About Nude Not Naked

(written on 20th February 2009)

In ancient Greek the word for butterfly is "Psyche", which translated means "soul". This was also the name for Eros' human lover and the two figures are often depicted surrounded by butterflies.



***
The first time I saw the butterfly, it was sitting on the grey marble wall. It had an outline of black and dots of reddish orange. It flapped a few times, wrestling the afternoon wind. Then it gently floated across the garden onto a plump green leaf of a palm. It was at that very moment that I thought of the title for this entry, “Seeing Butterflies”.

Butterflies usually symbolized a change in life. Perhaps it is a left turn off the course of what you usually call ‘normal’ or a step towards the right direction. Whatever it is, butterflies and a change in your life is often welcomed, especially if the changes are good or desired.



***
‘Look the right,’ she said. She took a step forward and stared intently. ‘Your nose is still the same size,’ she concluded, as if she expected my nose to balloon.



***
I have not written since my last entry in August. That is a change, wouldn’t you think? There were some changes in my private life and I felt that I needed some space in order to grow and change. I think many readers have realised that I will only write about things that I wish to share. And when I do not have anything to share, I just don’t.

I wrote many times but published none. There were times when I feared that I would lose all my readers, which took me more than 2 years to build. But then I realised that I had changed and those figures do not matter much to me anymore.

I had reached a point in my life where I feel peace. My soul is at rest and I am happy just where I was. That was a huge change, one that took some effort and time to acclimatize.

Do you know that it takes courage to be happy?



***
‘Hey you, I’m dropping by,’ YC bleated like a sheep on the phone. And when I arrived to pick her up, it took her some seconds to recognize the car. Just like a butterfly’s metamorphosis, even my wheels went through a change last year. ‘You got yourself a new car?’ she asked as she plopped herself into the passenger seat.

We decided to have some nibbles in a Korean restaurant nearby. ‘Check out those tits,’ I teased. Mine were overflowing through the pink blouse. ‘My tits more than twice your size wei.’

I don’t think she finds it funny at all.



***
We bought a house and renovation began in September. We tore down the floors and replaced them with granite on the ground floor and Merbau wood on the remaining two floors. The kitchen went in sometime in October and November was spent chasing after the plumber, who had never seen the washing machine plumbed next to a sink in the utilities.

We were supposed to move in 3 days before Christmas, which was postponed to 2 days before and then the day before. We finally slept in our bed for the first time on the 28th of December last year. I took a sabbatical and for the following 30 days, we spent it in the house blissful and happily waking up whenever we felt like.

Days that were spent zipping around the city, working in the office, chasing after clients, meeting friends, having meals and shopping were soon replaced with searching furniture pieces, strangling the plumber and arranging our very first lion dance during the Lunar New Year. These were punctuated only by visits to the doctor’s.

Nights were filled with cuddles and kisses, sometimes in bed but often time on the plush sofa, which was our very first purchase for the home. We fell asleep in front of the TV, preferably to CSI or some movie than Discovery Turbo (if you know what I mean).



***
‘Are you sure that it is a boy?’ she asked, staring at my nose again. ‘Your nose is nice and sharp. Boys usually mean fat, ugly noses.’

In reality, I had the very same conversation with a couple of friends. It is either the nose or the belly. Sharp belly equals a boy and a fat, round belly means buying everything in pink. I cannot agree with the nose statement because my nose is still as cute as a button despite seeing my baby’s nuts on the ultra scans twice.

However there is something about the sharp or round belly. You see, Eve has a rounded belly and guess what? She’s having a girl. I have a sharp, pointy belly and it is undeniably a pair of nuts during each monthly scan. A trip to the doctor confirmed that Eve and I must have been doing the horizontal tango on the same day.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning…



***
‘Honey, I think we need to talk,’ I said from one side of the door.

‘What is it?’ he said from the other side. He was packing our stuff for the Singapore F1 Night Race. That is one of the more endearing qualities he possessed. He packed my clothes, shoes and make-up into bags at each trip. (He said he had replaced the Indonesian maid but I digress).

‘I think we’re pregnant,’ I said. Needless to say, I felt miserable in Singapore as any fabulous girl would feel if she found out that she was expecting a crying package in nine months or so. Nothing says ‘miserable’ like the act of dragging a slurring, drunk 41 year-old man whom I lovingly called ‘ancient’ home.

Let’s up that statement a little. Nothing says ‘miserable’ like the act of dragging a slurring drunk 41 year old man on the same day you found out that you had to lay off those 4 inch platforms for some months because there was a bun in the oven.

He made up for it on Sunday night though. He took me on a crazy trishaw ride and all that I could see was a river reflecting lights off buildings and roads. I had not laughed or screamed so hard for a very long time.



***
I like this change. I really do. I yearned for it for the longest time. Many people were caught by surprise. Even you must have thought that I was a colourful party creature with a winsome smile, flirtatious eyes and conversations that entrapped many men. I guess those were true (or at least I would like to think that I do at my ripe old age) but only to a certain extend. If you really know me deep inside, you will know that I am more than that.

Or less than that, as YC discovered the very first time she met me. She found me quite plain and I took it as a compliment. Some compliments are better in smaller doses.



***
It was amazing to watch the butterfly. It sat prettily on the leaf, dainty and graceful, even as the wind tossed the leaf a few inches up and down. Changes are like that, I guess - tossing you and moving you along life’s many routes. You have to hold on tight if you want to survive the trip. Just remember to put on your best smile and highest heels and float gently like the butterfly.

The garden was wet after an hour of watering. Then the rain came to water the new garden a little more. It is always the same story. It rains whenever I drench the garden in water but it never seem to pour when I forget.



***
Today is his birthday and we are apart for the first time. It was not always this way. We were together for our last two birthdays and he was a very good friend during those years. Now we share a house, the house mortgage that we thankfully can afford, two cars and a soon to arrive maid. However nothing beats the excitement of sharing a baby together.

It is those butterflies at work again. He is in Indonesia and I will soon join him. The last two years were full of changes. Changes are good when you grow and renew your soul. I look forward to a little time for myself. I am excited about a new life and I am not sure if I will make a good mother. All I know is that I will try my best.

When we are apart, he calls me each night. That he has done for more than two years and is also yet another endearing quality. He sends me a message when he wakes up and again when he sleeps. If I could be in Indonesia, I would have flown in an instance. I am no longer allowed to fly until the baby is born. Thenafter, I think we shall be traveling quite a lot between Malaysia and Indonesia and then again, twice more to Europe each year.

This will be the longest time we are apart, a whole 3 weeks. He will of course come back soon and travel back and forth until the baby is matured enough to travel to Europe to meet the family. Then we will all be in Indonesia – baby and I there on alternate months until his contract (and the economic gloom) runs its course. Quite a long metamorphosis, I guess.



