About Nude Not Naked

‘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.

'A girl said that I had a very unique face while we laid on the hotel bed. What the hell is that suppose to mean?'

'That you have beautiful eyes,' I replied. He has a beautiful pair of eyes in a very beautiful shade of light brown. 'Hey, is this the same girl whom you meet at the bus station?' I asked.

'No,' came the reply. 'Different girl.'

'Wow, someone's getting lots of action lately.' I said, beaming with pride, like only a mother would.

'Yeah, soon you will have to queue up to see me,' he said.



*
I love my MiniBoyFriend. We have the most wonderful conversations. Last night, he told me that there is only one way to cry, that is to cry for the wrong reasons. 'There are no right ways to cry, only wrong ones,' he said. How very romantic.

We shared some secrets and I found out that he was one busy boy in my absence here in Europe. I need not worry about my breakfast buddy since he is having more than one girl for breakfast. (laughs). I told him about Bunny and the humbling lesson learnt.

I showed him a photo of myself. With a smile. Finally. It was some time ago when he requested for one of my photo, so he could use as a base for a cartoon drawing. 'You know, give me some happy photos' he said. 'It is difficult to draw a cartoon out of solemn faces.' I had no such photos. No photos where I actually smiled till my eyes were slitty and shut. It is all vanity. Smiles create wrinkles and smile lines. (And bags under the eyes - not nice). But I had a sweet photo of myself taken while sledging during Easter weekend, so it was a rather nice gift for MiniBoyFriend R.

He related a strange tale, set on another hotel bed in another hotel with another girl. 'Have you ever asked your girlfriend to abort a baby?' the girl asked casually. (Men should be extra careful when women ask casual questions).

I don't know about you but I think such a question is the perfect contraception. No 'up, up and away' times after that question, I suspect. MiniBoyFriend R said that he frankly did not know the answer. I argued that one must know the answer. After all, the question was 'Have you ever asked your girlfriend to abort a baby?'. You either did or did not. He said some girls might not have informed him. Being the dutiful MiniGirlFriend that I am, I relieved him of all responsibilities in such an event. It's logical, isn't it? He could not have possibly be responsible for aborting a baby that he did not know the existence of.

'For all you know, you could be a daddy now,' I said. He wearily agreed.



*
'I'll draw you something,' he said.

I have always loved his drawings and paintings but don't you tell him that. (He can be a very diva artist). He has the talent of a great artist and definitely the charms of one. Just look at the long line of muses he has been collecting. (smiles). While he was away drawing something on a sheet of paper, I chopped and cut and diced and cooked. 'I cooked grilled chilli chicken. Better than Nando's,' I declared to MiniBoyFriend R.

'I am vegetarian lah,' came the reply. MiniBoyFriend R is a vegetarian by choice, which sometimes made breakfast arrangements funny to the rest sitting at our breakfast table. I had his two extra sausages and he had my two extra sunny side up eggs. I think he is still trying to figure out why he is a vegetarian. I guess all vegetarians are romantics at heart. After half hour or so, he came back to the keyboard and emailed the drawing to me.

Obviously the names were altered to protect
the true identity of two rather boring persons in real life.

'Very well done, R,' I said. 'Could do a t-shirt print with this one.'

'If it was a t-shirt print, we are the only two people who would buy the shirts.'

'Could do with more loving words though,' I said. Here we have Mr. R, my generous MiniBoyFriend draw me something special and I had the cheek to ask him to put some loving words into the conversation boxes. Like 'This drawing is perfect, R!' and 'Thank you!'.... that sort of thing.

R said only foul languaged t-shirts sell well. Maybe he is right.

No, let me rephrase. Surely MiniBoyFriend R is right. He is in the industry afterall. And when I get back home, he's going to help draw and embroider something pretty onto my biker chick jacket. I suspect it's going to be another 2 cats with nothing but foul language in conversation boxes....

I was having afternoon tea on Sunday when something crept into my mind. The thought came between sips of apple juice and a slice of curry puff. As the thought grew, my frown became apparent.




*
You have seen the following movie scene a million times. The movie character (which can be male or female) does some mindless chores around the house, go to work, pick up some laundry, go home, lie in bed, brush teeth, read a book and wham! One day he stares at himself in the mirror and gets the fright of his life.

Oh yes. That’s the moment when the movie character realised that he had not lived a life despite having heartbeat and breath.

And that was exactly what I was thinking on Sunday. Going through my life, doing all the things that I wish to do and dream of doing and yet, waking up one day only to realise that I did not know what the fuck I was doing.

Everything is going great, I though to myself. Everything’s perfect. So what’s wrong? I don’t know what is wrong.




*
I stared at the mirror after brushing my teeth last night. I looked at my face, taking note of all the little bumps that were never there a year ago and all the lines that only appears when I do not wish to see them. It isn’t so bad, I thought to myself. Some girls half my age look twice my age. I snickered then breathed a sigh of relief.

So alright, I gained a little weight. Four kilos to be exact, which officially makes me a hefty 52 kg. I don’t weigh myself after lunch time these days. Makes me feel a whole lot better.

I could lie and medicate my heart with little purrs that I am still alright. I still look good. I feel great. So fine, fine, I have not pursued fashionable clothes like I used to a year ago. But I guess something has got to change. I guess you change as you grow older. Your priorities change. Right?



*
I met a client today. Her hands were shaking as she enquired if I would accept her as my client. Her eyes were dilated and her voice was quivering as she explained everything. You could hear all her anxiety through the little words she used.

I reached over and pat her hand. ‘We’ll work together,’ I said. If relief could be visible to the eye, I think the whole office was filled with relief. Her breath slowed down to a more comfortable pace. She had a smile on her face. You could see her optimism. The lady was happy and relieved that everything was finally settled.

It is amazing how one touch can change everything; that you can lean over and make another person feel good again. There is nothing more special than bringing joy and hope to another being.

It is gratifying to be able to change the world and make it sweeter and better. It is almost like magic, the feeling that you are able to make a difference in the lives of those around you. And for this feeling, I don’t think I will ever change what I do.




*
Do you know what a panic attack is? It can happen to anyone at any time. I think I suffered from mild depression and panic attacks at the beginning of this year and yesterday, I think it happened to MiniBoyFriend R.

I took Monday afternoon off so I could do something about my hair. You know this priority change thing I was talking about earlier? Well apart from neglecting my waistline, I have been neglecting my crown of glory. It’s part of the first impression thing.

I booked a spot at my hairdresser’s and went over by 3 p.m. As the saloon girl washed my hair, my phone started to beep tiny messages from MBF R. He was feeling a little blue and needed someone to talk. I am glad that he shared his thoughts with me. There is nothing worse than suffering all alone in silence.

Depression is a terrible thing. It does not knock your door to announce its presence. As a matter of fact, depression comes silently, sitting on your shoulders like dark clouds threatening to rain terrible things in your life. The more you walk in depression, the more you feel that you are not able to walk out of it alive.

I remember feeling so depressed that I did not want to wake up. Nothing in the world mattered to me and I felt empty. There were also panic attacks, the sudden feeling of heart palpitations and sweat, occurring at the strangest times and places. Everything felt magnified – more real, more painful.

The good news is that a friend always helps in times like these. Just talking to someone else might give you the light that you need, to guide you out of the dark tunnel you found yourself walking.

I am just glad that R decided to share everything with me. I shared everything with him and yesterday afternoon, in the most innocent place such as a hair saloon, I had the opportunity to be a friend.




