About Nude Not Naked

I have discovered late in life (that is like in the last two years or so) that there are just some rules that aren't meant to be broken. Women have traditional roles. So do men. And women in the past did not have as much problem as the modern day woman does. Yes, some older ladies put up with being 2nd wives or abused in relationships and the feminist movement is all about empowering women these days to stand up for themselves and do their own "thang".

But seriously, we still hear female partners (in a relationship) being abused, women having less opportunities as men, disparity of treatment between men and women at work etc etc. We aren't feeling any better about ourselves. We are overworked because we think we should pay for half of our roti canai and half of the bottle of muruku we bought from the pasar malam. And we still need to change the soiled diaper!

Did I mention the negative body image most of us have these days? Which year was it when curvy was sexy and real boobs were "in"? All the evil, evil magazines are telling us that we are too fat, our thighs are 2 inches too thick and how we should treat our imaginary eye bags. We lust after shoes so hot off the catwalk, they left scratch marks on the floor.

Women these days try hard to study and subsequently work so they'll gain a measure of independence (financially and emotionally). We dream of climbing the corporate ladder like a super woman, then drive home in our swanky car, cook the delicious meal, bath the kid and then have our facial. We want to travel, have girly nights and do everything a modern day woman is supposed to do.

I don’t know if you have noticed this but many women are too exhausted. Others are on Xanax or some form of anti depressants. Many are still as lost and confused as our previous generations. We did not make a leap forward. We took three steps behind. Now we have to have the kid and pay half the bills!

Where is the romance when you have to flip out your calculator to divide the nice dinner and wine you shared with the new man you met at the office during your first dinner date? Why is it so difficult for women to graciously accept a nice invite to dinner and at the end of the night, just thank the man for being such a wonderful company?

It is not uncommon these days to hear of households where the woman earns more than the man. We no longer bat an eye when we hear such “gender equality”. But seriously, most relationships will succumb to the societal pressure, whereby men have the traditional role of being the breadwinner. Sooner or later, the man or the woman (although chances are both) would resent the fact that the woman paid for the man’s shaving cream, the newly acquired PlayStation3 and four Celine Dion CDs.

So if you were to ask me about this whole women liberation and women empowerment thingy, I’d say it is all a big yellow bunch of hairy crock. Earning as much as the man does not make him respect you more or appreciate you more.

Dressing in outrageous clothes and piercing 22 parts of your body just because you can, does not make you appear anymore liberated than the 50 year old makcik in hijab. Perhaps a tad cooler (as in temperature wise, not fashion sense) but that’s about all it does.

Paying half of everything from your tampons to your leg shaving cream will not make you a happier person. Neither will paying his half of everything.

Having sex like the man next door does nothing to improve women liberation. Neither does it empower our gender. All you will get is herpes and perhaps a baby, if you are not too careful. Ok, so you can go an abortion because that was part of the women’s rights movement yadda yadda yadda but even an abortion is detrimental to your female form.

Think about it. What is important to you at the end of the night? I think the list I am about to offer is quite universal. You want acceptance and appreciation from your family and your friends. You want love from a partner that understands you and who treats you well. You want a meaningful life, filled with things that you desire and long for. Obviously everyone wants to achieve their personal amount of material lifestyle and that would include you and I. And if you are lucky, you get to wake up and do something that you enjoy.

You do not get that by protesting for women’s rights. You do not get that by being “equal” with a man. You do not get anything by jumping around like a racoon on heat, demanding for equal treatment and fairness and equality. It already exists. You just need to find the right people for it.

Your company will acknowledge the most efficient team member because efficiency matters at the end of the day. Or you walk on over to the competitors, with all your contacts.

The right man will love and respect you for just being you. You do not need fancy job titles or a purse as big as his chequebook to earn a man’s love. You just need to be smart when finding for love. Find for someone who would appreciate and love you for being you – smart, sassy, independent, intelligent, weak, happy. Find someone who loves you for being a fragile beautiful creature God called woman.

I do not need any movement to tell me how to manage my relationship or how to have my family. I do not need any protest to raise my value as a woman in society. So burn down the placards. Boo the feminism movement. Kick the equality whatever mumbo jumbo shit out the door.

I am all for celebrating the joys of being nothing more than a woman. Beautiful. Intelligent. Pained. Resilient during the hardest hours. Forward thinking. Emotional. Smart. Intuitive. Fragile like dew at the first sign of day.




***
This post came about after reading Suanie’s post “Female Empowerment – Sure Or Not?”. In it Suanie mentioned female empowerment through the music videos. To be precise, she mentioned the new prevailing trend of female singers singing about being strong (financially, emotionally or sexually) while walking around the Bronx in shorts that technically should be called “Sho” because they are so short they have to drop the end letters. Or how women can buy their own bling, do their own thing, have their own pad and how they threw ten men out the door like used tampons while still strutting around the music video with cellophane taped titties. Suanie questioned the validity of the lyrical statements because all she saw was how their sex sold them to triple platinum and seven Grammy nominations.

Personally Suan, I think it is the industry. It is the industry. Anyone who enters the entertainment industry knows that sex sells. Whilst it is true that the ladies in the 60s wore pretty dresses that did not pop nor did they experience any wardrobe malfunctions on stage, it was the unwritten rule that sex sold and it still does today. The only difference is the listeners or viewers have changed. We are a desensitized lot. Skimpy clothing is so common these days that green aliens with big friendly eyes would think flesh revealing and boobs popping dresses are human’s costume (like the cheongsam but on the world scale since we are talking about friendly aliens here). Even walruses would think so too.

At the end of the day, for whatever you want to call it, singing and being an entertainer is a job. Sorry to jolt you out of your dream but my dears, even Mary J Blige goes to work. Yes, so do the Pussy Cat Dolls. They aren’t paid to sleep in bed all day and if they did sleep all day, they would not survive the industry. And if singing about milkshakes and wearing short skirts will put food on their table, they will do it. The very same way you smile at an annoying customer this morning.

It is your job to please your customer and if a million bopping teenagers want to hear you and four other band boys sing about how your sorry heart is broken, you will do just that. Even if it means you have to play the cute teenager with braces, trying to grow up while earning millions in front of even more millions of people. Or a tough 9 year old with a name like “Lil Kool Kat” singing about what love is when the only love you experience is perhaps a love for sugar rush.

The entertainment industry is not the place to preach good morale behaviour or to be righteous. If you want to find good virtue, try a religious establishment. Good luck because that is about your best shot. Everyone else is just surviving to work. And that includes Paris Hilton and her lost home videos.

Don’t you feel comforted as you rush to work on Thursday morning?



***
Related Links

• Female Empowerment - Sure Or Not?

The reason for my absence from blogging in the past week is the most boring and mundane - I had taken ill. Just at the moment when I thought I would have a doctor free year, I relented and went to the doctor’s yesterday morning at 9 a.m. I never enjoyed medicating myself as I much preferred to rough it out whenever Mr. Flu pays me a visit. Under perfectly normal circumstances, I would just crawl into my nest and rest my body till I am well again. But sadly (or not so sadly, if you really think about it) I cannot afford the “crawl into my next and rest” because the yearend is considered the peak period for my industry.