***
I saw two purple butterflies. Purple pygmy butterflies, they must have been. They were the smallest that I have ever seen.

‘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.

~ We're Not Gonna Take It, Twisted Sister


The old boys travelled for hours for a very testosterone filled party over the weekend. I, for one, sat in a car for 5 hours on Friday afternoon, to converge for this very special occasion. A 40th birthday celebration is a rather special occasion. Isn’t it?



*
‘I can’t believe he is hugging him!’ she gasped. She was the prettiest girl I have seen in the last three weeks. Which is a very fine compliment for a nation that is really challenged in the looks department. It has been three weeks since I lived here and I have not met a single man I had considered good looking.

And then there was Milly. She was blonde and beautiful. She was a show stopper, in her blood red coat, matching scarf, slutty red boots and a Gucci clutch.

‘Do you know that my husband hates men hugging?’ Milly said again. She rested her chin on her right hand. She observed her husband, Jerry and was caught by surprise. Her husband was publicly showing immense affection for his mate, the birthday boy.

Going old school, they played LPs on an antique recorder. Milly clapped her hands in delight (and utter surprise) when Twisted Sister’s ‘We’re Not Gonna To Take It’ played. The boys jointly stood up, gathered in a circle and chest butted each other.

‘I don’t understand why men behave that way,’ Milly said, just as the boys pointed their index fingers at each other and sang the chorus in unison. Birthday boy was singing into an invisible mic made out of his fist.

‘It’s male bonding. That’s how they… MEN… show love,’ I replied.



*
I have been caught by surprise twice since arriving here and going out with the locals. Maybe I value my privacy more than others. It is always surprising to meet people who are so honest and open during their first conversation with a person, who a minute before was a total stranger.

The first was the conversation I had with a 44 year old man, who is a confirmed bachelor for life. He talked about his relationship problem immediately after ‘Hi, my name is Tim’. His problem involved an ex-wife, 3 teenage daughters and a new slightly younger girlfriend.

The second was my conversation with Milly (with a short interruption by Lucca). Milly grew up with these boys. They were all friends, all part of the cool pack back in the 80s. They all laughed together, sang together and in the summers, swam naked in the lake together. And like ducklings taking to water, these friends naturally jumped into the sauna naked. Together.

‘Sometimes I feel that this isn’t happening,’ Milly said. ‘I am still very young. I wake up sometimes wondering why am I married to Jerry.’ She sighed, feeling almost at lost, in a situation that she had brought upon herself. ‘I’m going to divorce him.’ I am unsure if she was kidding or seriously considering the option.

She felt that she should not be married. Four years older than I am, she woke up one day and felt that the world was her oyster. She could be anyone she dreamt of being, if only she was free. Her life, according to Milly, was filled with ‘if only’-s.

‘If only I am single, I would be in another city’.

‘I love cats and would have a cat, if only Jerry was not allergic to cats’.

‘There are so many things that I can do with my life, if only I am free’.



*
‘Oh god, how long have we known each other?’ Lucca asked, after he gulped some beer from the fresh can.

The numbers popped up like mushroom after a rainy day.

‘Is it 10 years?’

‘No, it has to be longer. I’m married for six.’

‘Hmmmm, I think it was in ’93 that we met,’ Lucca said.

‘No, I was in college and I am sure to have met you before then.’

‘It must have been in 1989.’ Lucca’s voice trailed off as he reflected back in time. ‘Yes, on New Year eve of ’88’.

‘How long has it been?’ Milly asked aloud. ‘That would be 19 years now.’ She paused for a second before bursting out: ‘Oh my god! It’s been 19 years!’

And it was not a happy discovery. ’19 years and look what I have.’

Milly looked miserable. She bit her lips and looked at Lucca, who gave her a hug. ‘Look, I am with Mary for 7 years.’

(In all honesty, 19 years is a hell lot longer than 7 years but one must give the man some credit. He did try to pacify the realisation.)

‘Look, you have Mary for 7 years and you have a child together. What do I have? I have nothing for my 19 years.’

I glimpsed over to the noisy side of the party. There was Jerry dancing with the old boys. Oblivious to what was happening right here on the quieter side. Right here, where Lucca, Milly and I shared her story.

‘I have nothing for my 19 years. Jerry and I don’t share a child. We do not share a car or a house. I am 36 years old and spent 19 years with a man and I have nothing,’.



*
Now here is the strange bit. When it comes to love, human are ever hopeful. We talk about having each other in the evenings, sharing good times and building dreams and memories together. Ask yourself what are the benefits of being in a relationship and chances are you, like me, would quote reasons such as ‘hug each other’, ‘have fun together’ and ‘having a friend’.

We never talk about house mortgage or diaper duties. It is as if, a mortal sin, to talk about what you have gained (and shared) in terms of money, properties, pets and babies.

Here was was Milly, who equated her love to the above – sharing a car loan, house mortgage and lots of dirty diaper changes and milk puke. All the hugs in the world and “I love you” in the mornings do not carry the same weight at the end of the day.

Is it wrong for us to think what have we profitted out of a relationship? Does it mean that we are calculative (and thus insincere) in our love for our partners? Is it wrong to check our relationships and to ask what have we gotten out of the whole deal? Is it wrong to debit and credit our relationship, as if it is an account in the bank?

At the end of the day, what matters in our relationship? Is it the invisible rewards such as security within a (hopefully monogamous) relationship? Or does the crux lie in the very basic human needs – physical sustenance and fulfilment of human needs.



*
As the night wore on, I gave up whatever music standard I had and started to dance with the boys. Obviously they stopped chest butting by 5 a.m. which made it all more convenient. And from the corner of my eye, I saw Milly nesting her arms in Lucca’s. Nothing wrong there, to be honest since I cling onto MiniBoyFriend R every now and then.

Her emotional dam burst and quietly tears rolled down her pink cheeks. She cried, shook her head and cried some more. She got up to take a piece of tissue from the kitchen counter and walked back into Lucca’s arms. He gave her a light kiss and wiped her tears away. Their bodies were aligned into each other’s.

In Jerry’s shoes, I would have spent some private moments with Milly. To talk to her and to show her that she was special. That she was not like the rest of us at the party. He could have publicly indicated that she was someone special to him and that she mattered.

I would have spent some private time with my wife, especially after finding her riding another man like a horse. It was not a drunk stunt one would pull after 8 hours of drinking. It was clearly an attempt to win little attention from her chest butting husband. Jerry kept quiet and let it happen. Maybe he wanted to look cool, that it was okay for his wife to ride another friend. Maybe he did not want to make the issue bigger right in front of friends. Whatever the reason, Jerry either stood and watched without much of any emotion or ignored Milly with continuous head banging, chest butting and merry making with the old boys.