*
‘Yeah, I don’t really want to bitch about this but seriously, D is driving me insane,’ he said.

‘Well, D wasn’t a problem to you before this. So why start now? He is just the very same person. The only thing that has changed is the fact that the bar isn’t doing as well as it used to,’ I replied.

I was slumped on my bed on Saturday, having a phone conversation with someone I knew a long time ago. Not much of a close friend but someone I knew and shared weekend tables with in Lola. I was painting my toenails when he started telling me how terrible D was.

‘Serve him right. Bitching to everyone about us doping. It is such a sensitive issue. Those boys dropped a few pops and he was gone on Saturday night.’

‘You know it isn’t nice to spike his drinks. He might be tested at any time and you might have gotten D into trouble,’ I said.

‘We are all professionals, so we have to maintain our public image. Who the fuck is he to tell everyone that we’ve been taking K?!’

You know, people are strange. They can be the most loving and loyal. Yet at times people possess such darkness within themselves, that you see the worst in them. Up to six months ago, D had so many girls hanging around him, like flies to light. Who wouldn’t want to be his friend? He had the flash car and the cash to spend on any girl.

The girls giggled whenever he spoke. The boys backed off when he was after a particular girl. Everyone was D’s friend. Isn’t it easy to feel that you are nearly like God when those around you keep nodding their heads. Won’t you feel like the biggest player when you can park your car just at any spot and you don’t give a damn whatever happens tomorrow?

I saw D on Saturday night in a newly opened restaurant. He was alone. He was not his usual self. He did not come for a hug or a chat. I did not approach him either. All we did was to smile whenever our eyes met. There was so much to be said but not a word was exchanged.

The day I spoke a long time ago had come. The day that everyone was worshipping elsewhere at weekends, when D was no longer the weekend God, had arrived. And D sat all on his own, in his little corner and I wished that I said that I was still his friend.



*
Two weekends ago the boys in London planned a grand weekend camping escapade. They were so excited and spoke of their compasses, new burners, fancy collapsible tents and a Geiger counter. Everything was planned and ready for deployment.

These boys might have fancy everything but nothing in their bags of tricks could stop their girlfriends. The girls forbade the boys from heading out into the jungle to play Tarzan.

It is Alex’s personality to organize a huge barbeque, complete with an axe to chop the wood for fire. He apparently perfected the art of selecting the correct wood for burning – matured oak.

He wrote about the whole process of grilling a nice piece of pork and for a change, he wished that I had a miserable weekend.




*
I want to go to the sea, to lie in a hammock, to wear a string bikini. That would most certainly bring some sunshine in my life.

Life is hectic and I am busy. I have not stayed here in Malaysia for so many months. I am experiencing slight claustrophobia, which I try to avoid by not meeting too many people. The more people you meet, the more politics and relationship issues you are involved. And that always sucks. At least I think it sucks.

I have to do something about my bikinis. Those 3 new pieces from Roxy are sitting in my cupboard. There is no justice in the world.

Today I’ve decided to talk about something other than emotional blahs. I think my mind needs to take a break. Actually my heart needs to take a break from all the thinking.

I find that time passes by very quickly. I don’t know whether it is because I have been immensely busy or if it’s because I am a little older now and older people feel that time passes by swiftly. Which is why they stop wasting time pursuing irrelevant things in life such as clubbing and shopping and decide to invest their time in baby farming.

I am not keen on baby farming at the moment, so I think I must still be quite young.



*
If you are wondering what I receive in my mailbox, I will now tell you that I receive a decent number of emails from readers who want to ask me a question or two. Most of their questions are of their personal relationship. I don’t think I am a guru in this relationship business although I was described as a relationship and sex guru in a magazine recently.

I think most readers write because they feel a need to connect. They are compelled to share their stories, the very same way I am propelled to share some of mine. I sincerely think that many already know the answers. They just wanted to hear it from someone else. Just like how I know the answers to my questions and yet I seek for readers to empathise and love me.

So as you can see, you and I are not too different at all. I might even be brave enough to say that we are all sitting on the same boat. The only difference is our destinations, which might differ and for most of our lives, it will remain unknown. Which clearly makes living a really happening course of action to pursue. You don’t know which boat you are rocking.

And if for a moment you think that I am a whole lot chirpier in this post, I will have to agree with you. Somehow there are lots of things to celebrate at 6 p.m. after a good day at work.

But that is not the thing that I want to share with you today.



*
The next question I often receive through my mailbox is my choice of books. Somehow many of you think that I must be very bookwormy since I want to be a writer. Quite a good deduction, I must say. However the deduction is quite untrue. I can never call myself a bookworm, mainly because I don’t consider myself to be one.

I enjoy reading quite a bit and when not buying books, I spend my spare time reading them. On any given day, I read a collection of two or more books. I mean, just look at my list of MiniBoyFriends. If I can keep a few at one time, you can be sure that I can juggle 3 books at a go. And true to form, I have 3 books by my bed stand at the moment.

Purchased on impulse a few months ago, I began reading Haruki Murakami’s collection of books – Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman being the first. If I have to choose one of them as a representation of myself, I would choose “A Folklore for My Generation: A Prehistory of Late-Stage Capitalism”. Somehow that particular story represents all that is in me. Other favorite stories include "The Kidney-Shaped Stone That Moves Every Day" and “A Shinagawa Monkey”.

You can imagine how I felt after I read that book. Oh my god, this is my guru. Oh yes, I found out that day that my book (when it is finally written) will be classified in the same category as Murakami’s. And Elliot Perlman, when I read his “The Reasons I Won’t Be Coming”. Honestly, won’t you want to know what the reason was? I was.




*
I was stuck in traffic for the majority of Friday. I was in Clark at 12 noon, Makati at 3 p.m. and somewhere south of Manila at 7 p.m. It was quite a fascinating place, although I have been told to be extra careful when there. So I kept whatever little gold nuggets I had on before taking off at 7:20 a.m. to the Philippines.

Saw the smallest volcano, inactive of course. It was how I imagined it to be - a pristine ring of green in the middle of the sea. Something like a giant green donut, I guess. Then there were the locals, with their faces similar to the Malays here in Malaysia. ‘They are Malays too, just that they’ve migrated to the Philippines,’ said the locals. So the pretty Philippino Reah or Eia looked like the doe eyed Maya Karin from Malaysia.

So does this mean that the Philippino Reah gets special rights too? Seeing that she is afterall from the same bloodline as Maya Karin.




*
'Excuse me. Are you Sandara Park?'

'Erm, no I am not.'

'You look like Sandara. She's a popular actress here in the Philippines.'

That strange conversation happened more than I could keep track. Almost every single local I spoke to told me that I looked like an actress loved by many Philippinos, Sandara Park. Some online articles described her as an actress without substance. So I guess Sandara is like the Korean version of Paris.

And thanks to the security guards manning the gated community where I stayed, many of its residents started to visit my host's house, waiting to see Sandara Park having BBQ dinner. If you have been asked more than a dozen times if you were someone else, you would be curious to find out how that person looks. So I googled for Sandara when I returned home and found a photo of Sandara.

I am sorry to inform you that I do not resemble Sandara Park. Not even on my best hair days.


There is some resemblance if
you squint your eyes a little....



*
I have been thinking of Malaysia’s 50th year of independence. Specifically I have been thinking of what I am supposed to write. Several thoughts have been looping in my mind but I am still quite undecided. By now, you must have noticed that I have quite an opinion for almost anything under the sun and I have always some personal thoughts regarding the state of ‘we are not a secular state’ Malaysia.

