Longing For The Tuscan Sun

After lending my Under The Tuscan Sun DVD to a friend for months, I finally got it back over the weekend. And just out of a whim, I decided to watch it again last night. For obviously clear reasons, I simply love the movie for the plain feel-good theme. Generally I am not a sucker for romantic movies but I do like the genre. I am just not for the whole nauseating over-the-top Titanic kind of romance which just leaves you wishing both the protagonists would shut up and die horribly. Under The Tuscan Sun, though having a predictable happy ending was more about letting go and taking life by the horns.

Very loosely based on the memoirs of Frances Mayes, the movie puts the author in a fictional setting as a depressed, recently divorced writer, Frances (Diane Lane) who is sent on a gay tour of Italy by her lesbian friend, Patti (Sandra Oh). Out of an impulse, she purchases a dilapidated villa in Tuscany and finds a new life in her new home. The best part of the movie has to be how they played around with how in one of her depressed state, Frances expresses her doubts in ever having a family to fill the home she just bought and that she wanted there to be a wedding. In the end, she gets her wish, though not in exactly the way she expected. Lindsay Duncan as the eccentric advice dispensing English expatriate, Katherine was a joy to watch.

The movie was also partly the reason why I am saving up so I could take a trip to Italy one day. Not so much as hoping that I can experience the same thing in the movie (what am I going to purchase a villa in Tuscany with?), but more to just see the same sights. As Sandra Oh's character said, "How can you say no to Italy?". Would be fun though if you can buy a nice little villa in some rural part of Italy and live a life without worry. Just take a look at the picture on the left. What I would do to wake up to a scene like this every morning rather than rows and rows of generic sterile flats and terrace houses on stripped earth and screwed up LDP traffic.

Dream Lover

One of the most common question I am asked, especially by people whom I know from the internet, is the one about what kind of guy is my type. Well ideally, he should look should look like this:

Don't even ask me who that is because I don't know. I don't even remember how this guy's picture came to be in my possession. I just recalled saving it into my Photobucket account so I could one day use it to illustrate on this topic. So if the person reading this is the person in the picture above, I apologise in advance but I did not intend to turn you into an object of my fevered fantasies. Just trying to illustrate a point here. That aside, you can now proceed to get in touch with me... just kidding.

I will not begin to even deny that I prefer a good looking guy. Years ago when I was still a idealistic teenager in denial I will probably say that looks don't matter. Now that I am old enough to be a little more shameless, I will say looks matters above all else when it comes to first impression. Whatever our intelligence or human superiority, we're just in the end biological creatures who will consciously or unconsciously desire a mate which is strong and physically attractive. But having said that, being gay renders that notion obsolete because technically we don't mate.

However that doesn't mean that I am all for being shallow. Personally I have settled for a lot less than my version of ideal. For what it is worth, I am not someone with looks that could launch a thousand ships anyway so I am not about to go about commenting who is good looking and who is ugly like the comical bunch in Hotshots (refer to Axcest) or Hotbods (refer to Trevvy) or declare I deserve someone who is physically attractive. And strangely, I had a dream once where Jacky Cheung was interested in pursuing me and I was pretty enamoured by the notion and by my standards, he is barely half of where the guy above is ranked. Perhaps it was how he was so charmingly likable when I chanced to have met him in person once. So I guess besides a pretty face, personality and chemistry accounts for a major part of acceptance.

When it comes to dating, I think I'm proud to say that I have dated a pretty wide variation of people of different age groups and physical appearances - younger and older, skinny and... the not so skinny. I have even dated a Malay guy once whom today I still have fond memories of (which is more than what I can say for most of my exes and past dates), so I can't be said to be racially discriminative either when it comes to preferences. Unfortunately I am not too proud by the numbers which rather paints a pathetic picture of the state of my love life, but that aside...

No, I guess I can't really describe my "type" because physical appearances hardly paint a whole picture of what a person is, though reluctantly I would agree that good looks certainly bypass a lot of my barriers. Having said that, a handsome guy would not necessarily find an easy path into my heart either. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) I never have to worry about that because I am never lucky enough to warrant such attention.

It is a kind of paradox since I usually never have good impression of good looking people in the sense I always find such types fickle, arrogant and well... above me. If there is one thing I find in common with these types are how they know of their physical attractiveness and are prone to psychological games to get more attention. The more appearance challenged are not exactly guiltless either and I have seen my fair share of such who feels, no BELIEVE, they deserve to be paired off with an Adonis (read: the comical bunch of commentators at Hotbods and Hotshots). Maybe it's the whole Cinderella complex, or something more associated with the ego or just plain denial.

We are all brought up to believe we deserve the best in life but reality would have it that only a handful will ever get to live their dreams. If anyone have seen that Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet movie, The Holiday, would have heard of how there are two sorts or role in life, the lead and the best friend. Like it or not, a majority of us would be spending a lifetime playing the best friend, including yours truly. But hey... one can always dream.

Starry Starry Night

There's nothing much to say really except it's Chinese New Year. I think I have said all there is to be said about this season of the year. The usual fare, annoying relatives asking the same old questions ("Where is your girlfriend?", "When is it your turn?", "When can I stop giving angpow to you?"), eat, sleep and watch TV. This time around I didn't even bother with trying to exercise so I will probably be paying for it. Four days of sedentary lifestyle and my body has begun to deteriorate. Seems there is no way I can go back to that life anymore. And oh yeah... driving home in a jam in the dead of the night is not a pleasant experience, especially if your companion is fast asleep and you're fighting fatigue. Starting at 11 pm and reaching home at around 5am is not funny.

Less than 6 hours later I was up and about again to run chores and do the ancestral worship thing. It begs to question, how is it I am doing this when it is more of the duty of the eldest son. After all, theoretically I am the one who has shamed the ancestors for abdicating my duties in continuing the family line. Besides I have a love-hate relationship with the columbarium. The cremains of my grandaunt is there and every year it seems there are more and more new additions among the old dead who grows more increasingly forgotten. The old wing especially seemed like a testimony to how death and decay makes anonymous beings of us all. Rows and rows of long deceased lined the walls. Their dusty, cobwebbed urns sometimes behind broken glass and missing name plates. Many have photographs staring out blankly among a jumble of the deceased's personal artifacts. Reminds me of a line from Don MacLean's Vincent.

"Starry, starry night, portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless heads on nameless walls, with eyes that watch the world and can't forget"

Old and young all together for an eternity which doesn't even seem permanent. In the central courtyard is a bodhi tree. Continued root growths have begun to tear up the cement floor while drain pipes clogged with its leaves sag and leak from the weight. Beneath the tree is where converted Christians abandon their pagan idols so they could alleviate their guilt that perhaps those who still believe will continue to honor their former gods. It's strange really, why even bother with this last act of belief if you have abandon your faith? On any other day, the columbarium looks even more sad with the lack of human life lingering around save maybe the distant drone of monks chanting. There's a certain allure to the sadness, but yet it is not something many of us would want to think about often.

Supernova

Few weeks ago I found myself watching one of those old Chinese New Year themed Hong Kong movies which starred the late Leslie Cheung. For some reason I found it highly depressing, though like all Chinese New Year themed movies, it was meant to be a feel-good comedy. I think part of it stemmed from the fact... well... that Leslie Cheung is dead. I mean of course it's no big deal right? We watch movies all the time with someone who is already dead in it, like Gladiator (the late Richard Harris was in it) which I watched over the weekend in a spanky Hilton KL penthouse suite, courtesy of Ben Tang from Singapore.

Anyway, coming back to the topic, the fact that I grew up around the same time Leslie Cheung rose to stardom made the movie kind of depressive. I saw him climb the ladder of success, watched his so-called retirement concert (on TV of course), observed him make a comeback on motion pictures, and just when you thought the guy had everything going for him, he goes and make a bloody mess of himself on a sidewalk. Perhaps it's not really fair that I describe his tragic death that way, after all none of us will really know what was going through his mind when he decided to call life quits. I guess one gets more easily affected by the tragic death of a star if you grew up in the latter's heydays, much like Princess Diana. I remembered being irrationally saddened by her rather dramatic exit, much like the most of the world I suppose. And of course what did she mean to me? Obviously I have never even set eyes on her in the flesh, much less know her.

I also find myself half-heartedly contemplating on Anna Nicole Smith's recent demise. By all means she was hardly what anyone would describe as an examplary star. Every single bit of her life was of questionable morals but it would be also fair to say she was a victim of her own fame. I remembered liking her so I could spite a friend of mine who was a fan of Pamela Anderson. I illustrated her once in this rather provocative pose for a school project on the subject, of all things, MORAL. The teacher was like, "Aiyoo~~ so gatal!". Hey, at least in Anna Nicole, you saw the real ups and downs of a celebrity. She had her fat days and tragedies, and I think in a way we all sympathised and loved her for it, gold-digger or not. She was real in a kooky sense of irony.