Would you be Milly, in Milly’s shoes? I am more of the “storm out of the party after slapping him” sort but this is Milly’s story.



*
By 6:30 a.m. Milly had her hands, legs and head on Lucca’s hands, laps and shoulders. Everyone created an alternate reality by smoking cigars by the frozen lake. I assumed that Jerry could not take another minute of everything because he went to the bathroom for the longest time. He emerged much later, on the floor. Milly laughed just as Jerry’s snores transmitted from one end of the living room into the other end of the dining cum kitchen area.

Her eyes were swollen. She still sobbed a little, with a tissue in hand. Her head was still latched on Lucca’s shoulders when we all sat at the table to fill our growling stomach. I left the party immediately after that, without much of a word. I washed my face while looking at Zach, who passed out cold on the bathroom floor.



*
‘What makes you crawl back to your wife after all these years?’ I asked a long time friend. He was married to his wife for more than half his life. ‘What is your secret to a happy marriage?’

‘I share a romantic house mortgage and 2 kids with her.’ Not the sort of romantic reply that I had imagined and expected. ‘I will be financially ruined if we divorced. Plus the kids are lovely’.



*
I cringed when I first heard my father’s most memorable advice: ‘Find a decent man who loves you. Get married and have his children.’



*
Reflecting on my own life, if I can have a moment of truth, I know Milly’s story. I understand Milly’s story because I was Milly. I am still Milly and I am not the only Milly in the world.

I am from a different generation of women. Unlike my mother and grand mother’s generations, I have all the freedom accorded to man. I stand on equal ground. As long as I am willing to believe that I can, I know that I can. There is no boundary and no limit to what I can do or achieve. The key is finding the space in my heart and mind to do it.

While some women define their worth by being with a man and having a family, I believe in finding my own place in the world. I believe in carving my own name and future. I never saw the necessity of a man to complete who I am. I admit that I find myself lonely at times and lost for most of the time. I am still trying to define who I am outside of society’s definition: grow up, be pretty, study alright, find a suitable family friendly (good enough a job to mention during parties but will not take up your entire waking hours) career, catch the most eligible bachelor, walk down the wedding aisle, have children and raise them well.

One of the reasons (if I dare to be honest with myself) why I am in and out of relationships is because there was never an anchor in the relationships. Aside from preschool crushes and highschool secret boyfriends, I had 5 relationships in my adult life so far. Barring the starter relationship being mad and destructive, all consequent relationships were wonderful and healthy. So why did the love not last forever?

On days when I dare to be true to myself, I would say to myself that there was never a single thing that tied me to my relationship. Sure, I had fun and the relationships were good. Sure, we travelled here and there, did lots and lots of things. Sure, we laughed more than we cried. But like Milly, I too feel that there is nothing in my relationships to seal the deal. There are no jointly shared properties in our names and no children to call our own.



*
Milly is a young and attractive woman. There will be many men queuing up to comfort her and hold her hand. There will many men to reaffirm her and tell her all that she wants to hear. She will be awoken and she will realise the many things that once clouded her head before.

And when the time comes, when Milly is ready, she will find the courage to share a mortgage and children with someone special. If it is not Jerry, it would be some guy named Peter. Or Andy or William or David. All she needs to do is put her mind to it.



*
I woke up at 11 a.m. to go to the loo. Zach was still sleeping next to the toilet bowl. I returned to my bedroom and sat there for the longest time, just watching the snow fall, covering the old, dirty snow with a fresh layer of white fluffy snow flakes.

Life is like a snowy morning. You are fresh, white and blameless again.

‘And when the music stops, you find a chair and sit,’ the lady in the hat said.

The birthday girl and twenty of her friends walked around the circle of chairs. Their tiny footsteps soon caught up with the music played. They froze the very second the music stopped and after a few bedazzled moments, they ran towards a chair. Some shrieked in delight as they sat on their chairs. Others clambered towards the nearest unoccupied chair.

The birthday girl ran for one and the moment she touched it, she lost the chair. So she ran for another, just three chairs away. Before she could even reach the chair, it was taken. By the third try, tears formed at the corners of the birthday girl’s eyes. Her mother came to hold her hands and guided her towards the side; the side where everyone stood and watched the little game.

The birthday girl stopped in her footsteps and she refused to walk away. She turned and looked at the game unfolding itself when the lady in the hat started to play the music again.



*
Ironic, I thought to myself. Sometimes life can be pretty ironic. PY, E and I were sat in our little corner in Starbucks. The two girls chatted away when my mind travelled to another day and time.

‘My husband forbids me from going out with Otto anymore,’ I imagined her saying. She was the 4th girl in our group and the four of us were good friends in the last two years of highschool. How we became friends was rather interesting. E and I sat next to each other since we were 14 and on the last year of our education, she had decided that we needed to concentrate on our studies. In other words, E decided that we should start doing homework and concentrating in class instead of exchanging notes about boys we liked.

And so one day I came to school and there sat this really tall girl with the sweetest dimples. Her name was Jane. E assigned herself to sit next to another girl and that girl was PY. And that was how four very different girls ended up sharing recess break together. We could not be anymore different but yet we were friends.

Jane somehow ended up in an accountancy course, far away in the north. PY attended Form 6. E went to work and I attended college. We kept in close contact. There were photos of us together during our 21st birthday, each of us sporting really ugly haircuts. There were even photos of us together in a toilet cubicle, taken the night before Jane left for Dublin with her boyfriend.

Education did its work on all of us. For Jane morphed from a teenage nightmare with dangling earrings (we are talking about the early 1990s, a time when even MTV videos were innocent) and tattered jeans into a beautiful and responsible young woman. She studied hard, graduated and worked in Dublin. She eventually ended up with the other non-Muslim in the course, a boy a year older than all of us.

It was this boy that turned into a man that she married ten years later. It was this boy that told her to stop communicating with me. It was this boy and her that decided that they were too matured and responsible to hang around a very irresponsible me.

Approximately four years ago, Jane and I stopped talking. It was as if we woke up one morning and decided that it was best that we did not talk to each other anymore. I had enough emotional baggage and I was quite glad to get rid of one. She said that I was wild and irresponsible as a 25 year old and I felt wronged by a very close friend. We just stopped talking.

But through PY and E, I heard news of Jane. She shared a house with her husband almost immediately when they tied the knot. They started working very hard and were promoted very quickly through two mega international companies. I was genuinely very happy for them despite all of us having gone our own ways.