I am also wondering how on earth are our universities going to compete with world class universities if we keep stuffing them full of people who are not qualified to be there in the first place.

I think I am quite colour blind. I think all poor people should be helped and I would be most happy to vote for the next politician who would offer true assistance to the needy. The last I have heard, the Indians are still living in derelict conditions in the rubber estates. I wished more could be done for the natives, who by definition, are the true prince of the land.




*
Whatever happened to my MiniBoyFriends? I am mighty happy to say that I saw MiniBoyFriend R about 2 Saturdays ago. We went for a drink and he promised to have breakfast with me on Monday, which he did not. So if you are reading this, you should be feeling really guilty.

Actually, not. I think people grow up and move on. Just like last night when D called me up for a chat. He was bored. Yes, the manager of a rather swanky drinking hole was bored and he looked for me for supper. But I was already sitting in bed with my favourite Murakami book and was not too eager to jump out of bed, like I used to.

The short conversation made me think of very pleasant and colourful nights. It was approximately 4 years ago when we met up but it feels like it was ten years ago. Strange how we get up one day and just decide to do some other thing. Namely, I have decided to move on to other things in my life. I guess the moment we realise that we are quite mortal is the exact moment we grew up. We can't live on forever and we develop priorities in life. We give up some to get some other. I won't call it sacrifice. I think it's just how life is.

But I still like my shoes high and my clothes tight. That bit of me stays forever. So even MiniBoyFriends come and go but the bad girl stays forever.

Someone asked me if he could do a feature me in a local female magazine. Whilst a little tight on time, I found no harm in doing so. Gentlemen’s agreement, isn’t it so? Then I found out that he had replaced me with some other bloggers while I was stuck in a traffic jam from Clark to Manila.

All I can say is thank you for thinking of me in the first place. Sorry that it didn’t work out and that I didn’t answer those questions on time. It doesn’t matter. Some other opportunities would pop up again, I guess. Till then, this is the interview that was to be.



****
Do you have what it takes?
You might notice that the template has changed. You might also notice that the banner isn't appearing at all. Can someone help me with this? I would appreciate a pretty banner for the above or just to help me stick my lousy design into the template. Thank you in advance.

A satellite is any object that orbits another object (which is known as its primary). Satellites can be spacecraft manufactured on Earth and sent into orbit on a launch vehicle. They may be naturally occurring such as moons, comets, asteroids, planets, stars, and even galaxies, or they may be space debris. (taken from wikipedia)


*
Where have all my friends gone? I am not sure. I woke up one morning and discovered that they have all disappeared. I am not talking about the sort of friends you meet in your coffee shop, say hello, ask for the latest news, find out what they are doing, pretend to be interested in what they actually do and then you quickly excuse yourself after you think you have done the social niceties.

The sort of friend I am talking about here is the one that you can trust your life with. You can trust your RM1000 cheque with and the one you can trust to come pick you up when you are stranded in Kulim or Jerantut, car-less and cashless. This friend is the one who would stand in your place for you in your weakest moments. The one who would take up your responsibilities (feed the cats, wash your car, accompany your parents for an errand etc) when you are not capable of managing your routine.

And for me, such friends include PY and MiniBoyFriend R. PY helps me run all my banking errands when I am away in the UK. She drops cheques into my Ezy payment account and shops for clothes that she swears I would like. She is away on a company trip this morning and while she is away, I am her daughter’s surrogate mother. I pick the girl up from kindergarden and return her to her grandparents’. I send the five year old to the kindergarden the following day, if her grandparents fail to send her.

When my mother asks me when did I buy the latest dress she sees me in (this is the most frequent question!) I will always say that PY gave it to me after she grew bored of it. And guess what? PY does the same. She tells her mother that I bought her the clothes, if her mother nags her about spending too much.

So basically PY and I cover each other’s asses. We were friends since 16, when she wore her purple pair of Reebok while I contended with my father’s form of punishment; a pair of black and white zebra print canvas shoes. The strangest thing happened one day when we decided to go for a walk in a park together and our fathers tagged along as bodyguards. Our fathers were highschool friends too. Therefore our fathers chatted while PY and I chatted. How often do you see that happening these days?

The very first night MiniBoyFriend R and I met, I heard him peeing a few metres away. I don’t know about you but I consider that a strange introduction. He painted a portrait of me with his drunk fingers the very first night and the next morning, he found himself slurring saliva on his security pillow, portrait in hand but the girl was gone. And since I am still around, I am sure MiniBoyFriend is comforted to know that the first night we met was not a product of his vivid imagination under the toxic influence of alcohol (say with me, readers: VODKA), some pills and a box of fag or two. I was real and I still am.

Together we have laughed, cried, painted, fantasized and regretted. We flew for the Rain Forest Music Festival before it became a hip festival. We sat in the bathtub drinking vodka and pouring out our emotional waste on each other. And if I am not mistaken, the last time we went to Lola together, we sweated sleaze as we drank and danced.


*
Where have all my friends gone? I don’t know where they’ve disappeared. One day I woke up and they were gone. Waking up to find the people you have hung out with for years have suddenly disappeared can be likened to waking up to a nightmare. It isn’t pleasant.

I wonder what I have done wrong to deserve so many public holidays. I stare at the ceiling wondering what fuck am I going to do now that it is ANOTHER PUBLIC HOLIDAY? I have watched CSI reruns so many times, I can remember the characters’ lines by heart. I have read Haruki Murakami’s books that I dream in Japanese and I cannot possibly go to the cinema again. I have been on holidays and I swore that I would save some money to make up for the RM10k overspending I did on my birthday month. Hence me mopping about on my own.

So what am I left to do? Nothing much, to be honest. MiniBoyFriend R now lives somewhere 2 hours drive from me and he sms-s me whenever he comes out of his magic dragon cloud. Ain, my Indonesian mate has gone back to work in Indonesia. PY is away in Bali with AL. E is lost somewhere with her pack of rugby boys. BestGuyFriend and Nikki are trying to make a baby, so they are in hiding.

Girlfriends are all away with their boyfriends and husbands. That leaves the boys. True boyfriends can’t shag me, so they are searching for other girls to shag. Which leaves me pretty much on my own with a bunch of every willing sleaze buckets, including an acquaintance Mat Salleh Ah Pek who offered me an all expense paid trip to Macau.

‘You are naïve to believe that it is a free trip,’ Alex wrote in his Friday email.

I would like to tell Alex that at 31 years, I can hardly pass myself off as ‘naïve’ anymore.

I am struggling to find friends to spend time with. I mean sincere friends; friends who are truly your friends and not there for the slightest possibility of a love coitus. Where are my old friends, friends from days when we were younger and happier? Where the fuck are they? They are all but gone. And I am now stuck in a world of my own, with two more damn public holidays.


*
When one time you were the sun and everything rotated around you, you are now faced with days where you are the satellite and everything rotates around your friends’ commitments and household chores. There comes a point in life when you feel like a satellite. You are rotating on axis and you are floating through space. Aimlessly floating through space.

Welcome to the world of a satellite.

‘It is ok,’ BestGuyFriend said between swigs of beer on a cool Saturday night. His wife, Nikki was singing Hotel California when the conversation began. It was not your typical Saturday night party with your friends sort of conversation, if you know what I mean. ‘It’s ok if you do not know what you want. If you are unhappy that Alex is so far away, then you tell him. Or you break up.’

