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Monday, April 28, 2008
Nothing Stays The Same

The season has come and gone. Flowers died and now they are alive again. Snow came and then it melted. How different everything seems when time comes calling.

Everything changes. Nothing stays the same. What was there a month ago is now long gone.

Snow boarding in Himos during Easter
(check out the snow!)

The sea that was frozen a month ago. Now ducks and swans swim merrily in it.

Exhilaration at 160km/h on the Ducati.

Visited the zoo on a sunny Sunday.

I was not the only one enjoying the sun.

(Near) Future
I am returning home to turn this 2D plan into a 3D house.

Ground floor

1st floor


I can't complain about how my life is unfolding. There are many things to look forward to. I am very excited about the house and especially the furniture shopping (hehehe). I am a little pissed off that I missed Gudang's sales in March but I am sure there will be another one just round the corner. Also need to find some handsome looking lightings.

Do you know where I can find reasonablly priced Nordic inspired furniture pieces (that is not from Ikea)? After years of clubbing and pubbing around, I somehow have settled into a more serene lifestyle, which is reflected in a change of furniture taste.


Women Behaving Badly

‘So it is not ok for a forty plus woman to dance around like a crazy person?’ I asked again. I asked the question a second time because it was important to get the facts right.

Tim nodded his head. He did not bother justifying himself. The gospel according to Tim says that old men (old by definition here means anyone above 40) can prance around and do stupid things together, It is acceptable because ‘everyone thinks that it is just another bunch of lads doing stupid weekend stuff again’. However women above forty are not measured on the same ruler. Somehow this 42 year old divorced father of three teenage girls and boyfriend to one 35 year old woman thinks it is NOT okay for older women to go mad on a weekend.

‘They just look pathetic,’ he said. No apologies for the statement. ‘A woman over 40 should look dignified. Not slobbering around the pub like a drunken fool.’

‘But it is okay for men above 40 to do so,’ I paused, hoping that he would disagree. If it is not okay for women to do it, then it should not be okay for men to do it too, right?

Apparently, the answer is wrong. As a matter of fact, he agreed whole heartedly that men of whatever age can get drunk, get loud, piss around the garden and have noisy boys nights. But girls, oh girls just do not do such stupid things.

‘Grown up girls just don’t do such things,’ he said.

Scandinavians on the whole are a very forward thinking bunch. Men and women enjoyed similar rights for the longest time. Suffrage movement in Sweden and Finland led its women to the right to vote in 1862 and 1906 respectively. Their men are well house trained, can cook and generally treat their women folk no different from how they would treat another man. (That means no special girlie privileges like opening doors just because you are a girl. You get some and so you lose some, I guess).

I sat at the dining table, imagining some Feminist members crucifying Tim. Yup, Sweden has their very own feminist political party and I am sure those girls would love to hang Tim or do something nasty to him. I was not angry or anything. I was just surprised that men (who are taught from birth to treat women as equals) have double standards. If sexism exists in Scandinavia, you can beat your beans (if you are Jack) on the double standard existing and thriving in a country such as Malaysia. (No offence to Malaysians in a whole but we must admit that we are 100 years behind Sweden in this area – quite literally).

So what makes it okay for men to do it? ‘Well men never grow up,’ Tim said. Men grow old but they never grow up. Put a few men together and you can see them gelling together, merrily enjoying themselves. They can joke, have fun, burp, drink beer, fart and laugh. In Finland, you even get to see your friend’s balls while you burp, drink beer, fart and run naked around a bush during Mid Summers. Such is the camaraderie of men.

Women, according to Tim, were expected to behave themselves and carry themselves well.

‘Carry themselves with dignity,’ I said.

‘Yes, yes. That is the word. Dignity. With dignity,’ said Tim. ‘You just feel sad when you see an older woman dribbling beer all over or is too loud.’ He took a sip of whiskey, then coffee. But why should a woman show restraint and carry herself well all the time? Why can’t a 40 year old woman behave as carefree and reckless as she was when she was a single 20 year old university student? Tim was sharing some ideas why it felt weird looking at a drunk woman.

‘I think it has to do with your image of a mother,’ I said. Psychology is lovely. With psychology, you can blame your mother for every fuck up in your life. Most mothers are anchors in their young children’s lives and they are responsible, caring, attentive, well behaved, restraint etc. A mother’s actions influence her child’s future behaviour.

