Oy!

You know it’s going to be a good day when you come to work in the morning all groggy, carelessly slide your drawer open and find:

Bottles of Hoegaarden beer.

I haven’t stopped grinning since.

(Yes, this is the best birthday soo far and it’s just gonna get better!)

Drivel

I’ve got to stop coming home after 3am on weeknights.

And my friends have got to stop interrogating me!

***

In other news……..right, news, ..……..let’s see,……...ok folks, here we go……..anytime now……...wait for it…...
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Damn it all to hell! I have no other news!

Note to self: Must get life.

Not again

I’m very disappointed. But I tell her, “It’s ok, it’s ok, no biggie”.

For as bad as I feel, I would feel soo much worse if she knew because then she’d feel somewhat responsible and I couldn’t forgive myself for that.

So yes, a brave, care-free and confident front it is (while my insides quail and my spirits dampen just that little bit more).

Home

I’m heading home today, and I’m looking forward to it, a slight surprise considering all that’s going on. And as I gently tear myself away, I know I will miss and be missed and what a balm that is.

I haven’t been back in a while (long by my standards alone) and home is a place that has usually been somewhat of a refuge, not always though, but mostly and especially when I have needed it. It’s the ease of slipping into the calm quietness of routine, normality and laidback-ness that soothes the soul.

The Parents too in their own way miss me enough to be sweet and doting to the daughter who, in times like these, finds it easy to behave. And since I’m going back alone this time, it’ll be even more peaceful. Something I will savour seeing as the next time I return it’ll be to the nightmare of whirlwind activities and frayed nerves that is every Christmas.

And yes, I’m overly sentimental, but that’s just me.

Midnight

This is stupid. To hope that one typed word minus the endearments can convey the multitude of uncertainty, insecurity and emotion being held back.

I don’t know what it is I seem to be expecting. Why I’m restless, like a caged lioness pacing, pacing, pacing. Why do I want to shake something, anything, out of you? Why do I feel like putting you through a food processor in order to extract the essence of you, because maybe then I’ll be satiated?

Why against my better judgment (like putting this in a private diary), knowing who reads this, I still go ahead?

I feel …unsettled.

A friend said something that struck a chord with me yesterday. She said we needed time to find our tempo, a synchronized rhythm for two. And maybe she’s right, because I feel far from that now.

Subterfuge

When a virtual stranger enthusiastically recommends food, proceeds to order it for you and expresses horror when you attempt to pay for it, you must do your best to save face, yours and the stranger that is. No matter if the food was sub-standard, and chockfull of allergy inducing bits, shovel it down you must. So there I was grinning and bearing it magnificently as I stoically munched and swallowed the bad char keuy teow while my stomach issued a volley of protests. I even consumed quite a bit of taugeh so as not to draw attention to myself!

You see, I’m a char keuy teow purist. Yes, there is such a thing, I just made it up, see? It’s a malady Malaysian Northerners suffer without exception when it comes to food. You know how your Penang or Kedahan friends tirelessly wrinkle their noses and complain about every single item of hawker food that can be gotten here in KL or JB or Singapore for that matter? Well that’s the purist in them. We’ve been spoiled silly by quality food since young that our taste buds unequivocally reject inferior substitutes. So when we move to other parts of the country, we lose weight by default. (How’s that for a weight loss program?)

And char keuy teow which seems soo simple on the outside, is actually one of the hardest things to get right. I should know, after years of trying, all I need to do is look at it in order to tell if it’ll be any good. I personally think that the problem is the texture of the keuy teow that they use. It always turns out wet, when the last thing a “char” should be is wet. And they like to put foreign objects like lap cheong, which should not come anywhere near it, in it. What’s up with that? *Sigh…*

Urgh….if only he knew how much it took for me to bite my tongue, control my expression and use mind control to stop the gag reflex. Hm, I think I’ll politely decline the next time he has another brilliant suggestion…

We, are.

"Congrats"? Did I win the lottery?