Life seems so simple when one is stoned. That must be the reason why many chose to drop and fly on weekends. Life seems easier and lighter when you roll a joint on late Friday evening and smoke with your love ones. Dinner conversations give way to the common sharing of a cig or two. In the UK, it would be a line or two. But since the conversation was held in Malaysia, we shall stick to the storyline that it was a cigarette or two.

It feels like it was ages ago that these two birds decided to pool in their finances, share their apartment with two strays (one is giving birth anytime soon) and purchase a car to drive their pretty asses around the city. Prior to that, BestGuyFriend loved his motorbike. In actual fact, it has only been four months since seven bride’s maids woke up, frantic that the wedding, held at a Buddhist temple was 2 hours behind schedule.

Nikki and BestGuyFriend stormed and raged in previous months, complete with screaming matches, confrontations and makeup and cuddle sessions. Often Nikki vowed to fly back to Leeds as she paced up and down the roadside. Four months on, this pair of lovebirds are stealing kisses whenever they can. They are happy and they are trying for a baby. It is about time anyway. ‘BestGuyFriend is 40 this year. We do not want an old daddy in our midst,’ Nikki teased lovingly.


*
‘Yo, you free now?’ the husky voice said at 2 p.m. I finished my last spoonful of chicken soup in my parents’ home when MiniBoyFriend R called. I managed to mumble that I had finished my lunch but it would be thrilling if I could see my closest MBF.

He was there at my parents’ front porch faster than I could zip up my Levis pair of trousers. His little red car was packed with discarded sandwich boxes, cartons of milk and the not so occasional boxes of Marlboro. MiniBoyFriend R looked good despite absolutely abusing his body constantly.

‘We smoked. We drank. We played games,’ he said. His cigarette pursed at the left corner of his thick lips. ‘It’s fucking amazing how he is going to be a father to a pair of twins this weekend.’ A common friend of ours, married his 25 year old college girlfriend two years ago and as of last Saturday, they are proud parents of a 2 year old son and a pair of 2 day old twins. 'How do you feel being a father to three kids at 27 years?' R snickered.

We were sat in a tiny coffee shop, lost in our private conversation. Haven’t seen him for a bit mainly because he keeps hanging out in Sunway on weekends. He looked good, clear skin and light brown eyes. MiniBoyFriend R was chatty and happy, especially since my return from London earlier this year.

‘Do you think you’ll make a good father?’ I asked him, between sips of my second milk tea that day. ‘Do you think it is ok to smoke and get high when you are a father?’

There is this trend where young couples, the semi retired ravers, who now are at a marriageable age. They marry, have kids and share chores and duties like all previous married couples. Then they decide to take weekends off parent duties and some holiday in deserted islands, so they can smoke their pot, pop their pills and snort their lines in peace.

R said that it isn’t as grim as I imagined it to be. He said he was ready to be a father. Where is he going to find the mother, I wondered. As if understanding my thoughts, R replied that he would adopt instead of marry or fuck a girl pregnant. R is unconventional in his art and he is still unconventional when it comes to the practical stuff. Skip the girl and just have the kid.

‘I still function like normal, even when doped,’ he said, his cigarette sitting on his lips like it did ten thousand times before this. Like this new generation, he is adamant that he is okay just as long as it is a habit that is under control. Just as long as he goes to work and works like normal, just as long as he has his relationships like usual and just as long as he carries on his daily routine the way he should responsibly do, MiniBoyFriend asserts that it is ok if he is riding on the sky miles on some pill or grass.

Maybe I am just old fashion. My parents did not drink nor smoke when we were young children. They still do not. They did not hang out with some cool dude they knew while travelling in Nepal. Or tried to search for themselves on some world peace religion. My parents were how parents were supposed to be. They were strict, strong and they were always right. They set the examples and we as children, followed suit. They were not there to be my friend or be the coolest parents in highschool. My mother did not borrow my dresses. She dressed like an adult woman and I dressed like a girl child.

And that’s how I think I want to bring up my kids. Conscious and considerate, not fucked up on some imaginary ride.

‘Oh come on,’ R said. ‘You should learn to chill and relax. I’ll teach you some day.’ R said, tapping his cigarette into the ashtray. Two tables away, another family with two young kids sat. The father, obese beyond redemption, was busy puffing away his lights. Maybe he pacified his thoughts by thinking that his children were lesser passive smokers because he used filters.



*
PY and I had breakfast this morning. She had her usual hot drink and I had my usual ice coffee. I should stop this habit I developed some months ago. Coffee stained teeth are not the least attractive. I really do not think it will ever make it into any fashion catwalk collective.

She decided to get back on the Pill. Now this is a different pill altogether. A Pill with the capital P. After five years trying for a baby secretly (after the birth of her only daughter), PY and her hubby had decided to call it quits and throw in the towel. PY’s Pill days are starting again and she is almost successful, if not for the fact that she has forgotten to take her pills two weeks ago.

I have not met E since we last two approximately two weeks ago. I found out from the Bachelor that she called him one evening last year before Nikki’s big wedding. They went for dinner and chatted for a bit. Now this is not too surprising if not for the fact that E had confided that she was not too happy with her current situation with her Muslim boyfriend. The boy's family do not know of their relationship despite it reaching its 5th year.

‘I work so hard and sometimes it is nice to be treated a little.’ I emphatize with her predicament. I am also 31 years old and I am developing wrinkles thinking how my next few years are going to be. When the hell am I going to have babies, when my biological clock is ticking faster than my maturity and bank balance?

Although not said, I think E went fishing for a new boyfriend and the little fish was the Bachelor.


*
The noise was getting louder. I was less than 50 meters from Lola and already the music was banging. I snaked up the glass stairs, to the floor above, with my mobile in my hands. Sexy on high heels on a curving glass stairs, sending a text message to D was quite a task. I think it should be included as a challenge in the new Amazing Race Asia.

‘Where are you guys?’

‘Near the TV’ came the reply.

I found them, the usual group of boys, clustering in front of the huge flat TV screen. Man U versus Middlesbrough. Why did I even bother sending the text, asking for their location in the huge hall. I should have known better. All boys are drawn to the live football telecast, duh! I thought to myself.

D lost his voice. That boy has been having too much fun, I am telling you. I missed his birthday treat two weeks ago and I am not sure if I really miss it or not. Being stuck on an island with some folks that you are not too familiar with can be quite a daunting task. I don’t care if the trip was free. I don’t want to be trapped with a bunch of boys and girls that I do not share any common interest with.

Imagine the trauma of explaining why I don’t think it’s cool to play some ice breaking games with them. Or why I prefer to read a book in the hammock in my latest Roxy bikini.

There were 3 new girls at the table. I always get introduced to them. It is common courtesy but it does not extend beyond the initial name introduction. The girls were dancing with each other and with the boys, while I made my social rounds.

‘You pregnant?’ ET asked.

‘Fuck you. You think I am Mother Mary? Immaculate conception? How to be pregnant when I am not having sex?!’ I smacked his arm.

‘Dunno. You have been so quiet recently, like a pregnant cat.’


*
I sat down on a very hot Saturday, after redeeming my RM100 member’s voucher at Roxy and before having tea with MiniBoyFriend R. I dialled the familiar number. The only phone number that I can remember and it is 14 digits long. I can’t even remember my parents’ home telephone number.