‘Yes, that must be it. Our mothers always carried themselves well. A drunk 40 year old woman just looks sad,’ Tim said.

I was having dinner with three eligible men, who were all married and then divorced. They were successful and were reasonably good looking for their age (think George Clooney). Tim had 3 teenage daughters and Tapio had one. The Bachelor was a sperminator to some British bird, so technically he has passed on his genetic material. They were all casually meeting younger women. As they grow older, the women became younger and the age gap became larger. They swore that younger women made better partners.

‘Here lies a problem, boys,’ I said. ‘Men intrinsically seek out young women because they make good companions. Tim, now you said that younger women are more spontaneous and happy, right?’


‘Then why do you feel that it isn’t proper for an older woman to just be that – spontaneous and happy-fied? Don't you think it is unfair?'

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Friday, April 18, 2008

I was in the shower when I thought about my blog. I usually think of you guys when I am up and about doing things. But sometimes I do think of you when I am in the shower, with the hot water running down my naked body. I was thinking of all the people I knew resulting from my blog, About Nude Not Naked.

It all started with the grand dame of shopping, YC. I think I met her more than a year ago. Oh yes, when I think about it now, I am sure we met in 2006. I remember texting her three seconds after I turned my back and walked away from Adidas Boy on 30th October 2006. I remember pressing the phone keypad at the corner of Mango boutique, Mid Valley, restraining tears from falling, writing something to YC.

‘You know, you two will clash when you meet,’ someone remarked. The friend of a friend of a friend of YC’s was certain that two huge egos should never meet. I brushed the idea away and met YC a few times.

YC has the most beautiful eyes, almost cartoon-like. She should be a little taller than I, waif thin, with a face that would sit pretty in any hairstyles. The next thing I noticed after her physical features were two pieces of jewellery that she adorned. She had a green jade bangle and a crystal pendant in the shape of a pacifier. I thought they were such contradiction to her persona, which I think tells you a thing or two about the young lady. She came across as intelligent, vocal and a thousand years wiser than I ever was at her age.

And no, we never had any of the arguments that the friend of a friend of a friend of YC’s predicted earlier. I dotted on her like a little sister and to a certain extend, she dotted on me like a little sister too (since she is the more streetwise of us two). The highlights of our blog-friendship included:

  • The ‘He is married’ episode - a guy friend of hers and I were secretly talking to each other with our eyes (commonly known as the art of flirting) when YC dropped the ‘he is married’ bomb. (He has the most winsome smile). That was a very embarrassing moment, needless to say. Crash and burn, baby.

  • The ‘Mad Dash for Chicken Rice’ – we drove at warp speed down a highway to purchase packets of chicken rice. The chicken rice was worth every kilometre of the way. Actually, YC has a thing for pork satay too whilst I am not a pork person. Come to think of it, YC is very food oriented…

  • The ‘Clash of Great Fashion Senses’ episode – we walked into Lola together one night in the most contradictory party clothes. YC, in a black sleeves tight blouse with a cinched waist with gold buckles while I, in a soft pink blouse with a slit running past the cleavage. Talk about differences.

We got along reasonably well, if not for the fact that I am 8 years older than her and a hell of a lot more quiet and a dash more boring. I think she was disappointed to discover that I am such a quiet person in real life. Oh well.

Then there is Nicholas, whom I met in London. We spent three happy months together, mainly sitting in Four Seasons for duck rice or Hong Kong Café in China Town for all its delicious goodies. We spoke regularly on the phone when we were not chatting online. Nicholas is a wonderful young man, who strangely was not attached to anyone when I first met him. I am glad to know that he has found someone since then.

Nicholas often wore a beanie, which hid his short-cropped hair. He wore a pair of black rim pair of glasses (or at least I think they were) and often carried a backpack whenever we went out together. I cannot describe him beyond this since he is a boy. There is nothing much to talk about boy’s sense of fashion, now is there?

Nicholas’ most attractive quality must be his warmth. He comes across as a genuine and caring person. He is a generous spirit with a lot of give to those around him. Spending the weekends and afternoons with him was simply pleasurable. He is a gentleman through and through.

