This morning, the foot hurts a little and my sister and her girlfriend very kindly drove me to a sinseh (traditional Chinese physician) who was recommended by Ryken. WOW, Chien Chi Tow has a chain of TEN stores, must be very profitable. We went to the main branch, which stretches over a few shops' space, and Physician Wei, on seeing my foot, asked if I run very often. I KNEW HE IS A TRUE PHYSICIAN! He can tell by my feet and calves that I'm a runner, have been running on and off since 16 even though I'm fat. After Physician Wei, the brother of the Big Boss (the big and bald model on the website) helped fix my foot for all three minutes! And then the Big Boss walked in and took a look at my foot. My heart was thumping so fast! like I saw a celebrity! In my sister's words, "Your feet are so huge it's so worth the money!" And the physicians took 30 minutes on my foot, which is twice the time spent on other patients. I love the royal treatment!

1. While jogging, I stepped on a hard fruit which was hiding in the shadow. I tripped, hurt my inner sole (an old injury) again, scraped my elbow, picked myself up and limped and jogged for the rest of 5km. I thought if I gave this up, what else wouldn't I give up?

Then I did push-ups! standard ones, spider and diamond pushups. I didn't know I could still do it. Foot still hurts, especially after standing up for 3 hours for my volunteer work.

2. Speaking about volunteer, I volunteered at another gay sauna, which was having a full moon night, which means NO CLOTHES. I'm an ass guy. All those asses! Perks--pun intended--of the job.

Went to volunteer with morbidity and his boyfriend at a bar today. As Jason Donovan sings "I'm not afraid of making my move," I introduced myself to another volunteer, The Artist, whom I like very much--I must make it clear that I introduce myself to everyone--and although I think he was interested too--he stood near me always--MY BEST FRIEND morbidity and his bf said I was delusional. That's what friends are for--calling each other nutcase. The Artist is an artist and I always like the sensitive artist sort. Morbidity said that Artist knows how to work his boyish doleful puppydog charm but I thought he is just being shy.

I asked Artist if he is seeing anymore. Yes, the irritating fly beside him the entire night, his boyfriend who wasn't volunteering. Ray, morbidity's bf, said he could understand The Fly's position. I said, where's there to be insecure about? Only those who are diffident about themselves will feel insecure. If the guy wants to stray, he will stray no matter what. Ray said, "But did you see how flirtatious Artist is? I'd be worried too if I were his boyfriend." I insisted he is shy, coming off as coy.

The Fly isn't cute and is twice Artist's age and he isn't even a volunteer, which makes me think he can be kinder. He also doesn't look like he appreciates art. (I DO! I DO!)

When Taylor Swift's "You Belong With Me" came on, I very nearly wanted to turn to Artist and said, "The story of my life."

1. Was a witness at Chrsitine and Henry's solemnization today. It was a little strange because Christine, American, and Henry, English, are married in Singapore. They don't even intend to live here; they are returning to New York in December and Christine flew here just for a week for the wedding. Stranger still is the dress which Christine got on ebay; she sent the China tailors her measurements and the dress is done in a week!

Regardless, they are so so so happy and happiness is infectious. Research shows that when you're in the presence of happy people, you produce endorphins (happy hormones) of your own. I was very lucky to be there.

No one was at their solemnization except for me and another witness, Karen. The photographers were late and missed taking photos of the ceremony and still the gracious bride and the groom didn't mind. They were smiling and courteous to them. Such a great couple, this is how a wedding should be, relaxed, laidback and even if something happens, don't let it ruin your day. A wedding doesn't have to go as planned; don't be so uptight, bridzillas! A perfect wedding is a happy one.

I want to be married one day too. And I want to be married in Singapore. Please, please will Singapore move on with the times already?

1. It's very sad to see Heerens in such a dilapidated state. I remember we used to hang out there, sampling CDs at HMV, shopping at Mambo. It used to be cool. It used to be new, so new that it was the newest shopping complex in town. Now it's just a rundown mall with dim, fading lights and a place for old men and bears to cruise.