Above all, maybe who the celebrity or how they die doesn't really matter. Perhaps what we see in their demise is more of a milestone for the end of an era in our own lives. In their deaths we see our own growth and the innocence we had lost along the way. Perhaps in a way, it reflects on our own personal tragedies, on the choices that we made which has brought us here.

Perhaps it's just in human nature to be morbidly fascinated...

In Memoriam

Anna Nicole Smith
1967 - 2007

Grim Thoughts

Just some things that went through my mind as I was starting to end the day.

What if...

Every religion in the world were wrong. That there is no life after death. No immortal spirit to outlive this so called mortal coil. That when we face the final curtain and the moment the body shuts down, there is no darkness, no light at the end of the tunnel, no green meadows of the land of the thereafter, none of the gone before to greet us... just... NOTHING. There is no spiritual immortality, all there is left is your decomposing corpse which will spend eternity six feet under or cremains scattered or lodged in an urn. No glory of the Christian God to greet the righteous dead on Judgement Day, no forty virgins await the Muslim martyr in paradise, no karma waiting to be repaid in the Buddhist samsara, no reincarnation for the faithful Hindu. Millions of people live a life in preparing for a life beyond this one. Live a religious life, they say, and you will be rewarded in the afterlife... when in the end it's just a life lived in fear in preparation for NOTHING.

There comes a time when...

All of us are deserving of some form of suffering for something that we did. That no matter how much denial we put into it, it will not make it unjust. That we will be undeserving of the sympathetic words of friends and family. For deep down in our wicked hearts, we know we had done unto others what we do not want done unto us. And for the rest, despite their willingness to offer assistance and consolation, will know in their conscience, the guilty had received his/her comeuppance.

Perhaps...

All gay people are deserving of the ridicule which is served unto them by the general society. That perhaps we are all just wasting our time going from man to man, spilling our seed in an orgy of lust when in the end there is nothing more to a gay relationship than an attraction of flesh. And perhaps all that homosexuality is, is just nature's way of removing the corrupted from the gene pool. For all we will ever be willing to do is to push our organs up the wrong receptacle in a mock display of copulation.

Thank You

I was about to teach class again as usual yesterday evening when I was approached by a a lady who looks to be around her forties. She was relatively new to my classes, and she had been trying to join as regularly as possible. As it was almost time for me to conduct my class, I had to excuse myself but before I went she said these words that really made my day.

"Just to let you know, I always enjoy your class. Always!"

For those who of you who think I'm doing this for the money, now you see the reason why. The money is just an added bonus, to be appreciated this way - that's the drive that gets me going. Give it up? I don't think so.

The Stray

I find that I may be withholding decisions - for a single person. Perhaps he is the last one unsettled business that I needed to complete. A year and a half ago I set out to try to change a life. That is just me, always picking up lost souls and strays in hopes of making a difference that I myself could not bring to my own self. Not that my past endeavours were anywhere near successful and I find myself questioning if it is even within my right to play moral guardian.

Nevertheless, I tried not to be a warden, rather just a guide. I grew to like this 'stray', perhaps a little too much. For some time I toyed with the idea, but I did not think I was what he needed. I began to have doubts - maybe I was doing it all wrong. In the end, I chose to abandon my little crusade, and hoping for the best, that perhaps life could teach him what I couldn't.

But in light of recent revelations, perhaps I was wrong to abandon what I originally set out to do. He had gone down the path that I feared and foresaw he would take. But life has always been about personal choices, is it not? I showed him the choices but he chose his path, so why do I feel like I have betrayed him?

Of Birthdays & Birds

And so I am another year older. 27 years old and I am feeling every bit the age. I can't seem to do late nights anymore without nodding off in front of my workstation the next day. Hell, I can't even begin to try to do late nights without feeling the immediate effects. Pinky thinks all I need is a vacation. I think I need a generous retirement package from a well-to-do 'mature sponsor' (sugar daddy in laymen terms), though I fear at this age I am no longer qualified to apply. Or maybe it is because of the dual life I lead as a group exercise instructor. Supposedly I was told the ideal number of classes one should be doing is around four times a week. However I am doing seven. I can't help it if I enjoy that more than my day job, to hell with next day zombie-fications.

That aside, the birthday went by almost like any other day. For once I think I am too preoccupied with other thoughts to be even putting any consideration into its significance. Most of the ones who should remember, forgot, and the ones who weren't close remembered. Don't really know how I should feel about it. Not to say I wasn't being appreciative of the wishes, but somehow I felt I would have just rather went past the day without being reminded. I think it made me more and more depressed with each greeting. Not that I mind getting older, I just can't bear to see how significant I am in the lives of others. So the day went by just like any other routine day. Joanne, a fellow instructor thought I was nuts though to be still instructing on my birthday but what better way to spend it doing what you like best.

For those who are still waiting for an answer on my potential migration down south, there is still no solid answer yet, so stop the questioning! The percentage of possibility seems to fluctuate everyday. I can basically summarise it to this. I don't want to go but I can't find a reason to stay either. It was never really about the money, I am just not sure if a move is the right way to go. I don't want to be doing something I might regret later, and for me that always seems to be the case. Forget the pep talk, whatever everyone had said so far wouldn't be something I hadn't thought of before. I just need to get over it myself. I am greatly appreciative though of the welcome my Singaporean friends have been extending to me so far despite my current uncertainty and lack of motivation.

One thing is for sure, the thought of being stuck at the crossroads is beginning to make me restless. Saw a couple of beagle pups for sale yesterday at an affordable price. Everybody knows I have been wanting one for ages but with this current issue of not knowing whether to stay or to go just puts a damper on everything. CJ had this thing about some birds having wings but no feet (basically people who can't settle down), I feel like a caged bird who just had its doors opened but doesn't know how to fly.

In Memoriam

Larry Stewart
1948 - 2007

In Memoriam

Iwao Takamoto
1925 - 2007

A Change?

I know I haven't been blogging for some time, not because I was busy - more like because I just couldn't find the mood for it. It's hard to imagine that just last month, I was living in fear that I might potentially find myself being unemployed for a few months. December is not exactly a good month to be jobless, with most people waiting out for their bonuses before resigning. But yet, somehow, after several exasperating interviews I still manage to secure a job that isn't too shabby. The colleagues are way more livelier than the ones in the previous two jobs, and I don't know if this is a plus point or not - my immediate superior is not exactly into the opposite sex either... How am I sure of this? Let's just say like Shakira's hips, Fridae doesn't lie.

It's definitely does not feel like a funeral home, neither do I have to suffer daily anxiety about trusting my colleagues with anything. And despite going through the same experience several times, I just will never learn. Even before December ended, I began to find myself swamped with more opportunities than I can handle. It would always be like this - initially all would be silent despite attending dozens of interviews with patronising interviewers (and putting on a plastic personality to accomodate them). I think there were times when I just dropped the mask because I was just plain fed up of being patient. Just when you think all hope is lost, several of them comes forward at the same time with offers as if you are some rare antique in an auction. Two of them I had no difficulty declining because I had no desire to be working with bicycles for a few years and definitely no enthusiasm with working for a potentially Prada wearing Devil. Two more are still in an uncertain interview stage though both seem enthusiastic, one sends me back into the publication and editorial line and the other, well... something I am not too familiar but I wouldn't mind trying out.

But being the pragmatist that I am, I accepted an offer to return back to the line I was more familiar with for now. And just when I thought I could just lie back and settle down again, another offer comes along and I swear it has to be Satan as Liz Hurley herself making up the offer. I could potentially find myself down south, leaving everything here in KL behind for a new life. I don't doubt that it is a good offer to further my career but seven years of building my life in KL is not something I could so easily let go. Although I have voiced my honest feelings to my friends that I will probably miss them if I go, all of them were quite adamant that they should be rid of me...

The bastards...

I know they mean well and for all that they assumed, it's not so much as to whether the offer was sweet enough for me to say yes. I just need to find the courage and confidence to take the step. I know it's just less than 5 hours away, but the thought of having to start all over again from square one just scares the crap out of me. And of all the people, it seems only my mother is not enthusiastic about the idea. Really, I think I inherited my cynical streak from her...

Recently one of my towels went missing after one of my sessions in the gym, and the management did not find it. Perplexing as it was for me, it made me realise that not everything will stay the same always. Perhaps my days in KL are now numbered.

I Did Not Need To Know

For most of my life I seem to be learning lessons I don't really care to learn.

I did not need to know that the people you love or trust might eventually betray you.

I did not need to know that most of my "friends" will never be around when I need them.

I did not need to know that most people will never know when to say the right things.

I did not need to know that there is a heavy price to pay for freedom.

I did not need to know what it feels like to be bitter.

I did not need to know that it is always easier to feel bad than it is to feel good.

I did not need to know that a broken heart is not mendable.

I did not need to know innocence is as cheap as the toys you find in packets of junk food.

Most of all...