Alex adopted a fox over the week. The lonely fox sat in our garden one day and Alex fed it with cheese. It was eager and Alex even more so. So he thawed a pack of cheap sausages and fed the fox again. Needless to say, the fox was a happy chap and Alex was busy buzzing me the news in the middle of the night.

We were talking about my upcoming trip, one that I am eager and not so eager. Business needs my attention and I am getting too old to fly here and there like some jetsetting superstar. It is an expensive hobby, especially since I end up in the same airport each year. I could have been in Tahiti or Kathmandu but instead I am in Heathrow every few months.

‘I am sorry that you feel coming to the UK is such a chore,’ he mumbled.

‘It isn’t a chore,’ I mumbled back. It has nothing to do with Alex. It is about going to the UK every year, spending at least RM6000 each time. Often it is RM10000 and above. Imagine spending that amount of money each year for a couple of years. Imagine what you could do with the money instead.

‘Oh utter rubbish!’ Alex said. ‘Feeding the poor in Africa with your money.’ He dismissed that I could have vaccinated some village kids and fed perhaps another village with the money I spent.

Thankfully he did not ask me feed the poor with the money I allocated for my Aldo shoes fetish.

Anyway we are doing okay, I guess. I imagine that there is a dark cloud looming somewhere far away in my mind but I do not wish to think about the emotional clouds at the moment. I am trying hard to be where I was before I flew home past Christmas this year. I am trying hard to remember how Alex touched me with his stories and antics. Like his pet fox in the garden.

Maybe I am trying too hard. That is why it is failing. Maybe if I learn to let go and just let it be, everything will return to normal and everything will feel fine again.

We are going to Poland end of May. He signed me up for pole dancing lessons. Alex said that I could go pole dancing while he swam in the town council’s pool on Wednesdays. Hurrah, I thought to myself. Well at least if we do break up, I do possess a new skill to add to my relationship CV. I might joke about this but I really do not think that it is funny.

I imagine writing into my relationship CV. ‘Attractive 31 year old, who is able to amuse you with her pole dancing skills. Riding not included’.

Somehow I don't like to parade my new skill at all.

And because...
Your favourite blog author, Miss Otto thinks that a GIG is a show where strapping young men take off their pants in a striptease (and not some mumbo jumbo about computers) you are cordially invited to help her help Wouter. Please take a minute to fill in a questionaire on my behalf and make Otto look less blonde.

Click here to start.

***
Related Links

• BestGuyFriend & Nikki's wedding


• A day with MiniBoyFriend R


• It's a post about Alex, Alex, Alex


• How I pottered along with Alex for the past 1853 days


• Should women contribute equally in a relationship?

The Bachelor was early. He arrived at half past 7 on Friday evening to push the Tesco trolley with me. It was the day before my 31st birthday and I was receiving far too many “Happy THIRTY FIRST birthday, Otto!” to be able to drive safely to Tesco or possess the concentration necessary to push a trolley full of grocery on my own.

I was late. He had to sit and wait for half hour while I washed my hair and god, I really needed a hair wash on Friday. 9th February turned out to be the day from hell. Frantic phone calls since 8 a.m. with complaints after complaints from grumpy customers. One in particular phoned me four hours later, apologizing profusely for her temper in the morning.

“Oh, all of us have our PMS days” I replied. I am quite amazed at how diplomatic I can be sometimes.

With the 30 minutes “ME” time complete, I raced through the rest of the beauty regime. Got myself ready by 8:30 p.m. and we were zooming to my local Tesco in The Bachelor’s piece of shit. That is what he calls his Cherokee Jeep that he bought when he arrived on Malaysian shores more than a year ago.

The picnic bill turned out to be a whooping RM170. You must be wondering what we had in the shopping trolley to swipe RM170 for a picnic. We walked through the aisles, negotiating the finest yummies for the picnic. When we concluded that we should stick to the traditional picnic foodstuff, we piled salad, tuna, a whole roast chicken, mayonnaise, the finest French vinaigrette money could buy, bottles of olives and gerkins, two big packets of Lay’s Salt and Vinegar, bread, tortilla wraps, spicy salsa sauce and picnicware.

And oh, plastic bags to throw all the rubbish at the end of the picnic. We might be drunks from the night before we most certainly were civic conscious drunks.

Got up at 7:30 a.m. on birthday to Nikki’s rendition of “Happy THIRTY FIRST birthday”. A little too many words in my opinion but that did not stop her from singing it four more times through the day. And because it was my birthday, I stood around the kitchen while The Bachelor shuffled back and forth between the refrigerator and the pantry, fixing the tuna and chicken roast as fillings. Nikki and BestGuyFriend rolled by at 10 a.m. and handed me my birthday gift - a pink vibrator. If it was not for the fact that I bought them sex toys as birthday gifts last year, I would have sworn they were sending me subtle hints of my non-existent sex life at the moment.

Arrived by the seaside at noon, when Nikki and I were left in charge of finding the desired spot. Decided on a spot about 200metres away from the car park, away from prying eyes. There was only one young Malay couple groping each other ten metres away. Out came the shocking pink duvet cover and all the little neat yummies from the cooler box. Beers all around and Finlandia vodka for me and we were on our way.

The more the sun shone, the less clothes we had on. By 2 p.m. the boys were in their trunks and us girls were walking around with nothing more than barely there skirts. The Malay couple decided to walk away, I am not sure out of disgust or intrique, but the girl was giving Nikki and I the look. Maybe she was jealous that she could not get herself into a bikini in the open.

I had to ice myself because it was freaking hot. Ants and BestGuyFriend were forming a marching line towards the French dressing. It was the healthiest meal we had in a long time. We had lots of salad because of the delicious dressing. “Oh god, this is good. Baby, have some.” BestGuyFriend said between stuffing more salad into his mouth and Nikki’s.

We only left at 4 p.m. and I was quite relieved. My face was all red and my eyes were bloodshot, so Nikki laughed at me, not with me. My white flag was up by the time we got to the apartment, where I slept while the three of them continued to make Carlsberg into a greater profiting company. I slept until 8 p.m. to a nice surprise. The Bachelor, following the advice for finding the perfect gift for a woman, bought me a huge bouquet of roses in the most beautiful shade of red I have seen.

“Happy THIRTY FIRST birthday, Otto,” he said. The roses appeared like magic. Then a box rolled out of his sleeves. He had bought me a beautiful piece of jewellery, after overhearing a conversation I had with PY earlier in the week. Very thoughtful, I thought to myself. He most certainly lives up to his Most Eligible Bachelor title.

Fine dinner and Rock & Roll music at 9 p.m. with the gang. Then off to the pub, where a cake waited patiently. The band sang and the greetings came. Cut the cake and everyone in the pub had a slice. It was so nice having strangers come up to wish me a good year ahead. Got some free booze too. Nikki kept my glasses filled to the brim. Had half a bottle of red wine during dinner and then some Strawberry Margaritas at the pub. My heart was beating wild when I decided to cut the night short. I snuck away quietly...

"Oh no, you don't, Miss 31 Years Old," Nikki said, blocking my escape path. "Your birthday isn't fun until you puke tonight and wake up with a hangover tomorrow!" It was the perilous hour, with no car to boot. I had to make a dash for it. Jumped into a friend's car when I realised he was on his way home. Fell asleep in the car on the way home. It was bliss, by any account.

And that was how I spent my birthday, folks. My birthday was so fun that it is going to be hard to top that in the coming week, when The Bachelor turns birthday boy. Ok. So I will have my revenge and I get to sing “Happy THIRTY NINETH birthday!”