2. Outside Heerens, there is an ad of Nature Boy! He models for Singtel!



Ok, no, I lied. That's not Nature Boy, but a lookalike. Nature Boy looks older and more melancholic, not so sunshiny.

My weekend is burnt by the volunteer work I do. This is a good weekend.

1. I helped out at Pelangi Pride Centre, it felt very good knowing so many booklovers in Singapore and they are a bunch of very very nice people. I was in my element, took the initiative to say hi to everyone, remembered all their names and added them on facebook. I should be in PR.

2. Then I drove to Sentosa to meet morbidity80 and his boyfriend who had a suite at Sentosa Resort. We had dinner by the beach, and took a stroll down the beach, passing several bars. And then I wished Nature Boy was here. How nice it would be to hold his hand on this cold, cold day. One day, I'll drive him all over Singapore just to touch all the beaches.

We returned to the hotel to hang out. The hotel, surrounded by only trees and darkness, is Balinese-styled and very quiet , only the crowing of peacocks and peahens. In the morning, the monkeys will vie for breakfast at the complimentary buffet. If you don't have time to travel overseas, you can resort to the Resorts. (And at this point, seeing how dark and quiet and romantic and bucolic the place was, I thought of Nature Boy again, of bringing him here. Today, after telling my sister how great the place is, she said that maybe we should book a room for New Year, but if things go smoothly, maybe my sister and I (+Nature) need separate rooms. However, checking the rates of the hotels, $2000 for 2 nights for 2 rooms! Sorry, Nature Boy, we have to pitch a tent at Pulau Ubin.)

Back to Saturday night after dinner by the beach and returning to the hotel to watch Monsters VS Aliens--which is a very smart animation, with references to E.T., Mars Attack, The Fly, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, etc--I felt like I was intruding on their privacy but Oh well.

1.  The new tuition student whom I met for the first time today scored 1/100 for her school essay on Women in Love. After coaching her for the first hour, I realized that she is very slow. Later I learnt from her mother that the child needed special help in primary school. How the hell does she make it to JC (high school, grade 11)?

From how the mother spoke, I detected a hint of--I don't know how to put this delicately--mental retardation. This hint is strongly supported by the fact that their Filipino maid handles the finance, showing how incapable the mother is and how foolishly, naively trusting she is. So the student's mental ability is probably inherited.

What pique me most is that these not-so-bright people are so rich--my tutoring fees are exorbitant--while my very intelligent family is in the slums. Say what I want about my not-mother, she's prodigiously astute. She is ambidextrous; she knows 6 languages (more fluent in some than others); she never loses an argument even though it is always her fault; she never forgets a phone number even if she happens to glance at it only once; she isn't wise but her memory is photographic.  And although I know many, many clever people, including my professors, I must admit my not-mother is on par with them.

My youngest uncle, the criminal who spent the best years of his life in jail, doesn't need to arrange the tiles during mahjong; can memorize them immediately; and spots the winning card at a glance. While chatting, he can memorize the tiles the other players discard so that he knows what tile the players are calling for.

My sister and I conclude that our brilliant brains are made to plan malevolent things - but why can't we plan to rob the bank and get rich!

2. Waited at Alliance Francais to watch The Diving Bell and the Butterfly withmorbidity80 and his boyfriend. Tried contacting him several times but no response. The tickets were with him and after waiting stupidly outside the theatre for 45 minutes, I left. I was worried that something bad might happen to him since he has always been very responsible. Then, just now, he texted me saying he left his phone at home and thought I didn't want to watch. humph. Now that he has his boyfriend, he forgets about me! And to make him feel even worse if and when he reads this entry, I brought him a present. Guilt-tripping is my forte! I learn it from the best, I learn it from my not-mama.
 

1. Beyonce visited patients at NUH (hospital) yesterday. WTF? Singapore is not a third-world country; it is richer than USA and has one of the best health-care systems in the world. Please go somewhere else to do your Mother teresa/ Princess Diana thing. The ignorance and condescension!

