an inch taller than her.

I am quite sure those white expatriates would not have questioned if Nikki migrated here as a wife of an expatriate, who took up watercolour classes on Mondays, living in a house that she would not have been able to afford back in the UK. Nikki agreed that that was indeed the insinuation when they questioned her during Gabriella’s farewell.

”Oh god, I am so happy to know that she hates you too!” I said, holding Nikki by her arms, feeling rather pleased to know that I was not the only one who felt ostracized by an Indian lady doctor married to a sweet late 30s American expatriate. Rouge was always distant, despite us being in the same group of friends. Almost like a tradition, she would end each outing night with an argument with Josh.

“Don’t you worry,” Nikki said, tapping my arm, “Emma said not to be sensitive about Rouge.” Felt comforted hearing those words. “Rouge feels that she is superior.”

That was true. Somehow even when I did not talk much to Rouge, I felt that she felt that she was above everyone else in the room. I am not sure if it had anything to do with her profession, which was to heal people and save lives. I am fine with all this because I know I cannot hold hands and be friends with everyone on earth. But Rouge never fails to amuse me.

“Rouge is pulling a Michael Jackson,” Nikki remarked. I mentioned that I was in a conversation with Rouge, her female cousin and some other friends one evening quite some time ago. Her cousin was trying so hard to distant herself from the plantations. “I don’t go to the plantations. I have never been to a rubber estate. It’s dirty and full of mosquitoes. I’ve never been to any,” said Rouge’s cousin.

Perhaps I am being racist here. But personally I think it is stupid for one to deny what is part of your history and culture. Whilst it is true that neither girls were indeed working in the plantations, it was silly to try to distant themselves from the experience. So they were not rubber tappers, neither were their parents or perhaps not even their grandparents. Yes, Rouge is now a doctor but somewhere along her bloodline, was someone who worked in a rubber plantation.

Plantation lives and the caste system are very much a part of the lives of many Indians. Just as gambling, wan tan mee (noodles with barbequed pork slices), opium trade and triads are to the Chinese. And to try to whitewash oneself only goes to proof that one is insecure with one’s culture and pass.

There are Asians living all across Europe. I had Thai girlfriends who were adopted from birth and lived in Sweden with their adopted family. They have never been in contact with anything Thai, while absorbing all Swedish heritage. And I would understand if they felt more Swedish and behaved Swedish than Thai.

That is not Rouge’s case. Rouge painstakingly speak American English. Her accent is so thick. Everyone is curious and would ask her, “Did you grow up in the US?” Wouldn’t it sound stupid if one day she has to answer and it would be “I watched a lot of American films” ?

I find it weird when some Asians would go as far as to wipe their Asian roots away and colour their lives with a new, adopted culture that they did not grow up with. As far as I am concerned, I am Otto. My parents are Chinese. My paternal grandfather was a migrant from the province of Guangdong whilst my paternal grandmother was a Chinese British. When I was young, my grandpa rode a bicycle to work. He was a goldsmith till the day he died.

My maternal grandfather was a Hakka migrant, who came to seek his fortune selling medicinal herbs and fabrics. My maternal grandmother was the 2nd wife, taken in to care for the children that my maternal grandpa’s 1st wife could not care. Together they had 13 children and my mother was the youngest girl.

When I was young, funny animal parts and strange smell of medicine surrounded me. There were clinking sounds of roots pounded into powder, to balance the body’s yin and yang. Two doors away was a rubber collection shop and the smell of rubber filled the whole street.

My parents grew up to be teachers. My father taught my mother when she was 18 and they were married when she turned 24. I was born a year later and 2 brothers came in the next 7 years. We were never rich. We were never poor either. My brothers and I grew up and attended college/universities. Further education was not a luxury. It was not even an option. It was a necessity to better ourselves.

We tried our bests and this is the story of our lives.

Be proud of your pass because our pass makes us who we are today.

Ended the night with Nikki, promising that I would head over to her house on Thursday after work. Lots of cocktails inherited from Gabrielle's home bar, lots of idle chatter, perhaps some laughter and intimate talk. What a way to scan your childhood photos, eh?

Long Weekend Ahead
I cannot wait till the end of this week! I am planning to go somewhere. Yay! Am supposed to check for some destinations that I have not been. Any good suggestions for places of visit, darling readers?

I promise lots of stories (50% sexual because conversations with R often revolve around sex) and some photos. Would you like a photo of R’s bedroom and his paintings that I so love?


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Monday, April 24, 2006
Stretched Memories

My one refuge during the day is actually writing. I find writing extremely therapeutic and would recommend it as an emotional analysis for defunct souls, such as mine.

I have been having terrible arguments with my mother. Now that would not surprise my friends as I have argued with her since the day I was born. Perhaps we are too different and our views are worlds apart. R begged to differ and said that mother and I were similar, which explained why we argued so much.

“Both of you are stubborn,” he said, eyes closed, inhaling yet another puff of smoke, which he professed a million times before this, would damn him to a sooner death.

When I arrived in KLIA last September and before I could even hug my parents, being away for six months last year, my mother asked when I would leave for the UK again. I feel so loved sometimes.

We quarrelled last week. We quarrelled last night as we sat in the car for Sunday family dinner. We quarrelled this morning as I walked out of the house for work. As a matter of fact, we quarrelled for the last four days when I am about to leave for work in the morning.

Now don’t you think that my mother is a terrible person, for she is not. She has a different opinion, one that is shaped by her own childhood and her own past. I am a person, entirely different from my mother. Everyone remarked how similar my father and I were, both in terms of looks and personality. No one ever said that I had anything similar to my mother. Excepting R, of course.

Our argument stems from my work, which I am the sole proprietor. My company offers a type of service, which is quite unique. I love my work very much, despite the stress and hectic schedule. What I love best is the fact that the business is mine. I am the sole decision maker and I have had this privilege throughout my whole career.