‘Oh don’t worry. You don’t have to wait for me. You shop until I arrive,’ he said on the mobile on an afternoon we were supposed to meet up for tea. Dear Nicholas braved through the summer sales in the commercial labyrinth called TopShop, in search for a hyperventilating Otto on a shopping frenzy. I was happily browsing through racks after racks of clothes, looking at its many lines, which are not available in its other franchise. No other TopShop on earth would do.

Obviously we spoke a lot about our private lives, which are not for your eyes to read. Other than private stuff, we actually did a lot of London tourist things together:

  • The Nottinghill Carnival –There were lots of music blasting around the surrounding blocks of apartments, which was nice but we basically saw only horse shit and an ocean of human heads. Did not manage to see anything on the floats despite wearing 4 inch hells that day.

  • The ‘Young Oriental Models Upstairs’ episode – It started with me noticing a paper on a door that said ‘Young Oriental Models Upstairs’. We were one street away from China Town, Leicester Square. I was certain that it was a polite advertisement for prostitutes, so Nicholas and I walked across the street to check out the rooms upstairs. ‘Oh so that’s why they are called Red Light District,’ Nicholas said, noting the red light bulb in those rooms. I think I hugged him tightly on his neck and we walked towards Hong Kong Café, giggling and chatting away.

  • The King’s Road Adventure – Nicholas and I spent a relaxing afternoon getting lost in the fashion mecca of the 60s. We wandered through small shops and what-so-nots. We tried not to end up in the hospital while we mounted the lions on Trafalgar Square. That was very memorable. I wore a halter-neck blouse and no bra. *beaming with happiness*

He addresses me by my real name with the title ‘jie’ at the end, which means ‘sister’ in Mandarin. No one calls me ‘sister’, not even my brothers, so it is quite refreshing and sweet that Nicholas calls me sister. That is as Chinese as I will ever be.

Not too surprisingly we remained close friends since returning back to Malaysia. We talked often on the phone and we poured quite a few secrets. He remains one of the few people who know details of my daily life stories. I cannot imagine that it has been nearly 2 years since we first met in London. Time surely passed by faster than I am comfortable with. Now he is working in NuffNang, which makes the next interesting story.

You see, I met Timothy too. We met for a short lunch in the Four Seasons in Bayswater. He was on his way back to Malaysia and I just arrived in London that morning. We chatted for a bit and exchanged some ideas. Now I must say that this young man is visionary. Do keep him under your radar because he is someone to watch out for. I was not surprised when he came up with a great idea and launched NuffNang. Timothy came across as a rather passionate person and he had the balls to see his dreams come through. NuffNang celebrated its first anniversary recently.

It is strange that I nearly met up with Kenny. Somehow we could not meet up and we ended up talking on the phone. ‘So you aren’t going to tell me where you are at?’ he asked. I replied ‘no’. (It is so obvious, isn’t it?). He dropped by ANNN several times, commented some and even mentioned ANNN in his blog. But you and I must admit that Kenny and I were as different as night and day. On blog reviews, he would receive a thousand stars for humor and I would be glad if I scored even a pathetic one. So there you go.

Oh I should also mention Ian Liew, who is a thinker, like myself. We spoke a couple of times over the phone. I even sent him the ‘Call me now!’ short text messages, so I could howl on the phone, sharing my minute details of my emotional dramas. It is amazing that Australia-UK phone calls are reasonably priced when compared to Australia-Malaysia. Ian always had perfect timing when he called or chatted online with me – while I was prancing around my bedroom half naked, trying to get ready for a hot weekend night out clubbing.

In retrospect, he called me out of the blue last year. I can’t remember what was the content of our conversation. I had this fading memory of it being a birthday greeting. Can’t remember if it was his or mine. Both of us were preparing to go out clubbing that night, so the conversation was short. I should email that boy again soon and see what he is up to lately.

There are of course many readers who correspond via emails. Some comment on my writing style and grammar mistakes, which I truly appreciate. Others write to share their stories and secrets. Many remarked that I gave words to their private stories. So many of you had similar life experiences. Writing and reading ANNN has healed both your hearts and mine. You have been a witness to my life. I am glad that my stories have found a place in many of your hearts and I hope I have not disappointed any of you.