Three days after my birthday and I am still skipping like a bunny because I am happy, happy, HAPPY! The euphoria is still ringing in my ears.


The Bachelor and The Nude.


The two lazy boys who drank a couple of beers
before bringing the cooler box to us.


The married couple.


Look! I bought cheap rubber sandals just for the picnic!


Birthday girl's legs in shocking pink dress.


That's The Bachelor. Email me if you are interested.
I am pimping him out for nice Aldo shoes.


That's BestGuyFriend. I'd pimp him out too
but I don't think Nikki would allow me.


I think it is rude to post a photo of my pink vibrator
so here is one of the 31 roses.



***
Related Links

• Fancy reading about Nikki and BGF's love story?


• You girls out there! Here are the ways to tame a man.


• A man's guide to purchasing the perfect gift for a woman.

Update
Today is my lucky day. Not only did I receive photos from Paul, I also received some from Frans. Almost like striking lottery *hehehe*

Candidate One
Vanity has a new name - Paul.

Fiza requested for Paul's photo when I wrote about a beautiful stranger. Being the generous spirit that he is, Paul has emailed some photos for Fiza's viewing pleasure. I have taken the liberty to release one that is not 18-SX.

He looks quite different when he is clean shaven. He was sporting some macho facial hair when we first met. This photo is not doing him any justice. His golden tan is hardly noticable, which is a crying shame. After calling him a beautiful stranger for the longest time, it feels strange addressing him as Paul these days.


Paul and I are still debating if he resembles the "Kevin Volchok" character from The OC. Kevin Volchok was one bad dude who loved Marissa (Mischa Barton's character). Why don't you take a good look and decide for yourself if Paul and Kevin share similarities. Do email me if you are experiencing nose bleeds.


Candidate Two
Traditionally E and I would be out for New Year's Eve dinner. Each of us would bring along a partner, ushering the new year together. On the last day of the year 2005, I wanted to invite this handsome young man out for dinner. He is a friend of D's and each time when I bump into him, he calls me "exotic". I chatted with him for the longest time last Sunday when I went out for a drink and supper with the boys. I am yet to explore him well enough to write about him. So let the shallow side of me do the talking. He is tall, dark and handsome *dreamy*


Candidate Three
The lost Italian, Francesco was on line two when PY and I were discussing our latest shopping victories. It took me a few seconds to register the caller to him, mainly because I thought the call originated from Malaysia. Anyway he called while waiting for a deal he had proposed to be finalised. I mentioned that I planned to call him before he flew to Bangkok on Saturday but I totally forgot about it because I was away at a weekend party with Moon.

“Do visit me in Italy,” Francesco extended an offer.

“If I am ever in Italy, I would have to visit my ex,” I said.

“Ah the ex boyfriend in Milan,” he said, trailed by tiny peels of laughter.

I do not know how other girls do it but the first thing that attracts me to a man is conversation. Most men in my company have a “come away” experience with me. The first encounter was always unusual, like inviting Wouter to the bar with me when we were both strangers in search of a drink on a thirsty weekend or dragging a very drunk R home and hearing him pee against a wall while I pretend to be disgusted.


***
The saying is true – “Old one don’t go, new one can’t come”. The choices are plentiful. The only question that requires an answer is, do I choose a new MBF or should I forgive my old faithful?

I am still licking my wound and it is too early to tell if R and I would return to our old selves. I now train myself to head to the gym (or at least think of heading to the gym) whenever I catch myself thinking about what happened between R and I in recent weeks. One of the last few meals I had with MiniBoyFriend R was in a Vietnamese restaurant. I found myself driving to the restaurant last Saturday when I felt that I had missed having him around. The restaurant is shut. Is it a sign from the heavens?


~ Stick With You, Pussycat Dolls

Small Talk
Yippee! I have a new editor and I am most delighted to be working with him =)

***
Related Links

• Otto And The Sweat Shop Factory


• A Love Letter


• I Fell In Love With A Beautiful Stranger

I sat in my office longer than usual today. There were some tasks that needed immediate attention, thus I spent the whole morning on the telephone with some clients. It required some negotiation skills and perhaps some respect that clients give only to the big boss upstairs. Everything was moving along fine and was reasonably pleased with my new found negotiation skill. No sooner that I start warming up my new PR skills, the very same communication and negotiation skills are tested to the max by a particular client. I think she enjoys making my work life a living hell.

I was so hot and bothered by the whole conversation. It turned out to be one of those things that time cannot help me forget. Actually it seemed to burn even more as the minutes ticked by. I was out of the office by 3:00 p.m. hoping that some retail therapy would help me ease the uneasiness and anger I felt inside. Apparently not today.

Had a super late lunch in McDonald’s and a thought struck me. I could buy a bathroom mat. It always works for me. Stress out, buy bathroom mat. Guaranteed to make anyone feel loved! But oh no, I was so frustrated by the whole incident that even the more luxurious bathroom mat feel did not catch my fancy.

What is a girl to do? What is a girl to do? In the end, I drove home after work, dropped my laptop, retouched my make-up and drove all the way to the gym. I have delayed this task for far too long (been wanting to join since September 2004!) and I cannot delay it any longer. Signed myself up on the spot and felt immediate relief soothing my suffocating soul. I figured that the only way to feel better today was to exercise and take control over my life.

“Guess where I am?” I said.

“In front of my door?” PY replied.

“No lah, your house so far! Guess again. Guess again!”

She laughed the moment I said that I was by the swimming pool, legs stretched across to another chair with a gentle breeze against my face. I felt in control of my life again. In my mind, I had cycled 20 miles on the bike and swam 50 laps. Everything from work did not matter any more. I am in control, I am in control, I repeated to myself.

I reached home at 8:00 p.m. after a short detour at Nike’s in search of a set of nice gym wear. No, I do not own a single pair of tracksuit or sportswear. No, I have not exercised since leaving high school and no, I am not lying. The photo of my stomach at the side bar (it is the best photo you can place on your blogroll!) was a freak anomaly. I nicknamed my stomach area as “Miss Pudding” for a reason. It is tubby and squishy.

MiniBoyFriend R popped online somewhere between me chatting with Mr. Cynic Ian and Mr. Kuzco (winner of Best Date in London 2006). He began with a short “hello”, to which I had loads to say. Like about my delight at the prospect of joining some classes and finding some new friends. He subtly mentioned that he read my blog, to which I remarked “Is that why you are talking to me today?” That was the beginning of a rather lengthy but honest conversation. He ended it with “and this is what I want to tell you today”.

With my retro shower cap on, I jumped under the shower and exfoliated. I played bits and pieces of our conversations in my mind. R said many things – things that I hold as private and will not mention here in ANNN. Imagine storing all your thoughts and emotions for two weeks and then releasing them. That was what it felt to have the conversation with R.

R told me many things. He asked me to use the word “make love” instead of “have sex”. I clicked on the post and found out that I had used the word “shag”. We spoke honestly, the first time since I arrived back home. And as much as I wanted to be angry with him, I held my tongue.

Girls should be forgiving. Boys come and go but MiniBoyFriends tend to stay.



***
I find myself yielding myself to Alex more and more each day. This is a strange feeling, one that is alien to my being. The more I chose to be with Alex, the more I start to reject everyone else. Somehow everyone else was not perfect. They are nowhere close to being perfect, when I compared them using Alex as a benchmark. Each and every day I am reminded that Alex deserves my love and devotion. I find myself letting go of a lot of drama and emotional baggage. I have released them and in the process of doing so, I have freed myself to love and be loved wholly.