I can offer my services in the UK and be paid more than seven times the salary I receive here. I would work for someone else, receive good benefits and long holidays. Yet I stubbornly remained in Malaysia, maintaining what I do here because I love what I do.

Things are getting very tiring. It is getting complicated and tedious. I am upgrading a lot of things within the administration - retraining staff, organizing a new system and introducing new technology. Basically it is a new everything. The only thing that is not new, bright and shining is me.

I am taking a bet, a gamble that all the work that I am doing will pay off in near future because it isn’t paying me anything other than splitting headaches, terrible arguments with Mother Superior and long hours slaving at my iBook at the moment. It is a huge gamble, this thing that I am doing.

Huge because I can just clock in 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. daily, have lots of holidays and benefits if I did what I do now in the UK. Plus what I saved in the UK is more than what I earned here in Malaysia. I am apart from Alex because I love what I do here. I left all my friends, my lover, my life for something that I thought was a noble cause.

And now, I am not sure I want to be noble anymore. I do not see how I am able to settle down and have a family, given the circumstances at the moment. I am traditional in this sense. I believe that I should have children of my own and have them before I turn 35. Do not see how I can schedule that into my routine at the moment.

My mother asked me to leave everything behind and start afresh in the UK. And when I refuse to do so, because I love my business, she insinuates that I am weak, which I am not. I know it takes far more courage to stay where I am, bite the bullet and work through everything. So you see, my mother is not helping me in any way, other than piling up the stress and chalking up anger points.

I spoke to R over breakfast this morning (which was modest at 1 plate of instant noodles and 1 glass of iced coffee) and I told him how frustrated I am feeling at the moment. I do not enjoy arguing with my mother and it is beginning to appear to me that all that I am working for is a futile exercise. Same amount of work in the UK would yield me higher salary minus the hard work that I am pouring into my own business (just because it is my business). Just clock in, clock out and go home to Alex.

“You think I should clock into office and give my staff a lashing?” I asked. I spent my whole career, never raising my voice to any of my staff, no matter how poorly they performed. Perhaps it is time to show them who is boss.

“Go sit in Starbucks and write instead,” R suggested, “Once I was too drunk to work but thought it was cool to work when I was drunk. I took the keys to the storeroom and slept in there.”

I did not see how it was relevant to my dilemma but nodded anyway. R asked how my blog was doing and whether he could read what I wrote. I said no. He cheekily remarked that it was quite easy to locate my blog, if he wanted to look for it – which I agreed, with the exception that he did not have the time to search for my blog because he is too busy watching women change clothes for a living.

We talked about sex instead. Does not help my work situation much but at least it gave me some moments of laughter. We said good-bye half hour later and I am back in my office thinking what the hell am I going to do. Others can call it quits and walk away, if they were unhappy with their work. I cannot afford that option. I cannot because this is my business but above that, I love what I do.

So here I am sitting in the office, thinking what the fuck am I going to do with my life. Should I remain obstinate, like a pug, biting on something that I potentially cannot chew? Should I go and fly far away from everything and back into Alex’s arms, warm duvet and delicious dinners with friends?

I have a self-professed proverb – “A person who curtsies before the last curtain call is wise”. I foresee that it will be immensely popular, seeing the climatic changes everyone faces at work. A friend of mine has switched jobs more than four times before he even turned 25. Perhaps I should be wise.

My memories are stretched. I have been shuffling between Malaysia and Europe. I have tried to leave everything in Malaysia behind and migrate there. I think it is time to decide.


Sunday, April 23, 2006
I Wanna Go Home

It’s been...
  • 84 days since I heard Alex whispered naughty things into my ears, teasing me as we took a hot bath in Patong, Phuket.

  • 85 days since I last saw Alex walking around my bedroom naked.

  • 2 weeks since I decided that Japanese men make horrible porno movies due to their skinny legs and unappetizing bottoms in baggy underwears. All men know that the way into a girl’s lacy red thongs is through a really nice pair of boxers.

  • 4 days since I dreamt of university life, which R insisted was sex related because all R remembers of his university days is sexing like a bunny with his greatest love.

  • 8 hours since I felt that I wanted to feel a man’s weight on my body because it has been God damn long since Alex laid on top of me.

  • 5 hours since I last pleasured myself.

  • 3 seconds since I felt that I missed Alex a lot and it isn’t necessary all about sex.

It’s been...
  • 1.5 hours since I had a “let’s see who can scream the loudest” match with my mother.

  • 30 years since my mother tortured me with stories of her unhappiness, which caused me much unhappiness.

  • 45 minutes since I said that I would not pay for my mother’s future medical bills because she refuses to stop gluing herself to the TV and start to get up her ass and exercise.

  • 30 minutes since I promised myself that I need to get myself out of this shithole, because I need to move on with my life. I cannot continue living with an inherited emotional baggage.

It’s been...
  • 15 years since I first met most of my close girlfriends, sharing joy and laughter.

  • 1 year since I discovered that my close friends are the ones who backstabbed me and were the root cause for a lot of the pain around me.

  • 6 months since I knew that the amount of loyalty and friendship offered to them will never be reciprocated by them.

  • 3 months since I allowed my heart to die the slow, painful and quiet death knowing that my friends are all an illusion.

  • 2 weeks since I stopped lying to myself. I now admit that E has never truly loved me as a friend. It is painful to say this but to E, I am just a friend of convenience, someone who would rush out of my schedule and way just to have coffee with her, whenever she was free. And I accept that she will never do the same for me.

It’s been...
  • 18 months since I discovered that all that I loved and cherished around me is a fallacy and a lie.

  • 1 year since I felt that I need to reset my priorities and spring clean my emotional closet. Perhaps I should start afresh in Kent.

  • 9 months since I redefined what love is to me and reprioritize Alex in my life.

  • 3 months since I stopped answering all the 5 a.m. phone calls and hopping from one party to another, on nights that seem forever alive.