I did not need to know that I will know whether I wish it or not.

The Human Virus

There is this public service annoucement that has been playing a lot recently on the Astro radio stations about the plight of the children of the world. About how every few seconds, a child dies from starvation or disease. I have no doubts that the statistics mentioned are not exaggerated but however tragic the facts may be, it leaves me wondering if it is altogether a bad thing that children die young under the circumstances they are born in. Don't get me wrong, I mean no insensitivity towards to suffering of the less fortunate but look at the state of the world we are in. I don't mean to sound like an advocate of doom. The human population of the world is at its highest ever in the history of the planet. At this rate, we are consuming resources faster than it can be renewed. The current path of humanity is a vicious cycle of deterioration. Every single thing we do in the name of improving the "quality of life" is edging the planet closer to exhaustion. As life expentancy improves, it can only mean the need for more living space and resources, something the planet obviously can no longer support. There are news reports everyday about how the world is teetering on the brink of collapse but nobody really cares. Why should we care when we don't feel its effects right? Twenty years ago there was no such thing as haze. Now we speak about it as "the annual haze problem", as if it is as common as Christmas.

So coming back to the plight of the children of the world, which I am sure I will be lambasted for what I am about to say. Perhaps it would be more humane and "natural" to let them die. And I don't mean just the poor and unfortunate living in third world countries, I am referring to the whole of humanity itself. Rich and powerful, ordinary or nobody, why should anyone be exempted from death? Of course, economically speaking it would have been impossible, but logically if the whole world is willing to put aside borders, there would have been no such thing as poverty if every country is willing to share resources. It's just a silly Utopian dream but it really is a very simple thing to do if we just think about it. Perhaps the most stupid thing humans ever invented are religions, governments and money. So the world turns, as governments wage war on other countries in the name of protecting their citizens whom probaby didn't need protecting if there were no borders to stunt our mentality, the rich spend millions on trinkets and frivolities which could have fed millions of hungry mouths and wannabe martyrs adopting poor children with the excuse of giving them homes when they instead could have shared their fortunes without separating them from their families (yes I am referring to Madonna).

Much Ado About Nothing

Pinky: Oh my God... you've lost so much weight!
Me: I know. No thanks to BODYPUMP®.
Pinky: You look so thin... You look like a model.
*Swells with pride*
Me: Wait... male or female model?
Pinky: Female.

My first reaction to that? Proceed to the nearest KFC and ordered a three piece chicken set. Of course I don't really look like a stick-thin-anorexic female model now. That's just Pinky trying to be mean to me. And despite the fact my body is currently looking its best in all 26 years of my life and I could fit into size 29 pants again, I am still easily affected by comments on my weight. I practice a couldn't-care-less attitude when it comes to other physical appearances (I would be arrested by the gay fashion police if there was one) but a passing remark on the weight which doesn't agree with me and I will be bothered by it for at least a duration of time, although Pinky is way more obsessive on that compared to me.

Vanity doesn't really have much to do with the pyschological obsession. I blame being fat through my teenage years, and the endless jibes about it coming, not from my friends, but my FAMILY of all people. It got so bad that one day I saw myself in some photos taken during the high school's anniversary parade and I totally hated it. So came the diet which saw me lose 10kgs at least, and two years ago I finally went beyond my stingy self and paid to join the most superficial gym ever in KL, *censored* and a year later became one of their own. From there onwards I no longer had to worry about being fat. Unfortunately, now I have to worry about being too thin. It seems that I can never be truly free of the whole weight issue. Well at least I can eat KFC with no guilty thoughts now.

Anyway aside from that, thanks to Jay's rants, I went and got myself this:



I am so seriously hooked, well with the book anyway. Mine doesn't have this boring cover of course, but the one with the poster from the musical which looks exactly like this:

(Picture extracted from Jay's blog)

Don't think I will ever have a chance to catch the musical here in dowdy old KL, the city where you get plays like Sam & Jet 2 in the Panggung Bandaraya, with tawdry male-to-male sex scenes. Who says we're not a liberal society.

Pest Control

"Don't you ever feel lonely living alone?"

My mom asked me this question, two nights in a row during one of her, as usual, badly timed visits. The first time I couldn't even be be bothered to reply. The second time the question was beginning to get a tad bit too testy for my nerves and I told her I can't be bothered with that enquiry.

Honestly I haven't thought about that topic for some time. I am way too busy for it. Well ok the last time it crossed my mind about being lonely was when I was really sick two weeks ago but that can be easily overlooked. Every single person tend to feel miserable about being alone during such vulnerable times, don't they? I think I was more preoccupied with how to recover on time to do my classes and training. Yes, I admit it. I am addicted to gym. I have a love-hate relationship with exercise. I hate doing it but yet I can't seem to stop doing it. On the bright side, it keeps me sane and focused. I rather spend my nights in the gym than make time for some stupid relationship which is more likely to frazzle my nerves.

And as if it is some funny divine joke, someone I knew online seven years ago finally managed to pin me down during one of my rare forays back to mIRC and told me he had the hots for me all this while. Funny that should be the case because I can only recall that he usually pisses me off and elicit dry sarcasm from me. Mostly I think it's just desperation on his part. It's amazing how these things crawl out from the woodwork when you least expect it.

I'm Back

Last week must be one of the worst weeks I've ever had. For several days I was down with what seemed to be one of the worst case of food poisoning I've ever had, with a complimentary fever to go with it. To top it off, if someone can actually have "wind" in the stomach, I must have had a hurricane. Whatever I took basically refused to stay in. Well actually it did, since I forcefully kept it down with much agony. So just to stop from suffering I stayed away from eating mostly, and as a result, I became much weaker than ever. I know most people will think I was a total idiot, but I still was doing my usual RPM™ class, with just one day of rest. Not that I was being suicidal, but there just wasn't any replacements at such short notice, and the blithering buffoon who was suppose to assist me that night did not show up, though I saw him stuffing his face at the gym vicinity.

And 3 days after, I was in training for BODYPUMP®. Three days worth of physical torment for my already bacteria ravaged body. Due to exhaustion, I woke up late on the second day. Screaming "SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!!!!", I scrambled out of bed, ignoring all hygiene routines and hunger, and arrived 15 minutes late. For some reason I performed exceptionally well with the first round of presentations, but the day was yet to be through with me. On an empty stomach I was subjected to what the trainer termed as BODYPUMP® Challenge - a 55 minutes circuit of unspeakable torture on the body. Best of all, you are required to inflict the torture upon yourself. I think I would have threw up at the end of it. The only problem was there was nothing to throw up. The result? A pair of almost useless legs which were constantly in pain for at least 3 days. The day right after, with useless legs and all, I was back on the stationary bike again for RPM™. The toll that kept me going for 3 days? At least 7 'biji' panadol. Insane does not describe me, retarded is more the case. I can still picture the look on everyone's faces whenever I told them how I was popping pills to survive the ordeal.

Somehow, I survived...

And soon I will be inflicting a different variety of torture upon gym goers. Be still my palpitating heart.

It's Just Another Farewell

I wrote about him before in my previous journal, the one whom I called the Fallen Angel. One of three guys who made a big influence in my life, well discounting my father. Prior to meeting him seven years ago, I was told by a friend that I would not help liking him because of his cheerful and perpetually smiling exterior. Well that friend was right, I couldn't help liking him. Little did I know he would also turn my life around. He would inspire me to be always true to myself. Perhaps what I am today, I still owe it to him, though he might not know the extent of his influence in my life.

Seven years sort of brought a rift between us. Nothing dramatic, it's just the way time tends to sunder most things. Though not close anymore, I still had great respect for this guy though he seemed somewhat changed from the person I used to know. Then again so have I. Recently I chanced to know he was moving overseas. At first I thought little about it. He didn't even tell me he was leaving. Out of a whim, I wished him all the best anyway, to which he seemed surprised because he hadn't expected a lot of people to know of his imminent departure. He thought little about it, to him it seemed like not too far a move, just that he will rarely be around.

Last Saturday we had a sort of informal farewell for him. There was nothing sad about it. It was almost like just a normal weekend getogether. When he put his arm around my shoulders in a brotherly gesture, that was when I realised despite the seven years rift and all, I was going to miss him. For a moment I thought I saw the same guy I used to know, the one who inspired me to be myself. Wish I had enough guts to tell him how much I love him, not so much as a lover, or a friend but as a genuine human being. One that I grew to admire and in some ways aspired to be. I believe everybody should have a friend like him in their lives. Perhaps some things are better left unsaid.

See you around B... and good tidings.

The Final Curtain

A friend's recent brush with a serious illness led to conversation about the value of friendship. And from there, somehow we ended up talking about whether or not any of my friends would know should I suddenly find myself on a trip back to meet the maker. In any case, they would eventually know but I think the emphasis here is how fast the news would travel. Now there are several scenarios of what will transpire. This might sound like a morbid topic but then again according to a monk I read about once, he actually keeps his homemade coffin around to remind himself of his own mortality, so heck, let's take a shot at this shall we?