The thought creeps in every so often. It is the sudden realisation that there is nothing perfect on earth. And even if there is something perfect, it will soon be taken away. Life is such. So the little demon called “doubt” slithers slowly into my mind, reminding me that all my happiness is temporary.

Happiness is like the smoke from AB’s one pack a day cigarettes. Happiness is something that gives you so much pleasure and hope. Yet it intoxicates your soul with despair. You might want to stretch out your hand to hold onto it but you will never be able to capture it, not even for a second.

These days I have decided to approach life with a little bit of E’s wisdom. I refuse to think about it. I refuse to think about the prospect of losing Alex. It is logical that the lost will be as great as the joy he is giving me. To be with Alex gives me immense joy and to lose him is to lose the meaning of living itself. Love, like all other things on earth, has no lifetime warranty and if you are like me, you will be wary.

I have never intended to write about Alex in ANNN. Writing about him adds some amount of pressure because my readers are now observing and following our domestic life together. It is difficult for a couple to love in private and even more so in public, under the scrutiny of many eyes. I am conscious of the fact that I am leaning on him for support and comfort. Much more than I am usually accustomed to and in doing so, I have gained an experience that I have never shared with any of my previous boyfriends. Greater love also means greater heartbreaks – something that I do not want to think about.

So I refuse to think! Rather than thinking or worrying, I consciously remind myself that I should enjoy my love and I should abandon all inhibitions. I should throw myself into the relationship and lose myself totally in him. Alex has been the best part of me. I cannot foresee the future but I wish he would remain the best bits of me forever. I can only live for the moment and at this moment I chose to live with Alex. And even if my love dies, my love would live on. I am, after all, a willing martyr for love.

Small Talk
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• Everything Else Is A Mirage

I was shocked. I was so shocked that I hung up. I only redialled the number when I have composed myself.

“Were you frightened?” I asked him. I tried to sound cheerful, as if I had teased him. Certainly that would have taken some tension away from the fact that I was caught by surprise at his reply a few seconds earlier.

“No, I wasn’t.”

Did I feel a little tinge of disappointment? I sincerely do not know. I did not have time to react to the whole incident and I did not know quite how to put everything into perspective.

It has been a week exactly since I arrived home. And it was only late yesterday that I had the opportunity to speak to MiniBoyFriend R. I had expected a greater welcome from him. It simply meant that I overestimated his enthusiasm. Then again I could see it coming...


Strike One
I was avoiding him since we had the conversation one day sometime ago. Well, not avoiding him in person but rather, evading his questions. I loved talking to R simply because he was a good companion. He was sincere, honest and trustworthy. I loved his art and maybe I loved him more than he loved me. Or himself, come to think of it. I loved him so much as my MiniBoyFriend that I was willing to close my eyes to the obvious cracks. You see, I have a habit of hiding away from truths that are hurtful. In its place, I would create a world that is beautiful and peaceful. We spent many weekends together before I left for London. We could just talk and talk for hours and everything felt fine. We even joked that we saved loads of money being each other's therapist.

Till one day we were talking on Yahoo Messanger and he said the one line. That one special line shifted the dynamics within our relationship and perhaps doomed it. In one second, our relationship was demoted to a lower rank. It began with MiniBoyFriend R saying, “Why does it always have to be about you?”

I was taken aback. It was never about me. It was about “US”. We were friends and I would gladly bear his burdens as much as he has borne mine. That is my understanding of what a friendship is – a two way street. I will be there for you when you need me and you will be there for me too.

It was never about me. It could have been about him. Or anything under the stars. If he had shared more of himself, it could have been about him. Or us. Or anything. I don’t really care. I would gladly listen to his stories and be there for him, if he had shared more. And if he did not share any about himself and I did not share any of myself, then what is left in the friendship?

The answer, if you are looking for one is, NOTHING. We are left with nothing. Since the day R said, “Why does it always have to be about you?” I did not tell him anymore of my secrets. I was no longer nude. Maybe out of frustration or maybe out of anger – the motivation is unknown but what was clear was that I no longer wanted to share anything about me anymore. If he wants to salvage this friendship, then he has to be the one to share about himself.

He made the remark and now he has his request granted. This friendship is no longer about me. It can be about him or about us, but I am no longer putting any effort to talk nor communicate with him. Remember when I say that I am thinning my phonebook? Well this was one more person heading into the bin in no time.


Strike Two
Under normal circumstances, we would have gone out for tea or breakfast the very next day after arriving home. There was a time R was the first person I met when arriving in KLIA. I remember once we drove straight to Kim Gary in Sunway Pyramid for some yummy dinner. However in the past seven days, R has disappeared into nowhere, something that is rather unusual. I tried to call him once. Then I tried again. He did not pick up the phone on both occasions. Neither did he return my call..

My experience with men tells me that when a man does not pick up my phone after a few rings, he is usually engaged in an urgent matter. By and large, he would return my call when he is free. And when a man does not return my call at all, it only spelt S-E-X, especially in the case of MiniBoyFriends.

I accept this as part and parcel of having a MBF. A girl has to give up her MBF the moment he has a relationship (be it emotional or sexual) with another girl. It comes with the territory. After all, I am not having sex with him and I do not expect him to remain a celibate. I think I am considerate in this sense – I cannot and do not request/demand for any attention from MBFs because I am not giving any sex.

In the past two months since our initial “Why does it always have to be about you?” conversation, I have not told R much. I would reply my traditional “I’m busy” or “I’m happy” whenever he asked how I was. He knew there was something going on because that was not my typical answer. My old self would have told him everything that was going on in my life – what made me happy, what made me sad, what I was thinking, including all the stupid little things that I thought only to myself. These days the standard answer “I’m happy” would suffice. I brush his questions aside when he asks why I am withholding things from him.

He should have known better.

Last night I opened up a little and told him what I did on Tuesday night. I had a girls night out with PY and E. I then hopped on to Lola’s to visit D. I related to R that D and I chatted for an hour or so. I mentioned that I was glad that D and I were getting along again, after the New Year’s incident. For whatever sick reason, I actually enjoy the friendship I share with D.

“How can you trust D to fetch you home?” R asked.

R never liked D. R did not like the fact that I had been friends with D. He always questioned D's motives whenever I talked about him. According to R, D was someone who talked a lot but would not carry through with actions. All the promises D made were empty, as far as R was concerned. And if ever D did something good, R said that D was trying to show off. Or trying to get into my pants. Or both.

“How sure D would fetch you home?” R repeated.

“If D did not, then I call you lor.” I replied. "Or I'd call BestGuyFriend to fetch."

“Eh...” R began. “I cannot lar. You know why, whaaaaaaat…”

It was then that I realised that I had shared another one way street friendship with yet another friend.

“You won’t come and fetch me?” I asked. I had to reconfirm what I had heard earlier. It would be shameful to lose this friendship over a miscommunication.

“You understand my situation, right?”

Sure, I understand. You are shagging her, so you can’t come out to fetch me home, I thought to myself. What the fuck did I even think of trusting R to fetch me? At least D has proven himself and he got me home in one piece. I cannot say that much for R.

At this juncture I shall share the history of how R and I met. Our first meeting was unconventional, almost a unique as my first meeting with AB. I fetched R home the very first night I met him 3 years ago. He was too drunk to walk, what more drive. Do you have friends who would sneak out of the party and walk home? Well I have one and he happens to be R. Through the years he has always called me as he walked home and I have always got out of bed to fetch him home. Thankfully this happens only once in a blue moon.