I think I am ready to return to my English home. Are you, my dear readers, ready to return to England with me and experience a different Otto?

I used to love being alone. I loved being the center of attention. I loved the fact that I could call anyone anytime and I never need to be worry for anything. I would be picked up from anywhere within 30 minutes if I was ever lost. I would be fed whatever my food cravings desired if I was hungry. I would be clothed, cuddled and flattered. I would be told how pretty I looked, how much they loved me and wanted to take care of me. Even on fat days, I surround myself with MiniBoyFriends who would tell me I would feel better the next day.

In my darkest moment when my imagination ran wild, I imagined my lawyer (who is a friend I knew since I was 14) coming to save my sorry ass from being photographed squatting at a police station.

And despite all the blessings I had in my life, I was lost and confused. I never knew who I could trust. It was more often that I found people that I could NOT trust than those that I could. And all the sweetness and good things felt like nothing and my life felt dark.

And time and time again, I would hold myself back from all my lovers. I never gave the all of me, maybe just a 90%? Never all of me. I loved partying too much. I loved the attention and I knew I could have my way. But seriously how long can you do that? How long can you run and be chased? How long can you send men round and round the city, running after a glimpse of you? How long can you cocktease the boys? How long can you bat your lashes and dance your way into the hearts of men? How do you know if they are true and if they are fake? Only time can tell such things.

And time has shown me that Alex is always around. I used to love him being away because it meant I could go out with the rest of my friends. It was the best of two worlds - both single and attached. I never understood why all my girlfriends were in a rush to find a boyfriend. I felt that I could always find another, if the shoe fits. And believe me, there is more than just one shoe in this world that would fit you comfortably. Was never in a hurry to be attached to anyone. I still have that independent and rebelious streak in me but even I can tell that I have mellowed down a lot.

Now I stare at the four walls and I wish that Alex is near me. We had the best fun together. He made me laugh. His jokes were funny. His intentions were the best. With him, I feel safe enough to fall asleep and perhaps even grow old *smiles* I no longer feel happy when I am in huge crowds without him. I find that I miss him more and more each day. The feeling is foreign. I am not used to feeling like the way I do now. I ache for Alex.

He is stripping the wallpaper in our living room and painting it pale yellow. Before I arrived last year, he changed the sheets and bought girl things to make the house a home. That is my home, a place that is solely mine and Alex's. It is a world unto itself, where we go somewhere in the countryside on weekends, where we get kiasu about the birds in our bird table. Alex even knows what kiasu means.

I wanna go home.

"Another summer day
Is come and gone away
In Paris and Rome
But I wanna go home

Maybe surrounded by
A million people I
Still feel all alone
I just wanna go home
Oh I miss you, you know

And I've been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you
Each one a line or two
I'm fine baby, how are you??
Well I would send them but I know that it?s just not enough
My words were cold and flat
And you deserve more than that

Another aerorplane
Another sunny place
I'm lucky I know
But I wanna go home
Mmmm, I've got to go home

Let me go home
I'm just too far from where you are
I wanna come home

And I feel just like I'm living someone else's life
It's like I just stepped outside
When everything was going right
And I know just why you could not
Come along with me
But this was not your dream
But you always believe in me

Another winter day has come
And gone away
And even Paris and Rome
And I wanna go home
Let me go home

And I'm surrounded by
A million people I
Still feel alone
Oh, let go home
Oh, I miss you, you know

Let me go home
I've had my run
Baby, I'm done
I gotta go home
Let me go home
It will all right
I'll be home tonight
I'm coming back home"
~ I Wanna Go Home, Michael Buble

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Friday, April 21, 2006
Chasing The Nude

It is 8:30 a.m. and I am about to join the mad rush into the city. Here is a little game for you guys around KLCC area. I will be there and in the British Embassy around noon. Let's see if any of you can catch the elusive bunny named Otto. I am wearing a black blouse, a blue pair of skinny jeans and heels that will rival the Petronas Twin Tower *muahahaha*

It isn't everyday that Little Miss Otto comes out to play in the open. Come with your digital camera. Come with your phone camera! Just come... and try to catch a little glimpse of The Nude in the flesh, if you can.

Till then, here is a dose of lurve!!!!

I'll think of you while I sip on coffee later,


Thursday, April 20, 2006
The Mad Hatter's Party

No, I am not attending any party dressed as Alice in Wonderland. However I feel like I am chasing after the elusive White Rabbit who was late for the Mad Hatter's Party in the famous nursery story. Errands are piling up and I need to get through them by 5:00 p.m. today. Will be submitting my visa application at the British Embassy tomorrow and have the whole weekend off consisting of some well deserved shopping in KLCC and lots of coffee and perhaps a little alcohol *smiles*

I have something in mind to write but have not found the time to put the thoughts into words just yet. It usually takes me two hours to write the first copy and another one hour to proof read, so I will need to find spare time to do it later this evening. I also have an appointment with Good Editor for another piece of work, which is much longer than the usual one page. It simply means I need to spend more time on the article (then crossing my fingers that I get paid more, to fund my ever increasing penchant for nice stuff).

Somewhere between all these things, I need to work because it feeds and clothes me at the moment. And find time to maybe to all the girl stuff (cutting my damn long finger nails!!) and time to buy some cat sand for dear Milo's toilet facilities. And find time for sleep! I am lacking of sleep for the pass few nights and will need some soon. Or I'd collapse and will truly be unable to write for a while! Now you and I don't want that to happen, right? I hope you enjoy reading my thoughts as much I enjoy writing them down.

So while I am busy with all the stuff listed above times a kabillion times, please feel free to read my book project, entitled Nude, Not Naked. It was what made me start writing this blog, so you might want to check out the story. Do not confuse the hero in that section because it is semi-autobiography and semi-fiction. My favourites are Fix You and And That's How You Know. Am quite embarrassed by some of the earlier posts because it lacked fluency and depth.... but I guess it shows how my writing has evolved.