You can say that I was this overgrown kid, still hanging out in the clubs with the boys. I had so many boys that I could rotate them for my meals and still had spare. Those years were spent fast and wild, sleeping only to wake up for yet another party. When the 3 of them settled down blissfully into their respective permanent relationships, I was this girl who had a new boyfriend every third year.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with Otto. All the men were fine. SwedishLove was fine and she broke up with him,’ Jane lamented a long time ago. ‘And now she is going out with this new boy, Alex. He is fine too.’



*
The men were all fine. What made me wriggle uncomfortably every so often, I don’t know. But I know that I have to move on to another relationship. It was as if I had changed and grown, the men had to change and grow, mirroring who I had become.

Since leaving highschool, here are the counts of men that the four of us dated, had relationships and married:

Jane

• One permanent partner, a boy a year older than us.

PY

• One boyfriend who drove fancy cars from his 2nd hand car company.


• Currently happily married to a man 14 years older.

E

• One man she loved, married and shared children with.


• One boyfriend since her separation from her husband.

Otto

• Alan, SwedishLove and Alex as permanent partners.


• Seriously dated at least three other men (with the intention of forming lasting relationships).


• A few permanent MiniBoyFriends such as BestGuyFriend, R and Adidas Boy.

Needless to say, I was the hopeless one in the group. I was the one who couldn’t form lasting relationships and I was the one who was crazy.

‘I tell you, this is what happens when you go to church as a teenager.’ Jane said a long time ago. ‘I was doing all this partying when I was a teenager and now that I am in my 20s, I am stable and Otto is like this mad teenager.’



*
Ironic, I thought to myself. 2007 is presenting itself as a year for pregnant ladies and a year for great break-ups. Great break-ups which included Jane’s, E’s, my boy cousin from my father’s side and a very young girlfriend who called me every now and then. PY and E were talking about Jane’s divorce and how it was affecting her. Every so often, E mentioned how she was coping with her own break-up from her Muslim boyfriend.

‘No future,’ E said, clasping her hands together. Their relationship blossomed at the same as Alex’s and mine and now 4.5 years later, they broke up and Alex and I are still hanging on together. Somesort.

The girls were concerned for Jane when she returned for Chinese New Year celebrations this year. She and her one permanent partner were filing for divorce immediately after the Lunar celebration. E’s boyfriend became their appointed lawyer. This event broke more than just a vow to love one another and a housing loan. It broke Jane’s heart. PY was worried for Jane because she looked depressed and was depressed for quite a few weeks.

‘Oh tell Jane that she will survive it. Better do it now when she is still young than when she is 45 with two kids,’ I said between licking the tasty cream off my coffee. ‘Consider this as a clean start in life. Look at it this way. Now Jane can choose someone that is suitable for her NOW, than to deal with an old love that was a reflection of her when she was 19.’

My mind was far away when PY and E were talking about E’s new life. 2007 is the first year that E is truly single. She had a permanent partner since she was 15. That’s like 16 years ago. My god, she had spent half her life with a man. Now she is spreading her wings and feeling so happy and adventurous. There were all these new boys that were calling E, confessing how much they were smitten by her presence and how much they had wanted to be with her.

‘Can you believe it? 5 different messages from different men, telling E how much they love her and want to be her boyfriend,’ PY said the following morning when we were having breakfast.

‘I hope you told E never to believe the crock men say.’ That was me dispensing advice to my girlfriend. ‘Men will say anything and do almost anything, just to have half the chance to get into your panties.’



*
Ironic, I thought to myself. Now all I hear during coffee breaks is the weekend adventures for two of my closest friends. How they’ve visited the latest club and have phone numbers stuffed into their hands. With much more money and financial freedom in our 30s, these girls are feeling the freedom that only a single woman could feel. How empowering and good it felt. How you feel that you could live forever.

‘This boy asked me to go to Tokyo with him. That boy said I could stay with him in Hong Kong while I nurse my broken heart,’ E said as she pointed at the photos of boys and what they had promise her in recent weeks. Her eyes were so full of life and she was so happy talking about them. One sneak peek at the boys and you could see that they were physically good looking and had the financial freedom that only came with men in their 30s.

The world has no limits.

I walked down that path and I had the boys. I still have the boys but I am telling myself to give up. Slowly I am giving all these up. It is time for me to move onto another level. I know that it is. I don’t know where I am going but I know that it isn’t shagging in some dingy pub toilet cubicle, next to puke. Those days were wild and those days are now gone. I want something more meaningful and I seriously think that my bones can’t take the vigorous shaking in the cubicle or shack.



*
All of us are participants in a game of musical chair. Life is like a game of musical chair and each chair represents a stage in our lives. There are no two same chairs as there are no two same stages in life. When the music stops, you and I are sat on different chairs.

Do not make a mockery of your friend’s chair. Do not say that your chair is the best. Once the music starts again, all things are fair. You might just end up on the very chair you despised. Do not look at your chair and feel that the world is lost. Do not feel lost. And when you are sad, do feel sad but do not feel too sad. One day you will change your chair and you will find yourself in a different stage.

‘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?

It was on Tuesday that the girls gathered. There in the usual corner, hidden from prying eyes and human traffic, we girls sat. We were friends since high school, which sometimes felt like forever. Especially now that we are getting older and everything seemed to move along faster.

E showed us some photographs taken from the Hong Kong Sevens. The whole event seemed smashing with a sea of party people out to rock the tiny island for a weekend and a little more. The south side of the stadium, where E and her friends were at, was the place to be. There you would find the strangest costumes. She swore that she saw some penguins, presumably from Happy Feet.

We exchanged stories and kept each other updated with the latest events going on in our lives. E and I met PY’s contemplation if she should purchase the imported marble for her new house with a strong ‘what the fuck for?’. The flooring, which would cost RM16k, could not be appreciated by the time she arranged her very sturdy and huge furniture pieces on it. Whilst acknowledging what we said was true, I think PY has her heart set on the Norwegian marble.

When my turn came, I spoke not of myself. There is nothing much to speak other than a story of how I am dissatisfied with my life. Still. Again. I told them a story instead. I quite fancy myself being a relationship observer and thus asked them for their opinions regarding another girlfriend of mine.


*
Let’s call this girl June. June has been on a stable relationship with a man. This guy loves her very much. They are nearly inseparable in the previous five years together. Each weekend night you would see this pair out and they are hardly ten metres from one another. Everything was fine and dandy when they started but now as they embark on their fifth year, she is questioning the status and future of their relationship.

June had worked very hard and in the span of their relationship, her salary has increased tremendously and is now even more than her boyfriend’s. She plays hard, so she works hard to earn her keep. She is intelligent, articulate and immensely popular among the girls and boys. The last time we spoke was last week and June was remarking how she wished her boyfriend would put in more effort to earn a little more.