Well first, we will consider the nature of my demise. Should I find myself kicking the bucket at home alone, probably from choking, electrocution, crushed from a falling shelf, etc., it will probably take at least over a week before the neighbours begin noticing the foul odour of my decomposing corpse. Of course by then, the gyms would have called my phone repeatedly over my class absence and the coordinators and members would be cursing me for my sudden lapse in responsibility. So let's say they discover my bloated corpse by the seventh day, my death would come to the attention of my family. Finally, the incessant calls from the gyms would eventually be answered by someone and they would be told of my tragic passing. The news begins to travel faster than the speed of premature ejaculation through the gym grapevine, which will eventually reach the ears of my friends. Shocked, they will wring their broken wrists in distress as they begin discussing about the feasibility of attending my funeral, only to realise this fact - they did not know where I came from, therefore would not know where my funeral would be held. They would be alternating between Ipoh and Sitiawan, both of which are not my hometown. Of course by the time they figured it out, I would have been already been cremated for at least three days.

Should I die in the presence of someone, news of my passing would of course travel faster. Someone in my family would either pick up a random call for me or decided to inform my friends via people recorded in handphone, half of which probably doesn't even remember who I am. However, once again they will probably hit the previous snag of not knowing where my funeral would be held which of course and the result will remain the same. Now let's say someone did remember where I come from, they will balk at the location and decide that I will understand that they couldn't attend. Among excuses that will probably be heard are, parents being superstitious of attending funerals and work commitments.

As gothic humour this may sound, it's a sad and possible truth that this may be what will transpire should I die suddenly. I anticipate that at least only two friends will make it to the funeral out of their own steam should they get wind of my demise quick enough. I think they know who they are. This post is not really about death in particular, but how well do we really know the people around us. Often we take their presence for granted, yet 'friends' we call them. I remembered a time when I went through great lengths to make sure I maintain my bond with the people that I know, but much like the over-rated issue of the Malaysia-Singapore crooked bridge, such things just don't just work one way. Few years down the road and my so called closest friend still think don't know for sure what I do for a living (he just assumes I am in IT). But that's not too bad, after all, at least it will take within a week for my gay friends to find out if I kicked the bucket. The others? I will consider it fortunate if they know about it within a year.

Mid-Autumn Festival

In my earliest childhood memories of the impending Mid-Autumn Festival or sometimes more plainly known as the Mooncake Festival, I remember a coffee shop bedecked with wire framed glass paper lanterns for sale to celebrate the season. Even the market vendors would be vying for a piece of the pie at the morning market. Each year, if the lantern from last year did not survive storage or went up in smoke in a tragic candle mishap, my mom would bring me to this coffee shop to get a new one. I can still remember the delight of seeing so many different kinds lanterns in all hues of the rainbow casting their wondrous colours on the walkway. Rabbits, horses, goldfishes, ordinary animals to mythical beasts like the phoenix and dragon, you name it they had it.

Paul had this image which inspired this post, it's not the same lanterns in my childhood memories, but the imagery comes close.

During the season, the Rukun Tetangga would organise a lantern parade for the kids in the neighbourhood. Everyone would be comparing their lanterns in a kiasu attempt to outclass the other. Being kids, the bigger your lantern, the more awe and envy you would inspire. My mom of course would encourage no such thing, so yours truly's lantern was always somewhat lacking in size. I think at one point, my mom no longer encouraged the buying, she actually learnt to make them herself, but for some reason, she went no further than making star-shaped ones. I think this was one of my very first lessons in humility. After a while, I learnt not to mind that my lantern did not have all the fanciness of a bought lantern, it was special in its own way. Nobody had the same design.

During the last few years, when I had the chance to return home for the season, I noticed the same coffee shop no longer sold the lanterns which had become a cherished sight in my childhood. In fact, try as I might, no where could I find the same sight again. Market vendors have stopped selling the traditional wire framed ones. In their place were the cheap foldable paper ones. But even that is beginning to see a decline. What is becoming a fixed fashion are mass manufactured, battery operated plastic ones, in all garish designs, from ridiculous manga comic characters to David Beckham. Yes, you read right, DAVID BECKHAM. And God forbid, some of them could actually emit music. Maybe I am just nostalgic, but these current forms of lanterns did not appeal to me at all, though I remembered at one point of time in my childhood I had one (before my parents trusted me with real candles). They just did not hold the same feel for me.

For some reason recently, I had the urge to get one of those wire framed ones. Though a rare sight, you could still find some if you looked hard enough. However to my dismay, they look so poorly made, I couldn't bring myself to buy one. The original lantern makers took more pride in their trade, and I guess it went with them as time claimed them. Somehow that made the season look more like a time to reflect than to celebrate for me. To mourn for a past that was lost, to mourn for a tradition that is in its twilight. What I would give to see that familiar colourful sight again.

The Secrets We Keep

This is a continuation on the acquaintance who died in a road accident. Well sort of. A friend of mine told me his friends were trying to locate his ex and they had wanted him to be at his funeral. However the funeral came and went, and I guessed they failed in their little quest.

Yesterday, immersed in boredom, I casually harrassed a friend online.

Me: Sien sien sien!!! (Bored bored bored!!!)
Friend: A little bit la... How how how?
Me: I know... let's talk about you. Tell me about your dirty history!
Friend: Like what? My ex just died...

I think my jaw dropped. All this while they were looking for him and he was right under my nose. Turned out he knew of his passing but had on purpose avoided the funeral. The deceased's mother had knew about them and that the relationship had ended badly. He felt he didn't need to be there to further aggravate the situation. Pretty sensible of him though personally I felt it wouldn't have really mattered. Funerals are for the living. A message to tell us to keep living... well, until it's time to stop anyway.

It makes me wonder how many stories go untold in our lives. From what I can see when death comes, 50% of us live on in what other people know of us. Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle kept with different people, requiring them all to come together to see the whole picture. The other 50%... well, becomes pure speculation. We can write a memoir on our lives but it still will not fill in all the gaps. Just like how this journal is just going to be just a portion of the person who writes it. Just an interesting fact that I recently read, the dead outnumber the living. There are more dead people through the ages than there are currently alive. That's how many untold stories there are.

Space Filler

Just three things.

Firstly, an old acquiantance died recently in a road accident. From what I heard he was driving back from Penang with his boyfriend in the car with him. Car skidded from a busted tyre and the resulting crash fatally flung him from the vehicle, though the boyfriend survived. Don't know how much of it is dramatised by gossip queens, but it was said that he died in his boyfriend's arms. I must admit I can hardly remember how he looks like, having never seen him for a few years at least, though I recalled him being a rather boisterous, cheerful person. I can count myself as lucky because in all my 26 years of life, I have only lost two friends, both I can safely say are not close to me. Despite that, it didn't stop me from contemplating on his death but I guess being human, we're drawn to reminders of our own mortality. After watching all five seasons of Six Feet Under, it had sort of made death seem like a very common thing, which it is in fact. Rest in peace, Michael.

Solid stone, is just sand and water, and a million years gone by.

Secondly, after being 'conned' into getting my mug professionally shot and retouched, I uploaded the result in my profile site. Something which came as a relief for some of my close friends who had been badgering me into replacing my six year old picture. Incredibly my heart count quadrupled in less than a week's time, most of them from new people. I am half flattered and half disgusted, at how much importance gay men place importance on fleeting physical appearances. Making me even more disgusted are people I have known from the past were among those joining the fray, including a particular narcissistic buffoon who thought if he were given a chance to do me, would blow my mind and my entire perception on sex. Christ. I would keep him in mind if I ever consider sex with hairless simians. Of course this is nothing new. Still, it doesn't stop me from feeling bothered and dismayed. Oh well, for those who thought I was attractive to their eyes, thanks anyway. I would rather prefer it if they saw more than just that.

Thirdly, after a long time of resisting, I have finally caved in to being superficial. I went on diet just so I could work on getting those torturous 'six packs'. Not so much on vanity's sake, but just to prove I can do it. I did not set a particular time span in achieving this. It is however, beginning to become an irritation. Living alone doesn't give you much time in preparing your own food, and the difficulty in finding suitable food outside to sustain the diet is frustrating. I am pleased to say though, it is showing some results if not much. Good luck to me.

These Streets

In case any of you are wondering, no, my blog has not turned into an obituary site. I can't help it if two significant personalities died within such a short period of time. And no, I am not joining the fray of some pointless hype of mourning someone I hardly know. Unlike what I used to do back in Livejournal, I am not even writing a short obituary for the deceased anymore. I respect Steve Irwin for his contributions as a conservationist, though I wouldn't quite agree to his crazy penchant for pissing off rather dangerous animals. I think he deserves to be remembered for his legacy of educating the younger generation on nature.