I would appreciate if you would spare 5 minutes to participate in Nude, Not naked's sex survey. Or join the many well wishers in their quest to talk to SCB, a fellow blogger who remains in a coma as you are reading this.

Am thinking of you guys as I run my errands. Enjoy!



Tuesday, April 18, 2006
The Pretty Girl’s Guide to A Fantastic Love Life

Now here is the deal when it comes to the pretty girl, one that was destined to be beautiful. Men offer to buy cinema tickets for her, if the queue is long. She gets extra large scoops of ice cream each time she buys one from Hagen Daz. Bouncers let her in just because she is adorable. Old ladies smile and pat her head because they think she is a darling, obedient, kind, generous young person. Uncooperative clients will smile and cooperate when she walks through the door. The big boss on the 31st floor remembers her name and greets her in the lift. Boutiques offer discounts for all her purchases, often keeping delicate pieces for her to view before being displayed. Cheers are louder when she walks up the stage.

Everyone is envious of the pretty girl. After all, the pretty girl has everything, isn’t it? The looks, the attention, the privilege, the everything. Who would not want everything? Now would you believe me that a pretty girl cries over than the average Jane? Would you trust me if I say that most pretty girls have failed relationships?

Think Princess Diana. Think Elizabeth Taylor. Think Marilyn Monroe. With literally thousands upon thousands of men worshipping at their feet, pretty girls often lead sad and lonely lives. And if the bigger sisters of pretty girls get burnt badly by relationships, what hope is there left for the pretty girl on your block?

For the pretty girl, her blessing is her curse. Blessed by beauty, she is often the eye candy for men and women around her. Most make assumptions of her and those who know her normally would know her superficially.

Failed relationships are the norm in the pretty world. For the average girl, a man is first attracted to you physically. Then he would spend time to know you, know your dreams and your hopes. He knows the desires of your heart. But for the pretty girl, it often ends at the beginning. A man is attracted to her physical beautiful and is so overwhelmed by her beauty, he does not take step to know her person. He does not know her heart. He does not know what she likes for breakfast in the morning. He does not know what she dreams at night.

And if you ask any pretty girl, more often than not, she would tell you she left her partner because he did not know her heart. So you see, the world is fair. The pretty girl often having everything accessible, will find relationship matters tricky and end up quite unhappy. The average girl, on the other hand, having just average in most things, stand a greater chance of winning the love and attention of a good man.

Average girls have better luck with the men. It is ironic. I know.

Here is the pretty girl’s guide to a fantastic love life. Read closely because no amount of fengshui tips from Lilian Too will help as much as these little pearls of wisdom for the pretty girl.

Guide One - Choose a man for his heart.
Do not be fooled by what your relatives say:
  • “You so pretty, sure easy marry rich man and have easy lifestyle”

  • “Ah Girl, you make use of the opportunity! Marry that Datuk’s son since he can take care of you. Guarantee you happy one!”

  • “You pretty, he super millionaire. Can love you and give you lots of things”

A pretty girl must be wise and choose a man for his heart. Do not be tempted by the rich and powerful. Do not be fooled for a moment that you can have the easy life and be happy. Women who live on the fast lane die by the roadside.

Open your eyes and recognize men for their characters. Choose a man who treats you well and loves you deeply for your heart. Acknowledge strong desirable qualities such as trust, kindness and intelligence in men. Never use your beauty to manipulate a man into loving you because he will love a younger version of you when you turn 40. Do so only if you are prepared for a downgrading exercise later in life.

Guide Two – Never Choose A Man For His Looks.
The obvious and most natural choice for most girls is to marry someone who is physically attractive. However “pretty girl + good looking guy” is about the worst combination ever. Why? Because both partners will be fighting for the attention of the masses.

A pretty girl has to remember that she is so used to being the centre of attention. She might not realise that she is quite unwilling to share the attention with another person (what more a man!!) until she attends parties with Mr. Hey Good Looking. Chances are, both partners will be competing for the attention, the compliments and the “Who’s Who” section in major publications.

Just as you get away with your pouts and sulking, an attractive guy does the same. Both of you are so used to getting your way. So tell me, Miss Pretty and Mister Handsome, who is going to compromise and humble himself/herself in an argument?

Guide Three – Choose a man for his intentions.
A pretty girl must realise that she opts to be a trophy wife, she must also be prepared to be kept in the corner after a couple of years of collecting dust. She either has to continue to fight for to be the main prize or resign herself to the corner.

I know of a young 27 year old girl who chose to be a trophy wife. She did a liposuction when she was 4 months pregnant and a botox jab immediately after delivery (while she was still breastfeeding). It is sad to see cases like this but she loved her Paris-KL-Melbourne lifestyle too much to let it go.

A smart pretty girl will find a partner who loves her personality and character. She will choose a man who thinks she is smart and witty. She will choose a man who treats her as his beloved wife, not some companion he could show off to his friends and business partners.

Guide Four – Never underestimate the not so attractive man.
A pretty girl should not turn away a not so attractive man, just because she has the social calendar of a New York fashion editor during the NY Fashion Week. Yes, you can look great with the hunky model or the shipping tycoon. But you look greater with the guy with glasses.

it is logical, if you think about it. Good looking men do not need to try as hard as their not so attractive brothers. Good looking men have women throwing themselves at them. So what if you are pretty? Mr. Good Looking can find another Miss Pretty to replace you at the click of a finger.

But it is a different story for the not so attractive man. The not so attractive men often work harder to earn your attention and love. They love you more, treat you better and put in more effort to be with you. They treat you like their most treasured possession and at the end of the day, is that not the dream of every girl, pretty or otherwise?

Hold this Guide close to your heart. Remember it by hard. Share it with your friends, if you think it is true. Or offer a constructive comment if you think what I wrote is crap.

Now go forth, be fruitful and multiply.