2. The student I have been private tutoring for two months, her school results go from C6 to B3 (English) and from C5 to B3 (English literature). Her mother was so ecstatic that she spoke, like a little girl, to me, with clasped hands, and because she is Taiwanese, her English sentence structure broke down completely. It was mildly embarrassing.

3. Went to the Popular Book Sale. Guess what gay craptacular book my friends are getting for their birthdays and Christmas!

Inspired by Leon,legolas79 wrote an entry about how he lost 20kg. After losing weight, they feel that they have become more attractive and happier. This is my story.

After I broke off with my first serious boyfriend, an interim between the end of conscription and beginning of college education, I ran everyday at 11 km/hr for an hour, gymmed seriously, ate a meal a day--I had no restriction on what I could eat and even ate mutton biryani with two servings of basmati and durian chendol---and lost the weight I gained in the relationship. I was handsome and young but proud, cruel and shallow. While some have either body or face, I had both albeit only middling in both categories. I was happy to be attractive but it was a kind of empty vanity, unsatisfying and transient, dependent on the approval of others, waiting for the next person to praise me. My worth was measured by the amount of people who liked me and if they didn't, I'd change myself. Run faster, gym harder.

Three things happened next:

1. I began to read rapaciously. Unlike in movies, you don't see the characters' faces in books. True, you can imagine them but the prejudice you have for a certain kind of visage would be less immediate than if you see it on screen. So all characters are equal in books; personality is much more important than looks. Jane Eyre is plain Jane but her goodness shines through; Lucy Snowe is the ugliest of three women in Villette but you find yourself rooting for her; Edward Rochester is simian, ape-like but you'll fall in love with him; Heathcliff is "swarthy," a racist description to induce the White readers to hate him, but his loyalty is touching; the beautiful Dora, David Copperfield's angelic wife, proves to be inept wife, mismanaging the house chores and finance. 

2. I met my next (ex-) boyfriend. Of course he first fell in love with my manly pulchritude but he eventually loved me for who I am. (Well, it's not like it's difficult to love a witty, intelligent, funny, kind person.)  This was a moment of epiphany for me, his love was unconditional and sacrificial. He didn't expect returns, he just gave and gave. He said, "Eat," and I was fattened. What he was really saying was, "I love you for you. Continue to be yourself."

3. I went to New York. I have always heard the tired adage, "Live life to the fullest," "dance like no one is watching," etc etc. But under the oppressive rule in Singapore, you don't really know how to follow the adages because the options are limited and because you never have freedom, you don't know what it is; you can't choose the things you don't know existed. In New York, people live and let live. Anything goes and so creativity creates creativity, ideas spark more ideas, and so your options are as limitless as your imagination. New Yorkers don't care what you do so long as it doesn't hurt them.

So when I broke up with the 2nd boyfriend, I was fat. I went back to the gym. I calledsorra's brother who is a personal trainer and he asked, "What is your purpose? Do you want to lose weight? Gain muscles? Maintain?" And I toldmorbidity80 that I called up a trainer andmorbidity80 said, "But I thought you're happy with the way you are."

And I replied, "I am. That's why I couldn't answer the trainer's questions." I gym now to be healthy. I lift heavier weights than before. I run 3 to 4 times a week, 10km/hr each time for 40 minutes to induce endophins. "Exercise gives you endophins. Endophins make you happy. And happy people just don't go around killing other people!" Exercise has become an enjoyment, rather than a torture like in the past. I eat whatever I want, when I want. I haven't lost any weight but I have never been more contented in my life.

The happiness gym bunnies derived depends on other people. "Oh, you look so great." "Your muscles are huge." But after such a long journey, I realize my happiness should come from me. Who is to say that acquiring self-acceptance and confidence is easier than acquiring muscles? Sure, people will talk, taunt, tease you like they're still in kindergarten. They will say to your face, "What happen to you?! You used to be so cute, 10kg ago! Don't let yourself go." But honestly, do you want these people to be your friends, your partner?  

