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.