Note to readers:
Please take note that this post is a GUIDE for a fantastic love life. Just because most girls are attracted to scumbags of the universe, it does not in any way proof that they are having a FANTASTIC love life. As Jos had noted earlier in his comment, powerful and rich men often had beautiful girls around them all the time. After getting kicked like a rolling ball, the girl can crawl back to him, smile and adore him still and by definition, that is NOT A FANTASTIC LOVE LIFE.

The realisation therein is, this is a guide for those who wants a fantastic love life and this is the gist of the post.


Monday, April 17, 2006
The Daphne Teo Post

I was on my way to fetch PY for our daily breakfast when I received R’s breakfast invite. Scheduled to have lunch with him instead and R hopped into my car at precisely 1 p.m. for lunch. The lunched turned into another therapy session, where we both played therapist to each other's weekend horror stories. Super delicious food, excellent company and sympathy, it was the perfect lunch for a Monday afternoon.

“You should have seen how embarrassed I was,” I said.

“Your breasts very big meh?” R asked. I gave him the stare and then said, “Wanna look?”

Before he could even nod his head, I flipped my iBook and showed him the photo I took on Saturday night while emailing Ian.

“Man, you put silicone ar?” R asked.

I gave his left arm a smack. R stroked the photo. “It wouldn’t be that bad if it was just the top part of your breast,” he said, sounding so scientific in his description. “Problem is, can even see the longkang (cleavage) between your tits and the curve all the way to the bottom – WOW!”

He stroked the photo again, looking intensely at it. He then looked at my chest. I slapped his arm again.

“It is horrid, isn’t it?” I asked, then pouting.

”Okay lar. Just don’t wear like this anymore when you are out with them,” he said, then patting my hand to comfort me.

And this is why every girl should keep MiniBoyFriends. They are the most comforting people to have around you in times of extra loving. They will tell you the truth always. They make you happy on your sad days and most importantly MiniBoyFriends make you feel attractive on fat days.

Drop me a line and tell me about your MiniBoyFriend experiences.

I am still traumatised by last Saturday’s event. If you are wondering what the fuss was about, here is a recollection.

Will you wear this while discussing a joint venture with a potential business partner? I have been working hard for the pass two years for opportunities such as the offer I received last Saturday night, so I do not want to screw it up by inappropriate dressing.

It is time to move to the next level and dress a little more professionally. Even on wild nights out.

I talked to Alex about it on Sunday afternoon when I called him and again this afternoon. I said that the white mamas looked as if they would push me behind some bush, knock me unconscious, chop me into a thousand pieces and feed me to their pet rabbits. Alex was composed during the whole conversation while I was franticly reliving the moment when I tottered into the party in that blouse.

That is it. I have to restrategize and reorganize my wardrobe. So I surfed at net-a-porter for some nice pieces, which would look a little more grown up. They look a little more demure and ladylike while still maintaining my personal taste. I am one happy girl.

So here I present to you,
a collection of clothes I'd wear to work
ala Daphne Teo blogging style.

Pristine white blouse and straight cut tailored trousers for Mondays.

Love the sequin detailing around the neckline for a Tuesday.

Gorgeous colour for a Wednesday dateline!

Simplicity is the key after working for four days.

A simple statement for Casual Fridays.

So what do you guys think?

Actually I can't imagine Daphne Teo ever putting up a post with my selection of clothes...



Sunday, April 16, 2006
Of Never Ever, Yoga For Kids and The Next Five Years

“Come over here,” Gabriella said, then waving her right hand.

I smiled and excused myself from my present company, a client of mine. We were all attending the Emma-Hamish-Gabriella-Marx farewell do. These were my chosen weekend party friends for more than two years and much closer friends in the last year or so.

I had either the choice of hanging around young girls and boys in Lola and risk getting pushed or hanging around this bunch of older friends, who were parents of young children - expatriates during the day and party animals at night. And I chose the later. It felt somewhat quite sad that they are leaving, because I felt close to Gabriella and she was such a joy to speak to. Emma was a dancing machine during weekends, putting me to great shame with her non-stop, pulling everyone up the bar top and podiums dance moves.

The party started early, at sunset. At 9 p.m. I started to shower and get ready. My laptop was playing Charlene’s I’ve Been To Paradise over and over again and it felt befitting the occasion. An email popped up in my mailbox and for the next hour, I was corresponding with Ian. He is a handsome fellow and writes extremely well, so you might want to take a look at his profile and his blog.

Never Ever
In between putting on make-up, crawling to the gmail mailbox to talk to Ian and checking myself out in the mirror, I managed to escape attending the farewell till very late at night. In my usual weekend clubbing attire, I walked into the grassy compound at about 11:30 p.m. with a bottle of Absolut Vodka in hand and to my remorse, I stumbled upon four clients among the sea of maybe 50 people. Not one, not two, not three but FOUR! Four clients while I was wearing this super tight, tits spilling thru the blouse weekend dancing togs. And the Absolut! The Absolut Vodka! I was mumbling "I promise, I am not a drunk" between the "Hi! So nice to see you here!" and "What a great surprise!", kissy kiss left check, right cheek and left cheek again.

I was so embarrassed. I was horrified. I was dumstruck. I have not been so conscious of myself in such a long time! It was not the same if it was just the group of mad drinkers and I. I did not expect any clients present there and wore a red/green bikini and a batik looking pink blouse with the widest and lowest neckline sewn into a blouse, paired with jeans and super high heels. The bottle of Vodka completed the look.


I must remind myself that I am not 20 anymore and the group that I am mixing with consists of mothers and their husbands; mainly Europeans and a few Americans. The Asians in the group had a European for a partner, with Mr. H and his girlfriend being the exceptions simply because they were fabulous interior designers and architects. The feeling of being eyed up by many white women was daunting and I promised myself NEVER EVER to wear like I did last night. What was I even thinking?! It was a farewell, so obviously many others (other than the group of us) were going to attend and all married women dressed nice and decent (meaning old, boring, sequin tops, decent neckline for the ladies *bluek*).