This is exactly what the unattractive Mika is singing in "We are Golden," prancing around in his ugly white briefs: "fuck 'em all." Perhaps this is the confidence hot date Bert finds so attractive. (Not to boast, but I've more people wanting to date me now than when I was better-looking.) But if i can do it, so can you. Start by figuring out what is most important to you. Travel, see more things, read, expand your knowledge, try everything once but be informed of your choices, DON'T believe in hollywood brainwashing and local tv propaganda. Be honest. Don't be afraid to be different. When you get angry or sad, don't lash out on others; ask yourself if it would help if you are angry, and since it wouldn't, don't get angry, forget about the matter. It's not like you'll die when slow drivers cut into your lane or people rush onto the train before you get out. Be kind. Before you do something, think if it suits you, and not anyone else. Think if it makes you--not anyone else--happy. If you can't even love yourself, how can you love someone else? If you can only love yourself when you look a certain way, have a certain muscle group, are rich, etc, then you're sad. You need help. How can you have a shred of humanity? How can you love the world? How can you even have a full life? Think.

I went to a training session for volunteers at SINDA, an organization aimed to help the underprivileged Indians in Singapore.  We are supposed to read to children (age 4-8) and ask them questions. We paired up to role-play volunteer and child and I played the child, of course.

My volunteer read me a heartbreaking book--she mispronounced "trough," she said, "trow" but she has a great reading voice--about a runt called "Oink," which, being the weakest of the litter, is ousted during sow-breast feeding and, having no food, it gets weaker. So Farmer Hegatey asks two children to care for Oink and surprise! it grows stronger. But Oink is very friendly and strangers talk to it all the time. One day, a stranger kidnaps Oink and throws it in a pen with a big fat selfish pig--this is beginning to sound like my sad life, living with a selfish pig--which eats up all the food, leaving none for Oink. So Oink gets weaker. AGAIN. After some time, Oink devises a brilliant escape and turns up at its original farm where the children are waiting with a fresh pail of water.

After finishing the story, the volunteer at this point was supposed to ask the child questions. The coordinator said, "Ask about 5 W"ifes" and 1 H"usband" (Why, What, Which, Where, When, and How). Ask questions relating to the story you have just read." 

But since I was a difficult child, I bombarded my volunteer with questions. In a child's voice I asked, "Teacher, teacher, how come the Mother Pig doesn't feed Oink?"

"Because Oink is too small to be noticed."

"Then will my mother not notice me too?"

Then I asked, "Teacher, teacher, since the two children know that strangers have been talking to Oink, how come they don't do anything to prevent the kidnap?"

And I asked, "Teacher, teacher, how come the two children never look for Oink when it is gone? Nobody loves Oink!"

And I finally said in my normal voice, "This story is terrible. It's teaching children not to trust people."

After the questions, the volunteer was to ask the child to draw something related to the story. Since our story was pretty duff, my volunteer said, "Child, draw your favorite animal."

So I drew this:



She asked, "What is this, Child?"

I said in my child voice, "An animal. I see it in my dream all the time. It's a Dracula Whale."

"Oh, so those are fangs. And what are those on top? Hair?"

I laughed. "Teacher, don't be daft! It's water from the blowhole."

"What about this curly thing?"

"Duh, it's Oink's tail!"

"And these are legs with stockings?"

"NO!!! They are zebra's legs!"

So the volunteer wrote the words down because the child was too young or backward to write. Then the volunteer was to ask the child for his or her favorite word, write down the word on a card to start a vocab list.

I announced, "My favorite word is 'a'!"

She said, "Ok."

I said [normal voice]: " You must ask why!"

"Ok, why?"

[Kiddish voice] "Because it's the only word I know." Pouts.

After the session, I decided I'm not suited for the program partly because I cannot interact with children and partly because the program is linked to the President of Singapore. The coordinator told us that President Nathan takes a strong interest in the program; he just visited last week. In fact, if you volunteer for a number of years, you'll get a certificate of recognition from the government, shake hands and everything with a minister ("Last year, it was the Prime Minister," the coordinator revealed.) The coordinator's purpose is to encourage us, to show us how legitimate this cause is, and to fan our ambition but, unlike some of my not-friends, I don't aspire to be the next Minister. My purpose has always been to speak up for those with no voice, and this program doesn't need me with such strong backing. Perhaps I'll join the branch dealing with juvenile delinquents.