This simply means I have met between three to five new clients each day and have slaved myself until I am sick. Plus I am currently understaffed with one staff pregnant and another quit in early November. At this current rate, I can’t wait for January to arrive because November and December are months from hell.

The doctor packed me some strange looking pills and listed them as “vitamins”. This is because according to my family doctor, I am GOING to fall ill. Meaning I am not ill yet but I am going to be soon. Which is really just great seeing that I feel like my body’s failing on me at the moment. I dare not think what SICK is actually like.

So I sit at my workdesk at 11 p.m. thinking if my pills are really helping me to physically cope with the aches and fever/hot flush rush or are they merely medicating my head?

I am working on overdrive. It is like driving in the first gear for the past month. I can’t seem to relax and I am always feeling tensed. BestGuyFriend was remarking how I sounded so angry when I talked to him on the phone. I had to apologize. It isn’t the usual me. This is the stressed to the max me.

After a very intense November with one staff quitting, leaving me totally in a lurch during a very busy month, I took this evening off. I succumbed into swallowing one tablet of paracetamol before catching Casino Royale with BestGuyFriend’s mother, daughter and Ain. I was lusting after Daniel Craig from the moment I watched the trailer. Somehow he made the perfect James Bond – rough, rugged and unpolished. The man who will drag you to bed, tie you to the bed post and make you say naughty things.

A-N-Y-W-A-Y…

Yes, boys and girls, go catch Casino Royale. I have never been a fan of the James Bond series but now I am convert if Daniel Craig does his magic tricks. In my opinion, he has revived the whole series. He adds a new dimension to the whole “shaken, not stirred” façade, which when repeated more than 20 times, can be a little tiring and overused. Here stands a Bond that is a little rough on the edges but soft on the inside. And if my memory serves me right, Daniel Craig ran the most out of all the Bonds. And for once, women are not discarded like soiled tissue.

Okay, so maybe I like my men manly, cocky and a tad arrogant. Perhaps it is because I possess a tiny measure of cheekiness, confidence and arrogance within myself and I seek for men who could keep me captivated with their words.

Daniel Craig can tie me to his bedpost any time of the day.



***
Alex remarked how I never watch any of the movies with actresses that he wants me to resemble.

The nerve.



***
On a totally different note, I realised that I am not missing the thing that I thought I would miss as much as I thought I would. I thought my world would shatter if I did not possess the thing but apparently life moved on just as swiftly as it did before the incident happened.

It makes me wonder what love is. Many said that love is a powerful emotion. Many of us did crazy things in the name of love. I have done my fair share of stupid things. Some went as far as to die for love while others destroyed in the name of love. So why do I feel that this love just past me by?

I thought that I would be greatly affected and indeed I was, maybe for three days, during which I wrote the previous post entitled “Finally”. But from then on, I was too busy with work and too sickly to bother or to dwell on the matter. I need to survive each day so I can get to work and when I managed to get to work, to then actually work. And that’s all I have been doing.

So as much as I had loved someone and thought about him a lot, as much as I have written many chapters in Nude Not Naked based on my experience with his character and as much as I had longed for him, it occurs to me that I have moved on. I was in love with love and I have just realised that I do actually love Alex the most (despite all the little, tiny distractions along the way like Daniel Craig etc).

And that is good news for everyone.



****
I shall be leaving for London on the 18th December to spend my first Christmas and New Year away from Malaysia. I will plod along in the snowy fields with Alex in Scotland wearing my single pelt artic fox Russian fur hat and then to Morocco for a warmer holiday.



***
How does it feel to be with Alex? It feels comfortable, almost like second skin. It is like looking in the mirror and seeing a reflection of myself, with the exception he is a little more hairy.

Other men might feel exciting to my senses but at the end of the day, it is comforting to be with Alex. Alex understands me deeply and knows what I am inside. He shares similar thoughts and aspirations. We enjoy similar activities and share similar tastes in most things. I am still the opinionated and quick wit girl that I am and he is still his horny self but together, we fit like a pair of warm leather gloves.

It would be a pleasure to grow old with Alex.

***
Diversions
Here are some photos that I had promised. Taken from Cousin KT's wedding.

Cousin KT and her handsome groom, Chris.

Yes, Sean Connery is a relative of mine.

The huge Scottish clan standing in front of the York Minster.



***
Related Links

• Finally


• From York Minster With Love

In the past month or so, I have had ink marks all over my clothes. I have blue ink mark from my cheap Faber Castell 0.7mm pens all over my newly acquired Nike t-shirt (during the Otto Wants To Stay Healthy phase). I had a small 2cm ink mark, from the very same pen on a pretty bright magenta tulip dress I wore last Sunday for an office function. And I did it again today, with a permanent marker pen on my “groupie” t-shirt while I was cranking up some paperwork for my father, who is the church's secretary.

It is beginning to bug me. This business of my clothes being stained is bugging me. How I never was ever this clumsy through my 30 years of living and suddenly within the span of a month, I repeated the same offending stain trick three times on three different tops that I still keep on my “yes, I will wear these until they turn mouldy” rack.

It is as if all my emotional baggage and stains are now physically manifesting themselves on my less than impeccable dressing and stupid stains that make Bozo the Clown look smart. There is a crossover somewhere and now even my clothes and my real life is marked and stained. Just like my emotional self.

I have been immensely busy lately. So busy that it took me the equal amount of time (one month) to drive myself to my local Tesco to buy a bottle of Dylon Stain Solve. While my father was busy playing the commentator on the local politics via Malaysiakini.com, I was squatting with Dylon's promise to remove any fabric stains. I took out the magic stain solve and dabbed the cap on the stains. I tried it out on the “groupie” shirt, seeing that it was the least of my priorities. 15 minutes and another squat next to my father later, I was jumping for joy. The permanent ink stain was gone! One hour later, I have three beautiful stain-free clothes that I will have the pleasure of wearing for the next month or so. Until they are replaced with new shopping conquests.

Sometimes I wished that life was this simple. Head to some DIY store and get a bottle of something that would fix all my aches and pains. So I will not feel like I am floating aimlessly in a sea of uncertainties. Or drown in so much sorrow. I wished that I have a magical bottle of emotional stain remover, so I can dab on my heart where it hurts and I can wash myself clean 15 minutes later.

And I will feel like brand new.


***
Related Links

• Destination Unknown


• I Might Not Know How To Get Out Of This Emotional Vortex...

Below is a snippet of the sms conversation MiniBoyFriend R and I had this morning while I put on my clothes and prepared for work at 8 a.m.

MiniBoyFriend R: Sorry. Slept last night. Wazzup? You alright?

Otto: I am not okay. I want to cry so I can release some thing but I can't find the tears.

MiniBoyFriend R: Sorry that I couldn't be there for you last night. But it's okay you know, if we sometimes do not get the things in life that we want so badly.