I am flying back to Malaysia in less than 14 days. I am feeling butterflies in my stomach. It is always the same feeling. You will never get used to it. I am anxious to go home. Three months is a long time. Many things change. People change. Roads change. I change.

Coming to Europe gives me the opportunity to step away from the daily grinds in Malaysia. Everything feels lighter when I am away. Every frantic moment melts away. Everything might move at a radical pace but internally I feel a sense of calm and peace. And somehow I can see things better when I am thousands of miles away.

I grow up a little more each time when I return home. It starts with a total transformation on the outside the morning I am home. My haircut and colour would have changed, before I meet my mother for lunch. Clothes and hairstyle has always been a symbolic expression of everything that I felt inside. Each time I return home, I feel like it's a moment of rebirth and I am a whole new person again. I am no longer who I was months before. Friends who meant the world to me before I flew to Europe no longer have a place in my life. Things that were important to me a few months ago now no longer have priority in my schedule. Going home to Malaysia always signal a reshuffle of priorities, reflecting the change of my personal beliefs and desires.

Not many people have the opportunity to grow and change like the way I do. Maybe that is why they are still reflections of themselves from years ago while I have lived the lives of a thousand women. Maybe people are meant to grow and develop. Maybe people are supposed to take another route in their lives. Maybe they are trapped in their circumstance and cannot evolve into the person they only dreamt of each night. Maybe I am supposed to be trapped too.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Saving The Girl That Needs No Saving

‘Which is worse?’ he asked. ‘To have too many suitors or to have too little?’

‘I think it’s horrible to have too many suitors,’ I replied. ‘Notice my long list of complaints?’

‘Come on. Admit it. It is much better to have too many than too little,’ he said.

‘If you insist, then yes. I guess it is better to have more choices than a lack of.’

I imagined how beautiful the view out of his window. The Petronas Twin Towers must look absolutely majestic against the slow descend of the sun as we messaged each other on the Yahoo Messenger. Mr. Easter Bunny and I were conversing on a daily basis the week before and after Easter. I was searching for some writing inspiration and he was there at the right place and the right time.


If you have noticed (which I am sure you do), I have been avoiding writing lately. I must be one of the most boring persons you ever read about. I write only what I am ready to share and I don’t mince my words around. And when I am not ready to share, I don’t. Hence there is hardly any action here in About Nude Not Naked. I have my regular readers but I am no Kenny Sia.

Not that my life isn’t filled with action. It is. It is very much filled with all sorts of actions but I commit those stories to my memory. I did not tell you that I am doing well and how happy I have become in the last year or so. I dare not share how my life has changed for the better and how comfortable I feel.

And how I finally feel some measure of peace in my heart.

I don’t know how everything started. I hate to think it has to do with age. To admit that I changed because of age is like to admit that I have set limits in my life. And if you know me like how MiniBoyFriend R knows me, you will know that I hate limits. I hate the word because I feel it is constricting.

So no, I don’t think I made different choices (drastic ones, I might add) in the last 18 months or so because I feel that I am getting old. I much prefer to think that I changed because I needed to move onto a new phase in life. I have always felt a need to challenge myself, to push myself further and stretch myself wider. This decision happens to be one of them.

I have never been one that is complacent. My mind is always thinking, moving and changing. My eyes are always searching and observing every minute detail of everything around me. And I always listen to conversations and always enjoyed words.


‘Hey sexy mama,’ the voice said.

‘That’s hot, sexy mama to you,’ I said as I continued to type into my iBook. Time to change iBook, I thought to myself as it was overheating. The Apple laptop has served me very well in the last 4 years. I am a happy bird if relationships and friendships were as reliable as my trusty Apple iBook.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Working,’ I said

‘Why working so hard?’ he asked. ‘There is a gig tonight. You must come out. You remember XYZ?’ he asked. ‘He asked me to invite you out tonight because he has not seen you since Famosa’s party’.

I gave a muffled non-commitment mumble of some sort. True to form, I did not go out that night. I watched Heroes on TV instead.

One of the first things that I changed was to reprioritize my time. I have spent too many hours with too many people that I should never have spent time with. They were not bad people. They just weren’t good.

Some of you might ask what motivated me to go out in the first place. There are many reasons and perhaps only MiniBoyFriend R understood them. The main reason however was vanity and ego. It was always lovely to go out somewhere and be admired. Who would not like that? Who wouldn't want to feel that she had just lit up the entire room by just walking into it?