That aside, a snatch theft just happened right in front of my office just now, much to my horror. I kind of heard the commotion and then saw the two robbers fleeing past my window on their motorbike with a whole mob of angry men in pursuit on foot. Sad to say they didn't manage to apprehend them. It wouldn't be the first time I witnessed something of this sort. Despite that, it never fails to give me a chill every time. The one who made the snatch actually went at his victim with a knife. A stun tactic to get the victim to let go of their possessions. The victim, a lady who works next door was not really seriously hurt, just a minor cut but still, I just think these bastards are going too far. How many times have we heard about people dying after being seriously hurt by such robbers and I wonder if the police are doing enough to put a stop to this menace. It took the police more than half an hour to arrive at the scene. HALF AN HOUR! What were they thinking, that we need counselling services? Doesn't inspire much confidence either to see that over half of our police force look as if they spend their time eating instead of fighting crime.

Some smart alec suggested we should draft the territorial army to assist the police. Just the other day I saw several trucks carrying army personnel. Guess what? They were just as fat, if not fatter than our boys in blue. Seriously, in the event of a real war, these guys are practically walking target barrels. Meanwhile, I think I will feel a lot safer carrying a weapon in my pocket whenever I am on the streets. My boss was mumbling where was his shotgun when he needed it. Left me speechless.

In Memoriam

Steve "Crocodile Hunter" Irwin
1962 - 2006

In Memoriam

Venerable Dr K. Sri Dhammananda Nayaka Maha Thera
1919 - 2006

Like A Knife Through The Heart

I remembered when I was in primary school, we used to have this class they called "Tulisan", meaning "Writing" so I guess you can call it Writing Class. Basically how it is conducted is you have to copy some text from somewhere (as you can see, we are trained to be plagiarists and pirates from young) on this specially printed exercise book which has space allocated for illustrations. Usually the teacher wouldn't mind if we cut out some pictures from somewhere and paste it there. But me, being the budding fag that I was would take great pains to hand draw the illustrations. Trust me, I was one of the best... then.

Anyway, we had an assignment one day to copy the legend of Mahsuri for that particular class. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the legend of Mahsuri, unless you're not Malaysian, you should put a gun to your head. Make sure it's not Malaysian lead because it's too good for you. ANYWAY... just for the benefit of those who genuinely knows not of this virtuous woman of Langkawi Island, Mahsuri was supposedly a beautiful maiden who was wrongfully accused of adultery during her husband's absence in war. For her supposed crime, she was sentenced to death. When they stabbed her, the blood that flowed out was supposedly white, proving her purity and innocence. In a separate version of the legend had her pregnant and craving for jackfruit that was meant for the village headman. The headman not believing her condemned her to death on trumped up charges. Another story had it that he was actually her father-in-law and that he was lusting after her. So, if you take bits and pieces of the both stories and put them together, it could have been possible they stabbed her on the boobs and she was lactating...

ANYWAY... before she died she cursed Langkawi Island with seven generations of misfortune, a curse which apparently either died out or was broken by former prime minister Tunku Abdul Rahman when he opened up Langkawi. This brings us back to Writing Class, so for the illustration part, I don't know what got into me. Of so many scenes I could have chose from the legend, I decided on the execution scene. The exact moment, when the executioner (for some reason I drew this as the headman) plunge the keris into her breast and white blood explodes out in all its gore and morbidity. Every other kid were drawing their version of how pretty Mahsuri was though I wondered how pretty can stick ladies be. Now when I think back on it, I am kind of horrified at what I drew. I wonder now what the teacher would have thought of my masterpiece. Whatever it was that went through her head, I still got an 'A' for my efforts, gore or no gore. Wish I still kept that exercise book, would be interesting to have a shrink psycho-analyse that work of art.

'Mahsuri' dying as tourists cheer on

Gross Factor

Before I continue any further let's take a look at the picture below shall we? Be warned ahead that it is not for the faint hearted or anybody with a delicate stomach, but if you're already in this page then you would already have unavoidably seen it so I pretty much don't really care anyway. So let's proceed shall we?



Was that a squeal I heard? Did you make a mess on your keyboard? Did you spontaneously lose control of your bowels or bladders? Perhaps you are still looking at the picture with morbid fascination. No, this is not yet another internet myth about someone who developed a pustule on his/her feet which later became painful and infected only to be carved up by doctors to reveal a nest of squirming insect larvae reminiscent of some sci-fi horror movie. These little horrors (maggots actually) were intentionally put into a diabetic foot wound to aid in the healing process, which by the way did not heal despite heavy usage of antibiotics. Actually make it plural, the owner of this heel, Pam Mitchell is her name, had 600 live maggots put into her left foot and 400 in her right for two days in a last ditch attempt to save her feet. It worked. The nasty looking critters normally associated with decay and corruption ate away the infected flesh and Pam's feet were soon on the way to recovery.

Gross.

The method is apparently an old one, which was put out of fashion in the advent of modern medicine. To me maggots tend to evoke some rather foul memories. My long since deceased dog was once lost for three days before my brother eventually located her and she had several maggots tunneling in her nasal cavity which took my brother several drastic measures, which I will not elaborate, to remove. I think she never really recovered from the ordeal though she lived for a year more before my mom decided she was just suffering too much. I also remembered once encountering a white terrier like stray on the street. A rather friendly fellow, but much to my horror, I discovered it had several of those horrid critters eating away at its anus. I was pretty much horrified and helpless. Being too young then to know the options of helping the little pooch, which in any case would have been pointless because knowing small town vets, they would just have optioned for putting it to sleep. I think I carried the guilt for a long while for doing nothing. I never saw the stray again. It also left me wondering as to why anyone could just abandon their pet to such a fate.

Foul memories aside, I do acknowledge the usefulness of these... things. Though I wonder if I ever come to such a desperate need for such treatment would I actually allow it, even if the other option means losing a couple of limbs. Squirming larvae in my feet... the thought of it already makes me queesy.

World Peace

And so dimunitive Pluto loses its planet status after 75 years. In a rather dramatic twist in where astronomers gathered in an unprecedented event to reclassify celestial objects, originally intending for the solar system to extend its planetary family to twelve, the debate came to a bitter end for Pluto supporters after it failed to adhere to new guidelines that defines what a planet is. Personally, I am a bit disappointed at this piece of news myself but mostly because I am more a traditionalist rather than a revolutionist. Most of the time I prefer things to stay as they are, though I would agree to scientists' views that Pluto's eccentricities does put Pluto's planethood into question. Anyway, this entry is not really about astronomical news, but rather some global issues that I am interested in.

Some of my friends would know I am not too fond of politics. Sean once guessed right when he said that I'd probably don't give a rat's arse about what is going on in the Middle-East. Well ok, those weren't his exact words but it would be close, which he, in any case was right. My opinion on the whole Middle-East crisis can be summed up in my rather destructive and genocidal proposal. Nuke the whole God forsaken region. I think the world could do better without an Israel, or Palestine, or Lebanon, or whatever troublemaking country is located within that area. Frankly speaking, those nations are like a pimple on the face of the Earth. Turn the whole region into a nuclear holocaust and hey, nothing more left to dispute over right?

Issues that perk my interests usually what I would term as the "underdog issues" - issues that mostly taken for granted or overlooked. Issues like global warming, archaeology, animal extinction etc. I mean take the whole Katrina thing, while others are more concerned about human side of the tragedy I was more concerned about the pets that were left to fend for themselves in the aftermath of the tragedy. An estimated 2000-3000 animals died in the tragedy, compared to the paltry sum of human lives lost. I'm sorry if I have total disregard for human life, but I agree with Agent Smith (of The Matrix) that humans are like viruses - they infect their host (in this case, Earth) and eventually destroy it.

Don't start to hate me yet, I do not disregard human issues altogether. For instance I am quite a follower of the Dalai Lama's activities. Generally I am concerned that when he finally dies, there would not be another Dalai Lama. The present Tenzin Gyatso had once suggested that when he eventually passes on, perhaps he would not return (Lamas believe in continuous reincarnation to help humanity towards the path of enlightenment), or either that, choose not to be reborn within Chinese Territory. Which makes sense, since the greedy Chinese government would take advantage to name their own successor to achieve their own ends. They already did that with the Panchen Lama, who traditionally plays the role of recognising the successor to the Dalai Lama and vice versa. So since the current Panchen Lama is nothing more than a Chinese puppet, the future of the next sucessor will probably be in jeopardy.

See, I am not really a beauty queen after all. Don't bother trying to discuss about gay rights issues with me though. I might be gay, but I am not much of a supporter when it comes to this cause. In fact I am pretty much against it. For simple reasons that I don't think that gay community has earned the respect they have been clamouring for. I think gay pride events are nothing more than a huge tasteless joke which I am all too eager to distance myself from. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of respectable gay people out there, I just don't think the majority of them are doing the right thing to warrant respect from the rest of society.