Yoga For Kids
This is a defining moment. To understand and know that perhaps it is time for me to grow up and dress like an older person. No more low cuts, bare backs and bare flesh pieces. Good bye cute babydoll frilly tops with plunging necklines, where three quarter of my assets are hidden. In its place, something more demure and befitting of my other friends, who are a little older than I. Actually "a little" is a little too little. Nikki is next up and she is 32. Then there are those like Gabriella who is 37, Emma about the same, I think.

I quite possibly could have called more than half of the men present "DADDY" because they were all in their mid 40s. Speaking of men, BGF is 40 this year and he is the youngest man in the group. He does not know what to talk to them during their macho man at the table sessions. So I guess he would understand what I must be feeling.

So long youth and carefree days. I am now talking about child raising, pregnancies and the popular play groups. Milk bottle, baby feeds, strollers and yoga for kids. They talked about how the hubby will dress as Easter Bunny and they had to go home early (at 3 a.m.) to hide the Easter eggs. Where the ladies grab their tummies, give them a good shake and joke about giving birth.


The Next Five Years
And there in the middle of it all, was me with a rather beautiful diamond ring and a promise that my next five years will be more interesting than theirs. Of course I worry. I worry immensely that I would turn into this zombie, who is only capable of talking about fats and childbearing hips. I like myself very much the way I am, which includes arriving at a farewell party dressed in the most non-conforming blouse. And I am afraid that I will lose myself the moment I have a family. Like Stephanie, who was a beautiful tiny MAS stewardess. She is now a balloon, five months into the delivery room.

I am 30 this year and I know it is time for me to probably start thinking about my life and what I want to do with it. I do not feel ready for parenthood, the way many of these ladies seemed to be capable of. There are so many things yet to be seen and done and I do not see the possibility of doing them and being a responsible parent, work and be financially free all at the same time. I am not Super Woman, after all.

There is no conclusion for this post. There is no conclusion because I do not know what the conclusion is. All I know is that I am inching towards adulthood and I realise that it is quite possibly about time for me to start thinking about my future. Seriously. My mind's muddled, like ten thousand pregnant ladies just trampled on it and I woke up with a hang over.


I miss Alex. I am going to call him right now and let him know that.

Till tomorrow, Happy Easter, folks!

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Friday, April 14, 2006
To Hell And Back

*Open this link in another browser before reading this post. It has a song that goes beautifully with this post. Click on the song, if it doesn't load automatically and pay special attention to the lyrics*

Dedicated to Brandon and to other readers who wonder about my life.

When I was very little, I was very well loved. Both my parents were teachers and every afternoon after school, the three children (that's my two brothers and I) and my parents would sit for lunch together. They listened to all the stories we children told them as we ate. We repeated the same tradition come dinner time. Till today, I am moulded by that childhood memory. Mealtimes are always about laughter and friendship, all rolled together and served on hot plates.

Although my parents were teachers and we were not from a rich family, we travelled a lot. Come any school holidays and our bags were packed for a trip somewhere. I have been gold mining in Terengganu during a short gold rush in the late 80s. I have been to most islands, lakes, all states (except Sabah) and visited all museums and places of interest. All done during my childhood. Those were the best times, my brothers packed their He-Man and I packed my one and only Barbie Doll, the five of us hopped into the old Nissan and drove for hours with the guide of a map.

Unlike my two brothers, my parents sent me for classes that I truly enjoyed and had a talent for (they just tagged along). I had once attended a piano class but i hated reading the notes and saw no reason to do so. I cried and my mother switched me to ballet and I absolutely loved it. I spent more than ten years training as a ballet dancer and a lot of my childhood and teenage life revolved around this ability.

I was sent for art classes with many different teachers and learnt many different styles. In my adult life, I used my ability to sketch to document my boyfriends' body parts. I did many drawings, especially during the time when I was with Alan and wondered what has come to them. I cross my fingers Alan has stored them in a safe place or burnt them. Have not held a pencil or brush in such a long time that I forgot all about the years my parents fetched me back and forth from one class to another. I had prepared a gift - a sketch of my hands wide open - for R as a weekend surprise. Just like some men in my life, R had the ability to bring out the best in me. It was when he saw my sketch that he commented that I had a flair for color and art and only then, did scenes of my father fetching me around town popped in my mind.

I never doubted people and never feared. There was no reason to. Everything was so safe and everything was true. Childhood was about fishing and playing by the nearby park. My father drove at 6 p.m. every evening when I was young, just to tire me enough to sleep for the night. My mother bought me dolls that none of my friends had and my bedspread was "Mickey Mouse from Singapore" (so said my mother). There is nothing that my parents could have done to make my childhood better than it was. Of course there were quarrels and teengage angst but childhood is filled with trips to the countryside during weekends, special mealtimes, of a father who spent his time with his daughter and songs that my father sang to me as a child.

These were the gifts that my parents gave me in my childhood and they made my life sweet.

In my 8th year, I attended a picnic that totally altered my life. Organized by the church through its Sunday School ministry, I found once again all my talents being put to use. For more than 10 years, I danced on stage for parents and children alike. Good Friday, Easter, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Children's Day, Valentine's, Christmas and whatever occasion, you will see me up there with my ballet slippers and hair all bunned up, sequin skirts and a leotard. My photo albums are filled with photos of children smiling and I would be in the center of it all (naturally since my father took photos of me - duh!). And when I entered my teenage years, I taught others to dance and everyone performed in the church and in public.

My whole social life was spent in the church. All parties I had attended were organized by the church. I never attended any parties that were threw by my friends. I never slept over at any of my friends' homes, not even E's or PY's. I never listen to pop songs sung in the 80s or 90s. I listen to gospel songs. I went to church. Everything was centered on God and on church. In my local church area, I was always in the limelight because I danced everywhere and children were sent for ballet lessons, so that they could dance like me. Till today, I meet up with old friends from those times during weekends but it was never in church. I meet them while buying a drink at the bar.