***
Right that very second, tears welled up at the corners of my eyes. It was 8 a.m. and Ain was sitting at my workdesk, watching the MMU boy's youtube. I felt terrible pangs of pain numbing my heart as I tried to hold back those secret tears. I do not want anyone to see me cry.

Do you know what is pain? Pain is when you have to smile with a bleeding heart. Pain is when you have to hide your tears and not let anyone know that you are weak. Pain is when you fight yourself to keep a secret that is so secret that only three people on earth knows. Pain is when you create alternate stories to tell your friends because you do not want them to know where you really were. Pain is when you know the truth but you run away from it because you loved a lie.

Pain is the most painful when you have lost all tears and all that you are left with is a wounded heart and a broken spirit.

Have you ever watched tiny snowflakes dance through the skies?

They are so delicate and fragile. Each by itself melts to touch but if it ever snowed for three days and three nights, you will find yourself caught in the middle of a crippling snow storm.

Sadness is like a million tiny snowflakes falling down on you in an hour of the day. And all it cripples is your soul.

~ Hand In My Pocket, Alanis Morissette.

An email popped into my mailbox a moment ago. Alex wrote to tell me that we might be heading to Moscow for Christmas and New Year celebration. It would be cold, he said and I would have to prepare myself for the bitter -30C winter. He will even sponsor a nice Russian fur hat (which I discovered much to my disappointment, is not made from real rabbits) to keep my little elfish ears warm.

With the Christmas season just round the corner, Alex and I have been talking about our Christmas presents. Actually we have never been a fan of giving each other presents and we have previously spent very little to impress each other present-wise. To a certain extend, I guess we love each other enough to not bother about the presents. Usually a card or a little letter suffices. He picks me stuff from the street whenever he is away from me, such as shells from Perhentian, Phuket and pine cones everywhere he has gone without me. He sent me poems, quotes and a little toy Patrick. But it seems that we are doing it differently this year. We are going with a big bang.

I guess we found some coins while we jiggled our pockets on the way to work. This is the first year that I am actually asking for a specific present. And no, it is not going to be a portable vacuum like the one he gave his ex-girlfriend, a struggling optometry student he met while crashing into a stationary car, one night not so long ago, when he was very, very drunk. (Yes, he crashed into a STATIONARY car and received 25 stitches across his head and face and scored himself an oriental girlfriend) Alex insists that she was the one who requested for it. I am still doubting this...

Anyway we have discussed what we both wanted as presents and we both agreed that he will buy me a Tag Hueur Aqua Racer for Christmas plus 2007 birthday plus Valentine’s Day. Yes, yes I know this is like a bargain section present hunting but seriously I do not have the heart to dent his wallet. Neither do I lust for any thing so much that I must have it or else I'd die.

Being the smart girl that I am, I knew his heart is set on the new iBook and offered to replace his old Mac, which so impressed me when we first met in 2002 on the island of Perhentian. Apparently his father bought him the iBook as a present last week and I am stuck with buying him a Plasma TV.

“And if you are a really good boy, I’ll buy you a PS3 too.”

I thought happy thoughts whenever I think of flying to London for this Christmas. It is my first white Christmas and I am very excited about being in Alex’s family home in Scotland. And I am not the only one who is well pleased with this news. His aunt and parents wrote me short emails voicing how pleased they are to hear that I shall be gaining 5kg over Christmas, just like the rest of them. I find that thought very warm and inviting. I think it even beats the Tag Hueur as a gift!

And then I had tea with PY today and she changed my mind. Now instead of wanting and requesting for the Aqua Racer, I am asking for the latest vaccination for cervical cancer prevention. Yes, you read it right. I am asking for the vaccination, a course of three painful jabs on my upper arm so as to prevent myself from the second leading cancer disease among Malaysian women.

I am telling you, there is no romance in the relationship when you are no longer asking for the moon and the stars. Something is changing within you when you no longer equate a man’s love with swimming in shark infested waters on his quest to buy you the latest Hello Kitty or making a 15 minute dash to the dry cleaners for your pair of favourite silk trousers, so you look cute in Laundry on Friday night. There is a shift in the relationship when all you want is to reorganize your life so you can accommodate each other’s future plans and place the other person's love above your very own.

What are you left with when you start wanting such practical gifts?

I remember a time when I slipped my hands into his pockets when we took long walks. When the wind was cold and blowing, Alex said I would look adorable in a Russian fur hat.

Support our local boys, beb.



***

Your Birthdate: February 10

Independent and dominant, you tend to be the alpha dog in most situations. You're very confident, and hardly anything ever shakes you. Mundane tasks tend to drain you - you prefer to be making great plans. You are quite original. When people don't "get" you, it bothers you a lot. Your strength: Your ability to gain respect Your weakness: Caring too much what others think Your power color: Orange-red Your power symbol: Letter X Your power month: October

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

I can almost say the whole bit is true, although I rather be known as the alpha bitch than the alpha dog. Somehow being a dog is just so wrong...

My readers, does this confirm my earlier post Confessions Of A Sinner? Such women exists. They walk an inch off the ground because of their immense confidence. Girls hate them and men either love them or fear them. They always dress immaculately, everything is planned. Their tiny signatures slowly permeating your brain.

Like now.



***
Related Links

• Confessions Of A Sinner

I am sure you know her. Everyone does. Every head will turn each time her presence is near. Whispers will move from one ear to another. Girls will roll their eyes and look away in disgust. They say that she has gained weight. Some other girl said her breast were bigger 6 months ago and her dress does not match her new haircut. But take a good look at the foot of every man in the room and you will soon realise that all are pointing in her direction.

She takes one frightened step forward. Her eyes glance across the sea of people. She is searching for her friends. She wears a pink lace blouse, a calculated slit at the center, revealing a juicy fest for the eyes. Her head is held a little higher than the rest. Her eyes blink ever so slowly. She has a knowing smile. She works her way towards the bar. The crowd parts as she steps near. She looks into your eyes with her piercing eyes. She never smiles.

Up the ladder. Up, up every boy’s ladder. Every single blouse she wears is a calculated opportunity to position herself higher on everyone’s ladder. She does it ever so delicately. Maybe not too delicately, especially since not many girls talk about her in a positive light. But it does not matter, not since the boys are busy placing her on their ladders. She looks away and she sees all the pairs of eyes that are staring back at her. Come on, up, up on every boy’s ladder.

She tip toes to the bar and stretches her right hand towards the bar tender. Like a lazing leopard in the heat of the sun, she stretches her hand across the cold marble bar top, towards the busy bar tender. Her drink arrives a second later, without even the slightest utter of a word. He smiles, gently pushing the tall glass towards her. It is on the house.

It is.

Always.

On.

The.

House.

She only drinks vodka. The bar tender knows it. Boys who buy her drinks know it. And if you did not know it earlier, tonight will be the night you do. A fresh glass arrives three minutes later. The bar tender whispers into her ear. She smiles the knowing smile, her eyes danced across the bar, trailing after the marble top like the yellow stones to Oz. The gentleman smiled. She blinks her eyes.