Singularity

This is a typical conversation between me and somebody whom I haven't met in a while:

Friend: So who have you been seeing lately?
Me: Uh... nobody? Still pretty much single?
Friend: How come?
Me: Because there is nobody worthwhile dating I guess...
Friend: But you're working in the gym! There are plenty of hot guys there!
Me: Don't think I can date anybody from the gym...
Friend: And why not?
Me: Well firstly, I don't think I should "shit where I eat". Secondly the program I teach is shunned by gay folk because they are afraid it would crush their delicate balls. Thirdly, every guy who goes to gym is probably in love with themselves more than anything else.
Friend: Well... ok true on the first two counts, but the third one where got??
Me: OK... here, I will prove it to you. Take a look at that guy over there for example (singles out hot gay guy working out on the floor). Hot, right? Sexy, yes? Does he look like he sees anything but himself in the mirror? I don't think I need a boyfriend who'd probably want to fuck in front of a mirror so he could see how beautiful he looks while cumming.
Friend: ... then how? What about clubs?
Me: But I don't like clubbing...
Friend: That's where you'll get to meet people!
Me: Look, think about it. Do you see anyone in the club who is even remotely relationship material?
Friend: ... true also... then how are you ever going to meet anyone?
Me: I dunno?
Friend: Ok fine, since both gym and clubs are out of the question where do you think you'll find a guy?
Me: *Dreamy look* Well I wouldn't mind someone hitting on me at the library or bookstore...
Friend: ...
Me: What? Is it so wrong that I'd prefer someone to fuck my brain instead of my ass?
Friend: ...
Me: ...

Not A Man

Last night, I had dinner with a friend whom I met in gym. One of the rare ones which I knew from my own accord and not from being pimped by a total mamasan friend of mine (identity witheld for privacy purposes). And no, this person was not a date, rather just a casual friend. A topic that came into the conversation was about gay relationships in particular. Now this guy has been in a relationship with the same person for about two years, a relatively remarkable achievement in our circles.

My longest relationship lasted only a year, and that was partly because it was mostly long distance and there were set rules. Basically speaking, the relationship was open, though Roy put that into practice, I did not. I just didn't want to seem like I was holding him back. He asked me to go overseas to be with him and he wouldn't mind at all supporting me but I felt I was too young (then) to be making that kind of commitment. In the end, he found someone who could give him the commitment I couldn't and I let him go. I sulked for a day but other than that, I did not shed a tear. It was the first and last time I would ever submit to an open relationship.

Since then I have come a long way, and my innocence had taken a heavy beating - exes be damned. I remembered when I was 19, I was infatuated with this 26 year old guy I met who did not believe that a relationship gives one happiness. Of course being me then I tried my best to change his mind. Ironic that now when I am at the same age as him I should feel the same way he did. Being brought up the old fashion way, I always believe when you commit yourself to a relationship, you should try your best to make it work, cliche as it should sound, for better or for worse. How old fashioned? Let's just say before I came to the city, I'd only thought divorces happen on TV.

Gay or straight, men will be men. I guess because there is no legal binding (think marriage) to gay couples, it makes it even easier to call it quits whenever things get tough. Strangely enough I never really thought of myself as one of them, though not to say I think of myself as a woman. I am just... something else. Sometimes I think my mentality makes me an outcast even among my own 'kind'.

Not believing in the conventional way of bagging a man, Dr. Frank N Furter made his own boytoy.

Buy Me!

Some weeks ago, I finally purchased the entire five seasons of Six Feet Under, all pirated of course. I am not about to fund the lifestyles of a bunch of snotty celebrities with my hard earned money, even if they are remarkably talented. It was something that I had been procrastinating on since I broke up with my last ex. That itself will be another story for some other time. Anyway, to my annoyance, I discovered the entire season three would not play on my desktop. And that lead me to fulfilled yet another long procrastinated purchase. I bought a brand new 21" Samsung TV and a DVD player.

I know it may seem overboard just so I can watch a bunch of pirated DVDs but that will be a discussion for another time. In any case, I spent about RM580 on those two items all in a single visit to the ever conveniently abundant Giant Hypermarkets. About a year back, just to make arranging music easier for my classes, I bought a 5GB Creative Zen Neeon MP3 player for about RM600+. The puny thing could be covered by one hand. It was a purchase that I would regret later when I found out that I have to connect the contraption to my PC everytime I need to make a playlist.

A few months ago I also bought a handmade statuette of Kuan Yin imported from China for RM408. And no, I didn't buy it because of its relative gay-ness, that's another tale for another entry. In any case, it doesn't serve much of a function other than its aesthetic visual value (a purchase which I did not regret). So what am I trying to relate here? At a price less the one MP3 player and I manage to get a TV and DVD player, which I could use for various forms of entertainment. Yet the all the blasted MP3 player could do is play music, well and occasionally function as a portable harddisk. And from what I gather, the scourge iPod cost twice that amount... AT LEAST.

As for the statuette, though pleasing to my eyes, does nothing but "stand" there. I think I can also make a reference to wingedman's complaint on the rather pricey Ikea Audrey Hepburn wall decoration which in the end Jay made for him totally free of charge and better looking too if I might add. Another friend of mine could blow RM500 within a day on trivial things like clothes (I could suffer repercussions from making this statement). I think we're all just a bunch of guillible twits when it comes to buying stuff. Which leads me think about how one gauges the value and worth of a purchase. It's kind of ridiculous sometimes to find that we are compelled to buy relatively useless and impractical items, yet wouldn't pay a single cent on things that we badly need. Right now, I am starting to doubt the wisdom of my purchase yesterday, especially since the at least 25-year-old still working TV sits now in the spare room, swathed in plastic covering like some murder victim (think Laura Palmer).

Trouble On The Fast Lane

I must admit, patience is not a virtue of mine. But it was not always so - nowadays I noticed I am more particularly short-tempered. Maybe it's city life, maybe it's a symptom of aging (my mom has this theory that men get more grumpy as they get older). I find myself flustered often especially on the road. All it takes is for one slow driver obstructing my way and I would be yelling obscenities that would give a nun a heartattack. Another particular pet peeve of mine are fast food eatery queues. Well I am not really impatient about the queue itself but rather clueless dim-wits who do not know how to use the queuing time to decide what they would like to order or ask remarkably stupid questions like:

"How big your burger ar?"

*Long pause while fingering the menu* "Uuuuuuhhhhh..."

*Looking at partner* "What you want to order ar?"
*Clueless partner looks back* "I dunno ar... what you ordering?"
"I haven't decided ar... you order first laaa"

The latter usually makes me more livid than the rest. I still remember this particular one from my days in high school related to me by a friend. It was during the time when McDonald's was selling these little teddy bears.

McD Employee: Hi miss can I take your order?
Clueless Woman: Yes, I will have set (insert number). I want to buy the McTeddy as well.
McD Employee: Would you like your set small, medium or large?
Clueless Woman: The teddy ar?
McD Employee: ....

I think my friend almost keeled over when he overheard the conversation. Another prime example of wasted queuing time as well delaying the queue. It is beyond me as to why these people can't be bothered to look at the huge menus plastered on the wall behind the counter before their turn to place their order. The more obvious ones would be couples who are too busy fondling each other. No offence girls, but you're the prime instigators. And nothing ticks me off more than fat girls dressed in tight, mid-rift exposing jeans and tops canoodling with their beng/mat rock boyfriends instead of making up their minds. Well actually it wouldn't matter if they are with their boyfriends or with a similarly dressed female monstrosity, either way they are likely to piss me off. Either I have an affinity to always end up behind such species while lining up for anything or KL just happen to be full of these salah cases.

And straight people wonder why we're gay. You're just blind.

Someone Smeared Shit On My David

For those who did not follow my exploits in Livejournal, basically the topic of this entry is about this guy whom I have been in love with for three years. How can that be? Just let me summarise it like this, unrequited love and I've grown to get used to the fact that he will never feel for me the way I feel for him. At first it was difficult for me to accept whenever he gets attached, but three years down it has dulled into a mild annoyance whenever he speaks about his latest conquest. Of course in that three years I did not exactly hold out for him; I did date other people. Just that basically my feelings for him never changed. Until lately that is...

And this is what this entry is about. Over the weekend I found my feelings for him have somewhat died. As with all things, he has changed. He is no longer the person I fell in love with. As nicotinegum suggested I think he has become a jerk. He has no respect for his boyfriend, no guilt when it comes to flaunting his fidelity and worst still from his own admittance, he no longer believes in a relationship. The very innocence that I used to adore in him has become corrupted. Don't get me wrong, it didn't get replaced, it is still there, just that it has become a mockery of what it once was. Like a rosy apple with unseen worms inside.