‘So we can afford more things and I don’t have to feel so stressed up trying to earn the money all the time,’ June said.

The fact that she is very attractive does not help the situation either. The life of the party and the social queen, June has various men after her at any given time. If you know of anyone who is the most envied and most sought after? That girl would be like June. She is the best catch for the next 100 kms in radius.


*
PY felt that it was not a good enough excuse for June to break up with her boyfriend. June had not right to break up with a good man and by any account, the definition of ‘good’ meant that he was a decent bloke who was responsible, caring and hardworking.

‘She can’t break up with her boyfriend just because her boyfriend’s salary cannot support both their lifestyles at the moment,’ PY said. ‘If he isn’t providing shelter and food, by all means June can break up with the man. But if she wants to wine and dine in posh restaurants for every meal and wear only Marc Jacobs, then perhaps June should look at herself.’

PY had a point. June was not lacking in anything. She had an above average lifestyle. She travels and holidays twice a year, eats at fancy restaurants on weekends and stayed in a decent house. What June wanted was the comfort and luxury of being able to take a backseat in the financial department, when and if she and the boy started having a family.

E disagreed with PY and I agreed with E. June, being the smart girl that she is, has a right to choose who she wishes to spend her life with. And if she can get a better catch, no one should judge her for it. Why should she settle for a Nissan when she could be driving a Ferrari? Is love a sufficient reason to deny herself of the better lifestyle she could have had?

In general I think society look at these girls with great disdain. Society blames girls like June for the fall of good family and moral values. Greedy for money and better living, many might say. Sure not happy one, some might add. But seriously who are we to judge what is best for her? Who are we to tell her that she should stick to her man when she can be with someone who can help and support her better?

A question we should ask ourselves is, ‘Would I break up with my current boyfriend if there is someone out there who is better?’ Better yet. Ask ourselves honestly are we just jealous that she can be with someone better? Jealous that it wasn’t us that got the boy? Would we have done the same given the circumstances?

Do you turn down a comfortable and easier lifestyle for you and your future children just because you feel that you love your boyfriend? What makes you think that the new suitors knocking on June’s door will not be able to love and understand her as much as her current boyfriend? Maybe one or more of them is able to love and understand her more. Where do you draw the line? When is it enough?


*
‘Ask June to try the glass and water test,’ the Bachelor said. "A beautiful, intelligent and articulate girl like June needs to do the glass and water test. It is very humbling and reminds you that you aren't God.'

To be honest, I scratched my head. That was exactly what I did. Okay, so June was this tall chick with her blings. She bought her everything and she has a line of eligible men queueing at her front door. She does not need more money but she wanted to have someone who could care for her, for a change. If you could get a better job offer, you'd jump at it, I thought to myself. It is essentially the same. Even for relationships. If you would jump at a better job offer, why can't you jump when there is a better man?

He took a glass to the sink and filled it up with tap water. Standing next to me, he asked me to dip my index finger into the glass. I did exactly as told. The Bachelor then asked me to lift my finger. I followed his instructions, waiting for the catch. The point that the Bachelor wanted to make. But I did not catch it. All I saw was a drop of water running from my finger back into the glass.

‘What’s your point?’ I asked.

‘Is there a hole where you dipped your finger in the water?’ he asked.

I shook my head and firmly said, “nope.’ I still did not quite catch it.

The Bachelor smiled. ‘Until you are able to leave a hole in the water, you might want to consider yourself replaceable’. Look into the mirror. That was what the Bachelor said. If you think you deserve better, perhaps you do. Then again, always remember, you are replaceable. You aren't infinite and you aren't God. You might think that you are but honestly, you aren't. And you should always bear this in mind until you are able to leave a mark in the water.

It was one of the best illustrations I have experienced in a long time and I am sure that this simple glass and water test would keep me humble for a long time to come.

'Until you are able to leave a hole in the water,
you might want to consider yourself replaceable'.
~ The Bachelor on women and their vanities.

I had an interesting conversation with the Bachelor over the weekend. It started quite by chance when I mentioned that I received an extended offer from HighSchoolSweetheart to stay at his place in Milan, should I want to visit Italy again. It is merely a statement, without much intent on my part to visit Milan anytime soon but that one statement presented me with a shocking ‘You stay in Milan with him and it’s officially a break-up’ from Alex.

‘Why do you want to stay at HighSchoolSweetheart’s place?’ the Bachelor asked.

‘What do you mean WHY?!’ I asked, surprised that it actually needed any explanation. It just does not.


*
Can you imagine how much I am able to save just by sleeping on someone’s sofa for a week in Europe? Let’s count. It will be a minimum of £50 per night times 7 nights in a week. That would make it £350 or an equivalent of RM2345 (exchange rate of RM6.7 per pound sterling). That is almost the airfare to another country.

The worst form of sarcasm is patronising ones. In this particular conversation it came in the form of ‘I don’t know about Asian men but I can say confidently on behalf of all European men that it is not okay to stay in your ex’s apartment.’ He then added that it did not matter who the man was, be it an ex or a friend or a future partner or whatever. Just as long as it is a man, you do not stay there without your partner.

And you would think that blood ties mattered but apparently it does not when it comes to bunking up in a friend’s place on a holiday destination. It does not matter if the man is his brother or father or cousin. You just do not stay there without him (that would be your partner).

You are, however, free to stay at your brother’s place or your father’s. Or any of your female friend’s. Just not another man’s.

I was tempted to ask if it made a difference if the girl was a lesbian but I thought that was pushing the Bachelor’s buttons a little too much. So much so for staying for free and saving RM2345...


*
Personally I do not see what a big hoohaa this is. What is important is how much you trust this friend of yours because I am not talking about staying at your newly befriended internet penpal’s apartment in Manila. I am talking about a good friend whom you trust and share a proper friendship with.

How many of you did like I did - you visit a city every now and then and stayed at your friend’s house. Of course it used to be one of those kampung houses with running chickens and ducks in the front garden. Or for example, once when I stayed in a durian estate with a friend of a friend. That was quite cool, hearing durians dropping at midnight and rushing to pick it up and share it with friends.

Everything becomes a tad more complicated when you grow up. Suddenly it is no longer proper or acceptable to stay at your friend’s place.

‘A man will never tell you that it is okay to stay over at another man’s place. There are only two reasons why a man might say it’s okay.’

I listened intently. The conversation was getting really interesting. Show me a woman who will not seize the opportunity to learn a little more about man’s logic.

‘One, he doesn’t mean what he said. In essence, he lied and he actually minds that you are staying over at another man’s place,’ he said. ‘Two, he doesn’t love or care about you.’

Sounds absolutely logical, doesn’t it? I tried to imagine what I might feel if my man said that he wanted to visit another city and would be staying over at a girl’s place. Would I feel angry or jealous? Or would I just shrug my shoulders?