Men like him were classy. Men like him buy a drink for the lady and expects nothing more than a smile. That’s classy, now you must remember. Men who expect that his drink will buy her company do not know how to woo a girl, what more a woman like her.

Her friends arrived soon enough. She is relieved. She is no longer alone at the bar, staring at the groups of lusty boys and angry girls. She gives her friends each a welcome hug. She is thankful that they are around. Glasses and bottles will clink, each signalling yet another drop of poison in their veins. Her mop of hair tumbles across her shoulders. Pearls of sweat mixing gently with the vodka, she is now a heady cocktail of physical attraction.

She steps to the side and gently plants herself on a high stool. She swings her legs like a contented ten year old, carefree sitting on a fruit tree in harvest season. The man turns around and sees her.

”I am sorry. I’ve taken your seat.”

“How did you find it?” the tall stranger in Armani blue shirt asked.

“It appeared like magic,” she said.

He placed his right hand on his left chest and chuckled. He took a step closer towards her.

“Would you like to share the seat then?” she said, patting the edge of her seat. She takes a sip from her tall glass. It was an invitation for the stranger to reclaim what was his a few minutes earlier before she stole the chair. And she steals more than the tall chair. She will steal his heart and mind for the next three days.

“Only if you let me sit on your lap,” came the sharp reply. He smiled. No more words. That is it. That is the connection that people make soulfully. Some people bond with a physical hug or a fuck. She bonds with you in the spirit realm and you communicate with her with your body.

Sometimes the best talks are silent. Everything feels more distinct and memorable against the loud music and wild twenty year olds riding up and down each other, like a cheap strippper pole in Las Vegas. Sexy is in gentle tousle of her curly hair and secret smiles. Sexy is never on the lollypop sucking high school girl with black kolh eyes. She knows this is true and even if you do not think it is true, her very sway of hips will convince you.

She blushes. She carves a smile and then she looks away. She joins her friends in a merry conversation. They are looking for a deck of cards to play “King” again. Tonight she hopes that she will not kiss another girl again.

Whatever she lacked physically, she made up in pure sex. Each move. Each breathe. Each look. She makes sure you notice her and that you remember her. Two hours from now, all you are left is a glimpse of fantasy. This is the silent stranger with piercing eyes. She never smiled but she will have her way tonight. She will make most boys smile with at the blink of her eye.

The girls do not like her. She has an attitude, that’s for sure. Her confidence does not rub on them, unless they are confident in themselves too. She used to wish for friends and she never understood why the girls did not want to be around her. And if they are in her company, they choose to have very limited communication with her. They will live in their own little aquariums. But now she knows what she is to them.

They despise her confidence and the way she carries herself. They do not like her look. The girls think that she is snobbish and there is an air about her. So they dance their little merry dance and they drink their bottles of beers and their glasses of Frozen Magaritas. They rub themselves against each other and do the sandwich dance. They do not realise that the more they desperately do what they do, the higher on the ladder she goes.

Sex is in the most primal instincts. They never understood that but perhaps they will. Her eyes watches but her lips move not. She is not saying a word. She stands by the bar or against the wall. Men walk up to her and whisper little secrets into her ears. She only listens.

Her scent is embossed into everyone memory. You will know that she was in the room because her scent lingers. It is unique, almost as unique as her. She creates signatures, little messages that announce to every person that her charismatic self is just around the corner - her scent, her drinks, her words, her little dance. You will know that she was there because you saw her in the most minute details.

She creates signatures in her moves and in her words. It is like a little gift she sets into the minds of men, in the most subtle ways. It could be a song she sang while she walked with you to the pub. It could be a piece of clever words strung into a conversation. It could be just the silent walk and a knowing smile. It could be the way she fussed over your new hairstyle. Her words are chosen and her body language, a poetry in motion.

Late at night the little movie will dance in your head. You will smile because she imprinted herself into your memory.

“You will miss me when I am gone,” she whispers into your ears. She whispers ever so softly, and so you draw near. She whispers softly because she wants you to draw near.

“I am not like every other girl,” she says again. You lean over to hear what she just said. Her lips accidentally touch your ears and you tingle. She knows you will tingle all over. That is why she whispers. So you will tingle at her voice and you will remember.

Come 5 a.m. and you will miss her. She knows you will. You can hate her for it but you know it is true. You will miss her.

Do you know this girl? I am sure you do. You see her at the bar every so often. She sits in the company of many men. She has all the glasses of drinks. The girls have long deserted her. She smells of pure sex and whole lot more. And she knows it.

“You will cry when I am gone.”

And you know she is right.

She hops into her car and she drives herself home. She sees her reflection in the mirror, she sweeps her hair back. Behind those piercing eyes and tumbling hair is a soul. She is mournful at 5 a.m. She wipes the mirror with her hands and her reflection is gone for a second. Between the trickling drops of water along the mirror lies a mortal bleeding. She feels deep sadness. She laughs a little and then a tear rolls down her cheek. She looks into herself and all she sees is a sinner.

Hate me today.
Hate me tomorrow.
Hate me so you will see what is good for you.
~ Hate Me, Blue October

***
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• Ladder Theory

To Wendii and all my readers
who missed stories about Alex
and how I used to laugh with him in the summer.

I know that there are many readers who do not know how to respond or react to what I have been writing in the past few weeks, especially when it came to the topic of AB. How is it possible to love someone and to long for another's company. I am not making any excuse. I shan't even justify my emotions or my actions or how I came about to being happy in the company of two men.

The story is simple, really and I shall tell you. How it is possible to love two very different men... How I ended up leading a life in a small room with one man and travelled the world with the other... How one opened me up to see the brighter side of life and how the other closed ourselves in a blanket of secrecy... And how both of them brought different degrees of sunshine into my life but only one unintentionally brought me tears and fears.

I grew up with these feelings. I knew AB when I was 24 and he was merely 21. His girlfriend was 18 then. How we ended up in this whirlpool of mixed emotions, false pretence and selfish love, I do not know. I do admit that part of my eventual break-up with my Swedish Love was due to my relations with AB. Swedish Love and I never stayed together while in Malaysia. He had his own apartment while I lived with my parents. Henrik and I did our daily stuff like all couples do and each night I pet him to sleep, then I went home, got dressed and to a certain extend snuck out to meet up with AB. Do that for two years and it is bound to fuck up anyone's mind. It surely fucked up mine.

(Quite predictably Alex was my other reason for breaking up with Swedish Love.)

I spent a few years waiting for AB pet his gf to sleep, then sneaking out to drive around the bright city lights with me. I spent even more years listening to him tell his gf that he was somewhere else, when he was actually with me. The last time I heard this was last Tuesday. We were young and we were free. We laughed when the police stopped us for loitering at 5 a.m. We walked around the old buildings surrounding the city when the skies were a bluish tint, where nothing but the pigeons heard our footsteps. We played together, we flirted. We rubbed our faces against each other, we had our sweat all fused together. He called each day when he got out of bed at 2 p.m. and I accompanied him at work on most nights. He held my hands as we fell into gentle sleep on weekends. Everything was so long ago, all memories in a puddle. I can no longer tell reality from fantasy. Maybe I have even made him perfect in my head.