Something happened when I was 19. Something that absolutely changed my world and what I understood about it. Someone came and took away everything I believed in and everything that I lived and breathed for. Those were the years I felt like a walking dead. I drowned in my own tears and I fought to breathe each morning. I slept with a pair of scissors and I knew what was pain. While my peers were studying and partying during weekends, I was working, taking on responsibilities that were far too heavy for my shoulders, sucking in all the pain, dulling my senses so I could never feel again. Rotten relationships have that ability to make you feel dead.

I did not see flashing lights, loud "ungodly" music nor did I take a sip of alcohol until I turned 21. I asked my father to accompany me to visit some pubs in Bangsar because I was curious and my father took me around. He walked me through the streets and I observed what was happening in all these "ungodly" places. Everything felt so different and so raw. Some months later I was away from home doing my Masters degree. It was in The Roof (which is now defunct) when I took my first drink, a Screwdriver. Followed by a Frozen Magharita with my best uni mate, Catherine.

I then realised that with all the love and good intentions my parents had for me, they had spun a very small and protective cocoon around me. I did not know how to ride a bus or even hail for a cab when I was 20! Thus began my journey, one that I insisted on taking and one that I took alone. I did not have a childhood like you and so I am not like any ordinary person. Perhaps that is why I do not feel the same things like you do, my readers. Simple tasks such as driving to the petrol kiosk to put in petrol and taking a bus from town to home became exercises of independence. I insisted on doing many things on my life and refused to have anyone accompany me. Perhaps that was a mistake and I had made some. Then again, these mistakes taught me about life as they acted as a springboard for comparison.

I possessed childlike qualities that people were not used to seeing in an adult. BGF smiles whenever I make a comment that he finds childlike and he cannot believe that I am 30. I think people who met me in real life did not know how to react to my childlikeness. It was also during this time that I met a Hungarian friend who witnessed my life, from my old to my new and it is him who gave me The Little Prince. The Little Prince gave me so much comfort because I could see myself in him. I was also on a journey too when I first met my Hungarian friend, just like the Little Prince. The reasons for our adventures were the same but I hope that I would not vanish like him one day.

It was AB who taught me to dance. Or maybe it was with AB that I felt free to dance in a sea of people. If I was a child dancer in the church, I became a dancer in another stage; the DJ console and the dance floor in my early 20s. The feeling of dancing with AB was so electrifying, it remains within me till today and I can still feel his hands tracing mine. He, who is the total opposite of me, breathed life back into my body while we kissed behind the trees and buildings.

I had Alan and Swedish Love, of course. Each man taught me different things in life and the only reason why I gave up each of them was because I needed to be free to explore and to journey more. With Alan, I learnt social things, I did my stint with Clairol and stayed away from home a lot (because I was hanging in his house too often!). With my Swedish Love, I travelled to Europe and laid my eyes on the Parthenon, the Vasa, the Sex Museum and walked through streets in the cold windy months and ate ice cream in the sun. He opened my eyes to a lot of things and made me realise that there is more to life than what I had here in Malaysia. And suggested that perhaps, I should reside in Europe if I found Malaysia too regimented. That was how I got my Swedish PR.

So when I was a child, I wore dresses sew by my mother's seamtress. When everyone were decked in their Nikes and Levis in the 90s, I was still wearing dresses (of a larger size, of course) and danced in church. And when everyone was wearing sneakers to attend their university classes, I wore suits and high heels to work. And when everyone wore work attire, I put on my dancing shoes and went drinking and dancing instead.

You see, I have been everything. I have REALLY seen some things that women are not supposed to see. My eyes had witness love and betrayal. My ears kept secrets and my heart saw truths from lies. I have been good. I was rensponsible. I went to church. I have danced for God and I have danced for me. I went to work. I met men and women. I was propositioned by rich old men and young punks, a few lesbians and butches, one who was really good looking. I have attended a few grand parties and rubbed shoulders with business men, when I was still a child. I had been stalked, loved and obsessed. Equally I have been hated, despised and cursed.

I laughed at myself and cried myself to sleep. I brought life to some men and was a muse to some. I have never took the hand of a preacher man and made love in the sun but emotionally I have shared with AB, a life that I feel could have been forever. I have been taught what is the meaning of true love and as karma goes, I have taught others. I have walked with God and did the tango with the Devil. I have had my heartbroken and my spirit died. Now I wind down my window and smile when I feel the breeze through my fingers. I have risen from the ashes of death.

You see, I have been to hell and back. And I have been to Paradise. And now with Alex, I have been to ME.


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Thursday, April 13, 2006
Uncloud My Mind
Small Talk
I've been receiving a good response from the ladies but where are the guys?!? With blogs such as The Hustler and TigerJoe, I had expected more support from the boys!

Jom lah, what are you guys waiting for?! Gotta balance the data in the survey, you know!

Good morning, fine readers!

I wished I had cloned myself and send three Otto clones out to run errands for me today. There is banking to be done, some work at the office, a supposed Starbucks girlie chat with E and more work that needs completing.

After days of writing really long posts, here's a short one from me today.

Perhaps I should not think too much and reflect on my life.... Good Editor remarked that I have a pessimistic view of relationships. I hope I am not giving you guys those vibes here. Anyway here's a little piece of me and a wish for everyone's day at work, pleasant!

For some hot action, why don't you and some friends fill up Nude, Not Naked's sex survey?

TTFN!!! That is tata for now :)


Wednesday, April 12, 2006
You Think You Know Me Well But You Don’t Know Me – Part Two

Here is the absolute truth. My life is not rosy. That should not surprise you. I have many enemies in real life and my heart feels insecure. Maybe I have seen too many Mark-s with my eyes and I have heard too many lies and lines. There are girls who push me physically and some push my emotional buttons. There are men who will try their luck and then try again, just in case.