I actually do not have an answer.


*
‘You tell the Bachelor it has nothing to do with love or care!’ said PY confidently. It was the next day when I had a conversation with PY regarding the same topic. She was pointing her fingers at me, shaking them every few seconds, like my highschool science teacher.

Is it okay to stay at the home of a friend of the opposite sex during a holiday visit?

PY thought of a reason that did not cross my mind when I spoke to the Bachelor. I was surprised that I had not thought of the reason myself and was quite pleased that PY did. According to PY, it has nothing to do with love or care at all. It is all about possession and man’s ego.

‘He might not love you or care for you anymore. But as long as he isn’t going to kick you out of his house in the next few days, he will feel very possessive,’ PY said. She rolled her chair a few inches to the front and then to the back. ‘It’s a man’s ego. He might not want you anymore but sure hell, he is not going to let you go to another man’s place.’

Things got a little more complicated after speaking to the two different sexes. Man and woman have very different perception of the whole scenario. A woman sees that treating a friend’s (opposite sex, nonetheless) place as a hotel during a holiday is acceptable but not for men. A woman might not do it because she knows that it is not acceptable to her partner but if you really asked any woman, it is likely that she sees no wrong in it. That is, if it is purely a place where you go back, wash up, keep your belongings and sleep.


*
‘Does it matter if the guy is gay? Or if the girl’s a lesbian?’ I asked on day three. The Bachelor was running out of patience. ‘I am merely curious and I am exploring this area,’ I added, then pouting for hopefully some positive response from him. I have a responsibility towards my readers, you know.

He presented me with a whole long list of questions. Questions that I do not have answers to and questions that I now present to you. It was his way of shutting me up, I guess.

Why can’t you bring your partner along for the holiday? Did you invite him for the holiday or are you going to stay in a foreign city in the house of another man? Why can’t you stay in a hotel? Will you be upset if your partner tells you that he/she is going to visit a friend in another city and you aren’t invited? Will you be jealous? Or do you not care at all?

‘It is just not right.’ That was his conclusion. One should not stay with a friend of the opposite sex, even if it was for a simple (and quite innocent) thing such as a holiday. ‘Why can’t you bring your partner along?’

‘That’s because it is weird for them to meet?’ I asked. That sentence was like an illuminating moment for him. ‘Well H-E-L-L-O-?!’ said the Bachelor, ‘Don’t you think it is weird if you stayed there alone with the other guy?’

I still do not think it is weird but then again, I am weird.


*
Is man being selfish? Has it anything to do with love or care? Or for territory and possession? Is it man’s ego talking or is there some sense to what the Bachelor said? Is it a no-no to stay over at a friend of the opposite sex’s?

Does it matter if the man is a friend or a past lover? Or if the man involved has a relationship with your current partner (think family member or best buds)?

Will you visit a city and stay over at a friend’s? Or will you find the RM2345 for the hotel bill?

I have no intention of staying at HighSchoolSweetheart’s bachelor pad in Milan. I never had and I do not think I ever will. ‘Exes are exes for a reason,’ I have said that many times. I merely shrug the idea off, like sliding a piece of steak off a Teflon coated pan.

"So much so for staying for free and saving RM2345..."
~ Otto, on the topic of staying over at the ex's

Men can be the simplest creatures to understand, if you really understand them. And on most days, I understand men better than women.

By the account of my last post on BestGuyFriend’s wedding party, I am sure that you have noticed that:

• We had lots to drink since Nikki’s friends arrived from Leeds.


• The girls were out shopping for shoes and accessories like there was no tomorrow.


• We had seven days of hang over before the actual wedding party on Saturday, which resulted on a collective and massive hang over on Sunday.


• There were lots of sparks flying everywhere and we aren’t talking of just BestGuyFriend and Nikki’s.


• Days and nights like these make me feel like that I could live forever.

There were seven of us bridesmaid that night. While Nikki’s friends squeezed themselves on the first table, eight people sat comfortably on the second table on the stage by the pool. The two spare chairs were used to store the excess beer, vodka and wine bottles.

I was feeling quite comfortable with Ain on my left, the two spare chairs with the bottles of alcohol buffering between us, and PY on my right. Sitting opposite of me that night was SL and his partner for the night, HL.

SL served as one of the four best men and last minute video cameraman when BestGuyFriend did not manage to hire someone to record the memorable day. A blonde lady, HL, whom we all knew from previous weekend outings together, accompanied SL that night.

When Nikki, Sarah and I did the table arrangement, we agreed that Ain would sit next to SL (because she has a baby crush on the 38 year old SL) and E would sit next to HL (because E has great social skills to make anyone feel comfortable). Translated into reality meant intermittent conversation with the blonde Scandinavian with awkward pauses between as she held private conversations with SL in Finnish.

“Can you speak Mandarin, Ain?” PY’s husband asked.

“All of us will speak in English tonight,” PY gently reminded her husband. Perhaps it was a subtle reminder to the blonde to speak only in English as we all came from various cultural and language backgrounds. But the blonde went on in Finnish.

This Finnish couple drew some attention because of a tricky situation. HL considered SL as her boyfriend of some sort; maybe not a full-fledge boyfriend but a lover nonetheless. SL however denies all relations to HL and refers to her as his “work colleague”. Knowing this creates a strange situation at the table, one, which the rest of us girls pretend, does not exist.

There was a point somewhere between the sea cucumber and fish dishes that the girls all adjourned to the ladies. Politely we invited HL to join us as we stood up and placed our napkins on our respective chairs. As we turned around and walked, all of us saw her leaning over to give SL a peck on his lips.

I am not sure what your office culture is but mine does not involve kissing a male colleague on the lips whenever I want to go to the toilet to steal 10 minutes of solitude.

To her credit, HL was lovely when we waited in line. We managed to strike a conversation on wedding traditions in Asia and in Finland. A shoal of busy koi fish was swimming between pots of water plants in a pond in front of us. The sound of trickling water was soothing and formed a sharp contrast from the “yum seng” cheers going around from table to table by the heated swimming pool about 50 meters from us.

As the night moved on, so did the bottles and glasses of every spirit. Sarah and I shared half a bottle of Smirnoff by 1 a.m. The boyfriend and husband were talking. SL politely invited every girl at the table to dance. Ain left us to join the bride and groom as they did their rounds. And when the dinner finally ended and the proper dance started, all the girls descended to the dance floor like fireflies to the fire.

There was Sarah with her smacking bottom dance. Nicky (the chief bridesmaid, not to be confused with the bride Nikki) was dancing from corner to corner of the dance floor to Cindy Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”. PY, E and I were busy dancing around each other as we whispered all the stupid things we did when we were in highschool, when these songs were at the top of the charts.