Yes, he is drawn to other girls and has numerous sexual relationships with many of them. I was introduced to one of his permanent partners. She sat outside by the DJ console while I went in to chat with him. AB having all the other girls is a fact that I have never denied. For crying out loud, he worked as a DJ. One should understand better and not expect loyalty from someone like him. It would be easier for a gay to turn straight than for a person with his type of occupation to change and devote himself to just one woman. Just too many free fish around.

So why is he looking for me? Why does he seek out for me every now and then? While he sought others for sex, what does he get out of me? Moon said he received emotional comfort and perhaps for a boost in confidence. I always believed he was strong and smart and everything. Maybe I am the only one who stupidly thinks so. Personally I have reached a point when I would like to think that I am just his free fish. I jump on dry land for him any time of the day... Thinking this depresses me but helps me cope emotionally.

Where is Alex in this whole equation? My readers will be glad to know that Alex is safely right on top of the equation. I will never leave Alex. Some people have the ability to bring out the best in you and in my life, that somebody is Alex. He shines like a star, to guide me on my way. He brings out of the best in me and I love myself the most whenever I am with him. His presence offers me comfort and security that I have never known. Coming from an unorthodox family life, Alex (and his family) offers me a sense of normalcy and contentment, showing me a way to have a healthy relationship and family life. Plus he planted some onions in the garden for me last year when I told him that I did not know how onions grow.

This is the smart fish versus stupid fish debate. Alex is a smart fish’s choice and AB is a stupid fish’s. Just because you enjoy a person’s company, it does not necessarily mean you will smile when you go to sleep ten years from now. Choose someone that you know you will share a good life with. Ignore whatever good feelings you get from other people because they are not real, no matter how tempting they are. Try to think how it would be like to live ten years from now. What will your life be twenty years from now? Who will still be there for you and how loved will you be?

There comes a point in your life where you have to decide what you want. You want the bad boy whom you know will break your heart a million times over or you want the good boy you know you and your future children will be safe with? Do you want tears every day and night, lies and deceits that drowns you so deep? Or would you rather smile and enjoy life with a man who is devoted to you? Do not make the mistake of trying to change a man. Men never change and I do not expect AB to change the way he is. Neither do I expect Alex to suddenly discover a love for slouchy trousers and penile piercings.

“So what is AB then?” Ian asked.

Being with AB is like a dream and where dreams are concerned, AB is a very beautiful dream, a whole alternate universe. Come morning when droplets of morning dew disappear, so will he and his shadow. I will remember every moment spent with him, all my tears and laughter. All our secrets can be cherished and relived in my mind but those moments will never see the light of day because he is never going to be the man I would choose. I might long for him and dream of him but these feelings are held captive in some dark recess in my mind. I will never be with AB because the ending will never be happy and this is something we both know.

Listening to Hinder's Lips Of An Angel comforts me. Currently it is looping on my iTunes. Listen to the lyrics and you will know what I mean. This is the sort of conversation AB had with me for 6 years. This is the sort of conversations I imagine we will have till the day we die, unless one of us decide to finally cut all ties. I am glad to know that I am not the only one living with recurring dreams and fantasies of an alternate life that will never come true.

There are just some things in life that you know you cannot have. You cannot have them because you know that they are bad for you. You might enjoy the taste of the poison on you lips now but you know it will eventually kill you. So you deny your heart of its desires and with your mind, you find another. Find another whom you will be better off with.

For some the unconsummated love might be due to circumstances out of their control. Perhaps an event that changed the course of their love and they find themselves in a position whereby, they cannot be with the person they love anymore. Some chose to part and others chose not to start because of location, religion, culture, family or professional background, different financial situations etc. And they are left with a desirable dream because it was never a reality.

And you pay the price of knowing of an alternate life - the should have beens and the could have beens you could have shared with another. Sometimes love does not conquer all and the saddest part is you walk on this eart knowing it is true. Love seldom conquers all and often it dies in the shadows.

Some things are just beyond our control. Like love. Even with the best intentions, not all love will blossom into happiness and sunshine.

***

~ Lips Of An Angel, Hinder.


Honey, why you calling me so late?
It's kinda hard to talk right now
Honey, why you crying? Is everything okay?
I gotta whisper cause I can't be too loud

Well, my girl's in the next room
Sometimes I wish she was you
I guess we never really moved on
It's really good to hear your voice saying my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words it makes me weak
And I, never wanna say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel

It's funny that you're calling me tonight
And yes I dreamt of you too
And does he know you're talking to me? Will it start a fight?
No, I don't think she has a clue

Well my girl's in the next room
Sometimes I wish she was you
I guess we never really moved on
It's really good to hear your voice saying my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words it makes me weak
And I, never wanna say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel

Ok. I sat in Starbucks since lunchtime hoping to finish up some stuff. Failed dot com. Checked YC’s blog, then Malaysian Alien’s and then KinkyFairy’s. So fail. I tried to divert attention and wrote for ANNN instead. Could not write, despite exploring three different topics.

Feeling so stressed out, I picked up my mobile phone. I scrolled down all the way to his name. With one swift motion, I deleted AB’s number from my phone book. Then his office number and another number relating to him.

I think girls should stick to changing their hairstyles whenever they are stressed. I would have done that if not for the fact that my hairstylist butchered my hair last week when all I wanted was a little love and nip at my fringe.

So now that my shopping budget’s burst, my hair’s like a rabbit infestation and I feel like killing myself because words do not seem to flow out of my fingers. There is nothing that money can buy at the moment since I don't have much moolah but here are some creative ways to do medicate myself:

• Drown myself in my backup bottle of Absolut Vodka during lunchbreak.


• Dance around naked, worshipping some pagan god in my bedroom. Or maybe for realism sake, around the Jambu tree in my parent’s garden.


• Get a huge ass tattoo on my lower back. Just because some people like fondling me there.


• Visit a circus with a rich old man. Preferably Hugh Hefner in a wheel chair and I, complete in nurse outfit and bleached blonde hair and D cup boobs. I wonder who then is the circus freak?


• Drink lots of water and then wait to see how many hours my bladder can retain the water without passing out.


• Stuff myself with 3 litres of lousy Walls ice cream. A sure way of losing 5 kilos by tomorrow because the icky ice cream will make me sick.

Oh I know what I need. That doctor I met three weeks ago in Starbucks. His name is Dr. Khoo. I do not find too many Chinese men attractive but Dr. Khoo had a sense of calmness in his eyes that was very appealing. I sat next to him for five hours some weeks ago and then I met him during suppertime with some of his friends. Being the usual person that I am, I never ask for numbers and I never give away numbers. So how now?

I hate the ladder theory, by the way. There is no way of winning, is there? Either you are top of the ladder and you do not like the guy THAT WAY or you are second/third/insert your favourite number on the ladder, thus confirming that you are not the most appealing creature in your friend’s universe. A girl cannot win either way.