I'm figuring out why this response disturbs me. And I think I know why. It's the general perception of society that a person is not whole unless they have a 'partner' (in crime in my case ;). And so to congratulate me when I have 'someone' is akin to conceding that I (and other 'unfortunate' people) was only half a person when I was alone. This is the one thing that used to drive me absolutely mad especially when I meet patronizing people (and there are way too many out there) who used to pat me on my back and say condescendingly "You'll find someone someday" while they clutched possessively to their other half without which their entire world would fall apart. I swore I would never ever do that to anyone, and I cursed those people to one day experience what it is like to be alone.

I haven't changed and I don’t want to change to suit anyone. I believe this is something we (him and I) agree on since both of us are highly individualistic. Retaining my individuality in a relationship is of great importance to me. I understand the virtue and necessity of compromise, but I'd never tolerate a dilution of my personality (and definitely do not want that of him either) just so I can hold on to him. I rarely have very strong views, but this is a topic close to my heart. And I’m not angry at this friend of mine, but sometimes I can give people a rough time for a careless word. And yes, I’ll admit it, I can be uptight. (ok, ok, that’s an understatement, happy now??)

***

So after some rough patches, and a very bumpy take-off, he’s decided to stick around this dysfunctional person.

I am happy.

I grin like an idiot,

And hide secret smiles,

When others are around.

(I am apprehensive.

And I worry,

I am insecure;

A measure of anxiety in the calm)

I hold my breath,

My voice catches,

I shy away,

but not too far.

I look away,

but have you framed

in the corner of my eye.

Now I know,

The sum of us

is an absolute.

Now

Everything is soo bleak right now. I desperately need to laugh. I’d probably get down on my knees and kiss the feet and thank the next person who can make me laugh. Make me forget the heaviness of my heart. Make me stop thinking and feeling for a few seconds.

I feel like I would allow you anything, but you won’t allow me to be. There is something desperately wrong with the sum of us and I don’t know what it is or how to make it better. And the accusations get us nowhere. No, that’s not right, they get me exactly where I am now, in limbo which should be painless, but it’s not.

The Great Gender Debate

Ah. Nothing like a lazy Sunday evening, good food and a mixed group of interesting personalities to spark off a heated (but friendly: no injuries incurred even though some would have gladly strangled each other if not restrained) gender/relationship debate. In the end, the men claim that they have been enlightened on the female psyche and will put it to good use.

But I’m not soo sure. You might tame the occasional tiger, but you can’t change its stripes.

***

A snippet:

Men want the women they’re with to be attractive to other men. It makes them proud to escort these women around, to be the object of envious looks from other guys. It is even a factor in considering if a woman is worth pursuing. Nevermind if she’s brilliant or makes him laugh till his insides ache. If she doesn’t make heads turn then he has to seriously considering if she is worth his time and effort.

On the other hand, women would rather their men not be soo attractive as they wouldn’t want to have to spend all their time fending off the advances of other women. Women are jealous creatures and their claws are sharp.

When it comes to pairing up, handsome men must find a partner of similar beauty, no plain Jane’s for them. And even the most average looking Joe thinks he has as much of a fighting chance as the next male model bloke at hooking up with the most beautiful chick at the bar (and to this I say, get a clue and a mirror while you’re at it babe. Heh.)

But the thing is see, that average Joe? He ain’t that far from the truth (that lucky bastard!). Women tend to be less concerned about looks when it comes to finding a mate/boyfriend/husband/partner/whatever. Just look around. Of all the mismatched couples you see, how many more of them are made up of gorgeous women with ordinary looking guys as opposed to the other way round? A staggering number that’s what. And leaving the depth of the man’s pocket out of the equation, it usually boils down to men being the visual creatures while the females are more emotional. For him, as long as she’s hot enough to salivate over, and for her, as long as he makes her laugh/feel loved/treats her like a queen, then it’s all systems go.

.