Seeing SL was dancing at the edge of us girls, all by himself, PY pointed me towards him. I obliged, turned around to face SL and danced with him when suddenly HL walked up to him. I sensed that it was time for me to turn and join my girlfriends, which I swiftly did. We were sufficiently aware that she was not happy and she was making sure her unhappiness was understood on the dance floor in front of more than 150 guests.

The bridesmaids and PY moved away from the couple, to give them some privacy and perhaps to give SL some space. After some minutes of hearing HL speak of her unhappiness/uneasiness, they both walked back to the table, where they remained for five more songs or so. It was obvious despite all language barriers that they had a confrontation of some sort and it does not take a genius to realise that the reason was partly due to SL dancing with so many girls that night (and not dance with HL at all).

“You are back,” E’s boyfriend said, then raising a glass to toast SL.

PY, E, Ain and I were sat at the table, resting and fuelling up for the next retro high school song to play when SL walked back to join us. This time he was alone, with HL nowhere in sight.

“Where did you go?”

“I had an argument, so I had to get away to clear my head,” came the polite reply.

“With whom?” PY’s husband asked.

“Oh you shouldn’t ask such questions...” E’s boyfriend said, then raising a toast for everyone at the table. We drank merrily, thus avoided a rather embarrassing moment.

For ages his phone rang. He answered his mobile initially but after some attempts, he passed the Nokia and his keys to me. Three seconds later, he was pushed into the pool. Talk about timing, I thought to myself when the phone rang again.

“It’s your phone ringing, SL,” I said as he swam towards me.

“Oh don’t worry. It is just my work colleague...” came the usual reply.



***
I sat in my car at 8 a.m. with Ain asleep in the next seat. Twelve hours since the party started the night before. There I sat all on my own and thinking what had happened. Was she in love? Was she delusional? Was HL stupid to claim SL as her boyfriend when it was so obvious that he was not interested in her? At least not in the way that she had wanted him to be.

Was SL being a scum? Was he cruel? Did he lie to her? Was he a wretched soul for calling her “just my work colleague”?

Yeah, obviously I am not naïve to believe that they were just friends. Like Nikki and the rest of the girls, I frankly believe that they were shagging, which does not affect me in any way other than the fact that I write about relationship and men and this phenomenon of being workmates struck me as interesting.

As I drove home in my pink dress now creased with lines when I slept on the sofa after 8 glasses of vodka and 1 glass of whiskey neat, I think I realised the answer.

The girl was stupid and the man was just being unrepentantly a man.



***
What makes a man loves a woman, I have not a clue. But I do know that you can never cause him to love you. It is simply a choice he made for himself, for whatever reason he holds in his head. Unlike a woman who can be moved to love a man by a show of bravery, courage and sincerity, a man seems able to remain calm and composed, despite whatever acts of love a woman can make for him.

That is to say, men are not as emotional as women and thus, are not influenced to love or hate a woman based on any acts of love, kindness, gentleness or understanding.

Technically speaking, a woman can move mountains and swim in deepest oceans to prove her love for a man and he will never love her, if he had not loved her in the beginning. This includes sex, which many women associate as acts of ultimate love. A man is capable of having sex with you and yet not love you at all. You will end up as nothing more than his pleasure doll.

Perhaps that is why we only hear how men prove their love by different acts such as swimming in the deepest ocean and walking on hot coals but we never hear the same for women. This is because women can be influenced in her choice for a lover and she might consider a man (she previously had no interest in) when he proves his worth by acts of sincerity and love. Men on the other hand, may not be so easily touched by tokens of love and kindness.

So girls, save your feet from being burnt. You deserve so much better. Just remember, he is just not so into you. Not the end of the world, in my opinion. This is what girlfriends are for. Put on your dancing shoes, wear that killer dress and strut your bootie.

You are not so into him after all.

The girl was stupid and the man was just being unrepentantly a man.

***
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It happened. As expected, the day came and past. And it happened. It was one of those usual busy days when I get up at half past 7 a.m. to the sound of my alarm. PY’s call at 8 a.m. is a reminder that I need to get my butt moving and hurry to our usual breakfast place. But the unusual happened. After PY’s call, I received a sms from MiniBoyFriend R. He was up and about and he asked me if I would have breakfast with him.

And since I am an anti-feminist feminist, I stuck to PY (who is my close girlfriend from highschool, to those who are new to my blog) and declined R’s offer. Technically I did not decline. I explained that my breakfast plan was fixed and he was welcomed to join two beautiful aunties for breakfast, knowing full well that R would decline. He declined my invitation three minutes later.

Off I went for sweet glorious breakfast with PY and as soon as I had forgotten R’s breakfast invite, I received another invite for dinner. It was 6 p.m. when I accepted the invitation and I was still in my office, slaving away for my next pair of Aldo shoes. So whatever resentment I had earlier in September is resolved and I absolutely loved having him around again. I miss MiniBoyFriend R. He came to watch me do some DIY stuff in my office. I am telling you, my office is getting rather swanky. I think I am going to move into that room and sleep there. It is definitely more comfortable that my college delinquent bedroom spread at the moment.

Between smoking in the balcony and reading some female magazine while waiting for me to finish up, we chatted for a bit. He asked if Ain was sad to leave for Indonesia on Sunday. I casually said “no”, which was a lie but I said it nonetheless. Some moments later, I asked, “Do you think it is cruel of me to tell her to shave her legs?”

“So you are the bitch that has turned Ain into a zombie,” came the reply.

Yes. Thank you very much, MiniBoyFriend R. You are definitely still fulfilling your role of being honest and straightforward with me. Okay, so I did not say that but I nearly did. Anyway I managed to wrap things up and we were in a Korean restaurant by 9 p.m. immediately after I ran home to shower while he played with his dogs. Thankfully MiniBoyFriend R stayed within 5 minutes drive away!

Dinner was spectacular! According to Otto’s tradition, I hardly ever bother to look into the menu to place an order. And according to Otto’s tradition, her friends did most of the decisions, from which restaurant to who is driving to what time do we get our asses there. We had a big plate of spicy glass noodles with octopus and another big bowl of spicy clam soup. I was smiling from ear to ear, picking at the 8 other small dishes that accompanied the two main courses we had ordered.

And we had the most wonderful Korean rice wine ever. I mean I am not a fan of wine but I was busy downing dainty cups of wine like an recovered alcoholic on rebound. I enjoyed the medicinal taste from the 12 herbs infused into the wine. Or whatever it was. I just loved it.