*

Litte India is getting ready for Deepavalli. [yucks, spelling!]

 

*

Since my ex lives in Little India, I collected the mooncakes he forced on me from him.

When I reached home, I texted him.

Me: OMG I just ate one. It's so delicious! It has this sweet buttery aftertaste lingering in the mouth!

Ex: You ate an entire piece?! I had to share one with my dad.

Me: It's only bite-size! How to share?

Ex: Anyway, I thought you are saving for your mid-autumn festival picnic next week.

Me: I can't wait. Anyway, there are 7 left. But I don't know if I can bear the lonely mooncake in my stomach. Maybe its 7 siblings should join it.

Ex: Why don't you finish them? 2 for your dad, 2 for your mom, 2 for your sis and 2 for you? I'll buy you another box.

Me: I THOUGHT YOU JUST SAID IT IS VERY HUGE?! You still ask me to eat two?! [Mooncakes are very high in calories.]

Honestly the mooncakes are very tiny and they are not the shape of traditional mooncakes at all.

 

1. I knew it! I wanted to say this to Yvette, my former mother, but since I am not on speaking terms to her, I held my tongue: "Wah, you switch on the air-con in the living room with the doors and windows open--and you on it every time when you're sitting alone in the dark at midnight, which is everyday. When the electricity bill comes, don't blame us." AND OF COURSE, the bill came and she had to write a note, asking me not to leave my laptop on (which I do only two or three times a month). Please, the amount of electricity a laptop consumes for an entire day is infinitesimal compared to the air-con working so hard for 2 hours. But whatever, she's paying it so I'll be smart and not get into an argument. My friend once told me, "Don't be silly. Make use of your parents then dump them when they're old." That friend committed suicide.

2. I should stop surfing on my handphone. The bill is so high I don't even know how I'm going to pay for it!

1. Harry is posted to Singapore from New York for work and his fiancee, Celest, is coincidentally my schoolmate in New York.

On Monday, she facebook-chatted me and even in the online chat, her anxiety and distress came across very strongly. She suspected that Harry was seeing someone in Singapore and she, being in New York, could not check on him. The lady Harry was allegedly dating is, like us, a teacher specializing in Victorian literature. Celest said it would have been such an irony if Harry leaves her for Teacher; I found this very funny and laughed. She received a piece of secret information--I suspect that Celest hacked into Harry's emails--that Harry and Teacher would go to a Japanese restaurant the next day and asked me to spy on them. She said she invested her entire self into the relationship and felt sure that Harry was keeping things from her, such as telling her that it was a group of people meeting for dinner, instead of merely both of them, and switching off his phone to be uncontactable. Her persistent pleading and piteous pathos made it impossible for me to reject her request.

The next day, Bert and I went on our Mission Impossible. During which, Celest long-distance-telephoned me twice and texted me several times; it was 5am New York time. Her affliction must have been unbearable.

Harry still had his engagement ring on and seemed merely to be on friendly but not intimate terms with the lady. He was wearing a shopworn putrid-green and white striped polo, fraying at the collar. They sat at the sushi bar--not a cozy counter, which was where Bert and I sat, arranged by the butch head-waitress, playing footsie and fingersie. They left before Bert and I, which means the dinner was too short to be a date.

I wasn't seated near him and could only observe thus much in 15 seconds and I told Celest everything I knew on facebook-chat. She bombarded with me questions after questions and although to some people her paranoid line of interrogation may seem annoying, I empathized with her, was patient. I was in her shoes and knew exactly how she felt. I was at that point of time so troubled that much of my luscious black hair turned gray from worrying and even started to lose much hair. But that was over. And Celest wrote on her facebook: "What a difference a day makes." I'm glad she's comforted.