I am rather disappointed at the change but at the same time confused on my stand on this matter. To be honest I don't really know if I can really say my feelings for him died, I just know I don't like the way he is now. I am in no position to tell him what I feel is wrong or right. Sometimes I wonder if my opinions to him are as unbiased as the ones I give to ordinary friends. Whenever he tells me he is on the verge of a breakup, I always feel a tinge of excitement at the prospect of him being single again. This time however, that feeling has somewhat diminished because I do not agree with the reasons he gave. Maybe it is just me and my dislike towards change.

Tales From The Gym

After a month instructing at the not-so-new "new" venue, I have finally had enough of the poorly maintained equipment. Members looked half-dead from the erratic bursts in resistance and I felt like someone threw a punch in my gut. So I sent this message to the "ever friendly" coordinator:

Dude, I know your manager promised you new bikes, but can you look into upkeeping the current ones first? It's like a ride of death every week.

Barely a minute later, a reply came:

Already called for repair...

I was rather pleased with the reply but later after I left the locker and came back I saw this message on my phone:

Please understand I teach there too. We've been rushing them to repair all the time.

Took a look at the schedule board, and "friendly coordinator"'s name was not there. He must be thinking I was borned yesterday. Not that I am not being empathic to the coordinators' endless declarations of being very busy people, but most of the other coordinators I worked with are very receptive to any reports of the condition of the equipments. The previous coordinator kept them spic & span. Another coordinator at the neighbouring branch entertained no excuses for delay from the maintenance people. Incompetence? You tell me.

There's Something About "Mary"

There is this particular guy who always catches my eye whenever I instruct at this gym. Twice a week I'm there and he'll be there as well. I am not implying he is stalking me of course, he's just there probably because that was the most convenient branch that he goes to. In fact he never joins any classes as far as I could see. He just works with the weights. Really tanned fellow, lean build and abs to die for, and this coming from a person who is not much into abs (I consider myself a more shoulder and arms person). He looks totally cool (in an icy sort of way), and it's a rare opportunity to actually catch him smiling.

In case anyone thinks I am being swept off my feet, this is not what it is all about. He just catches my eye. Much like a pretty looking cake, but you have no desire whatsoever to eat it. I am just curious as to why he catches my eye. Then yesterday it dawned on me. He looked almost like someone I used to date. Someone who later really messed me up (doesn't almost every single one of them?). Of course this one is a lot better looking than the guy I used to date. Definitely three times more buffed. However now that I know who he reminds me of I have kind of lost my visual appetite. He could smile at me and I think it would be my turn to turn icy.

So Why Am I Single?

I am unhappy being single.

I am even more unhappy being attached.

Or so it has proven so far. I will admit to being bitter over my failed relationships. I consider all my exes (maybe except the first one) hitch-hikers. They see you as a conduit, and when they are done with their part of the journey they just get off. The only difference in a true hitch-hiker is they just share your journey for a moment, while in exes they don't share. They take a part of you that you are not willing to part with at the end of the journey. So maybe in a way, they are more like hijackers than hitch-hikers.

Yes, I am bitter. I am VERY bitter. Some may say I am just being petty for blaming my exes for how I choose to feel and for everything that went wrong. Maybe they're right. It has always been about choices, but I hate my exes for giving me the choice to choose despair. Vengeful as it may sound, nothing will satisfy me more than to see them suffer the way they made me suffer. I will readily agree that in the end it will never make me feel better. It will not make me 'whole' again the way I was before.

Anger is not a hot feeling. It has made me cold. I sensed sometimes it has become a hindrance for anyone to connect to me. Though I see the good in people, I see their flaws more. When people approach me I feel nothing most of the time but revulsion. My suspicion of their intentions makes me slam the door in their faces. But I am not a bad person. It just takes a little time to get around my wall. However not many is willing to take the effort. So until I meet someone who does, I don't think I need to answer anymore questions about my singlehood.

They've got a wall in China
It's a thousand miles long
To keep out the foreigners
They made it strong
And I've got a wall around
That you can't even see

It took a little time
To get next to me

I hope you will find yourself over that wall some day.

Mysterious Klang Valley: Part I

Klang Valley, a strange place of many mysteries. Where the unexplained thrives amid everyday lives.

The Mystery of the Traffic Slow-Down

In many areas around Klang Valley there are strange spots where strange occurrences happen that seem to defy logic, the unexplainable traffic slow-downs are one of them. This phenomenon have been known to happen on highways, one of the most afflicted being Federal Highway in front of Angkasapuri. For reasons unknown, traffic will automatically slow down in such areas at all hours of the day, usually resulting in massive traffic congestions during rush hours. Strangely after one has cleared the area, traffic immediately begins to pick up again.

Intelligent minds such as mine have theorised the possibility of some distortion in space, time and continuum, a result of a cocktail of stupidity caused by drivers who passed their driving tests via bribery and poor city planning. Drivers who have passed by such stretches have reported fluctuation in patience and temper and also loss of time.

The Strange Diggers

Almost observed in many parts of Klang Valley, the Strange Diggers resemble roadworks labourers. These enigmatic beings have been known to appear at the same spot again and again to continuously dig up the roads at all hours of the day and night, but more commonly during peak busy hours. Appearances vary, sometimes just consisting of a few workers to full blown menageries of heavy duty tractors and steamrollers accompanied by a whole army of labourers. A badly patched up road is the usual sign that the Strange Diggers have been at work.

Of what reason why these strange beings keep digging at the same spots are unknown. It is believed that Klang Valley apparently sits on a large gold mine and the government is involved in an elaborate cover-up to deceive the masses about this. Others have speculated that the government are building an elaborate network of tunnels beneath Klang Valley. The existence of such tunnels are well-known in the administrative capital of Putrajaya. Could it be possible that such similar tunnels are being built right beneath our noses? What purpose could these mysterious tunnels serve?


Petronas Twin Towers: The Great Mausoleum of the Modern Age?

The Petronas Twin Towers have been known to be the pride and pinnacle of success of the Malaysian government. Look carefully though. The towers resemble a typical Islamic tomb. For those who have never seen one, a typical Islamic tomb consist of a a raised tier which is topped by twin tombstones. In the Petronas Twin Towers' case, KLCC resembles the raised tier while the twin towers resemble the tombstones. But if a tomb is what KLCC is, then who could it be possibly for? Ancient rulers of the past have been known to built elaborate tombs while they are still alive. However, the king is a constitutional and elected monarch, which eliminates the chance that any particular king is getting any special tomb. Could it be possible that some kind of conspiracy ala Da Vinci Code be involved? If so, who could possibly be buried underneath the concourse of KLCC?

*Disclaimer: This entry is meant for satirical purposes only.

Fitness Failure

So what does it mean to be a fitness instructor? I used to believe it was about changing lives. I mean, that was even the tagline that is being used to encourage people to participate. It certainly changed mine. So it must be about helping others to become something better, right?

Wrong.

Either I am terribly naive or maybe it is just the fitness industry in particular. I won't say all, but I would say most instructors are just plain narcissists, nepotists, hypocrites and superficial. The higher they go, the less they uphold their original charter. This may seem like a blunt attack, and I will probably risk reprisals should any of my fitness colleagues read this. Then again, if none of them are what I described, they won't feel affected. Just to be fair, I am not naming an parties.

Everyday when each of us step on the stage, supposedly to lead a group of people to better fitness, I wonder how many of us are really up there for self-glorification or to share an experience. When we step off the stage, we don't talk about the lives we change, we talk about class numbers, we laugh about some poor fellow who had difficulty following the class, we demean and backstab others to make ourselves look good. We would go through any lengths, abuse our positions if necessary just to make sure those we do not like stay where they are. We flaunt the very rules we made while using them to control others. We glorify our achievements and think little of those who helped us earn it. We think of ourselves as 'something else', higher than the rest. We forget, once upon a time, we were just as pathetic as any other fitness fledglings who come to our classes everyday, adoring us, wanting to become just like us.

Well don't worship us for we are nothing. I am ashamed to be what I am. Most of all I feel I have not only fundamentally failed to uphold the responsibility of being an instructor, but I have also become a dirty politician having to wipe my hands clean in order to avoid being victimised. I have tried to help others the way I was helped before, but I find now it may very well be my undoing. From what I can see, fitness is now nothing more than a temple to our vanity. I look at it now with utter disgust and I cannot do my classes without feeling the shame.

Full transition to fitness industry? I take it back. If this is what it takes to be a "good instructor", I rather be nobody.

Quick Update

I am finally with a new job but I am not so sure now if I made the right decision. For one thing, I definitely have a problem with bosses who does not like MSN Messengers. Don't like it? Then start training your employees to talk more before their mouths disappear. Secondly, I have been warned by a former intern that my new boss is one of those evangelistic Christians, bent on influencing non-Christians that they are leading sinful lives and that Christ is the only way to salvation. Currently there are two Muslims in the office so they are fodder to any attempts at mass conversion. On the other hand, I would like to see him try his tricks on me. No offence but I derive sadistic joy from debunking wannabe evangelists.

