About Nude Not Naked

No Woman, No Cry
~ Bob Marley


I guess I could have. Yes, that’s right. I guess I could have. I could have been with Swedish Love. If that was so, I would have had my pretty apartment in Södermalm – painted in pale cream with a high ceiling, antique wooden floor and ceiling to floor windows. We would wake up each morning and he would look at me as I open my eyes. I would smile and tap my foot to Bob’s tunes.

Oh yes, Swedish Love and I would break into “No Woman, No Cry” as song number five on the Bob Marley CD plays in the stereo. I would walk from the bedroom to the bathroom in my knickers, deciding what clothes I would wear to work. When I have decided on what I would wear, I would ask Swedish Love if he would like me to iron his work shirt for him and he would say, “It’s ok. Swedish boys iron their shirts. You do not need to do it for me. Thank you.”

Swedish Love would run downstairs for some fresh bread and the smell of coffee would saturate the entire apartment. Beams of sunshine would dance along the floor as the soft breeze gently caresses the curtains. There would be roast beef, cucumber and tomato slices, ham and cheese laid on white plates. I love roast beef best.

On Friday evenings, we would have Sushi Nights, where close friends come over and we make delicious sushi to eat. Sake and Sushi were über delicious in the company of good friends. On Saturday nights, we would take a cab to Mösebacke, a dance floor with open pub set on top of the hills of the south island in Stockholm. I would have my Vodka Limes and he would have his beers. We would laugh and dance with friends such as Annika and Byörn. And in the summers, the sun rises at 2:00 a.m. and it would be sunrise when we hail a cab to go home again.

Every few months, we would take a nice holiday. Perhaps to somewhere warmer, where we could walk around the quiet stretch of beach in our swim wear. Swedish Love would take a photo of me as I walk into the sea for a swim. He would bring me anywhere on earth and we would laugh as we dine together.

Yes, I guess I could have. I could have stayed with Alan. I guess if we were together, I would have had a child by now. Maybe even two. His parents would love me and we would return to his hometown on alternate weekends. We would have a pretty cosy home somewhere in USJ, with a nice patch we call our garden. A baby tricycle lined the front lawn.

At my insistence, our son would be wearing Adidas sneakers. Who cares about practicality when we can dress our little one in cutesy white sneakers with the famous three stripes? Each morning, we would get dressed. Water would gently cascade down our bodies as Alan and I take a morning shower together. I would let out a scream as I hate early morning showers. We would laugh and play, as the maid prepares little baby for playschool.

We would drop the baby at playschool and the maid with my mother. Then Alan and I would drive to our usual breakfast spot, where we greet the regulars there. The leaves would rustle gently and the sun would shine as we sit down for a warm bowl of noodles. My face would light up as my favourite fishball soupy noodles arrive at our table. Alan would tell me some stories and we would chat a little.

On weekends, we would go grocery shopping. A stroller with our baby, the maid, Alan and I would find our way to one of the many shopping malls, where we would purchase fresh produce for the following week. We would catch a movie and buy a new nail colour. Twice a year, we would go for a long holiday, preferably to somewhere cold like Russia or New Zealand. Sometimes we would bring his parents along. Sometimes mine. Sometimes we go for a mini honeymoon, just Alan and I, minus the baby and the maid.

Ah yes, I guess I could.

But yet, here I am sitting in the living room, a bird table no further than 3 meters from me. In the garden, there is a burst of colours as the poppies are blooming. Here I am a struggling writer and a business owner. I spend half my year in the UK when the sun is shining and everything is warmer.

I am at a point where I am tired of the travelling. I carried more than 40 kilograms through the airports, consisting of 5 pairs of shoes and sneakers, tonnes of make-up and facial stuff and 40 servings of Miso Soup. I have a thing for Miso Soup and Japanese food, I swear I must have been a Japanese woman in my previous life. Maybe even a Geisha.