2. Bert and I just had our first lovers' tiff in the car. We're not exactly lovers yet but when I went out with Rusty today, my sister said, "Why waste your time?" and I couldn't help but to agree. Bert told me that because he is a Marine, he can never, never hold hands with me in public. I am thankful to hamkey's sympathy that she finds it sad that two persons in love cannot express their love through such a simple action as holding hands. I've always taken for granted that it is right that two men or two women not to hold hands in public to show their affections but hamkey's comment makes me see how abnormal the situation is and how perverse the society is for imposing such distorted notions on gay people.

I told Bert all my arguments. I told him his gay officer who gave himself the nickname Genie, as in Christina Aguilera's "Genie in a Bottle," who was spotted holding another man's hand, isn't fired at all. I told him people need to know that gay people contribute to the society too, that he, who is gay, was picked to be the Best Marine of the year out of thousands and thousands of candidates; gay people are just as capable as straight people even in what is traditionally known as masculine fields; gay people are not psychotic crossdressing serial killers, abducting big women to make body suits of pendulous breasts. He, likesorra, said I have so much gay pride. Honestly, I don't know what gay pride is but if it means that I can live an open, honest, truthful, aboveboard life, then it's true, I've a lot of gay pride. In fact, if I have to name my pride, I would say I have world-pride in wanting to change the world, I told him, wanting to make the world a better and more equal place, not merely for gay people, but also for straight people, Malays, Indians, married couples, children, disabled, everyone. Which is why I volunteer not only at Action for AIDS, but also at Mendaki (Malay organization), SINDA (Indian organization) and intend to pick up sign language at the Singapore Deaf Association. I told him I'm old enough not to have a rosy view of the world, I know it is impossible to achieve a peaceful, equal world but that doesn't mean we should stop trying.

Behind Bert, I saw a man walking towards our car with a possiblity of seeing us hold hands and I wondered for a second if I should let go for his hand but I didn't. To let go off his hand is against my philosophy and against my heart's wishes. To let go is for Bert to lose a change of learning there is no shame, and of what equality and affections can withstand. The man did walk past and did see and Bert was slightly irked but not irked enough not to leave me a goodnight kiss. He said, "What if I cannot change? We're two different kinds of people. I cannot be like you."

I said, "I'm not bending you into the shape I want but I'm trying to liberate you. I don't want you to be like me. But I want you to feel free to express how you feel. You said communication is important and body language is one form of communication. Unless of course you don't like me then you don't have to express it."

3. Me: Dear Mario, I just received a new financial aid letter, increasing my grant. I'm pretty sure you've something to do with it. Thank you so much!

Mario: Yes, indeed I did. You better come back in the spring.

I LOVE MY TEACHERS!

We had a picnic and serendipitously Singapore Symphony Orchestra was playing in the park. There was a huge turn-out and while everyone around us was really there for the music, we ate and played Taboo. Children blew bubbles which flew around us; it was magical. Lydia even baked a bukkake cake, quite delicious but a little dry.

Then went to meet Bert Bert, Contestant #5. It's too early to tell but I gave him a rose so that he can stay in my game of "The Happy Bachelor" in which I'm the star. But when am I never the star?

SMS after I sent him home:

1. Every gym has a dirty old pedophilic man who preys on young flesh. I've been seeing this Old Man in my gym for years and all of a sudden, he lost so much weight. This was 8 weeks ago. He doesn't do any cardio, so there are only three reasons for his weight loss: 1. liposuction, 2. anorexia or 3. major illness. Today I saw him again and he is slowly but surely putting on weight.

The boy whom the Old Man was picking up said, "Wow, that guy has a great figure."

Old Man said, "He's probably gay."

The reason why Old Man would reply with such a non sequitur is because he was testing the water, to gauge from the boy's reaction whether the boy can be ensnared - but Old Man's method is ignoble and vile. He's entering my Burn Book.

2. Why I shouldn't buy expensive things: my Marc Jacob bag is rended at the seams. It's barely 3 months old. Banana Republic polos and G-Star berms are stained pink; Ralph Lauren shirt has curry--I love curry!--all over it; embroidery on Ed Hardy cap is unravelling.