Last night was the first time I have hung up on a friend. I was shocked beyond words and it took me some seconds before dialling again. I appeared cheerful on the phone. The last time I checked, I do not think my heart bled. It only reconfirmed my notion that it is time for me to move on with Alex.


There is no strike three
To save myself from any unwanted emotional baggage, I have decided against a strike three. Just when I thought I could trust my MiniBoyFriend R, I got a huge slap from reality. So damn typical.

When I resumed our conversation, he mentioned that he was worried about his new relationship with her. He told me that he was happy. He mentioned that he did not know how the relationship would grow when she returns to London in a month. He sounded nervous and so I tried to reassure him, "It is better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all."

"You will be there for me, right?" R asked. I remember him asking me that a few times because I was reassuring him that he would be fine. I said that we are friends and that I will be there for him when she returns to London.

"I hate airports," he said, then he chuckled nervously. I could hear his anxiety despite him being physically far away. I was happy for him because he deserves someone to love and yet I was angry with him because he made me realise that in this world, I can count only on my hands, that of my family’s and Alex’s.

Everything else, no matter how beautiful, is a mirage.

Latest Ask Miss Love
Sorry that there hasn't been an update in Ask Miss Love. I want to be able to focus on answering questions and I can't do so at the moment due to work schedules. Hopefully everything will be in running order next week.

Thank you for your understanding. Miss Love will be back next week.

***
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• List of MiniBoyFriends


• Ask Miss Love

s loud and the crowd was wild. And yet there I stood, feeling as lonely as ever. There might be a few hundred people squeezed within the tight spot. Some singing birthday songs while others are undressing each other in frenzied drunkenness. Camera flashed every few minutes. Girls walked to the ladies in groups of two or three. Boys snaked their ways closer to girls that they fancied that weekend night.

“Why do you always look so sad?”

He swept pieces of hair off my face and looked intensely into my eyes. He gave my hand a squeeze. Some nights he pat my head, like I was a little child. He kissed my cheeks and the top of my head. He fed me when I was hungry at 6 a.m. and filled me with so much liquor, I would not be thirsty for a long, long time to come.

Others figured him to be a womaniser but to me, he was kind and generous. Other girls painted him with tainted brush strokes but my few private moments with D, I found him to be considerate and helpful.

I think it was part of his job hazard, being the person in charge of Lola. He had some stakes in the business and he was its frontman. Surrounded by an endless stream of pretty girls, it was not surprising that he would fall for one or more. I am very practical in this sense and I see no wrong for a young, eligible bachelor to wine and dine several women in his prime.

Our friendship might have been an odd one but odd or not, I treasured nonetheless. Maybe I dreamt him up, like the way I dreamt every other person up. Strangely for someone who is has trust issues, I am also a born optimist. I hopelessly think only the best of everyone around me and stubbornly reject the cracks I see in each person.

I remember the first time I met him. His club had recently opened and I was there, like the rest of the cityfolks, in search of a new weekend playground. In all the years I had been out on weekends, I never had a trip like the night I first met D. My drinks had extra “vitamins” added into them (by some unknown person) and I literally felt sick in the pit of my stomach. Not wanting to puke all over the dance floor, I requested a friend to fetch me home.

A head popped from the crowd. I saw the first instant when he looked at me. I do not know how I managed to wave good-bye to him with my blood shot eyes, bright red face and a heart beat rate of 120 per minute but somehow I must have managed it well because he recounted our first meeting during one of our more private conversations.

“You wore a black backless top on the first night I met you,” he said.

His actions were different from everyone else. He had a distinct look that separated him from the three hundred people around him. I did not know who he was and yet I could very well guess. It was convenient being his friends and so I imagined many would be his friend anytime of the day. Especially so during the Christmas and New Year season.

I, on the other hand, avoided him like a plague in the first two months or so. D happened to be one of those few friends I had, that I did not want to befriend initially but his sincerity stood the test of time. He invited me for various drinking sessions for a period of time before I actually took up on his offer. And for the next two years, he was good company whenever we were found together on a table.

One evening he came to me when we were out drinking.

“Why do you always look so sad?” he asked.

I smiled. It was 3 a.m. and the music was ethereal. It felt so calm and surreal, almost like rapture. The whole bar was dark and hands were slithering around us. I was analysing my life when he caught me thinking.

“Just mention my name,” he said. “If you get yourself into anything, mention my name and give me a call. I’ll come for you.”

I laughed. Drinking more than 5 glasses of vodka magnifies any sensation you experience and that night, my lot of trouble felt like a huge cross on my back. I rejected his offer of help and laughed a little more. It was the classic example of why people were gossiping and why I felt my life was a misery. I could no longer differentiate reality from fiction and truths from lies.

“You know, people tell me that the only reason why you are helping me is because you want to get into my pants,” I said to him. I was sat on the table, swinging my crossed legs when I said that. Everyone was already talking about it, telling me that he was only hanging around because he wanted some poontang. I lost nothing telling him what everyone else thought about our friendship. I do not remember how he reacted to my honest remark.

The last time when we truly talked was on New Year’s Eve. How strange how our friendship ended. I was shouting vulgarities into the phone, with D on the other end of the line. I was battered and bruised emotionally. I did not know what else to do.

“You should have mentioned this to me earlier,” he said quietly.

“Why the fuck should I tell you? I am not a little girl. I do not need protection from any man,” I sobbed. Angry tears drowned my bedroom at 5 a.m.

“She pushed me every fucking time she saw me. I fucking had it with everyone pushing me around. And she had the nerve to complain to you that I harrassed her?" I paused for a second. I caught my breathe. "All my friends knew she was pushing me around and I just swallowed everything silently. Now she dare complain to you? Fuck all of you!"

“You should come to me, if you are ever in trouble, Otto. You know I will help you. Now stop crying. Please stop crying,” he said gently.

“Just leave me alone. Can you just leave me alone and give me peace?”

I felt the rawness of my emotions pouring out that 5 a.m. He said he would save me when I needed saving and yet he failed me when it mattered. He knew I was very tired of everything around me at that time. He knew because I told him some of the stories. I could not take the pressure I felt from people constantly talking, analysing and stabbing me behind my back. I could not handle the unwanted attention I received.

He gave me what my heart desired. I did not encounter any incidences with the girl who pushed me since talking to D. She walks away each time she sees me. But that conversation was also the last true conversation I had with D. It was mutual, I guess. Our once warm hello hugs are now reduced to cold handshakes. Our conversations are polite and no longer open.

He often sent me sms and emails whenever I was in the UK. He was very happy to see me the last I went home. So happy to see me that he gave me a squeeze and squealed how he panicked at the thought that he had lost me forever. How different everything is now. There are days when I regret all that I said to him and then there are days when I had so much to tell him.

Like how I really thought he was a good friend and that I appreciated him for it. But then I rationalised that he would not have understood. Perhaps he would not even appreciate what I said. Life is strange, you know. Sometimes the people you appreciate the most are the very same people who never appreciate you.

There is no ending to this story. I do not know where it will end. Perhaps it has ended. Perhaps this is it. Some people just move on with their lives. Maybe we will never be friends again. Maybe we will never talk like we used to. But whatever it is, however life changes things around us, I wanted D to know that I remember his acts of kindness.

After saying this, I would move on with my life in peace.