Alex sleeps after me each night and I wake up before him each morning. Hot water would fill the bathtub as we sit down for 30 minutes of bath each morning without fail. We would chat and talk about things. I would tell him new stories I have brewing in this mind of mine. I would tell him about all my readers and what I am doing on About Nude, Not Naked. Alex would ask about the book. “Complete it by autumn and we’ll send the manuscript to some publishers here in the UK,” Alex would encourage and poke me along the way.

When he is at work, I would get ready for my day. I wear nice clothes. Being at home is no excuse to dress shabbily. I would greet our housemate, Ralph (pronounce as “Rayf”) good morning as he takes over the bathroom facilities. I would wear my trademark high heels and saunter downstairs to fix myself a cup of warm hot chocolate.

And yes, I would have my fishball noodles here. Alex asked what happens if I start working here and cannot prepare the fishball noodles as breakfast each morning. “I’ll be grumpy,” I reply. I smiled when I wrote the last sentence. You see, I remember Alex preparing a nice breakfast for me last year during the NEC flower show. I am such a breakfast person while Alex cannot eat anything before 11 a.m.

While I sit on the sofa, watching the news on BBC and deciding what I would write today, I would reflect on my life and all the lives that I could have lived. I could have had a child and maybe even two. I could have had a pretty house in KL or an apartment looking into the beautiful Stockholm skyline. I could have worn really pretty clothes and travelled to faraway places with Swedish Love. I could have been a person that I am not today and maybe be as happy as I am today.

Ah yes, I guess I could. I believed in all my heart that there was THE ONE somewhere out there waiting for me, like all little girls listening and believing in fairytales. I remember sitting with a very close girlfriend of mine when we were 14, wondering where our THE ONEs were. How ironic life turned out to be as I now subscribe to the “there are more than one THE ONE” belief.

HighSchoolSweetheart was THE ONE for me for many years. Alan was more than wonderful to me and most certainly made me feel that he was THE ONE. Swedish Love totally changed my perception of life and I am very sure that I would have married him, if I had not met Alex in Perhentian in 2002.

THE ONE is a romantic propaganda created by the media and Hollywood. It seems all so romantic and lovely that you wait your whole life for this one perfect person, who would sweep you off your feet and save you from all your heartaches. Like Cinderella or Rapunzel. And for all of us girls who grew up with the princesses in distress and the handsome princes on white horses, we are a little lovelorn for our very own Prince Charming, our THE ONE.

Things will turn out fine if you do meet your THE ONE and he turns out to be just like Prince Charming who kissed all of Snow White’s problems away. But what happens the years on by and still no THE ONE in sight? Should you press the panic button when you blow your 28th birthday candles and there is no THE ONE next to you?

What happens if THE ONE you thought was THE ONE turns out to be Not So The One? Do you still bite the bullet and swallow everything? Do you give him up? What happens if you give him up and there is no other THE ONE? After all, logically there is only one THE ONE!

Good news is, I blew my 30th birthday candles early this year. Even better news is I have had quite a few boys around me for the pass 30 years. Okay, that does not seem to come out the way I want it to. Let me rephrase that. What I meant to say was, I have been friends with enough boys and I have dated enough boys to know that there is more than one THE ONE.

Don’t worry if you think you have missed your THE ONE. There are more often than not, more than one THE ONE anyway. The only cause for concern is whether you are willing to let go of the old and allow your heart to accept the new. Each THE ONE is unique and carries a different possibility for your future together.

And you in turn, you could have been a thousand different person when you are with different men – a mother, a homemaker, a fulltime worker, a business owner, a lady of leisure, anything that your mind can imagine you to be. Just like there is more than one THE ONE, you have more than one choice in life. The choice is in your hand and you can choose what you want for your future.

So yes, I guess I could and indeed I did. I chose Alex, you see.




Tags Södermalm Stockholm Sweden Bob+Marley No+Woman+No+Cry sushi vodka+limes vodka beer Adidas holiday geisha japanese fairy+tales girls media Hollywood