I really adore my MJ bag because it's huge--I love big bags--and functional, allowing me to put 3 books, 2 stacks of exam papers, dirty gym wear, shoes, showering paraphernalia and more.

I must clarify that I'm the least materialistic person. I'm an academic! And most academics aren't that shallow. I don't look down on people who buy cheap things and I am not envious of people who buy expensive things. I do not mind buying, wearing, carrying cheap apparel but I figure that expensive clothing may last longer and in the long run, it is more value for money. Besides the quality, the design and fit are better. And furthermore, buying a few expensive items makes me happy--and I shop very very seldom--and if I can afford it, why not? People ask me if my Prada bag is real, I answer, "I don't buy counterfeits." It is not that I'm uppish, it's just that if I cannot afford it, then I won't buy it. There is no shame. These material goods are feel-good consumers' products; they're a "want", not a necessity. Which is the reason why I am so careless with these expensive things, why I wasn't angry when my parents stained my clothes pink. It's not because I'm rich but because it's just material and there are many, many more things more important than material. Sorry, Madonna, I'm not a material girl.

In fact, and whoever says that this is untrue doesn't know me well, I'd rather receive a hand-made present or a book or a present that is carefully picked--that is a gift that is suited for my character and needs--than expensive presents unless it has to do with books, like Mont Blanc pens, first edition signed books, Amazon's Kindle, etc. Honestly, my love don't cost a thing! I'm still Jenny Jenny from the block!

3. I've been volunteering and my new friends are bitchy and hilarious.

Vince: What is your status?

Me: I'm very, very single.

Vince: What does that mean?!

Russ: It means he's a slut!

Vince: Let me guess your type. You like Whites?

Me: Hm... not really. I'm race-blind, I can date any race.

Russ: See, he's a slut!

Hairstylist: You have so much white hair.

Me: Having white hair is better than having no hair!

A trip to the hairstylist always cheers me up. There was a white guy sitting next to me and I spoke to the fag hag who was cutting his hair in Mandarin.

Me: Ask him if I'm his type.

She: I dare not ask. What if he beats you up?

Me: You can ask indirectly. Like "Do you prefer me or him?" 

She: Maybe he understands Mandarin.

Me: If he does, he would have asked for my number.

When White Guy took a hand mirror to look at his nape, the reflective surface was in my direction and I said to my stylist, "Stop staring at me. Take action, ask for my number!"

My stylist was so tickled by me that he spent 1.5 hours on my very short hair.

Stylist: Shall I gel your hair?

Me: No, I'm not going out, not meeting anyone.

Stylist: Then you won't get to see any hotties.

Me: You must change your concept. When we go out, it's the people who will stare at us, we NEVER hunt for hotties.

*

I ran into Ms Low today at a bookshop. She was my high school teacher and remembers my name.

Me: I've always wanted to look for you. I returned once but someone said you were no longer teaching there. I even searched for you on facebook because you were the only teacher who was concerned for me. I wanted to let you know that I haven't committed suicide, that I turn out fine, that you shouldn't worry.

Low: I'm so glad to hear that but I really hadn't done much.

Me: Do your students give you as much difficulty as I did?

Low: Were you difficult? I can't remember. I only remember you were going through a rough patch.

Me: Yes, growing up was especially tough for me but I've now sorted things out and I hope no teenagers should go through what I went through.

Low: I still have the teddy bear you gave me ten years ago.

Me: Now I feel so old I shouldn't be calling you Ms Low.

Low: No, you haven't aged at all, you look the same except you look better now. 

Honestly, the only sentence I remember is the last one; I made up the rest of the colloquy. What is true is meeting Ms Low left me with a fuzzy feeling.

*

I genuinely like Raymond, my bff's bf--and it's not often I like my friends' choices--because I am comfortable with him. I no longer have to ask my bff not to bring his boyfriend out or to hide things from him; what I can say in front of my bff, I can say in front of his boyfriend.