I am a lonely soul. Alex is not here with me due to work commitment in the UK while mine is here in Malaysia. I have changed my mobile number to an unknown when I returned last year in September. I gave myself a second chance to reconsider what is important in my life, to bear witness to a world of honour and deceit and to choose what is right and true for me. With the veil of false splendour and insincere friendships lifted from me, I am left with hardly any number in my phonebook. I feel like I have been reborn, emotionally naked like the day I was born.

People gossip about me in real life. My closest friends such as E asked me not to listen to these lies and not to be bothered. But how can I not be bothered? They affect me deeply because they defile my soul. People gossip and feel good about themselves at the expense of a very tired spirit. Does it make your life better by making mine your daily entertainment? Does it give you a reason to go to office and make sitting in your tiny 3 by 4 cubicle more bearable?

So I wear outlandish clothes. I wore Bohemian five years ago when Sienna and Jude were not an item yet and done some outrageous, like wearing real short skirts when the latest was the maxi and doing a flip fashion statement with odd colour combinations. Yes, I wear that you call the “Chinese bra” (a hanky-like blouse that ties at the back) and I go pub hopping with friends without wearing a bra or nipple stickers. Four years have passed, do you still need to harp on it?

I have never said that you look stupid wearing a tube under a low cut blouse or that you should never wear something that you do not feel comfortable or have the confidence to carry, now have I? Perhaps if you have travelled as much as I have, you would see that the world is much more than street wear and hip hop attire or whatever the fashion magazine dictates as being the latest.

Some of you say that I like to dress sexy. Let me be the first to dispel the notion that I dress sexy for men. I do not. I dress for me. Today I am young and years ago, I was even younger. In my ranting teenage years, I have adamantly told my church elders, “I will not do a skirt exchange with the Queen of England”. I was stubborn then and I still am that stubborn spirit now. I never dress for men, whose attention are a by-product of me dressing to please my fleeting youth and I.

Unlike some of you, I am not in a hurry to mature and be responsible. I was once extremely responsible and you know what? I felt miserable. Now I act my age, do things my age and I feel so alive. I feel alive and each morning I wake up with a smile, do you hear me? Do you feel alive in your soul too or do you haul yourself to work everyday because you have to pay for your car or your house? I go to work because I love what I do.

I will not apologize for some of the things that I have done. Yes, they were most irresponsible and unbecoming of me. I learnt from my mistakes and will do nothing to change my past, no matter how painful some memories were. I would not have appreciated the simple things in life otherwise. For one, I will not be able to write like I do now, if not for all those things that happened.

My heart soars at the majesty of life each time I look out the plane’s window at the shiny Euphrates River. A packet of bendable straws in Tesco is capable of bringing a smile to my face as I remember how much I coveted those straws when I was a child, only to find out that a huge pack cost no more than RM2.00. Childhood happiness consists of simple things. Tell me if you can even remember how to smile sincerely?

“Oh Otto’s my friend. I know Otto very well!” some of you have quipped in the past. Then you tell a pack of lies, with words so smooth like the serpent on the day it met Eve. Do friends really stab each other on their backs? If they do, then I do not want to be your friend. Heck, I changed my mobile and “forgot” to inform you, remember? If I am really bad, then why are you seeking connection with me? May I suggest that you avoid me like a plague, the way I am avoiding you? If you are my friend, you will know all the things you need to know about me. You will not need to milk information from my close friends.

Most of my real friends are not even here in Malaysia. You feel offended when I say that. You call me a snob just because I did not include you into my circle of friends. Can you actually blame me for protecting myself from the likes of you who make my life your favourite reality TV? Do you think I do not want friends who share similar backgrounds and hair colour? Or to speak in the occasional mixed languages of English-Malay or English-Cantonese? I would very much liked that but you made it impossible the day you spoke ill of me.

As for my choice of a partner, it is seriously none of your business. Whether I like white or whether I like yellow. Even if I choose a potato, it is still not your concern. Do not tell me not be unequally yolk with a non-believer because Alex has shown me more love than all you church snobs combined. I do not see a point in adhering to advices dished out by men covering themselves in God’s cloak, cheating on their wives and telling me that I should find a Christian brother. How can I listen to your words when your husband beat you up at home and you are too ashamed to mention his abuse in church, lying to yourself that God can change him?

I think my choice for a life partner is fine.

And to set the record straight - No, I am not having a relationship with every single man I had lunch or dinner with. Why are you so interested in my social calendar? Is yours so empty that you need to prise into mine? I make a good listener and often in a group of more than two people, I would be the silent one, opting to listen to what everyone else has to say. Most friends (men and women) realised that in order to hear my voice, they will have to speak to me personally, hence hanging around cafes and restaurants, sometimes just the person and I.

So no, I am not dating them. I am not fucking them. I am not interested in them nor do I intend to pursue a relationship with them. Please do not think that I am like you because I am not you.

If I am ignoring you, preferring my female friends’ company, it does not mean that I am a lesbian. It means I do not like you. Is it that difficult to understand that I do not like men who do not respect a woman, thinking that her company can be bought with gifts or meals? You can show your flashy car to some other girl who will appreciate it and worship you as god. And for fuck sake, do not for a minute think that your damn plastic card impresses me. I have one too.

People who smile in my face but stab my heart when I look away, tell me how can I love you? You think you know me well but you don’t know me. I was once naïve, thinking if I were nice enough to you, maybe you would learn to appreciate me. How wrong I was! When I found out that you were up to your old tricks, I was too embarrassed to tell you about it, opting to just go away and self medicate the hurt I felt inside. So stop asking me stupid questions like when will I have lunch with you, when I have given you one year’s worth of ambiguous answers. One would think that you would be smart enough to take the hint but apparently subtle courtesy wins me nothing here, so let me spell it out clearly for you to understand.

You do not know me, so do not say that you do. You are not my friend, so fuck off and stop pretending to be one.

Wait a minute. I cannot change others but only myself. So excuse me while I fuck off.

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