A relevant example would be HighSchoolSweet, who beeped to inform me of his new fabulous lifestyles at exotic weekend locations. He mentioned that he was returning to KL at the end of November during our MSN conversation yesterday. He was using the “laughing” tactic to see if I would spend a week staying over at his bachelor pad.

When I said I would meet him in a coffeehouse or something, he asked if I would visit Milan. Milan’s a beautiful place – I’ve heard HighSchoolSweetheart and Francesco said a million times.

“You pay for my ticket and spending money?” I asked HighSchoolSweetheart.

He flashed the smiley emoticon.

Speaking of Italians, I did not write about Francesco because of a weird email he sent me. Basically we spoke on the phone when he was in Athens and the conversation continued when he got back to Milan.

“Please text or call me on my mobile during office hours”

What does that tell you, my dear readers? For me, that’s a clear sign that he does not want me to call him at home.

And why can’t a woman call a man at home?

It is only because there is another woman at home.

So that’s what I wrote to him. “Your last email made me figure that you have a girlfriend or a wife”. And he double confirmed it as "a very beautiful but jealous girlfriend".

I had a question but I did not ask Francesco and it goes something like this ---> If your girlfriend’s beautiful, why are you still calling other girls? There is nothing wrong with calling other girls as friends but clearly you do not consider me as an ordinary friendship, now do you, since you need to hide me and all? I don't figure women to be so hormonally crazy that they cannot accept normal friendships. Then again, the damn ladder theory...

Instead of asking him the question, I responded in the other available fashion, which was non-response response. I did not reply his email. So guess what he did? He wrote me an email later, asking why I hadn’t written to him, to which I replied that I was busy. That was indeed the truth but it was more so that I did not wish to communicate with him, out of respect for his very beautiful but jealous girlfriend. He then threw a hissy “I shall await your email. Please include a photo of yourself when you do get to writing me the email, which is likely to arrive next year or so.”

Fwah. Damn drama. This is so ala Darren & Joanne. For once I am outdone in the camwhoring category. I have decided to post a flattering photo of him, so you boys and girls can grasp an idea of who/what/where/why I am writing about.

Wash your eyes and weep.

Yes, that’s men for you. The ugly ones drive you insane because you don't like them that way and the good looking ones drive you insane too. The bad boys make you cry and the good boys make you yawn. Can't blame the men though because unlike women, they aren't born perfect.

"Paging for Dr. Khoo, please come to The Nude’s office. Your expert service is needed immediately."

***
Related Links

• Because No Cat Will Say "No" To Fish


• Old One Don't Go New One Can't Come


• A Love Letter

It is half past 5 on a Wednesday. I can hear the traffic building up as I type the next few words. For the first time in more than three weeks, I find myself alone in my office. It is a new office, nonetheless. I still need to get rid of the awful fluorescent lights left behind by the previous tenants and perhaps repaint the whole room in a calmer shade of pale white.

Did you know that there are more than 20 shades of white? Ask any interior designer (think Miss YC) and they should tell you that there are more than 20 shades of white. This tells you a thing or two about life. Life is never black and white and if it was black and white, it simply meant that life has more than 20 shades of white. And that does not include the different types of black. Think blue black and green black blah blah blah...

So the conclusion that I can offer at quarter past 5 on a Wednesday is that life is full of colour, even if it was pure monochromic. There are no true certainties, only different shades of the same thing. All of us do the best that we can with what life throws at us. None of us can judge another and tell that person that he had lived his life wrongly.

I find this rather refreshing. Many might be tempted to teach me how to live my life. Actually many do that. They are called meddling church members, who think that they can live my life better. There are others that are nosy friends. Actually I think they are more like the paparazzi, with the exception that they are not paid in worldly money when they talk/stalk/bitch/complain about my life.

“I would be satisfied and happy, if I were you.”

Oh how I have heard that line a thousand times. What people failed to realise is that they cannot be themselves and have my life. I carved my life out of my bare hands, with every little decisions I made for myself and every little lie I tell to my heart. All the dramas and not so dramas are a direct result of my choices. If I had followed their choices, I would have led their lives instead.

“I would have done better, in your position.”

I feel tickled whenever I hear this line. You think you can do better in my position? If I had taken all the steps that you did, I would end up with your life instead of mine. So no, I don’t think you can lead my life better than me because in the first place, you will have to be Otto to live her life and to walk in her super high heels. That includes slaving at the office, pimping myself out to new clients and spending all my dough on buying clothes.

My last credit card bill was RM2800. Moon said that it was modest. I used to think it was modest at RM4000 but those days have long passed me by. These days I am more aware of my spending and I do make an effort to save whenever I can. I last checked my bank balance and it had only 4 digits on it. My only consolation is that I do not have any liabilities but that is not stopping me from rewarding myself with a nice watch on my 31st birthday, which is in February, by the way.

With two staff missing from work today, I ran some errands like a monkey with a bad case of flea infestation. I did not manage my usual breakfast, which makes me a rather foul-mouthed boss on a Wednesday morning, hence my quiet demeanour the whole of today. Which is rather unusual considering the fact that I think my outfit for today is rather pornstar-ish – sloppy man pants, a black fitted at the waist blouse with lace bib and some serious heels.

I had to transfer my existing office telephone line to the new office which is located just a traffic light away. I found out that I could not keep my old number and had to settle for a new swanky one. I was not too please to hear that, especially not when 20 000 copies of leaflets, still hot from the printers, listing the office's old number. However being the smart chick that I am, I had call divert installed into the old number.

Paid up my credit card bill but was not to pleased to discover that half the portion was spent on clothes. Yes, splurged the money to make me feel better. Oh damn. I just recall that I missed my Step class yesterday because I was caught in office until 7 p.m...

Predictably writing for the car magazine ran on smoothly into its third quarter. I like this new editor of mine. I have ample timeline to prepare my articles, which means I researched more and wrote better. Or at least I would like to console myself with thoughts that I did. I wrote a product review on Nintendo DS Lite and then I wrote on lighting. Don’t even ask me why I managed to write an article on lighting or why is a lighting article appearing in a car enthusiast magazine.

Two deaths in the last three days. Let me correct myself. Two deaths and one celebration of life. The dead were elderly, with one being my paternal grandmother. I did not tell my friends about her death, mainly because I did not feel a lost. Why, did I hear you ask? Well let’s just say that this naughty grandmother of mine has successfully kicked my mother into an emotional blackhole that my mother does not seem to be able to crawl out of. Even after thirty five years. The two boys (that would be my younger brothers) and I have so much of emotional junk as a direct result of her mistreatment of my mother. You can safely conclude that I come from a very abnormal family and thus you cannot blame me if I have relationship issues.

The celebration of life comes in a tiny package called Isaac. At long last, my godmother received the desire of her heart; a grandson. Apparently my god brother and wife did not waste two seconds when it came to reproducing. They are doing their share of contributing to the Chinese votes in 2027. I am not ready to do mine and come to think of it, even if I do reproduce like a rabbit, the small ones would be British and not contribute to the Chinese population in Malaysia. I do not want my children to grow up thinking that they are visitors in their birth country.