Pink lips. Even more pink cheeks and little slitty eyes. I was lips smacking and wine loving that night. We were talking about many things, just the way we used to talk about things. We talked about going away. He is going to Hong Kong and China and I would have gone too, if not for the fact that I shall be in London with Wouter! Wouter shall be my date for the winter week and we shall sit by Café Hong Kong, spying on pretty oriental girls and their skinny boyfriends.

“My treat,” I said. That was the least that I could do when MiniBoyFriend had patiently waited for me to finish my work before dinnertime at 9 p.m.

He refused and took out his card instead. The waitress left with his card between the black book. I smiled, kept my card and graciously thanked him for the meal.

Do you think that men are simple creatures? I think men are simple creatures. They want the simplest of things sometimes. Such as your smile and sincerely happiness for sharing a meal together. Most men find a woman who is a gracious and generous spirit pleasantly attractive.

Among other things, I am a reformed feminist. I used to enjoy the fact that I could buy anything my heart fancied and I still enjoy that fact that I actually buy my own things. I live in my own house and I drive my own car. At any given time, I can just walk into most restaurants and eat anything I want without looking at the menu nor worry about the cost. I could walk into boutiques and just buy whatever my heart desires.

Ah yes, such are the privileges that the modern day girl possess. Many a feminist would say that they had worked hard so girls like me could enjoy the freedom that I do enjoy now – freedom of movement, education, healthcare, financial independence and life decisions. Some feminists reacted passionately when I wrote that I would burn down some feminist placards. My act of boo-boo-ing the feminist movement was can be likened to someone who enjoyed all the perks of a club membership but refused to join the club formally after playing on the 18 holes. Or worse – I could have indirectly insulted the club.

The point that I want to make is that you can remain feminine and graceful whilst still being a feminist at heart. I am all for equality and freedom for women but I never want to highlight this issue at the expense of men. Many aggressive feminists failed to realize that they forgot what it was to be a woman. In their haste to achieve equality with the other gender, they have forgotten what made women special and what attracted a man to them.

Why should you need a man, if you can fix the light bulb faster than the man? What is the use of a man, if you are emotionally more stable, financially more secure, mentally more quick and you have a soaring career to boot?

If he can do ten laps at the pool, you would prove to yourself that you can do twenty. If he can bring in the bacon, you make sure you can bring in two slices extra. If he plays poker with the boys, you want to be equal and go clubbing with the girls too. Since he does not cook and does not iron the clothes, you resolve the problem by hiring a maid because you surely are not going to do it since you paid half of everything. After all, you are bringing home the dough too. If he can have it, so can you.

Where are you going to fit a man into your life when you are everything better than him? Do you enjoy losing all the time? If you don’t, what makes you think a man would?

If you are able to do everything so much better/faster/efficient/equal as a man, why do you need a man? You might as well have sex with yourself because trust me, you deserve only the best.

Feminism existed before the word became a word. It existed as long as time held women in this world. There will always be women and headstrong women. I would like to believe many of these earlier feminists never called themselves “feminists”. I read somewhere that Virginia Woolf, the poster woman for many feminists, refused the “feminist” label. There will always be women who believed something so passionately that they would take proactive steps to change the world. Not necessarily did they consider themselves as feminists. Neither are all feminists are of the female gender. The feminist movement and idea do attract a portion of men, who believe that women issues should be given more emphasis.

Generally I do not have any gripe against the feminist movement. Like I’ve said, I am a feminist at heart. I believe in education and information for women. I am passionate about women issues. Look, I am even writing about the ups and downs of being a young woman in this day and age. This whole blog promotes my ideas and my ideals, which are heavily laced with ideas of freedom of choice and thought for young girls.

I would like to think that I do it with grace and dignity. I celebrate all there is about being a woman. Being a woman is never about being better than the man or wanting to stand breast to chest with the man. It is about being the best that I can, the same way that you will wake up and be the best that you can. I do not want to be a Superwoman. I just want to be a smart woman and a smart woman knows that her original name is grace.

• Grace to accept that she can do things to the best that she can, which might be different from which a man does things.
  
  
• Grace to be thankful when a man holds the door for her. No, he does not think that she is weak and thus requires someone to hold the door for her. He did it for her because he wanted to do something good.
  
  
• Grace to allow herself to be happy with a man - to be vulnerable and fragile and lovely, all at the same time. She does not need to live in DefCon One status every day of her life.
  
  
• Grace to accept that man and woman can be equals without resorting to turn themselves into Mini Men or Great Men. Or any men for that matter.
  
  
• Grace to be girlish and graceful and lovable - to embrace femininity and to giggle like a girl. So bring out the lipsticks, pastel eye colours, pink fluffy dresses, tulip skirts and high high heels!

***
I have seen way too many women who bicker more than they can swallow. With their newfound freedom and wings clearly spread, they are rude, harsh and of all thing, unfeminine. In order to secure the respect they think they will garner from men at work, they lost their womanly charms. They dropped the dresses and skirts and cute little girl shoes and instead dressed in power suits to gain more perceived power. At home, these women argue more because they have more leverage in the relationship. This in itself is not a bad thing but taken to the extreme, you get women who do not know how to respect their man.

I hate women who do not know how to respect a man as much as I hate men who bully women. There are really times when the best thing a woman can do is to just shut up. Be more pleasant and less naggy. Be a decorative flowerpot. Yes, woman, you read it right. You can be smart and yet be physically appealing to the senses.

At this juncture, some women might be tempted to complain, “But oh, the fucker won’t do anything unless I nag like a poodle on heat!”. Then I say unto you, you are not the smart woman that I am talking about. A smart woman knows who to choose as an ideal partner and since your partner does not acknowledge nor help you through your difficult moments, I can safely conclude that you struck a bad deal for yourself and yes, you are not too smart.

Perhaps I am a product of the feminist movement. Perhaps I might even make some good old feminist proud. I have choices and I have made mine. I choose gracious living. I choose to be with a man. I choose to be a smart woman instead of a superwoman. I choose to flash my winsome smile. I choose to be financially independent and yet dependent on another being for love and support.

And I most certain chose to be a rebellious feminist at heart.




***
It was midnight when we finally finished dinner. He teased my flushed cheeks and he asked for my car keys. R drove along the city's brightest lights. I watched as little pops of lights flashed. It is Christmas, I thought to myself as we got up an onramp. R arrived at his doorsteps when I was just about to doze off, feeling all warm and fuzzy. Bright city lights were always calming.

“Thank you for such a beautiful evening. I loved dinner and especially the wine.”

"It's my pleasure," R said, before walking off.

The next time I looked up as I adjusted my seat in the car, R was fidgeting like a little boy. It was a familiar sight. I heard him pee the very first time I met him. He peed in the back lane with my back facing him, just a meter away.

Some things do not change.



***
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