All I needed to do was to spend an hour dressing up (which is a therapeutic experience in itself) and head out for the night. It does not matter which night it was. There were always people out there and there will always be people who would look at you and talk. After some years of dealing with bad 'publicity', I have relented and decided that perhaps ‘bad publicity is better than no publicity’.

Think of it like how celebrities do it. They garner attention each time they go out. The more they go out, the more attention they will receive. They do not appear on magazines and TV for staying at home, you know. Now obviously, the attention can be either positive or negative. For example, having the paparazzi taking your photos, landing you on the best or worst dressed list. But celebrities still battle the paparazzo’s daily because they want to remain in the current news.

It used to be the same case for me too. Continuously dressing up to go out is quite an expensive pastime. However doing so keeps me present in people’s conversations, even when I am not around. The attention has blessed me many privileges. For example, girls working in boutiques reserve clothes for me to try on before they display them in the shops. My hairdresser continuously works miracles by framing my best facial features.

And my bowl of noodles nearly always comes with extra goodies, courtesy of the aunties whom I fondly visit and chat with on working days.

‘Aunty asked where you went,’ PY sms-ed the other day.


I have gone under the radar. When once I regularly spent weekends in Lola, I now regularly do not spend weekends there. I miss it every once in a while, so I would dress up again and visit the place. Each time I would try my best to relive all those happy memories I have of the place but I somehow no longer feel the same way. It could just be the booze but I swear that something inside me has changed.

When I look into the crowd of people dancing and gyrating to the music, I no longer recognize anyone. The bar tenders are now strangers, no longer weekend friends. The bouncers however still let me skip the queue and allow me to come and go as I please. Something has changed. I no longer feel that I belong in that noisy place.

I no longer crave for the attention and find no necessity to always be on top of everyone’s conversation topics. I still dress the way that I do and I still have the attention (daytime at least) but I do not feel that I have to push myself anymore.

‘Eh, are you unwell?’ my mother asked me one Saturday night as I sat watching Discovery Channel. She placed her hand on my forehead, to feel my body temperature for sure. ‘You must be sick, if you are not out on Saturday,’ she said.

You know, there was a time when I would just pop one tablet of Panadol and head out on sick nights. Nothing comes between the clubbing scene and me. Not even rainy nights. Nowadays it almost feels okay to be at home on Saturday night, watching TV and answering phone calls.


So this is why I no longer have too many drunken stories to share with you. In its place, I have collected many happy and sober stories. Maybe one day, when the time is right, I will share my happiness with you.


‘Can we talk?’ R asked yesterday. His message popped on my Yahoo Messenger as I was designing some work related stuff. (Remember that I am the boss, the PA, the dispatch girl and occasionally even the makcik cleaner in the office).

‘Of course,’ came my reply. It must have been the shortest sentence I have written him. Some time ago, I had made a mental note to recognize and allow MBF R to express himself without me prodding him. In short, I recognize that I must change myself, to allow him to write at his pace and not crowd the conversation with my opinion.

‘I must confess to her,’ MBF R started the conversation. ‘She has said yes and I think I should say yes too. So I have to tell her about all my destructive relationships.’

‘Your reasons for doing so?’ I asked.

‘I want to tell her everything, so she is prepared. She is such a precious and innocent thing, I am afraid that I will ruin her.’

R met a girl on a holiday trip and they spent every moment together on the trip. Returning home, the immense feelings they felt for each other did not dissipate. They have gone on with their normal lives and returned to work since they came back from the holiday. It was no longer a holiday inspired fling and they still feel as strongly now in KL, working and busy, as they did while frolicking and relaxing during a holiday.

‘I must cut ties with all my destructive relationships,’ he said.

‘Like what?’ I enquired, waiting for him to mention the not so short list of lunch hour buddies, golf bunnies and genuine muses. Which he did.

It was the first time I ever hear him say that he felt that this was it. The girl gave him the feeling of security and total unconditional love. Actually what he mentioned was, ‘I am 28 years old. I feel that this is the right time. I have to do this right. It is now or never.’ Or something along that vein.

So he is going to cut ties with all the unhealthy relationships and friendships he had developed over time. I understand each and every word R said. I have been down that road before. I have straightened some friendships and severe ties with the rest.