It’s 7 o’clock. I think it’s time for me to go. I have mumbled enough for a Wednesday.

Traffic on a rainy day.

I have decided what I will do if AB breaks up with his girlfriend and dates another girl.

I will push him into the Gombak River and I know he can't swim...

***
Related Links

• L-O-V-E
  

So here is the story of a girl who loves a boy. It is a simple story, like all fairy tales. The only exception in this modern day version is that the boy does not love the girl. Now the girl knows this. Actually she denies this but deep in her heart, she knows it is true. The boy is a scumbag that does not love her. Neither does he appreciate all the good things she has done for him.

It is a silly story, if you really think about it. The girl likes the boy and she does everything in the world for this boy. She would mop the floor for him, if it makes him happy. She would clean, bake, dress, slim down, grow tits, move to another country, move to another state, anything. She would do anything so he would love her in return.

It would be a fairy tale if he loved her. But oh no, this story has a boy that chooses to love another girl, who treats him like shit. Trust good old Karma to ensure justice prevails. He loves this other girl. He would die for her, if it made her happy but nothing he does will ever please her because she loves another man.

So see, this story is complicated to begin with and if you stick around, you will begin to realise, just like I did, that this story only gets more complicated as you read the following paragraphs.

I have watched this scene play a million times before my eyes. A friend of mine boiled chicken soup for a boy who had taken ill. Obviously she did it because she loved him. The boy, while he did not love her, accepted the gift and slurped the soup happily with another girl. He was not even creative enough to get a girl with a different name. The girls' names were the same but he married one and ditched soup maker. What went wrong?

Now here is a repeat in another fashion. I know of this girl who opened her door to her highschool crush each time he came knocking. He knocked more than just her door, mind you. He sobbed and cried in her lap, then he felt better and then he buggered off until he came into another tough situation, whereby he needed her lap and a little more. This girl put up with his antics because she loved him. Her love must have been great because she knew that he had been using her and yet she remains hopeful that one day, he would love her in return.

You needn’t look too far for the next story because I am sharing mine. My instinct told me that AB would never truly understand me. He would neither love nor appreciate me. Knowing this does not seem to stop me from melting into a little puddle of water each time he called me from his office phone. I once posted a two-page ANNN post, facing up to the facts that he was just not into me (plus listing all the cracks that I know exist). I took it down five seconds later because AB called and arranged to go for a movie next Tuesday. Yes, I am that shameless.

Then there comes a point in the whatever you want to call your connection to the boy, where you begin to question how important you are to each other. You tell him that you are even willing to get a liposuction, if he thought you were fat. Or be the secret lover because he was a married man with two kids. Or read “Idiots Guide To Tantric Sex” so you could perform some bedroom gymnastics to satisfy his needs. Or lose your sense of fashion because he liked you dressed in a certain way (be it slutty or aunty).

You did the inevitable. You told him that you loved him and you expect to hear those magic words. After all, he has drank your soup. He let you have his apartment keys so you could clean after his trail of socks and boxer shorts. You might even be the privileged bunny, who has nightly rights into his bed. You sleep in his arms for the past 6 months and he even has mindblowing sex with you when you nuzzle closer.

And now you are sitting in the corner, smoking the broken cigarette you found on your bedroom floor. You quit smoking some months ago but the occasion seemed absolutely appropriate. You crawl on the floor in search of the other end of the stub. You are a mental mess. You calculate your moves again. You cannot comprehend how he had accepted everything you had offered but now is unwilling to commit himself to those three words. By every logical reason, he should do the right thing, which is to confess that he loves you too. After all, you and his mom are now coffee buddies.

You get agitated. Fucking tension, you think to yourself as you ransack through your collection of clothes. This is not fucking happening. You go on teleconferencing with five of your closest friends. You analyse the situation again. The conclusion remains. He loves you. He has to. He showed all the right signs and reciprocated your advances.

So you drive half hour to his place, call him on the phone, tell him that you are waiting downstairs and you need to talk. He tells you that his beer buddies are around and asks you to go home. You scream like a mad person and soon he rushes down. Your tears fall and you are a crying mess. You asked him why, why doesn’t he love you at all?

He whispers something into your head, then he walks away. You drive back and you learn your lesson. You hop into bed and call your best girlfriend again. You recount every single moment leading up to that point when he walked down with his slippers and Hawaiian shorts he bought from Chiang Mai.

“Did he say that?” your girlfriend says on the phone, “What was his reason again?”

“Because no cat will say ‘no’ to fish.”



***
I think I shall name this post just that – Because No Cat Will Say “No” To Fish. It is almost universal. No cat will ever say ‘no’ to fish. No man will turn down a free dinner, a free soup and especially not a free fuck. Being the best that you are and giving your all to a man does not guarantee you the man, his loyalty or love. He might just turn out to be the pussy of the century.

I know that I am a silly little fish. I tend to equate love to doing things for the person. And when the person does something in return, I quickly reason that it is his way of reciprocating my love for him when in actual fact; to him, I might have been just a free fish.

So next time, next time I promise to remember. I will not throw myself onto dry land, not even for the best cat in town. Not even if the cat sports a pair of Pumas, slouchy trousers and a tongue piercing. Choose wisely to avoid the heartbreak. Be a smart fish.

Love myself a little more and if the cat wants to come, he has to drown in my aquarium instead.

It has been quite some time since I laughed till my face turned blue.
Apparently there is no such thing as a free cat either.

***
Related Links

• Because No Cat Will Say "No" To Fish

To Moon
because you know my tears
and I guess, I know yours.

Each night, I am conscious. I know that I am drifting into a far away place, somewhere into my subconscious, on the super highway to infinity. I know that I am falling into a frozen state of mind, where my emotions run free. I find myself thrown into a deep dark hole each time I close my eyes to sleep. I am flung downwards, spiralling into the unknown. My arms wide open, the feeling of almost freedom, with the exception that there is nothing to hold me back or spring me back to where I was before this moment. Everything is beyond my control and I can do nothing but hurl further downwards. I tumble deeper and deeper into the bottomless abyss. I cannot even hear myself scream.

I am trying to analyze this new sleep phase I have reluctantly found myself in. Is this vodka doing some evil nasties to my body? I have drunk so much that my tongue feels like a six month old sandpaper.

Or could it just be the restless nights I have been having since Diwali? All the constant 5 a.m. sleep and 8 a.m. get ups are bound to wreck something in my head, I guess.

Or maybe, just maybe this is a reflection of my emotional state. I do not even want to think about this.

I was trying to fight the sensation of descending into the coldest nightmare when his right hand snaked between the sheets and stopped the moment his five fingers were between mine. I was asleep and fighting and yet I was conscious enough to hear him breathing softly. His clinging hand was reassuring. It was as if he knew too that I was fighting my demons each night.



***
One of the best gifts that Alex gave me was a simple email. In this private correspondance between two lovers, Alex quoted a paragraph from an Ian Bank’s novel. In it, the writer described the magical moment of watching his lover sound asleep and hearing her breathe softly. Alex used the paragraph in relation to he felt watching me fall asleep ever so gently, into the most beautiful dreams. He said I had a serene countenance whenever I sleep.