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As with all generalizations, these too will and do breakdown if given a wide enough sampling population. So while it need not be said, here it is: not all men or women conform fully to the gender stereotypes above. But as a general guideline, it’s pretty damn accurate, most of the time anyway.

***

On a personal note, the gender debate gets stale pretty fast. There really isn’t any point in re-hashing and arguing the same old points again and again. The finger pointing also gets increasingly wearisome after a while. It’s a conflict as old as time and will never be resolved.

And so as I get older I’d rather access the person as an individual rather than judge or predict how they will act based on their gender. Of course this only works if you believe that people can rise above and beyond the norm and actually develop a personality independent of and perhaps despite their gender.

Oh well, one can hope.

November

It’s Friday night, no actually it’s already Saturday morning. The week long holiday has flown by, and yes, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I don’t regret not having had plans. As someone said, it’s never going to be as bad or as good as you expect it to be.

***

Time has a way of sneaking up on you. It’s already November, a month I usually greet with a combination of anxious excitement, trepidation, a certain amount of denial and varying degrees of depression. It’s a month where every little detail of my life flashes before me in sharp relief. A time for questioning, for reflection, for taking stock.

The past few years, like clockwork, I descend into the pits of depression on the day when I should be celebrating the anniversary of my birth. Once it was soo bad it took all my willpower to hold back tears in public. It’s not about being afraid of getting older because while that is true it’s merely a matter of getting used to it. It is however because it’s the day when I feel most alone. And oh how it cuts like a knife!

Yes I have friends and family who wish me and celebrate, but it’s somehow lacking. I always end up feeling significantly less than special, knowing that I’m not the most important thing in their lives. Do I sound petty and self-absorbed? Shouldn’t I be grateful I have people who remember and are willing to make an effort? The thing is I do appreciate it, but at the end of the day when the party is over it’s the loneliness that remains. And it is this underlying feeling that permeates the day and infects everything with bitterness.

Will it be any different this year? I have hope, but am conditioned not to expect too much. Anyway, I’ll know soon enough.

I (wish I was) am the body beautiful

I never knew I had it in me.

You see, I’ve only just started going to the gym. Religiously. Like almost everyday. And it all started because I somehow acquired a free 1 month membership (hence the kiasu-ism i.e. milking it for all its worth) to this rather popular gym. I say ‘popular’ because of the sheer volume of beautiful people per square feet concentrated in one location. It’s enough to make any normal-sized person, with a usually healthy body image feel inadequate and run to the nearest Dunkin’ Donut for a pick-me-up scoff.

Funny thing is, and I’m embarrassed to admit this, but gym equipment freak me out. I mean, they’re soo massively intimidating and have such complicated mechanisms that you probably need a degree in engineering just to figure out how they work! And after you painstakingly get them all nicely figured out and actually start using them, all you want to know is how to make them stop before they crush you to death! (Hm? What do you mean it’s only my imagination??!)

The first time I visited the gym, as I made my way past row after row of people using the umm….running exercise machines (yes, yes, I need to brush up my gym lingo), I was struck by how much they resembled programmed robots. The illusion was further fortified by their synchronized movements, blank faces totally devoid of expression, and eyes staring straight ahead, completely disregarding anything else that was happening around them. I suspect that if I was to fall in a dead faint in front of them, that they would not have bothered to break their rhythm but instead grimly soldiered on. But maybe that would have been because it was only me fainting. Heh.

So anyway, needless to say, I only go there for the instructor lead classes. So far I’ve pumped iron to music, salsa-ed and samba-ed like a hot Latina (I said like, but oh how I wish!), and belly danced to glory. Sadly, all I have to show for it are very sore muscles. But still, I’m enjoying it. It gives me something to do that requires very little interference from my brain, which is a good thing really. And besides, I have to get my moneys’ worth right? Oh wait, no, that’s not right. Oh hell, who ever needed a reason to exercise anyway?

Now, which class should I go for tomorrow? Kick-boxing or Hip Hop? Decisions, decisions…