Dr Ray: I was trying to ask a (Chinese) patient whether she had sex recently. How do you say "have sex" in Mandarin?

BFF: You say 行房 (act in the room).

Ray: No one understands that! That's so archaic!  

Me: You say 做爱 (make love).

Ray: That's so vulgar.

BFF: That's a direct translation from English, the Chinese will never understand you. 

Me: What's so vulgar? Of course the Chinese understand. We'll ask the gay [Chinese] waiter over there.

BFF: You're not serious are you? 

Me [to Ray]: So what did you say to the patient in the end?

Ray: I said, "Did you..." *thrusting action with his hands by the sides and pelvis jabbing*

Me: YOU DID THE ACTION?!

Ray: Yeah...

Me: And you called me vulgar?!

BFF: Don't do that again, it may be misconstrued as harassment.

On my way home in the train, I thought of the perfect word. It's 洞房 (enter the room). To think Ray and I got A1 for our Cambridge Chinese exams.
 

Me: What do you think your (twin) brother would say about your choice in boyfriend?

Ray: He'd approve it! After all, not everyone gets on the Law dean's list for four years. My brother is a bit---

Me: Elitist?

Ray: Yes, sorry to say I cannot think of another word... 

Me: I can. Snobbish, uppish, arrogant, snooty....

Ray is a little, well, elitist too, like my bff's ex-boyfriend but the difference between them is Ray is not judgmental and EX-boyfriend is discerning to the point that he only associates with people he deems worthy of his social status.
 
 Melville, BFF's steroid-pumped friend, who came later said that he heard that I was happy for my BFF. He thought that I was happy because BFF has gotten rid of the evil EX but I was happy because my BFF is a good person and deserves to be happy. It is true that I dislike the EX but I am not that sinister to ask my BFF to break up if I knew the EX would give him great happiness.

I left shortly after Melville arrived because I didn't want to socialize, feeling a mournful state, to enclose, embalm myself from the world for a while. My desolation forbid me to let myself be entirely, uninhibitedly, undeniably happy.

Melville didn't pay his part of the bill. At first I thought he simply forgot to return me the money, then I remember how BFF used to complain about Melville's penny-pinching ways. He's a doctor! And I don't even have a decent job. That's it, no more going out with Cheapskate Melville. He's so miserly Cheapskate is not even his middle name; it's his first.

*

I bought the Australia Guidebook for my 2010 travel!
 

1. This is a picture of my tuition student's house, which is featured in World Architecture News (more photos at the website). More than 80% of Singaporeans live in government housing and land is scarce and, hence, exorbitant. This bungalow is situated in the most expensive district in Singapore. When you turn into the minor road to reach it, each house is separated by about 50 metres; that is how huge each residence is. It probably costs more than 15 million dollars.

2. This is a picture of another tuition student's condominium. At the mouth of an expressway, it stands at one of the premium areas of Singapore . Just outside the condo is a bus-stop with numerous buses reaching all corners of the country. (How the rich is taken care of!) It is merely 5 minutes away from town by bus. You must be there to be impressed by how posh the condo is. The penthouse costs $4 million.

When the mother called, she gave a Malay name. Her sons (Malay names too) are from neighbourhood schools. She hadn't yet said where she was living. I'm against stereotypes and YET I was stereotyping and so out of kindness, when she asked for a discount of my--I admit--sky-high rates, I reduced my tuition price. DAMN THESE RICH PEOPLE. They are so rich and yet they dare to ask me for discount.

The two sons are interesting. The older one is accommodating and obedient and slow and the younger smart one is controlling and full of angst.

I give tuition every night except Wednesdays, reserved for my volunteering and Thursday for my book club. My weekends are spent giving tuition, having to wake at 8 a.m. on Saturday and Sunday. I am not complaining because I'm doing what I like but I wish I had rich parents. My sister said, "Rich people always say, 'Follow your dreams.' Of course, they can say that, if they fail, they still have their inheritance to fall back on."

Who says money cannot buy dreams? Sigh.