"You always smile whenever you are asleep," Alex said.

I want to hear Alex say that to me again. Say it to me again, Alex. Tell me about my smile when I am asleep. I cannot remember feeling happy when I wrap myself in my seven pillows each night. Remind me of what it feels like to be happy in your embrace. I long for the nights when the frosty wind is howling cold outside our bedroom window. You said it was your tactic to get me to snuggle closer into your manly armpits (so you say). And you would cuddle me in your arms and I will feel safe. I will feel safe enough to sleep. You have the ability to banish all my darkest monsters to a land faraway and you keep all my fears at bay. I have realised time and time again that I only sleep with a smile when I am with you. When you are gone, I am a lost child and I do not know my way home. I want you to bring me home.



***
I am quitting drinking for the next few days. I am quitting going out for the next few days more. I have a spot on my nose and then five more red dots on my cheeks. My eyes are shut during the day because they are strained from the constant solar glare. The sun is conspiring with the truth, in their weak attempt to lead me back to the right path. I have lived in the shadow of four confined walls for too long and it is time for me to wake up once more.

I am sick of lying to myself, so sick that I feel ill. I cannot find another lame excuse to torture myself nor can I find a reason to. I have punished myself long enough and I think I have had about enough. I am tired of being lethargic, my emotions’ gone cuckoo. I do not know what to do with my frail self. Perhaps I do but I am not admitting to myself. Maybe I am too weak to face reality. Maybe I do not want to. I want someone to throw me a lifeline but I know that only person who can do is selfishly not doing it.

I could cast myself from this lake of torment, so why do I choose to swim in this sea of tears?

"Sleepy smiles are only second best to sleep sex. Trust me. I might not know how to get out of this emotional vortex but I know what feels good and what is bad."

***
Related Links

• Read posts on Alex


• Read posts on AB

Left to right, 1st row

• BestGuyFriend pimping his ride


• Loads of momentos on the wall & G4


• Ain's yielding to her feminine charm

2nd row

• Otto, according to Cuddle Bitch R


• The Real Otto


• A drunk's V sign

3rd row

• Nurturing Miss Malaysia 2024


• Ain snuck this photo while I made up


• Pre-shot for I'm Just A Prisoner Here

***
Every now and then, we might thread down the wrong path and we might lose our way. There are special angels that are sent to lead us back to where we belong. Alex sent this to me, out of the blue. Perhaps God's gift to remind me who and where I belong.

"I once was lost but now am found
Was blind but now I see"
~ Amazing Grace, old hymn

"I am very possessive," he said.
"And I can never be possessed," she said.

I was in a shopping mall today when suddenly I looked up for a sign that led me to the ladies. I ran as quickly as I could and leaning against the wall, I caught secret tears with my hands. Secret tears that slowly flowed, so secret that my heart did not know.

I promised myself that I would not cry over this. I cried the last round and this time I said that I would not do the same. I told myself that I will harden my heart and I will feel not an ounce of sadness when it is over. I managed to remain absolutely calm and composed for more than three hours while my mind concentrated on driving to the shopping mall and then busied itself purchasing some home things. Now that the tasks are over, my mind is playing mindfucking games on me.

I hate to think. He asked me not to think. D told me that I think too much. Alex said I think myself to the brink of insanity and unhappiness. Moon. Moon said she’ll slap me if I ever even dare think of running away to Goa with some dreadlock boy. Thinking about everything now, I still hate to think.

We went out for dinner last night. It was the first time that we walked out in the open and I saw the evening sun setting on the west. It felt strange, being let out of the confines of a room after spending the last three or fours years secretly meeting somewhere. The sunlight shone into my eyes and suddenly it felt as if I saw shadows that never existed in the bedroom. Perhaps how happy I felt within the room was in fact an illusion of embryonic happiness. Cast me out of that cocoon and I will begin to see cracks that I have never noticed before the moment we sat ourselves in a Japanese restaurant.

There was a feeling of fantasy, escapism and secrecy for all the years we have secretly looked at each other in a crowded place. How he brushed his hands gently along my bottom and instantly I would know he was near. Now both of us are older. I can see age in his eyes. I can see age in mine. How long can we play this hide and seek game?

We sat by the kaitan belt and in unison, we called for California Temakis. The first time we sat in the open and had a proper dinner together. There was just him with his dread locks and just me in my denim skirt and footless tights. The two tables in front of us were staring. They must have shared similar thoughts with the guys in Digi Center when we visited five minutes earlier - they thought we were different customers, when in actual fact I merely trailed after him like a lost fluffy bunny. We chatted merrily, bringing each other up to date with the who's who and what's what. I even caught myself laughing when I leaned backwards and saw the reflection of my lips pursed together in a childlike smile.

“Your hair damn cute wei,” he said, then patting my head.

Yes. My hair is now the plague of my existence for the past 36 days. My current chop is so crudely cut that standing next to Amy Search will immediately make him a dashing man.

“I think there are three hedgehogs, two porcupines and a rabbit living in my hair at the moment,” I said.

He laughed hearing me say that. He looked like a child when he laughed. There is something about those eyes - inquisitive, sensitive and pained.



***
“So you want to learn some origami, is it?”

I peered from the corner of the bed. This is what he uses his business cards for, I thought to myself. He tore a tiny corner off, rolled and licked it. I shook my head and pouted.

He was relaxed. He was leaned against the wall and smiling a dreamy smile after two joints. We left the room again and in the middle of the night, we found ourselves in a pub. This is the first time he was not the DJ and I was not a patron. For once, we were equals, both of us were visitors to the pub. Initially I felt a little tensed mainly because I did not know what to do or say. The two Mai Tais I had in the first hour helped smooth everything out.

He laughed, recounting how we met. “You know, I spoke to E so that I could talk to you eventually? You fucking don’t smile wei,” he said, then laughing and playing with my rabbit infested hair. His eyes widened when I suddenly burst into tiny peals of laughter. I recounted the time when E and I stopped in front of a house when we saw him. His girlfriend was standing behind him when E candidly asked him to hop into our car for a midnight joy ride. And there he stood, his eyes trying to tell us not to be cheeky because his girl was around.



***
“What happens if I don’t love her anymore?” he asked me in all seriousness. I shook my head. I never entertained that thought. Apparently he has been entertaining that thought, which does not surprise me. He was worried not so much for how she felt but how her parents would react. Her father played a major role in his life after his father passed away when he was 7 years old. Nothing can break bonds like that.

“What happens if I leave her and go out with another girl?” he asked. He was fishing for an answer. “I mean, it’s a bit fucked up. Break up with girlfriend and not end up with you.”

“Then I will be free.” I caught myself breathing again.

Traveling I only stop at exits
Wondering if I'll stay
Young and restless
Living this way I stress less
I want to pull away when the dream dies
The pain sets in and I don't cry
I only feel gravity and I wonder why

Flames to dust
Lovers to friends
Why do all good things come to an end

***
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