‘But what if I can’t do it?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean you can’t?’ I asked.

‘You know, I like the beautiful girls that dressed to kill, flawless skin under heavy make up, willing to open their legs by the end of the night, drive you insane with jealousy and rage – those sort.’

‘Oh R,’ I said philosophically, ‘aren’t all men the same? They all like beautiful girls who dressed to kill, with flawless skin under heavy make up, ever willing to drop their panties by the end of the night.’ I sighed. Men would be perfect if not for the failure to control their lust factor. (I don’t want to even start talking about this topic).


I had a similar conversation with BestGuyFriend years ago, when he first met Nikki. So I guess I had the 'My Best Friend's Wedding' experience, though unlike Julia Roberts, I actually gave my best boy friends away. BestGuyFriend in 2006 and soon, my MiniBoyFriend.

BestGuyFriend married in December 2006 and we have remained casual friends since then. I can see that he is happy whenever I bump into Nikki and him. He is far from the person I knew years ago. He is confident and contented since he rescued Nikki during the great tsunami. I saw them last the weeks before Christmas last year and they looked perfect together.

MiniBoyFriend R and I managed to maintain a reasonable and healthy friendship. We make good friends and catch up for breakfast whenever possible. We still walk the dogs, Vodka and Gin. We still debate if Vodka has preferred inclination since he sniffs boy dog’s bottoms whenever we are out walking. But we no longer spend Sundays painting and cuddling up for movies.

I see D and his bunch of boys mostly in the restaurant that he is now in charge of. He’d call every now and then, for supper but strangely I have not felt hungry enough to dress up at 2 a.m. I think he has also grown up and moved on, although he still goes out with a string of girls, promising nothing to each and every one of them. You have to give him credit when it is due. He was fair to all.

My last memory of Adidas Boy is a happy one. We were walking around aimlessly in Mid Valley and settled for dinner in a Japanese restaurant. We went for some drinks somewhere and chatted until morning when he left for work, holding and manning a video camera and lighting. While snooping around my readers’ blogs (by backtracking to theirs) I discovered that some of you readers actually met and knew Adidas Boy. It is just that you did not realize it. The world is extremely small, don’t you think?


I arrived at a stage in my life when I feel that I have a firm grip of everything around me. I do not write about it because I am not ready to celebrate my happiness in public. I still grieve over Alex.

The fantastic thing about men is that they are able to move on after some time. That is nice. That is what I want for Alex. I want him to move on and be happy. Nothing saddens me more than imagining him at a house that stinks of Polish vodka. I rather be the person in the stinky Polish vodka house. I want him to be happy and excited about living. It is important to me that he feels so.

I know that he no longer wears the ring I gave him 2 years ago. I still wear the ring he gave me and I still carry the keys to my English home. It is silly, I know. It isn't like I can open any other door using those keys. But I still carry them because they feel precious. They have a lot of memories attached. One look at them whenever I open my purse and I am transported back to my English home and life. I have not seen Alex for 10 months now, so clearly it is over. It was my decision but I still need time to grief. I just need time to tell myself that it is okay and I can be happy. I do not need to feel bad that I am actually happy inside. I can be free and I can let my happiness show.

Because if I really am honest with myself, I know that I am.


'When I first met you and again now as we speak during the past week, I thought that I was sent here to save you,' Mr. Easter Bunny said.

He believed in karma, even when he is not a practicing Buddhist. He believed in destiny and reasons for being. For Mr. Easter Bunny, our sudden conversation spreading over days was not a mere coincident. There must have been a reason why we spoke. I have told him several times that our conversations were just that; conversations. I have no other intentions but perhaps he thought otherwise.

(I do suspect that he reads About Nude Not Naked quite regularly and we are playing a cat and mouse game. He had asked me several times if I published my writings in a blog. He had also very casually mentioned that some of my emails to him were very blog-like, which they were published on ANNN as entries. So you know that I know that you know. Now shhhhhh...)

'That is what you always write about - sins and salvation. So I always thought that I am here to save you. But I now know, it isn't you that needs saving.'

He then told me his dark secret.

'We are talking this week because I needed saving. I have burden - a secret - in my heart. It turns out that you are the friend that I needed,' he said.

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