I have also come to realise suddenly how much I despise office life. If there is one thing I can agree with MLM (Multi Level Marketing) enthusiasts is that we whore a minimum of 8 hours a day, most of the time doing something we don't like for a measely salary. There is nothing I look forward more at the end of the day than to flee from the office and go and teach my classes at the gym. I can see now why my fellow instructors have made a migration from the normal doldrum of office life to full-time instructing in the gym. There is definitely more satisfation in it than making my ass fatter by sitting in the office. It's a question now of whether I will make a full transition into the fitness industry. No permanent decisions yet, but I have a feeling that a countdown is in the works and I don't think I will stay here at the new job for any longer than a year. Speaking of gym, I gave up one of my very first classes in USJ in exchange for one that is closer to the new workplace. The number of attendees are appalling, and I can see it's going to be an uphill task to bring up class numbers. It is no wonder that a certain sweaty instructor was so willing to pass it over to me.

Career choices aside, I think I have to stop going huge distances just to prove to someone that I care. Sometimes I wonder if I am really doing those things because of those reasons, perhaps it is just to prove to myself that making sacrifices and making commitments is a natural thing to do. Maybe being a martyr is like an ingrained thing in me but whatever it is, it is a depressive feeling when after all the effort the person just don't realise the significance of your actions. But it's alright because at the end of the day you just can't regret the choices you make even though you know how much you want to. I need to believe that loving someone is not about hoping that it will be returned. Most of all, I need to start loving that person in the mirror more.

If You Knew You Were Going To Die Today, What Would You Do?

I got tagged by the evil whiterabbit. As if I wasn't morbid enough.

Well first of all I would bemoan the unfairness of the whole situation, so many things I have not done, so many things that I still want to do. Well actually come to think of it, maybe I won't. Think I have always been ready to die anyway, with or without unfinished business. OK maybe I do need to tie up some loose ends first, beginning with the erasure of all the porn in my PC and the destruction of all the likes stored in CDs. There are probably one or two gay magazines lying around but I think I will leave those just to leave some unanswered questions to torment the living.

Of everything that I currently own I don't think I really need to deal with it personally because I think my family will know how to handle it. All my CDs will probably go to Jon Jon as mentioned before though I doubt he will really understand the true message stored in them which will be my unspoken story. My books, my precious books, I think will be the ones I will worry for the most. I don't think anybody will really truly know the meaning I place in my books. Though I would hate to see the entire collection separated, I will probably delegate my friends to do what they will with them. I am sure Kento would love to have the Neil Gaiman graphic novels so I guess he can have those. My fish will go to CJ, maybe he will figure what I mean by the legacy.

So property aside, so I guess now it's time to clear up the emotional part? I am sure most of my friends would love to see me forgive some people but sorry to say that's not going to happen. I mean if I'm going to die today why waste my time on insignificant people. Rather though, I think I would like to tell two special people in life on how much I love them, one of whom changed my life in ways he never knew, though I am with neither at the moment. It is also time to tell all the GXCs to screw themselves as I am dying and I will no longer be doing my classes. Besides that I don't think there is much need to say any goodbyes. Where I am going, everyone will come to sooner or later - memento mori. Just kidding...

Once everything in KL is settled, it's time to return home to the hometown, and to die where the happiest days of my life were. Probably I will leave instructions for my funeral, a jazz one. No point really in crying over an ending, celebrate my life, even though it may not have been totally well-lived. Realistically speaking though, half of the things I mentioned above will probably remain undone. After all, all I have is 24 hours.

Good News Everyone!

The crew of Planet Express is back! Futurama is being revived by Comedy Central for at least 13 episodes and will be airing in 2008. Can't wait! Meanwhile, I think I will go purchase the DVDs and gorge myself with the past 4 seasons.

Football

Football, the one thing that most men can't imaging living without.

Football, the one thing that most men will agree is the greatest sport ever.

And it should go to hell.

I am sick of whole hoolabaloo that is the World Cup. There is no respite from it. It's everywhere. From cars to insurance, cereals to softdrinks - every industry is jumping the World Cup bandwagon. Nine out of ten commercials on TV are about football. It's on every billboard on the roads. There is even a huge inflated football smack right at the seedy end of Jalan Bukit Bintang. I can't even ignore it because Hotlink is sending me unsolicited 'World Cup' sms updates every bloody morning... AT SIX! For God's sake, someone tried to organised a WORLD CUP TALK IN MY BLOODY COMPANY.

I go into an elevator after gym in the evening, nobody but me and this personal trainer inside. He looks at me for a while. I feigned nonchalance. I know what is on his mind but I thought maybe if I don't pay any attention to him he won't say it.

Personal Trainer: Just finished gym?
Me: Yes
Personal Trainer: Going home to watch football? *Grins*
Me: *Putrid Jean Grey PMS expression* NO YOU BLEEPING BREEDER!! I AM NOT FOOTIE FAN!!! NOW DIE SCUM!!!

Personal trainer disintegrates.

Well that was what I wished could have happened, but instead I just told him politely that I wasn't a footie fan. That particular evening, I also happened to be racing home to catch Charmed. Now generally I don't watch TV at all these days, but imagine my irritation to switch on the TV when I got home to find Charmed had been pre-empted so they could air some stupid World Cup forum with a bunch of fugly unknowns.

Is it suppose to be ingrained in every male to like football? I would like to clarify I for one am NOT interested in football whatsoever. Back in school, I wouldn't even want to watch my classmates chase a ball around the field, much less participate in it. In the last World Cup, I attempted to understand my brother and father's preoccupation with football by watching along. I still didn't see the attraction in watching several men chase a ball around a field while their fans go at each other's necks. For those you out there who think football is a very manly sport, think again. Everyone in football is more drama queen than soap operas. All you have to do is listen to the news on the radio every morning and you will know. And what other sport do you get men who openly embrace and kiss each other on the field?

I was quite appalled to hear someone saying that United Nations should take some lessons from World Cup. If any sporting event should get that honour, it's the Olympics and not some silly sport where managers and coaches bitch at each other over one player. They can chop off Wayne Rooney's leg for all I care.

Random Quotes from the Past 24 Hours

"Maybe you should write a screwy letter, laced with lust and lewdness, something about his wife perving at the boss for so long, and that her vagina tingles at the thought of him, and that is why she has to resign... or risk raping him in a haze of mad lust" - to a friend complaining about being asked by a colleague to help his wife write a resignation letter

"Well they certainly have better manners not to moan like you're having a dozen men cum on your face in Baskin' Robbins" - on Malaysian gay men being compared with their Singaporean counterparts.

"Sunday? Either this is a delayed message or you've just lost a day due to alien abduction" - to Laynie after mistaking Monday for a Sunday

"The fear of my mom doing the guilt trip thing on me? Oh yeah. I'd rather have it permanently tattooed in a few brain cells than to forget" - on forgetting my mother's birthday

Interview Allergies

A word of advice for anybody who is current job-hunting like me. Do not stack your interviews. Ideal would be just two per day, and even that might be pushing the limit.

Why?

Because if you're like me, you could develop a rash and have this irresistible urge to commit violent acts against your interviewers.

Art Director: Oh so you could do illustrations as well?
Me: Yes.
Art Director: And you wasted three years concentrating on web alone?
Me: ?
Art Director: It's a shame, all that you've learned in university and you only concentrated on web for the past 3 years.
Me: ...
Art Director: Well, in my opinion if you're coming into advertising you will have to go down on your salary price.

I swear if he looked up at me at that very moment he would have probably thought I resembled Jean Grey with her black and putrid PMS expression just right before she obliterated Professor X in X-Men: The Last Stand. Then he would probably end life as a pile of cinders. Did I also mention his boss exposed him as a gutless geek who chickens out of presentations? Well that's my interpretation of what she meant anyway.

After a 12 months delay in her cycle, Jean's period returned with a vengeance

Tempus Fugit

The deed is done. I am on a month's notice. I thought I would feel a sense of relief, but all I feel is a sense of loss and perhaps a slight urgency because if I don't get myself re-employed soon within that time I would be in trouble. I wish my parents would be at least be a bit supportive of my decision but all my mom did as usual was raising panic over the obvious.

Friends offer their empathy, not that I don't appreciate it, but I think I need solutions more now than kind words. Gym classes would be a great backup in this time of need, just pray that I don't get sick or injured. No classes mean no salary.

That's Just The Way It Is

In less than three days I will throw in my resignation. This time I have put my resolution in steel and I am timing it to coincide with the start of June. Though I haven't found another job elsewhere, it's just the risk I have to take. All my life I organised my life on playing safe and as many of my friends know, I hate being uprooted, but I guess in life there are no 100% guarantees.

It's an irony how I always tell my friends that if one isn't happy with their job they should move on and I couldn't bring in the same philosophy to save myself. It's double the irony that I have always supported the people in my life when they are at such crossroads but when my turn came, I found myself more alone than ever. I am not blaming anyone really - that's just the way it is.